EXT. DEEP SPACE

We OPEN on TOTAL BLACKNESS, a sea of stars spread across the infinite depths

of space. As the TITLES ROLL, we notice that three of these specks seem to

be moving; one of them picking up acceleration and racing toward us. Our

perspective changes, and we catch a quick glimpse as it HURTLES past, and

into the gravitational pull of a large brownish planet. Kicking up SPARKS of

FRICTION as it hits atmosphere. It seems to be manmade. Or at least

artificial.

EXT. PLANET SURFACE - DAY

The planet is dead, barren. Death Valley on a grand scale. We watch the

object plummet through the wispy cloud-cover, emitting a few last burning

embers before falling to ground way-off in the distance. A BOOMING ECHO

resonates across the dusty plains, before settling back into an eerie

silence.

EXT. FISSURE CANYON - DAY

We're looking into a deep gorge, dark and sinister. A howling wind whips

dust into a sandstorm, reducing visibility to almost zero. About seventy

feet down there's a hole in the rock-face that just might be a cave entrance,

and near is a peculiar SHIMMERING in the air. We hear a mechanical BEEPING

and the SHIMMERING disappears, replaced by FIVE humanoid SHAPES clinging to

the sheer rock - each well over seven feet tall. They are PREDATORS, a race

of intergalactic big-game hunters on permanent safari; their clothing and

weaponry a bizarre mix of aborigine and ultra-hi-tech. In their hands are

circular metal discs; 'smart weapons' which cut into the stone and give them

purchase.

PREDATOR-VISION. From their P.O.V., we see the fissure reduced to THERMAL

HEAT SOURCES. The entrance registers as a black gaping void.

INT. FISSURE NEST TUNNEL

The five hunters climb inside the rim of the tunnel, out of the wind's

banshee wailing. The lead PREDATOR reaches up to his headgear, pulling at

the coupling pipes connecting it to a hidden breathing-apparatus. He removes

the helmet, clips it to his rear utility pack, and takes a deep breath of the

air. A curious speckled pattern runs across his wide forehead, marking him

different to the others; in addition, one of the fangs of his mandibles has

been sheared away. We'll call him BROKEN TUSK, he's the leader of the

hunting party. He reaches out a hand to caress the wall of the tunnel.

Several feet in from the rim, it changes from rock to a textured

biomechanical surface; a swirling mass of disturbing shapes. He hurries

forward in response to the GURGLING-HISS of one of his team who has found

something.

The other PREDATOR holds a telescopic spear up for scrutiny. Skewered on the

end is a shriveled FORM with eight spindly legs and a segmented tail; it's

a FACEHUGGER, the first stage of the deadly ALIEN lifeform. BROKEN TUSK

HISSES a caution to his party; they respond by pulling spears and

elaborately-shaped swords. Several shoulder-mounted plasma cannons slide up

to firing position, tracking with their owners' helmets. Thus armed, they

move cautiously ahead...taking no chances. One helmeted PREDATOR pauses,

scanning the area.

PREDATOR-VISION. He switches through a variety of different views; infra-

red, ultra-violet, enhanced motion-tracking. Nothing.

He's so pre-occupied with this task, he totally fails to notice the skeletal

ALIEN loom up behind him, emerging from the biomechanical growth on the

floor. A barbed tail skewers the PREDATOR straight through the neck,

splashing luminous blood across his chestplate. A gargled DEATH-RATTLE

issues from his throat, the band of PREDATORS spinning around in time to see

him being dragged below the ground. The band of extraterrestrial hunters

have no time to come to his aid; they themselves are set upon by a half-

dozen ALIEN WARRIORS. The carnage is swift and terrifying, a blur of motion.

Steel blades and serrated biomechanical limbs scythe the air, alive with the

CRIES and HISSES of both adversaries. One PREDATOR is pinned against the

tunnel wall, his spear out of range. The ALIEN claws away his face mask,

and he finds himself dodging the ALIEN's toothed tongue, extended toward him

with pile-driver speed. He reaches down, grasping the 'smart-weapon' hanging

from his belt and brings it up in an arc that terminates at the ALIEN's

grinning face. Big mistake. The two are in such close proximity that the

ALIEN's acidic blood sprays across the PREDATOR's head. While their

technology seems to be resistant to it, their bodies aren't: the viscous

yellow liquid begins burning into the PREDATOR's skin. He kicks the skeletal

corpse away with a HIDEOUS PIERCING SCREAM, clawing at his seared face.

It all seems to be over as quickly as it began; there can be no question as

to who were the victors. The PREDATORS stand amidst a sea of biomechanical

limbs strewn around like a charnel house. As his companions begin to

carefully decapitate the ALIEN skulls, BROKEN TUSK steps over the corpses

to examine his fallen comrades. The first PREDATOR to be attacked was killed

instantly; he crosses to the other. What he finds causes him to react with

pity and disgust. His fallen comrade is only just alive; mandibles clicking

frailly, half his head burnt away. BROKEN TUSK watches the ailing PREDATOR

slide a steel blade from it's sheath and offer it to him. He takes it,

knowing what has to be done. Rolling the knife quickly over the back of his

hand - the sort of elaborate trick seasoned Green Berets perform - he plunges

it downward into the fallen hunter. This unpleasant task accomplished,

BROKEN TUSK straightens up and activates his wrist-computer. A dark shape

blots out the light coming from the entrance; a small PREDATOR shuttlecraft,

sleek and elegant. It hovers in the air with little more than a loud HUM,

and extends a ramp. The surviving PREDATORS leap aboard, carrying their

trophies with the reserved silence of men returning from combat.

One more thing need to be done. BROKEN TUSK bends down and flips a sequence

of keys on the dead PREDATOR's wrist. A countdown is displayed in some

unknown character-set, accompanied by a HIGH PITCHED BEEPING. He then turns

and swiftly boards the craft which takes smoothly to the air, it's undergear

retracting.

EXT. PLANET SURFACE - DAY

A white-hot fireball erupts out of the fissure, the result of the PREDATOR's

suicide-destruct mechanism. The shuttlecraft pulls quickly away,

disappearing into the clouds.

EXT. SPACE

A large spacecraft is suspended in orbit around the planet; the PREDATOR

Mothership. The shuttle heads swiftly towards it.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - DOCKING BAY

An airlock RUMBLES open and the PREDATORS file NOISILY into the Mothership's

docking bay. An OLD PREDATOR crouched against a strut takes time out from

carving something into a block of wood to briefly look up at them. Like the

PREDATORS themselves, the ship is a curious mixture of old and new. An

elaborate frieze written in alien script runs around the wall, with racks of

sophisticated equipment recessed into it. Hatches lead off to various parts

of the ship; we see BROKEN TUSK carry his ALIEN head off down one of them.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - VIEWING GALLERY

The gallery seems to be more mechanical than the rest of the ship. BROKEN

TUSK enters, pausing next to a kind of readout device: a cylindrical tube

containing a substance similar to mercury which constantly changes it's mass

into shapes and alien text. He peers over the protective railing.

WHAT HE SEES is magnificent: a captive QUEEN ALIEN, the nucleus of the ALIEN

society, fed by giant intravenous pipes. Each of it's limbs is tethered by

restraining clamps preventing any movement. To the rear, it's giant egg-sac

glows and throbs, suspended by a jury-rigged sling. A SCANNING MECHANISM

hangs above the EGGS the QUEEN lays, seemingly defying gravity. As each EGG

is scanned by a blue triangular beam - similar to a PREDATOR gun-sight - it

becomes translucent, giving us a view of the pulsing FACEHUGGER inside. This

done, a manipulator are carefully loads several eggs onto a pallet, which

then sinks into a hatchway in the floor. It's an assembly-line of almost

frightening mechanical efficiency.

EXT. SPACE

We see a pod ejected from the Mothership, rocketing away from the planet into

deep space. The inference is obvious; the PREDATORS are seeding worlds with

ALIENS to hunt.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - VIEWING GALLERY

The blue beam slides across one of the eggs, and suddenly changes to red,

BEEPING rapidly. BROKEN TUSK sees the flowing display-tank alter from a

rotating simulation of an ALIEN WARRIOR skull to a representation of a

QUEEN's head. The manipulator arm swiftly grasps the EGG in question and

moves it over to a protrusion on the floor. The causes the QUEEN to go

berserk, straining at her bonds and SHRIEKING ferociously. She's obviously

been through this before and knows what's about to happen. The protrusion

splits open, spilling out an intense white light: an energy-filled blast

furnace. The manipulator claw opens, the EGG drops in, and is no more.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - LIVING QUARTERS

An orange light plays across a wall of skulls, casting dark shadows into

long-empty orbs. BROKEN TUSK sprawls lizard-like across a flat slab of rock

in the center of the room, inspecting his formidable arsenal of weaponry.

Satisfied, he reaches out to run a finger across the jaw of his ALIEN trophy

in an almost-erotic gesture. He regards it for a long moment as if coming

to a decision of some kind, before finally getting to his feet.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - VIEWING GALLERY

The lights in the gallery are dimmer when BROKEN TUSK enters. He watches the

cherry-red beam of the gliding SCANNING MECHANISM lock onto one of the EGGS,

then runs his hand in sequence over the control board. The manipulator arm

swings over, seizing the egg and loading it onto a waiting pallet.

BROKEN TUSK points his finger at the QUEEN and makes a guttural CLICKING

SOUND from deep in his throat. The effect is not unlike that of a child

firing an imaginary gun. As if reading BROKEN TOOTH's thoughts, the QUEEN

lifts her crested head upwards and emits a venomous HISS of contempt.

EXT. SPACE

In CENTER FRAME, the planet sits still and green, awash with nebulous clouds.

A hulking METAL FORM ROLLS RIGHT-TO-LEFT across our view, sunlight glinting

from it's surface. It's a rectangular satellite-construction comprised of

hundreds of communication dishes in a latticework of steel tubing. We hear

FILTERED HUMAN VOICES O.S. Subspace chatter.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - MIDDAY

Imagine a world where every square mile is covered by a canopy of treetop

foliage, and you've just drawn yourself a picture of the planet Ryushi.

Nestled amongst this lush rainforest is the Yutani-Templin Communications

Relay Station. Several inverted-'U'-shaped suspension cranes painted bright

yellow look down over a collection of preassembled buildings and roadways

raised above the swamp on platforms, much like a truncated oil-rig. A

navigation beacon flashes intermittently from a tall gantry tower above,

while dominating the view is the sloping face of a communications array

several storeyes high. Off to one side of the platform is a gigantic many-

wheeled haulage vehicle. A flock of bird-like creatures fly past.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

We're in the dark womb of a split-level command center alive with clusters

of video readouts, somewhat reminiscent of a futuristic air-traffic control

tower. On the upper tier, a large circular holo-display currently projects

an image of the satellite we just saw. Thin trailers of paper flutter gently

in the current coming from the air conditioning ducks, though beads of sweat

still dot the foreheads of the people manning the consoled here. We move in

on CASSIE DOLLANDER and ROB PARSONS, two monitoring technicians occupying a

control bank. CASSIE listens carefully to something on her headset.

CASSIE

Ah, negative on that request commercial

freighter 'Nan-Shan'. I've already got

an inbound on that approach pending a

beacon-fix. Hold on my mark until I get

back with some confirmation. Rimward

Traffic Control out.

She thumbs a button and leans over to PARSONS.

CASSIE (CONT'D)

How's it looking?

PARSONS worriedly shakes his head.

PARSONS

That's the second time I ran it, and it

still reads the same.

CASSIE

Better tell the boss.

PARSONS pulls out a coin.

PARSONS

Toss you for it.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - EXECUTIVE OFFICE

HIROKO NOGUCHI is sweating heavily, a black forelock of hair falling across

her Oriental features. Her eyes flicker warily from side-to-side as she

holds the smooth length of the sword before her, trying to assess from where

the next attack will come. She doesn't have to wait long; two NINJA

SWORDSMEN drop to the floor in front of her, striking without hesitation.

She expertly avoid the blows, parrying relentlessly. A persistent TONE

begins to intrude O.S., like a telephone RINGING. She tries to ignore it,

but her concentration is clearly broken. A THIRD SWORDSMAN appears from out

of nowhere, his sword SWISHING towards her chest. The blade plunges deep

into her stomach, emerging from her back. She glances down in annoyed

disbelief.

HIROKO

Fuck! Holo off.

The SWORDSMEN immediately flicker and disappear. She sheathes the sword with

one precise movement and crosses the wooden paneled floor to her desk.

Mopping her face with a towel, she thumbs a stud. The RINGING TONE stops,

the corporate logo on her flat-screen desk panel replaced with a black girl's

face.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

Noguchi.

CASSIE

(O.S., onscreen)

Something just came up on Deep Space

Tracking.

HIROKO

What kind of 'something'?

CASSIE

(O.S., onscreen)

Easier if you come down and look.

HIROKO

I'm on my way.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - MIDDAY

An eight-wheeled articulated crawler rolls noisily through the rain, climbing

an access ramp leading from the swamp to the outpost's empty main-street. A

group of rhinos - brown two-horned quadrupeds indigenous to Ryushi -

restlessly stir in their corral at it's approach. The crawler's pneumatics

HISS gently as it comes to a halt, while somewhere off in the distance a dog

BARKS. DON KAMEN, a lean man in his forties. climbs down from the cab

mounted five feet above the ground and squints up at the main relay antenna.

He adjusts the cowboy hat on his head against the drizzle and crosses the

street towards one of the buildings, ignoring a Pepsi sign CREAKING in the

gentle breeze. A glass-paneled door SWISHES automatically open before him.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

KAMEN steps into the command center, nodding familiarly to the DUTY

PERSONNEL. A long-haired labrador rushes up to KAMEN, wagging it's tail.

Her name is BREWSTER. She's the base mascot. KAMEN reaches down and ruffles

it's fur. He climbs the few stairs to the monitoring tier, pulling the

French-plaited hair of ANNIE URIOSTE, an Italian systems-mechanic with her

hands buried in a disassembled console.

URIOSTE

You didn't wipe your feet coming in.

KAMEN

Well, it's okay. You didn't tell me it

was monsoon season going out.

PARSONS looks up at KAMEN and grins.

PARSONS

Hey, buenos dias, cowboy. When d'you

blow in?

KAMEN places his hat on PARSONS' head and THUMPS it down.

KAMEN

Just got back. Missed anything?

URIOSTE

(snorts)

Yeah. We're almost out of beer.

PARSONS

Ahh, don't pay any attention to Urioste.

She's still pissed that Noguchi wouldn't

let her go off on your hunting trip.

KAMEN pours himself a cup of coffee from a BUBBLING percolator.

KAMEN

Wasn't my trip, I just did the driving.

'Sides, freezing my butt off out in the

wet taking pot-shots at the local wildlife

isn't _my_ idea of a good time, either.

He sips gingerly from the cup of scalding liquid.

PARSONS

Where'd you leave them?

KAMEN

Camped out by the navi-beacon out on Linson's

Range. They're making their own way back

tomorrow.

CASSIE

MarsCo went belly-up on the Dow Jones.

KAMEN

Shit. When?

CASSIE

Yesterday. We got the Network feed from

Gateway; it was the top story on 'Sixty

Seconds'. Biggest market crash since

twenty-four.

KAMEN looks ill.

KAMEN

Fucking great. I invested some money in

them.

CASSIE

You win some, you loose some.

KAMEN

I lose 'em all, that's why I'm still out

here on this rock. Anything else you

wanna ruin my day with?

CASSIE

No, but I got something that might interest

you.

HIROKO enters, pulling on a leather jacket.

HIROKO

What've you got?

KAMEN nods to her and receives a quick smile for his trouble. They turn to

watch the display clear, replaced with a computer simulation of the

neighboring solar system.

CASSIE

A pair of incomings. They popped-up on

the medium-range about thirteen twenty-

four local time.

PARSONS

We figured on it being a magnetic anomaly,

but we ran a back-trace just to make sure.

CASSIE

Yeah. Turns out they dropped straight

out of hyperspace.

The simulation ZOOMS IN, revealing two unidentified objects heading towards

the planet in the center of the display. Computer notations accompany them.

CASSIE (CONT'D)

Curious thing is, the mass detector says

they're too small to carry a deep-space

drive.

HIROKO

Sounds like a couple of escape shuttles.

PARSONS

That's what we thought.

HIROKO

Have you got an updated Lloyds' Almanac

to cross-reff them through?

PARSONS

Done it already. Nothing matches.

CASSIE

And if you thought that was interesting,

watch this...

HIROKO watches the course of the two objects simultaneously change.

KAMEN

Jesus.

PARSONS

Yeah, exactly. Those're _pre-programmed_

course adjustments you're looking at.

KAMEN

Tactical nukes, maybe?

Everybody gives him a quick look, but nobody says anything. It's obviously

not an appealing thought.

HIROKO

Where're they headed?

CASSIE

We ran a trajectory simulation. If they

carry on along that path, it's possible

they'll make intra-orbital insertion.

There's a great exhalation of breath, and everyone swaps significant glances.

HIROKO seems worried. She scratches her forehead.

HIROKO

I don't know what to make of this. Get a

copy of the telemetry relayed back to

Antarctica Traffic Control. Better alert

the nearest RimCorp Base, too.

PARSONS nods, suddenly serious.

PARSONS

Fort Powell. What do we tell 'em?

HIROKO

Just give them the facts. They can leap

to their own conclusions.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - SWAMP - AFTERNOON

Down here in the swamp, the trunks of magnificent trees terminate in gnarled

roots and disappear into watery murk, much like a Louisiana bayou. A group

of attentive LEMUR-TYPE CREATURES suddenly bound for cover as a line of

bullets THUDS into the wood nearby. Seconds later, a loud HUMMING NOISE

intrudes O.S. and a pair of manta-ray-shaped hover-bikes with sleek lines and

garnish decals SLAMS into FRAME suspended two feet above the mire, their

powerful turbines kicking-up a swirl of spray. The two BIKERS skid to a

halt and watch the CREATURES scatter. ACKLAND and YORK - men who on Earth

might be called "good 'ol boys" - are both riding one-handed; powerful hi-

tech rifles gripped in the other.

YORK

(yelling)

You missed 'em, Ackland!

ACKLAND

Little fuckers move too fast. Let's do a

sweep and catch 'em on the other side.

YORK nods his head, pulling his goggles down over his eyes. The two bikes

ROAR off in pursuit.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - ENCAMPMENT - AFTERNOON

Up on a mud-bank, at the base of a sturdy gantry tower with two blinking blue

lights atop it, stands the camp. It looks a little like a Bedouin bivouac,

but up-close we can see the techno-fitted details. A hard-featured woman

seated next to a solid-fuel burner sips from a mug, while her Vietnamese

counterpart is manually loading large-caliber bullets into a belt-feed. They

watch as ACKLAND and YORK roar past WHOOPING. MINH scrambles out of the way

as a beer can lobbed by YORK CLATTERS to the ground near him.

MINH

Crazy idiots.

BEAUVAIS cups her drink with both hands, assessing him.

BEAUVAIS

Ahhh, they're just letting off some steam;

don't let 'em get to you. Ackland and York

aren't such bad guys when you get to know

'em. Just a couple of weekend warriors...

She peers curiously at the clunky cartridges MINH's thumbing into the belt

feed. On the ground next to him is a widebore weapon on an over-the-shoulder

guidance mechanism.

BEAUVAIS (CONT'D)

Nice howitzer you've got there.

MINH

Thanks.

BEAUVAIS

Good argument for gun-control. What are

you going after, rhino?

MINH

Nah. I just wanna squeeze off a few

rounds. 'Sides, they tagged the rhinos

for the migration project, so they're

protected. They'll dock you a month's

pay for just _mentioning_ it.

He peers into the belt and blows out some dirt.

MINH (CONT'D)

Sure wish there was something on this

planet with a bit of fight in it, through.

EXT. DEEP SPACE

Against a sea of stars, a small metal shape HURTLES towards us, followed

moments later by it's identical twin.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - BIG BERTHA - AFTERNOON

A strand of HIROKO's hair falls forward into her face, slick with rain. She

brushes up at the miserable weather. She and KAMEN are standing on one of

the twelve-feet-in-diameter wheels of the gargantuan haulage vehicle we saw

outside the base earlier. Up on the side of the cab is painted a Nordic

Valkyrie with an impressive bustline, next to which is the legend 'BIG

BERTHA'. Two mechanics, JAN GUTTIEREZ and KEVIN DILLER, watch KAMEN point

something out to HIROKO from the vantage point of KAMEN's crawler parked in

the swamp nearby.

KAMEN

See that sheathing on the suspension?

Eaten away. Same thing with the pumps

on the base air purifiers. The algae

out here just isn't good on these new

plastics.

HIROKO

We haven't used Big Bertha since we

relocated the generator module. That was

_four months ago_. I can't ask for them

to keep bringing spares in on the shuttle,

it's already costing too much as it is.

KAMEN shrugs.

KAMEN

If you want these things kept in working

condition, that's the only choice you've

got.

DILLER leans in to murmur quietly to GUTTIEREZ.

DILLER

Maybe she wouldn't be so tetchy if she

got laid every once-in-a-while.

GUTTIEREZ

You offering?

A buzzer inside the crawler goes OFF. DILLER gets up to answer.

DILLER

Nah. Freeze my dick off.

HIROKO shakes her head dubiously at KAMEN's comment.

HIROKO

I don't know. I think we'll have to run

it on a rota; one month down, one month

operational.

DILLER leans out of the crawler's cab and calls across.

DILLER

Miss Noguchi! You're wanted in admin.

HIROKO

Thanks.

She turns back to KAMEN.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

Let me sort this out and we'll go over

the logistics in my office.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

HIROKO peers at the display with undisguised concern. A sense of urgency

buzzes around the room.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

When?

CASSIE

Seven minutes ago, the third course change

in an hour. Those incomings are going to

skim past the communications platform just

a little too close for comfort.

HIROKO

Can we move it to a different orbit in

time?

PARSONS looks up from his board in harassment.

PARSONS

Already working on it.

HIROKO

Get off an all-bands emergency distress,

and put it on a repeater.

She meets KAMEN's eyes.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

Looks like you were right. Someone's

lobbed a pair of smart-missiles at us.

KAMEN shakes his head.

KAMEN

Relay station like us out in the middle

of the boonies; why bother? All you're

gonna do is punch a temporary hole in the

traffic control net. That'd be small

potatoes even for terrorists.

PARSONS and CASSIE are all-business at the control board.

PARSONS

Can you patch me a temporary loop on

DCMGS?

CASSIE

Okay, give me the numbers.

She flips a switch. A nearby screen changes to display an orbital path

sketched out in rectangular neon blocks.

EXT. SPACE

A cluster of thruster rockets on one corner of the relay frame ignites, and

the darkened bulk of the satellite begins to move.

EXT. DEEP SPACE

The two pods ROAR towards us at immense speed.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

The two blips on the holo-board representing the pods make a marked

alteration in their course.

PARSONS

They've changed their heading again.

HIROKO

Compensate!

PARSONS

Punch me in a solution for their delta-

vee.

CASSIE

What do you need?

PARSONS

A three-second burn to port, on my mark.

CASSIE

It's on the board.

EXT. SPACE

Framed against the green backdrop of Ryushi, the PREDATOR pods rocket towards

the communications platform.

CASSIE

Picking up velocity.

HIROKO

Match it!

A bead of sweat trickles down PARSONS' temple.

PARSONS

Not gonna make it...

EXT. DEEP SPACE

The pod speeds THUNDEROUSLY into CAMERA, blotting out our view.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

One of the two blips on the holo-display vanishes, and three-quarters of the

monitors abruptly turn to static. PARSONS curses.

PARSONS

Goddammit!

He pulls off his headset with weary resignation.

PARSONS (CONT'D)

We've lost the downlink. It's gone.

EXT. SPACE

The mass of the satellite tumbles end-over-end. A gaping rent is torn

through it; something sparks and flashes within. The second pod accelerates

off curving into the atmosphere.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - RIVERBANK - DUSK

A SONIC THUNDERCRACK BOOMS overhead; YORK looks up in time to see an object

sear across the dusk sky. He pulls his bike to a stationary hover.

YORK

Shit! What's that?

ACKLAND has already dismounted as he watches the fireball hurtle to the

ground. A BOOMING ECHO resonates across the forest, followed by a few

plaintive SCREECHES from the planet's indigenous lifeforms, before settling

back into an eerie silence.

ACKLAND

Meteor, I guess.

He raises a set of compact field binoculars to his face. THROUGH THEM he

sees a thin haze of smoke rising from the treetops.

ACKLAND

D'you feel any impact shock?

YORK

(uncertain)

Not really.

He lowers the binoculars and frowns.

ACKLAND

Me either. I tell you, I used to be with

a mining outfit on Callisto, and when

something like that hits... believe me,

you know about it.

YORK

Do you wanna head back and call it in?

ACKLAND

(hesitant)

I dunno... I dunno. Something about this

feels funny.

He looks across at the plume of smoke snaking off into the sky.

ACKLAND (CONT'D)

That is the _damndest_ impact I've ever

saw...

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - IMPACT SIGHT - DUSK

The earth around the crater-rim is charred and cracked; some of the

surrounding brush still aflame. A SCORPION scuttles inquisitively to the

edge of the pit and stops, it's stinger twitching hesitantly. We HEAR a LOW

HUM, and the SOUND of METAL-ON-METAL. Before the SCORPION can decide what to

do, it's fate is sealed. A large METAL CLAW comes down, crushing it in an

instant. A SECOND CLAW emerges, and a MACHINE heaves itself out of the hole,

it's surface smoking with heat. It pauses for a BEAT like some giant

tarantula seeking prey, them moves purposely outwards about twenty yards

before halting. A hatch on the underside opens, and a complex delivery

mechanism extends. After a moment there's a LOW CLUNK, and the mechanism

retracts. In it's place is an ALIEN EGG. The MACHINE crawls off, vanishing

into the long reeds.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - NIGHT

HIROKO sits on the front wheel of KAMEN's crawler, her knees pulled up to her

chin, staring off into a thin mist that makes the night impenetrable. Behind

and above, the lights of the cranes and the communications array strobe on-

and-off. Above the bar on the main street is a flicking neon sign erected

after-the-fact, emblazoned with the words "TORCHY'S". The MUFFLED SOUNDS of

MERRY-MAKING from within become momentarily louder, and HIROKO glances over

to see it's pressure-door CRASH back, disgorging several drunken people.

KAMEN follows them through. He spots HIROKO and heads over.

KAMEN

Hey, boss. Wondered where you'd gotten

to.

HIROKO

I just...wanted to be put on my own for a

while. Clear my head.

KAMEN

Didn't feel like whoopin' it up with the

rest of us blue collars, huh?

She shakes her head, and manages a smile.

HIROKO

I've got a lot of thinking to do. 'Sides,

the room was getting too crowded for me.

KAMEN

Not too much of the socializing type, then?

HIROKO

No, not really. More sort of the

'claustrophobic' type.

KAMEN LAUGHS. HIROKO is straight-faced.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

I'm serious. That's why I switched from

orbiting to planetary installations.

KAMEN

Is that a fact.

HIROKO

Uh-huh. Used to get it pretty bad. I'd

wake up in a cold sweat and want to claw

open a vacuum hatch.

KAMEN

How long you been out here for now,

anyway? Three months?

HIROKO

Four.

KAMEN

And before that?

HIROKO

Six month stint on Datus.

KAMEN

Only six?

HIROKO

What is this? 'Twenty Questions'?

KAMEN

Just curious. There's a lot of talk

goes around.

HIROKO shrugs. Thinks about it.

HIROKO

I don't know. I guess I've just never

found anywhere I really felt at home.

She hugs her knees again, and suddenly looks a whole lot more at ease. KAMEN

spots a square glass balanced on one of the tire's wide treads.

KAMEN

What is that?

HIROKO

Real man' drink.

She offers the glass to him. He takes it and sniff cautiously.

KAMEN

Seltzer?

HIROKO

Want some?

KAMEN hands the glass back and raises his own bottle.

KAMEN

I'll stick with my own.

He sits with her and stares into the darkness.

HIROKO

Any luck raising Ackland's party?

KAMEN

Nothing. With the satellite down, we

can't transmit over the mountain range.

He's most likely sitting there wondering

why he can't raise _us_.

HIROKO

First light, we'll take a chopper out there

and tell them to head back.

KAMEN

'We'? You wanna fly out there with me?

HIROKO

Sure. Do me good to stretch my legs.

HIROKO takes a sip of her drink, her brow furrowing.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

This whole thing's got me spooked.

KAMEN hops off the wheel.

KAMEN

Don't worry about it. If the Network goes

by the book, like everyone figures they

will, a Marine gunboat from Powell'll

drop-by for a look-see in four-or-five

days. They can go poke around out there

and find whatever it was hit us. All we've

gotta do is sit tight.

HIROKO

Do you think _Ackland'll_ sit tight?

KAMEN

There'd have to be a helluva good reason

for him not to.

EXT. SPACE

A peculiar blue scanning beam plays over the rotating mass of the

incapacitated satellite, examining every section. it comes to the rent torn

through it, and pauses.

FROM THE SCANNER'S P.O.V., we see the structure of the satellite made up from

a series of blue geodesic shapes. The damage registers as a cold, black

mass.

The beam switches off and the hovering PREDATOR shuttle turns smoothly on

it's axis, thrusting towards the planet.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - IMPACT SITE - NIGHT

Shafts of torch-light fan out above the thick foliage in the darkness. YORK

and ACKLAND wade through the chin-high reeds, cursing.

ACKLAND

Found anything?

YORK looks down at his data-stick, a handheld torch with a multi-purpose

readout screen.

YORK

Nada. No radiation...no movement...

nothing.

ACKLAND

Well, just keep looking. It's gotta be...

whoa, Jesus!

ACKLAND falls toward onto something, and YORK comes running.

YORK

What is it?

ACKLAND steadies himself, and the two men shine their torches at the

rhythmically-breathing SHAPE on the ground.

ACKLAND

It's a rhino.

YORK

Is it dead?

ACKLAND

No, it's still breathing. Kinda clammy

though. Are you sure your stick's not

broken.

YORK looks at the data-stick again.

YORK

Yeah, it's fine.

ACKLAND

God, I hope that thing didn't bring down

a virus.

YORK

I told you we...what's that?

Their torch beams PAN ACROSS a three-foot high ovular shape.

ACKLAND

Looks like a spore. Fungus of some kind,

maybe?

YORK

Bloody big if it is. Top's open.

ACKLAND steps cautiously forward to shine his torch inside.

YORK (CONT'D)

Careful...

There's nothing inside. ACKLAND looks disappointed.

ACKLAND

It's hollow. Think our rhino must've ate

something that didn't agree with him.

A heavy gust of air blows unexpectedly across the clearing with a BANSHEE

HOWL, ruffling their hair.

YORK

Let's get back and call this in.

ACKLAND

Wait a minute.

YORK reluctantly follows ACKLAND as he thrashes through the thinning foliage,

coming out at the rim of the impact crater. It's beginning to partially

collapse, water seeping in. YORK runs his beam over something at the bottom

of the shallow pit.

YORK

What is that...is that metal fragments?

ACKLAND's maybe getting a little nervous now.

ACKLAND

This is very fucking weird.

He sees the churned earth, and the muddy trail leading off into the broken

foliage.

ACKLAND (CONT'D)

It's like something came out of the

crater and went that way...

There's a TINY CLICK, and ACKLAND looks over to see YORK taking the safety

off his rifle. ACKLAND wordlessly unshoulders his too. They step around the

crater and warily follow the ragged path to...

YORK

Another one?

ACKLAND prods this SECOND EGG with his gun.

ACKLAND

Yeah. This's closed.

There's a CRACKLING NOISE, and the top of the EGG peels neatly open in four

sections. The two men jump back in alarm, and YORK LAUGHS nervously.

Something organic is pulsing inside. ACKLAND cranes his neck forward for a

better look...

There's an EXPLOSION of MOVEMENT. A spindly shape with a long segmented tail

launches itself jack-in-a-box-style at ACKLAND. It's a FACEHUGGER. ACKLAND

trips backwards, caught off-balance. His finger involuntarily squeezes the

trigger of his rifle as he falls. A volley of shots describe and arc and

light up the night with a PERCUSSIVE BOOM, and we...

CUT TO

...A SHORT DISTANCE ACROSS THE CLEARING. SOMETHING is watching them from the

trees; something with a heat-vision P.O.V. A PREDATOR. We see the flare of

ACKLAND's gunshots, then SNAP IN to see the multi-colored from of his body

toppling over, trailing a purplish FACEHUGGER, before we...

CUT BACK TO

...One of ACKLAND's bullets taking a meaty chunk out of YORK's thigh as he

races forward to help his friend. The HUGGER's tail is already around

ACKLAND's throat, it's fingers scrabbling for purchase. YORK pulls at one

set of digits, and manages to raise them for just an instant. What we see is

horrific; the look of terror on ACKLAND's face, and the questing tendril on

the HUGGER's underside trying to force it's way between ACKLAND's lips. In

a second, it's all over; the FACEHUGGER struggles free of YORK's grasp, and

clamps itself firmly on ACKLAND's face with a faint SUCKING SOUND. YORK

shivers, then uses his good leg to propel himself a few feet away. He

watches the hapless Teamster go rigid, then stop moving altogether.

YORK

Oh, God; oh, shit; oh, God.

The FACEHUGGER's tail slithers tighter around ACKLAND's neck; and as YORK

quickly retrieves his rifle, we...

CUT TO

A PREDATOR-VISION SHOT, watching the color-bloom of YORK dragging ACKLAND's

body away from the crater. It CLOSES IN on the FACEHUGGER, giving us a muted

X-ray-type VIEW of circulatory fluid pumping around the HUGGER and into

ACKLAND.

YORK's limping badly, a dark stain blossoming on his baggy fatigue trousers.

ACKLAND's not a small man, and the physical effort of hauling him through the

reeds makes him sweat profusely. There's movement on the ground, and YORK

sees why; one of the LEMURS has fallen victim to another FACEHUGGER, which

dwarfs it's small furry body. The HUGGER's fingers all ripple simultaneously

as it strengthens it's hold; the movement akin to somebody drumming their

fingers on a table-top.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - RIVER BANK - NIGHT

As YORK hauls ACKLAND onto one of the bikes, he hears a TICKING SOUND from

the trees, like an engine cooling on a warm summer's day. YORK clutches his

rifle and stares upward. There seems to be a VAGUE SHIMMERING FORM in the

bough of a tree. Although it might be a trick of the light, he isn't

sticking around to find out. YORK guns the bike to life and ROARS off above

the swamp.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - IMPACT SITE - NIGHT

PREDATOR-VISION. We're looking at the site in colours: the cold blue of

empty ALIEN EGGS, and the warm reds of just-breathing ANIMALS rendered inert

the FACEHUGGER parasites.

A group of PREDATORS appear in three-dimensional solidity, their camouflage

cloaks deactivated. The LEAD PREDATOR SPLASHES across to the exposed roots

of a tree and kneels down to examine an ANIMAL CORPSE curled up there. Most

of it has been madly mutilated by something erupting from _inside_ it's body.

The PREDATOR looks up and scans the swamp, ignoring the swarm of FLIES

buzzing in the air.

PREDATOR-VISION. This time, an oscillating line appears to the left of our

view, and a band sweeps quickly ACROSS the screen synchronous to us hearing

different levels of SOUND STATIC. This abruptly stops as the oscillating line

begins to moves in peaks and valleys. The PREDATOR is picking up radio

waves. A HUMAN VOICE; albeit grossly-distorted.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - ENCAMPMENT - NIGHT

We hear a RAPID BEEPING; movement-sensors set up on tripods to warn against

intruding animals. The sound brings BEAUVAIS out of her tent, bleary-eyed

and fumbling with her pistol. She's suddenly wide awake when she sees YORK's

hover-bike, lit by the sensors' flashing red strobe. It skids to a halt

against a mud-bank, sending up a spray of silt. YORK climbs off the bike and

stumbles, then starts to unfasten the straps holding ACKLAND's body.

BEAUVAIS

Jesus Christ! What happened?

YORK

Give me a hand with Ack.

She races over to help YORK ease ACKLAND up.

BEAUVAIS

How bad is...oh my God.

As ACKLAND is turned over, BEAUVIAS gets her first look at a FACEHUGGER.

She shies away, repulsed.

BEAUVAIS

What _is_ that?

YORK

Don't...uuh...don't know. Help me...

uuh...help me get him inside. Shit!

YORK grits his teeth, but the leg injury is too painful. He slumps slowly to

the floor.

BEAUVAIS

(yelling)

Minh! Minh, get out here!

INT. TENT - NIGHT

A portable neon light in the tent flickers, casting staccato bluish light

over ACKLAND and the FACEHUGGER. MINH and BEAUVAIS stare at it in horrified

fascination, while YORK pulls a tourniquet around his thigh. He winces.

BEAUVAIS

Have you tried prising it off?

YORK shakes his head.

YORK

I wanted to get him back here; get him

back to base.

MINH

Forget it. We lost the satellite link.

It's dead.

There's a long pause while everyone considers the options.

BEAUVAIS

We've got no option. _We're_ gonna have

to get it off.

MINH

Oh man...

YORK

Get real, Beauvais! That thing might chew

his fucking face off for all be know!

The motion sensor outside begins BEEPING again. MINH catches BEAUVAIS'

head-jerk.

BEAUVAIS

Minh...

MINH

Yep...

MINH hefts his 'howitzer' and leaves the tent. BEAUVAIS rounds on YORK,

continuing.

BEAUVAIS

How do you know it's not already?

YORK

I don't, but I think we should just wait

and let the Doc take a look...

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - ENCAMPMENT - NIGHT

MINH walks towards a line of flashing red strobes at the perimeter of the

camp, the barrel of his weapon pointing casually forward. He studies the

surrounding darkness. There's nothing out there. He shakes his head in

disgust.

MINH

(muttering)

Take a goddamn wrench to those things...

He thumbs a stud on the top of the 'howitzer'. There's a gentle WHINE, and

the HISS of hydraulic cylinders as the harness mechanism lifts the weapon up.

It darts quickly to-and-fro; a mechanical snake seeking a target. We see

MINH's hand in CLOSE UP. In addition to the firing trigger, there's also

a thumb button. He squeezes it...

The gun swings sharply around in a blinding movement, tracking something

automatically. There's a THUNDEROUS RUMBLE as it fires-off three shots in

rapid succession. Something that was only yards from MINH APPEARS and is

blown backwards to CRASH against a tree bole, a mass of luminous green liquid

and motion.

MINH (CONT'D)

(dumbstruck)

God.

MINH watches the helmeted PREDATOR fall face down into the water with a

SPLASH, then lie motionless. YORK and BEAUVAIS are out of the tent in an

instant.

PREDATOR-VISION. Three humans; in motion and 'hot'. The triangular

mechanism of the PREDATOR's gun locks onto MINH.

A BLAST of plasma-energy rips a gaping hole through MINH's body, spraying

blood across YORK. He topples dead to the ground, a look of pained surprise

on his face. BEAUVAIS is there immediately, racing across and scrabbling for

the 'howitzer'. She doesn't have time to take the harness off - she just

slides her finger through the trigger guard and starts squeezing off random

shots. The air shimmers as an unseen shape races at her. There's a loud

SWISH of sliding metal, and a telescopic spear appears out of thin air. It

SLAMS through BEAUVAIS' body, lifting her off the ground and impaling her

against a tree.

YORK watches in horror as BEAUVAIS' arms thrash around. A moment later her

struggles cease, and she'd dropped to the floor like a broken marionette.

There's a CRACKLING SOUND, and the hazy air around BEAUVAIS disappears. In

it's place is a PREDATOR, a luminous green patch trickling from a wound on

it's arm. It's head flicks around as it zeroes-in on YORK, the three red

dots of the PREDATOR's cannon following suit. YORK's quick though, already

up and running when the plasma bolt EXPLODES into the tree despite the pain

in his leg.

His options are limited. The hover-bike is nearby. He sprints for that and

his luck holds...the key's still in the ignition. He flips it. The engine

COUGHS and then dies. YORK looks up. The wounded PREDATOR bounds across the

clearing at frightened speed. YORK turns the key again, but the PREDATOR's

almost upon him. The creature WHIPS an ornately-shaped lance from it's back

and thrusts it...JUST AS THE ENGINE ROARS TO LIFE AND THE HOVER-BIKE RISES

FROM THE MUD! The blade slices into the bike's body and jams there, while

one of it's manta-wings SMACKS into the PREDATOR's jaw, sending it reeling

backwards into the swamp.

YORK swivels the bike on it's axis as another plasma-bolt rips into the rear,

melting away a sizable chunk of the bodywork. He sees a PREDATOR handing

from a tree, and the SHIMMERING of two more PREDATORS in their camouflage

nearby. He's not sticking around to argue though. YORK jams the throttle

hard and the bike shoots off into the bayou as more cannon-blasts blossom

around him.

The group of PREDATORS appear in the camp and cautiously survey the area.

The LEAD PREDATOR - the one with the distinctive armor - crosses to the tent

and opens the entry flap.

INT. TENT - NIGHT

PREDATOR-VISION. The extraterrestrial hunter scrutinizes the pulsing

FACEHUGGER on ACKLAND for a long moment, but takes no further action.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - ENCAMPMENT - NIGHT

We PAN SLOWLY ACROSS the deserted campsite. There isn't a soul there, human

or otherwise. The wind whistles eerily through the tree-boughs.

EXT. RAINFOREST AIRSPACE - DAWN

First light the next day, the sun rising on the horizon. A 'chopper' -

actually a twin-turbine heli-jet - flies in low above the veil of mist

hanging over the treetops.

INT. CHOPPER - DAWN

The cockpit is small, a two-seater with room for cargo in the back. KAMEN's

in the pilot seat, and HIROKO's riding shotgun. The controls moving by

themselves, on autopilot. A REPETITIVE BEEPING causes KAMEN to look up from

his magazine.

KAMEN'S P.O.V. From out of the window of the 'chopper', we see the twin blue

lights of the