Event Horizon

EXT. NEPTUNE - MODEL INTERPLANETARY SPACE

A vast field of stars. The gas giant Neptune slowly spins

into view. Brilliant and blue and cold against the void.

EXT. NEPTUNE - MODEL A BLACK SILHOUETTE

stands out against the planet, tiny against Neptune's scale.

EXT. NEPTUNE - MODEL DRIFT CLOSER

to discern the hard angles of a man-made craft. A ship. No

longer dwarfed by the planet, the scale of the vessel emerges:

a vast labyrinth of steel.

Its shadow swallows all in darkness.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. EVENT HORIZON - GRAVITY COUCH BAY

Shafts of Neptune's blue light enter through windows,

illuminate debris suspended in the zero-gravity environment:

shards of metal and glass.

MOVE from the Corridor into:

INT. EVENT HORIZON - BRIDGE

A cockpit for three. Neptune's blue light fills the chamber,

reflects off immobile particles in the air. Thick quartz

windows look down at Neptune. The cockpit lights are dark

but for one blinking red light.

An emergency beacon. Under-floor lights go on.

The strobe of the red light reveals a man floating at the

helm, slowly spinning. He is dead, perfectly preserved in

the cold vacuum of space. His eyes are empty black pits and

his mouth hangs open in a scream: DR. WILLIAM WEIR.

CUT TO:

INT. STUDIO APARTMENT

Weir opens his eyes, waking from dream. Sweat beads his

ascetic, etched face. Many years a scientist.

He turns on the bedside lamp, revealing a couple's apartment.

Decorated by a woman, but Weir is alone, unless you count

photographs. His nightstand looks like a shrine to a beautiful

woman.

Weir reaches to the stand. Picks up...

RECENT, UNFRAMED PHOTO

The woman appears thin and haggard and wears a small brave

smile.

Weir lies back on the bed. Looks at the photo. Presses it to

his forehead and closes his eyes. Trying to be with her,

just one more time.

WEIR:

(whisper)

I miss you.

INT. STUDIO APARTMENT - LATER

Weir stands in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving with a

straight-razor. The mirror reveals the bathtub just behind

him. DRIP, DRIP, DRIP...

Weir turns to stare at the bathtub. Water wells up at the

mouth of the tub's faucet, grows impossibly large, falls...

DRIP.

Weir turns back to his shaving.

INT. STUDIO APARTMENT - LATER

Weir stands in the kitchenette, staring at the microwave as

it cooks his breakfast.

INT. STUDIO APARTMENT - LATER

Weir stands before his window, chewing his oatmeal

mechanically, forcing himself to swallow. He reaches out to

open the blinds...

INT. STUDIO APARTMENT REVERSE ANGLE

as the blinds pull aside, revealing Weir, upside-down.

ROTATE AND PULL BACK...

EXT. DAYLIGHT STATION - MODEL TO REVEAL DAYLIGHT STATION

Weir's window is just one of many in a space station, a

delicate combination of cylindrical habitats and solar panels.

The structure hangs above the Earth in low orbit.

TITLE CARD:
DAYLIGHT SPACE STATION 08.23.2046

INT. STUDIO APARTMENT (BLINDS OPEN)

A videophone RINGS OS...

WEIR (V.O.)

This is Weir.

LYLE (V.O.)

(tinny)

Dr. Weir, Admiral Hollis would like

to see you as soon as possible.

CUT TO:

INT. DAYLIGHT - OFFICE

A military office, United States Aerospace Command seal

blazoned on the door. Views of the Earth. Admiral HOLLIS

sits behind his desk, a gruff career officer and a good man.

Weir enters, escorted by Hollis' adjutant, LYLE.

WEIR:

You wanted to see me, Admiral?

HOLLIS:

I apologize for the short notice,

Bill, but we've had something come

up that requires your immediate

attention. Lyle?

INT. HOLOGRAPHIC DISPLAY OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM

Lyle activates a holographic display of the solar system. A

box magnifies the eighth planet, Neptune, revealing a flashing

red dot in its orbit.

INT. DAYLIGHT OFFICE

LYLE:

At oh-three-hundred this morning,

TDRSS picked up an automated

navigation beacon broadcasting at

two minute intervals in Neptune orbit.

Lyle hands Weir a stack of hardcopy data. Weir reads the

data with growing excitement.

WEIR:

Incredible... These are the same

coordinates before the ship

disappeared... this, this happened?

This isn't some kind of hoax?

HOLLIS:

I wouldn't bring you here on a hoax.

Houston confirms the telemetry and

I.D. codes.

WEIR:

(excited)

It's the Event Horizon. She's come

back.

Hollis answers drily.

HOLLIS:

That ship was lost in deep space,

seven years ago. If the Titanic sailed

into New York harbor, I'd find it

more plausible.

(beat)

Houston wants Aerospace to send out

a search and rescue team, investigate

the source of the transmission. If

it really is the Event Horizon,

they'll attempt a salvage.

(beat)

We need you to prepare a detailed

briefing on the ship's systems for

the salvage crew...

WEIR:

A written briefing can't possibly

anticipate the variables on a mission

like this. I have to go with them.

Lyle looks at Weir, stunned by the request.

LYLE:

Dr. Weir, you have no experience

with salvage procedures.

WEIR:

I designed the ship's propulsion

system. I am the only person capable

of evaluating the performance of the

gravity drive. You can't send a Search

and Rescue team out there alone and

expect them to succeed. That would

be like... like sending an auto-

mechanic to work on the shuttle.

LYLE:

I can understand your desire to redeem

your reputation, Dr. Weir, but it

doesn't factor into this.

WEIR:

This is not about my reputation!

This is not about me at all!

(beat, passionate)

The Event Horizon was created for

one reason:
to go faster than light.

Imagine mankind exploring new solar

systems, colonizing new worlds. Seven

years ago, we didn't just lose the

ship and the crew. We lost the dream.

(beat, quiet and

relentless)

I have to go.

HOLLIS:

It's not that simple.

(off of Weir's

expression)

Lyle, play the recording for Dr.

Weir.

LYLE:

Navigation Control tried to hail the

vessel. This was the only response.

Lyle presses a button on Hollis' desk. An unholy GARBLE rips

from office speakers: STATIC and NOISE and INHUMAN VOICES.

Alone, each sound would raise the hair on your neck. Together,

they are unbearable.

The sound mercifully cuts off to STATIC. Lyle stops the tape.

Weir sits there, stunned.

LYLE:

Since the initial transmission,

there's been no further contact.

Just the beacon, every two minutes.

WEIR:

The crew? Could they still be alive?

LYLE:

The ship had life support systems

for eighteen months. They're been

gone seven years.

WEIR:

Someone sent that message. Admiral,

you have to put me on that ship.

Hollis stares at Weir, judging the man with his eyes.

HOLLIS:

It's against my better judgement,

but I'll run this by the Man

downstairs. You'll know my decision

by the end of the day.

WEIR:

Thank you.

HOLLIS:

Don't thank me, Bill. I'm not doing

you any favors.

Weir leaves. The door closes behind him.

LYLE:

You're not seriously considering

sending him?

HOLLIS:

You don't just dismiss Bill Weir.

The man held Oppenheimer's chair at

Princeton. If the Event Horizon had

worked, he would have gone down in

history as the greatest mind in

physics since Einstein.

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