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Dark Horse Prod. Presents ALIENS Vs.PREDATOR EXT. DEEP SPACEWe OPEN on TOTAL BLACKNESS, a sea of stars spread across the infinite depthsof space. As the TITLES ROLL, we notice that three of these specks seem tobe moving; one of them picking up acceleration and racing toward us. Ourperspective
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
