Sphere

EXT. STREET IN GEORGETOWN - MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

Fog hangs above the street, amongst the streetlamps. Apartment

buildings line the curb, it is very quiet. In one building, six floors

up, a bedroom light is on. WE SEE the silhouette of Norman's WIFE

looking out the window.

WIFE (O.S.)

What kind of a crash was it?

NORMAN (O.S.)

You seen my suitcase?

WIFE (O.S.)

There's nothing on the news about a

crash. Did he say what airline?

NORMAN (O.S.)

He didn't say much at all. Honey --

WIFE (O.S.)

In the closet. I don't understand,

Norman -- why would they call you?

NORMAN (O.S.)

Don't be so supportive, honey.

WIFE (O.S.)

Well, I can't imagine five years of

unemployment --

NORMAN (O.S.)

Four. Four years --

WIFE (O.S.)

Four years of unemployment would

look too good on a resume.

NORMAN (O.S.)

Keep watching the news. Are you

watching the news?

WIFE (O.S.)

How are you getting to the airport?

You need money for the bus?

A tinted-window black SEDAN travels down the street, pulls up in front

of the apartment building. A U.S. NAVY decal is on the door.

WIFE (O.S.)

There's a U.S. Navy car outside,

Norman.

NORMAN (O.S.)

What?

WIFE (O.S.)

Was it a military crash?

NORMAN (O.S.)

I don't know.

WIFE (O.S.)

They never used to send a Navy car.

CUT TO:

THE LOUD, HARD CHOPPING OF A HELICOPTER PROPELLER

EXT. PACIFIC OCEAN - DAY

Blinding sunlight, as the helicopter WHIPS by, speeding above the

Pacific Ocean.

INT. HELICOPTER - DAY

Norman, 53, disheveled, unshaven, sits in the back. He studies a

pamphlet in his hand: "AIRCRASH SURVIVAL: HOW TO COPE". The PILOT, in

the cockpit, turns to him.

PILOT:

What kinda work you in, Dr. Johnson?

Norman quickly stuffs the pamphlet into his dufflebag.

NORMAN:

I'm in psychology. Was. Still am

really, just been a while.

(beat)

I treat aircrash survivors.

PILOT:

Oh, so you're that Dr. Johnson.

NORMAN:

You've heard of me?

PILOT:

Well, everybody's been talking about

that report you wrote.

NORMAN:

What report?

PILOT:

Huh?

NORMAN:

What report?

PILOT:

You mean you don't know?

NORMAN:

Know what?

The pilot glances back at him again.

PILOT:

Must be another Johnson then. Been

flying so many scientists out here

-- can't keep everyone straight.

NORMAN:

Who's everyone?

PILOT:

Physicists, mathematicians,

geologists, you name it.

NORMAN:

Geologists? At a plane crash?

PILOT:

Strange, isn't it? In the middle of

the ocean no less.

NORMAN:

What the hell would a geologist be

doing at a plane crash?

Norman looks out the window and sees a group of ships circling in the

water.

EXT. SHIP DECK - DAY

The helicopter descends down onto the helipad, wind gusting about. A

young, female OFFICER -- holding her hat to her head -- rushes to

greet Norman, as he climbs out of the helicopter.

She looks down crudely at his shotty, nylon dufflebag.

OFFICER:

Any other bags, Dr. Johnson?

NORMAN:

Just that. Careful, it's heavy.

She lugs it over her shoulder, no problem.

OFFICER:

No other equipment? Scientific

instruments?

NORMAN:

No, they didn't say --

OFFICER:

This way, sir.

Norman follows the officer away from the helipad.

INT. SHIP

She leads Norman down a flight of stairs.

OFFICER:

Captain Barnes wants to see you

right away, sir.

NORMAN:

Captain who?

OFFICER:

Barnes. He's very eager to meet you.

Been calling us every half hour to

see if you're arrived.

NORMAN:

Really?

As they march down a hallway, Norman looks down at his wrinkled suit,

tries to smooth it out.

OFFICER:

By the way sir, I've read your

report. I think it's brilliant.

NORMAN:

What report?

OFFICER:

You mean they haven't told you yet?

NORMAN:

Told me what?

She staightens up, like she might have said too much.

OFFICER:

This way, sir.

INT. BARNES' OFFICE

CAPTAIN HAROLD BARNES, 60s, immaculate, proud of who he is, talks on

the phone.

BARNES:

How's he look?... Well, we can't all

be officers, can we?

(laughs)

They tell me he's brilliant.

EXT. BARNES' OFFICE

Norman stands in front of the door. The doorplate reads: PROJECT

COMMANDER - CAPTAIN HAROLD BARNES. Norman straightens his big-knotted

tie. Deep breath.

INT. BARNES' OFFICE

As the door opens, Barnes is putting down the phone, rises from his

desk, as Norman steps inside.

BARNES:

Dr. Norman Johnson. Welcome aboard.

They shake hands.

NORMAN:

Thank you, Colonel.

BARNES:

Captain.

NORMAN:

Captain. Right, forgive me.

Barnes looks at Norman, sizing him up. An akward silence.

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