Total Recall Page #34

Hicks looks down at his watch. 2146 HOURS. If Bishop's managed to set

the fusion package to blow at 2200 hours -- they don't have a hope in

hell.

But why spoil it for Spence?

HICKS Let's go for it.

Spence hauls on the red airline-style inset handle of the emergency

airlock. The handle flips down and the hatch pivots smoothly open, a

light inside goes on, and the eternal synthi-voice announces:

ANNONCEMENT This is a five-man emergency atmosphere lock, exit to Hull

Sector Three-oh-eight, equipped with five Mark Twelve emergency suits.

Each Mark Twelve suit is charged with a two-hour air supply and is

equipped with automatic radar beacon, inter-suit radio, and magnetic

sole plates. It you should experience difficulty with either the O-

rings of the velcro strips, please activate the secondary program for

additional advice.

JACKSON There's six of us...

Space suits swings from a rack, each helmet a different color.

Rosetti's pressed up close behind her, eyes fixed on the suits.

JACKSON (continuing) F*** off, Rosetti; anybody stays, it's you

LAB TECH (O.S.) Light, quick! Something's...

The Lab Tech is backing away from Tatsumi, who lies on his back on the

carpeted deck, mouth gaping, eyes showing whites. A tearing SOUND as

Hicksspotlights Tatsumi's bandaged leg -- where the dressing is

bulging, moving, seeping yellow fluid. A new-model chest-buster flails

its way out of the wound and shuttles into the shadows beneath a

chair. Twin red spots appear on Tatsumi's white shirt; two more of the

things rip their way out through his stomach as he arches backwards,

groaning -- the groan cut off as a fourth chest-burster pops from his

mouth...

Jackson brings her pistol up with both hands, arms locked, and SHOOTS

Tatsumi in the head.

HICKS Get in the lock! Suit up!

INT. EMERGENCY LOCK

Hicks pulls the inner door shut. The lock is white, bright, a very

tight fit for the five of them. The Lab Tech reaches for one of the

hanging suits, yells as a blood-slick chest-burster loses its grip and

tumbles out of the suit's open front.

LAB TECH Aaaaah!

Hicks shoulders the door -- just a crack; it doesn't want to open -- as

Rosetti grabs a helmet and swings it underhand, knocking the little

horror out of the lock. Hicks gets the door shut again.

Spence is shuddering. Rosetti is putting the helmet on, reaching for

his suit.

SPENCE J-jesus, Rosetti... How'd you do that?

ROSETTI (beat) I used to be a soldier

They hurriedly strip to their underwear and struggle into space suits.

Rosetti has the yellow helmet, Hicks red, Spence blue, Jackson green,

and Lab Tech orange.

Spence is sealing up her space suit over freckles and a military-issue

bra; Hicks sealing his over dog tags and his acid-scarred chest.

ANNOUNCEMENT Please be seated. Fasten lapbelts.

Narrow ledges on either side of the lock. The five sit, step in. Spence

and the Lab Tech closest to the outer door. Hicks and Jackson are

opposite them.

ROSETTI (filter; suit radio; turning his helmet to face Spence) You're

right, Spence. I should have tried to stop them. It would have done no

good, of course, but I should have tried...

SPENCE (filter; suit radio) When we get back, there'll be a board of

inquiry. You can tell them, Colonel, tell them what happened. Help them

find the ones who were responsible...

ANNOUNCEMENT Ten-second warning. Activating outer hatch.

Rosetti's helmet turns slowly toward her. Through his faceplate bubble,

the canceled eyes and blood-streaked drool of the Change...

JACKSON (filter; suit radio) He gone! Jeeees-us!

As blood wells up into Rosetti's helmet, filling it completely, and

something dark begins to strike the inner surface of his faceplate,

violently, again and again. The space suit hunches through inhuman

postures --

As the outer hatch pivots out on hydraulics, the vacuum sucking small

loose objects out into the void.

The new beast in Rosetti's suit snaps the heavy nylon lapbelt and

lunges at Spence.

HER POV:

as the blood-bubble strikes her faceplate, the fanged tongue working

like a piledriver, starting to split the tough plastic of Rosetti's

faceplate -- tiny bubbles of blood along the first hairline crack.

ANGLE:

The Lab Tech unfastens his lapbelt and grapples with the suited beast,

pulling it off Spence.

Hicks is wrestling with his pulse-rifle, pinned to the bench by the

struggle.

The suit radios are filled with the beast's thick gurgling ROAR. As it

turns on the Lab Tech, flings him out through the open hatch, and

bounds after him.

EXT. HULL -- AIRLOCK

Vacuum. Zero gravity.

The thing in Rosetti's suit catches the Lab Tech in mid-tumble, its

gloved hands spread like talons, grips the Lab Tech's helmet and

collar-joint in either hand, and rips his helmet off. Air explodes

from the neck of his suit, lifting his air in a three-second gale that

freezes instantly, becoming a small cloud of ice crystal. The Lab

Tech's eyes are frozen marbles. He goes cartwheeling slowly across the

hull as the beast grabs a protruding strut and spins to dace the

airlock with a terrible balletic grace.

Hicks is in the hatchway. He raises. the pulse-rifle, pulls the

trigger. The ammo-counter flashes 00, empty. Jackson reaches past him

with a fresh magazine. Hicks slaps it into the gun as the beast

launches itself toward him from the strut. He FIRES. The space suit

EXPLODES in a cloud of blood and acid.

Hicks bounces awkwardly out over the rim of the hatch, followed by

Jackson and Spence.

Beat. Anchorpoint's hull stretches away to its own horizon, al flat

gray expanse of broken by various structures. The body of the Lab Tech

is tumbling slowly out into space.

SPENCE (filter; suit radio; looking after the vanishing Lab Tech) I

never even knew his name... Hicks... Hicks, are we gonna make it?

Hick's gloved hands is closed around something small. He open it, looks

down. His watch. 2159 HOURS.

Hicks looks into her eyes as if he sees her for the first time. HICKS

(filter; suit radio) Make it? Yeah... Sure we make it.

He gives her a desperate grin.

His gloved hand, still holding the watch, takes her.

SOUND of the watch's alarm: 2200 HOURS.

Hicks' eyes are shut tight.

Nothing happens.

SPENCE (filter; suit radio) Hicks? Hicks, are you okay? What is it?

He opens his eyes. Looks at her. Releases her hand.

EXTREME CLOSEUP ON WATCH

2201 HOURS

ANGLE:

SPENCE (filter; suit radio) You okay?

Hicks flings with watch away. It tumbles out slowly, level with the

deck, keeps tumbling...

HICKS (filter; suit radio) Okay, Ops, which way to the boats?

JACKSON (filter; suit radio) Got me, man. The map was just for the

inside...

HICKS (filter; suit radio) See that radio mast? Let's try that way.

They set out in single-file across the hull, Hicks leading, Jackson

bringing up the rear. The radio mast, visible above the horizon, is the

tallest structure in sight, a steel thorn slanted toward the stars.

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