Total Recall Page #19

The vault is an inferno. Ripley's capsule is sagging, melting.

DISSOLVE TO:

A scorched hypersleep capsule is wheeled in under brilliant lamps. The

waiting crisis team plug bio-monitor leads and a HISSING air-supply

line into sockets on the capsule. A technician with a small hand-held

power saw begins to cut away the heat-crazed canopy. Hands in surgical

gloves lift the canopy away.

Ripley lies curled in a tight fetal knot.

INT. ANCHORPOINT -- MEDLAB QUARANTINE

A small white room, a white bed surrounded by medical gear. Hicks, in

his

underwear, is hunched on the edge of the bed, impatiently smoking a

cigarette. The dressing on his head and shoulders have been changed.

Spence enters. She wears a biohazard envelope over coveralls, bubble-

goggles, a transparent filter-mask.

SPENCE (lightly) You know you can't smoke in here? HICKS Yes, ma'am.

He takes a puff.

SPENCE I'm Spence. I'm not a medic, I'm from the tissue culture lab. I

have to get a sample.

She opens a small white case and takes out a gleaming cylinder.

SPENCE (continuing) Uh, just stick your thumb in here.

Hicks gives her a hard look, inserts his thumb; she touches a stud --

SNIK! -- he winces, look ruefully at his thumb.

SPENCE (continuing) Sorry. (putting the tissue- sampler away) You're

the last one...

HICKS (grabs her wrist) The others. Ripley, Newt -- they came through

okay?

SPENCE Who's Newt?

HICKS The kid.

SPENCE Rebecca. Rebecca's fine.

HICKS Ripley?

SPENCE (hesitates) Ripley's fine, Hicks.

HICKS Bishop. Where's Bishop?

SPENCE (puzzled) Bishop?

HICKS The android.

SPENCE (carefully, worried that she's gotten in over her head) There

were three of you. Three that I know of, anyway. Maybe you should try

to sleep now. You want the nurse? They can give you something...

HICKS (leaning forward, still gripping Spence's wrists) Why haven't I

been debriefed? Where's the brass?

SPENCE All I know is, we've all been sleeping short hours since your

ship came in, soldier.

A CRASH from the corridor, a pained BELLOW, and Newt scuttles in,

wearing a hospital gown. She backs into a corner as a large ORDERLY

rushes in, clutching his right hand. Like Spence, he wears biohazard

gear.

ORDERLY Goddamn it! She bit me!

He starts for Newt. Hicks comes off the bed like he's mounted on

springs, hand cocked for a trained blow. The Orderly backs off.

NEWT (near hysteria) Where's Ripley? Where is she?

HICKS (straightens out of hand- to-hand crouch without losing any of

the threat) She's asking you a question.

ORDERLY You looking to get yourself sedated, Corporal?

NEWT Where is she?

HICKS Now I'm asking you the question...

Spence yanks her mask down in a reflexive, very human gesture. Move

slowly toward Newt, extending her hand.

SPENCE Rebecca... Newt. Honey. It's okay. Ripley's going to be okay.

C'mon now, I'll take you, you can see her...

ORDERLY Spence, there's no way --

He moves to stop them, but Hicks takes a very deliberate step forward.

INT. MEDLAB -- ANOTHER ROOM

Ripley lies in a coma, monitored by assorted white consoles. Her

forehead is taped with half a dozen small electrodes. Newt,

expressionless, walks slowly to the bedside as Hicks and Spence look

on.

SPENCE She's sleeping. (she and Hicks exchange glances) Sometimes

people need to sleep... To get over things...

Newt looks up at a monitor that display's Ripley's EEG. Watches the

jitter of peaks and valleys.

NEWT Is Ripley dreaming?

SPENCE I don't know honey.

NEWT It's better not to.

EXT. RODINA, THE U.P.P. STATION -- VARIOUS ANGLES

Smaller than Anchorpoint.

INT. RODINA - CYBERNETICS LAB

CLOSE on Bishop. He stares straight ahead, the corner of his mouth

twitching mechanically. PULL BACK. Bishop's torso is mounted in the

center of a large square platform; tubes are wires snake from his

ruined lower ribcage. The walls of the labs are lined with monitor

screens and printers.

Information is being reamed out of the android at high speed, printouts

of measurements, graphs, formulas. COLONEL-DOCTOR SUSLOV is beside the

Vietnamese Commando, who wears a sleeveless fatigue-blouse revealing

regimental tattoos: a yin-yang, hashmarks, an ID marker like a

supermarket bar-code. They watch as a graphics program generates a

detailed anatomical drawing of a face-hugger on a large monitor. She

says something short and emphatic in Vietnamese, repeats it: yes.

SUSLOV And this?

He taps a keypad and the face-hugger vanishes. The screen begins to

draft an Alien in side and frontal projections.

FIRST COMMANDO (eyes fixed on the screen in horror and fascination)

No...

On the slab, the robotic tic still works the corner of Bishop's mouth.

INT. SULACO -- CARGO LOCK

Two TECHNICIANS in biohazard gear squat on either side of Bishop's

legs. An electronic microscope has been set up on a low tripod. A

small monitor displays magnified skin and a few dark gobules. One

Technician extracts an ultra-fine probe from its sterile package and

leans forward.

TECH WITH PROBE You getting tape of this, Miller?

SECOND TECH You bet your ass. Orders.

TECH WITH PROBE That's good because I'd swear I just saw a piece of

this sh*t move...On the monitor, the tip of the probe trembles,

brushes one of the globules. The Second Tech takes it, inserts it in a

plastic tube, seals the tube in a small metal canisters, and writes

#17 on the side in red grease pen.

SECOND TECH Since when do androids get diseases?

TECH WITH PROBE I dunno. Sure looks like something got to this poor

bastard...

INT. ROSETTI'S OFFICE CUBICLE

COLONEL ROSETTI, Colonial Marines, is Anchorpoint's head of military

operations. His office is furnished in the best futuro-Pentagon style:

imitation rosewood, division insignia plaques, a desktop model of the

drop ships from "Aliens."

Rosetti glances up from his monitor as his SECRETARY enters, a young

woman in semi-dress Marine uniform.

SECRETARY (hands him a stiff red plastic envelope) Welles and Fox,

Colonel. Military Sciences, Weapons Division.

Rosetti eyes the envelope with evident distaste, scrawls his signature

in the required box before opening it, removes documents, and the

empty envelope back.

ROSETTI Show them in.

Secretary exits.

ROSETTI'S POV -- CLOSEUP

on two plastic microfiche cards, each with front and side views of Fox

and Welles, retinal I.D. images, scaled-down fingerprints, etc. Stamped

"MILISCI, WEAPONS DIV."

FOX (O.S.) Kevin Fox, Colonel.

ROSETTI'S POV -- FOX

is tanned, athletic, hyperconfident, his smile a heart-less display of

state- of-the-art enamel-bonding techniques. WELLES is just behind him.

WELLES Susan Welles.

Same spa-tuned look, same expensive casualwear.

ROSETTI (flatly, with no other effort at greeting) Welcome to

Anchorpoint.

Fox and Welles seat themselves without waiting to be asked.

FOX We're impressed, Colonel. Susan and I are definitely impressed.

WELLES The videos don't really give you an idea of the scale, do they?

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