Alien Nation
                   ALIEN NATION

                Original Screenplay

                        by

                 Rockne S. O'Bannon


                     Rewrite

                        by

                   James Cameron


                    October 1987



FADE IN:

EXT.  MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE)

A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering
just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away.
The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert-
scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its
true shape and appearance indistinct.

The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then
pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles
and personnel.  Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted
scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the
armed infantry.  Everyone stares off at the same point on
the horizon.  Waiting.

The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it
moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a
second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards
behind the Army.  LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck
beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes
glued to the distant object.

The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked
local TV van, finds the object again in the distance,
zooms in, and waits, like everyone else.

Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box
CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS.

                    CRAIS
        That was the scene in California's
        Mojave Desert three years ago today
        -- the historic first view of the
        Newcomer ship upon its dramatic
        arrival.  As with the assassination
        of John Kennedy, who among us does
        not remember exactly where he was
        that October nineteenth morning,
        when news first broke: that people
        have landed... from another star.

We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal...


INT.  A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT

The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar.

The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly
ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and
ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores.

                    FEDORCHUK
        I remember where I was -- pissing
        off my balcony at the neighbor's
        dog!

Others laugh.

                    ALTEREZ
               (yells at Crais on TV)
        Get to the goddamn ball scores!

ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH
PROFESSOR comes up.  Her name and title appear across the
bottom of the screen.

                    CAL-TECH PROFESSOR
        From the time mankind first gazed up
        at the stars there had been
        speculation about a visit by people
        from "out there."  How ironic that
        when that first contact was made,
        the two hundred and sixty thousand
        occupants aboard the craft were as
        surprised as we were about their
        arrival.  That they awakened from
        frozen hibernation to find their
        malfunctioning autopilot had landed
        them here by mistake.

The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again.

                    CRAIS
        These "Newcomers," we soon learned,
        were a genetically-engineered race,
        adapted for hard labor in almost any
        environmental condition.  In effect,
        their ship was a slave ship...
        washed ashore on Earth with no way
        to get back to where they came
        from...

A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS
FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the
countertop.

Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside
a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN.

                    FRESNO HOUSEWIFE
        When the Newcomers were first let
        out of the ship, they were
        quarantined in a camp not ten miles
        from the town here.  You can imagine
        how the people around here felt
        about that.  But once they were
        releases from the camp and we got a
        chance to know them, we saw what
        nice, quiet people they really are...

WIDER

revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white
busboy's uniform.  His back is to us as he picks up two
trays from the counter.  The bartender is dwarfed by this
Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern.
Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy.

                    FEDORCHUK
        Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight?
        Workin' hard?

The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but
disturbingly alien.

                    FEDORCHUK
        You got your green card, buddy?  You
        didn't leave home without it?

The cops at the bar crack up.  Henry looks at Fedorchuk --
his eyes carrying no malice... or pain.  He merely blinks.

                                    CUT TO:

INT./ EXT.  SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT

An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY
very quickly.  We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d.
sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among
us now:

-- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables.

-- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of
books.

-- A city park where a number of alien families have
gathered to play some arcane alien game.

                    SYKES
        Jeez... they call that gang-bang a
        game...?

-- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien.

-- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light.
Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes'
head... and alien hand.  Sykes jumps.  It's a NEWCOMER
DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own
language.  In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of
milk.  We know immediately what he wants.  Sykes rolls
down the window.

                    SYKES
        Take a hike.

Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light
changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the
street.  Sykes grimaces at the smell.

                    SYKES
        Why's it have to be sour milk that
        these guys get wasted on?  What the
        hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or
        Thunderbird for chrissakes?
               (beat; disgusted)
        Slagtown.  Shit...

-- Aliens hanging around outside their homes.

-- Alien hookers plying their trade.

                    SYKES
        Hope their plumbing's the same.

                    TUGGLE
        It is.
               (and Sykes gives him
                a look)

-- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile.

-- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator
III".

-- An alien wig shop.

ANGLE

TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile
and HEAR:

                    TUGGLE (O.S.)
        So you gonna go, or you not gonna
        go?


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two
coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the
windshield.  A hand picks up one of the coffees and we
FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen
some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES.
Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE.
Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks.

                    SYKES
        How can I go?

                    TUGGLE
        Put on your wash-and-wear suit and
        your clip-on tie, have your landlady
        tie your shoes for you, and show up
        at the church.  Simple.
               (beat)
        Me and Carol are going.

                    SYKES
        What?

                    TUGGLE
        Hey, look -- we've known Kristin
        since... since she was conceived in
        that cabin up in Big Bear.
        Remember?  You and Edie banged the
        wall so hard, me and Carol were
        picking plaster out of our hair for
        a week...

                    SYKES
        Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see
        Kristin get married, okay?  But--

                    TUGGLE
        But you're bummed because your ex
        and her new husband are paying for
        the whole thing.

                    SYKES
        Shit, if Kristin had to get married
        where I could afford it, we'd be
        holding the reception at Buddy's
        Burgers.

Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off
mood.  Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop
radar.

                    SYKES
        Uh-oh... Check it out.

THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS
in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom-
and-pop mini-mart on the corner.  One of them wears dark
glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a
black vinyl raincoat.

                    SYKES
        Does that look at all suspicious to
        you?

                    TUGGLE
        Whatever gave you that idea?


EXT.  STREET - NIGHT

Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb
among other parked cars.


INT.  SEDAN - NIGHT

Sykes is already pulling his gun.  Tuggle quickly reaches
for the radio in the glovebox.

                    TUGGLE
        This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a
        possible two-eleven in progress at
        Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court
        and Alvarado.  Requesting backup.

Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing
out.

                    SYKES
        Let's do it, partner.

Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio
Dispatcher confirms the call.


EXT.  STREET - NIGHT

The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked
cars across the street from the mini-mart.  Through the
store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the
counter.  His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat
and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it
right at him.  The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun
and covers the door.

Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside.

                    SYKES
        You got your vest?

                    TUGGLE
        Of course.  Right in the trunk of
        the car.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, that's comforting.  Mine, too.

Through the store window the robbery continues in
pantomime.  Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun,
yelling orders in the alien language.  The Proprietor is
quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register.
The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands
in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear.  The
Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired.

Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the
street from the store entrance.

                    TUGGLE
        Watch the driver.  I'm going for a
        better angle on the door.

                    SYKES
        I got him.  Don't get pinned.

Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater-
corner across the intersection.

Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag
of cash, shove it in his coat pocket.  Bills fall out, but
he doesn't care.  Then, without warning, Kipling whips up
the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's
chest!  The Proprietor slams back against the shelves,
slides to the floor.  Kipling leans over the counter and
FIRES another round into the Proprietor.

                    SYKES
               (under his breath)
        Aw, shit.

Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the
shots.

The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a
few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots
Tuggle.  He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine
pistol on the seat next to him.


INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT

Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk.  They
spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire --
BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS.

A civilian car enters the intersection.  The engine is hit
by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the
intersection, steam rising from the radiator.


EXT.  STREET - NIGHT

Tuggle dives behind a lamp post.

The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine
pistol to fire at Tuggle.  Sykes sees this and opens fire
at the Driver.  The Driver turns and fires at Sykes.
Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is
sprayed with bullets.

A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between
Sykes and the Driver.  Once the truck is past, Sykes is
standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready.  He
rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver.

Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the
shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien.

                    SYKES
        Get outta there!

                    TUGGLE
        I can't!  Do you mind!

                    SYKES
        I'll cover you!  Get outta there!!

Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway
car, firing toward the store as he goes.

Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover.

Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp
post and runs to the stalled civilian car.  He slides
across the hood and drops behind the car for cover.
Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car
window.  His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver
who is still inside the car.

                    OLD MAN
        Can I get out now?

                    TUGGLE
        Move it!

Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in
the store.  As he considers his next move--

Tuggle fires at the two aliens.  They return fire and he
slides down to safety behind the car.  Or so he thinks.
Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by
the shotgun blasts.  He flinches as another blast hits the
car.  He looks over.  There's a big exit hole in the
fender beside him.  THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR.
Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder.

Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS
and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of
the car.  He has nowhere left to go and--

-- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely
in the chest throwing him back onto the street.

Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of
nine years blown away.

Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his
shotgun CLICKS empty.


INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT

Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit
of the store.  The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands.
The two of them run out the back.


EXT.  STREET - NIGHT

Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body.  One glance is
enough.  Nobody ever looked deader.

                    SYKES
        Aw shit, Tug, Jesus!  Goddamn it!

He stares, shocked and incredulous.  He can't find a way
to think or feel about this.  Then we see him going crazy
right before our eyes, the rage revving.  He takes off
toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching
in background.


INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT

Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken
glass, bangs through the exit.


EXT.  ALLEY - NIGHT

Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round
the corner at the far end of the alley.  He takes off,
quickly cranking up to full speed.


EXT.  BACK STREET - NIGHT

Sykes rounds the corner.  Doesn't see them anymore.  He
slows... moves along this street with some caution.  Lots
of shadows, lots of hiding places.  Sykes HEARS a NOISE,
looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge
billboard.  He cuts loose with the shotgun.  Sykes dives.
Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the
night.  Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the
crates.

Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now.  He drops it, swings
down off the fire escape, runs off.

Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him.


EXT.  TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT

Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street.
The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up
ahead.  Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open.


INT.  TUNNEL - NIGHT

The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves
through the mouth.  He tries to control his breathing so
he can hear.  The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing
along the asphalt.

Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS.  Rapid
footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING.  He can't tell from
which direction!  He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges
for him with an alien CRY.

It's the wired Raincoat alien.  Sykes gets his gun up just
in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times.  Raincoat
alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the
blasts.  Sykes approaches the body slowly.  With an
inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes
with outstretched arms.  Sykes jumps back, startled, and
FIRES twice more at the pale figure.  Raincoat goes down
and stays down.

Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment.  Then he HEARS
it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal.  Sykes
looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly
above!  Sykes goes down in a heap.  He's managed to hold
onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the
gun hand around.  Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming
the gun from Sykes' hand.  Sykes tries to get to his feet,
but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel.

A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background.

Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace.  As he
draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND
again.

SYKES' P.O.V.

Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look
at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist.  The
strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE.

ANGLE

The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching
SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings
onto the street heading this way.  Kipling sees this and
leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel.

ON SYKES

dazed, struggling to rise.  WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS
approaching.  Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused.

SYKES' P.O.V.

An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him.

ANGLE

Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his
weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien
face.  The alien, caught by surprise and off balance,
sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME.  Sykes is grabbed by a
human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again.

                    HUMAN COP
        Whoa, whoa... hold it.  Take it easy.
               (to alien on the
                ground)
        You okay?

Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus.  He looks at
the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet
away.  The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON.

                    JETSON
        I am all right.

He gets up.  A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose.

                    HUMAN COP
        I better call in.

He moves off.  Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat
alien's body.  Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might
retaliate in some way.  But Jetson simply steps past him
to kneel beside the dead alien.  He checks for a pulse on
the underside of the dead alien's upper arm.  Nothing.
Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain.  He
struggles to rise.  Jetson gets an arm around him to help
him up.

                    JETSON
        Your hand will require attention.

Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip.

                    SYKES
        Get the hell away from me!  I don't
        need your goddamn help.

He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself
against the tunnel wall.  Sykes leans there, the picture
of impotent rage and frustration.  Jetson looks at him,
with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit
when trying to understand human nature.


EXT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT

OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over
his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the
Coroner's wagon.

WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching.  The
Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD
black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of
them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some
alien).  He moves into:


INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT

The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs
out of the wall, photographing everything.  Several
UNIFORMED COPS mill around.  Sykes moves aimlessly around
the room like a stranger at a party.

The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange
rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from
her lips.  A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get
her away from the body, but can't get her to budge.

MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the
Raincoat alien dropped here.  NATUZZI, a mean-looking
veteran uniform cop is with him.

                    NATUZZI
        Looks like a standard combat pump-
        action.

                    MINKLER
        It is.

                    NATUZZI
        So what punched holes clear through
        that car out there?

Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box.
Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells.

                    MINKLER
        BRI Sabot slugs.  These puppies are
        nasty.  Two plastic sabots fall away
        in flight leaving a fifty-caliber
        slug going two thousand feet per
        second.  Tug might as well've been
        hiding behind a rosebush.

Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him.
He looks.  It's Sykes.

                    NATUZZI
        Pretty heavy artillery for knocking
        over a liquor store.

A new voice enters the conversation.

                    JETSON (O.S.)
        An identical round was used in the
        shooting of a Newcomer named
        Hubley, two days ago.

Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to
see the voice is Jetson's.

                    MINKLER
        Yeah?  So why the extra fire power?

                    JETSON
        Perhaps because even the larger
        caliber handguns aren't always
        effective against my people.

                    SYKES
               (mulls this, then)
        You saying there's some connection
        to this other homicide?

Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to
the Proprietor's Wife steps up.

                    FEMALE COP
        Hey, give me a hand with this woman,
        will ya Jetson?  We've got to get
        her to Division for her statement
        and she won't budge.

                    JETSON
               (to Sykes)
        Excuse me.

And he moves off with his partner.  Sykes calls after him,
but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't
turn.

                    SYKES
        So, you think there's a connection,
        or what?  Hey!

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

The slug-mobile pulls up.  A drained Sykes moves up the
walk to his front door.


INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT

Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place
decorated with negative taste.  It's obviously the maid's
decade off.

By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering
machine on his way into the kitchen.  The tape rewinds.
He opens the fridge.  Not much here.  Left-over take-out
pizza carton.  Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons.
Left-over take-out burger wrappers. 

The answering machine message begins -- he glances over
his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE.  During the
following, he reaches the fridge.  Brings out a milk
carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter.  Reaches
in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly.  Then
searches for a semi-clean glass.

                    KRISTIN'S VOICE
               (bouncy, bride-to-be
                happy)
        Hi, Daddy, it's me.  I'm over at
        Danny's parents' house... talking
        about Sunday.  I thought maybe you'd
        be home by now.  Anyway, uh, nothing
        really.  I just wanted to call and
        say I love you.  I love you, Daddy.
               (she giggles)
        Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that.
        Knowing you, you'll probably pull
        this tape out of your machine and
        save it -- in that drawer where you
        keep every card I ever gave you, and
        all of my old baby teeth... gross!
        Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape
        -- but I do love you, and I'll talk
        to you before Sunday.
               (beat)
        Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met
        Danny last week.
               (Sykes stiffens)
        Danny thought Tug was the greatest
        -- but, then, who doesn't?  Anyway,
        love you, talk to you soon.  'Bye.

The machine BEEPS and HISSES.  Sykes take the glass and
the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room,
switching off the answering machine as he goes.

Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of
the machine and tosses it into a drawer.

                                    FADE TO:

INT.  DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY

Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee.  He's slept about
four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with
Hagler.  He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk.

                    SYKES
        So what've you got on Tuggle's
        killers?

                    FEDORCHUK
        Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than
        ten hours.  Me and Alterez are on
        it, okay?

                    SYKES
        You don't have squat.

                    FEDORCHUK
        You ever try to make a case in
        Slagtown?  The list of Newcomer
        informants is about as long as the
        list of Mexican war heroes...

                    ALTEREZ
        Up yours.

                    FEDORCHUK
        ... Nobody talks to nobody down
        there.  Half of them don't speak
        English and the other half only when
        it suits them.  It's gonna take some
        time.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, I know it's gonna take time.
        Like until the Ice Capades opens in
        Hell, with you two on it.

Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN
WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the
squad room.

                    WARNER
        Nobody wanders off!  I got an
        announcement.  Get your asses back
        in here.

Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into
the room.  Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner
stands holding a sheet of paper.

                    WARNER
        I'll make this short.  This is a
        directive from Chief Evaner, who is
        acting on orders from the Mayor, who
        is under mandate from the Federal
        Bureau of Newcomer Relations.  As of
        nine o'clock this morning, one
        Newcomer uniform officer has been
        promoted to the rank of Detective,
        third grade.

The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This
is bullshit!", etc.

                    WARNER
        And we've got him, gentleman.
               (more groans)
        Volunteers for duty with the new
        detective should see me in my
        office... otherwise I will choose a
        volunteer myself.  That is all.

He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of
continued grumbling from the detectives.  Sykes, standing
to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass-
walled office.  Waiting inside are a balding man and an
alien in a grey suit.  Sykes reacts.  The alien in the
suit is Jetson.

The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers
something.

                    FEDORCHUK
        Unbelievable bullshit.

                    ALTEREZ
        How long has this Slag been on the
        force?  A year, max -- right?

                    DETECTIVE
        I don't know about the rest of you,
        but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit
        still for this.  I'm calling the
        union, pronto.

Others grumble.  "Yeah!".  Meanwhile, Sykes has decided
something.  He heads toward Warner's office.  Fedorchuk
sees this.

                    FEDORCHUK
        Where the hell is he going?


INT.  WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY

Sykes KNOCKS and enters.

                    WARNER
        Yeah, Sykes?

                    SYKES
        Captain.  I'd like to volunteer for
        duty with the new detective.

Warner is surprised.  He never expected Sykes.

                    WARNER
        ... All right.  Detective Sergeant
        Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson.

                    JETSON
        We have met.

Warner looks up, clocking this.  He looks at Sykes,
starting to smell something fishy.

The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands.

                    GOLDRUP
        Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office.
        Congratulations, gentlemen.

Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to.

                    WARNER
               (to Sykes)
        You are to have nothing to do with
        the investigation into Bill Tuggle's
        death.  You know that.  Leave that
        for Fedorchuk.

                    SYKES
               (nodding)
        Departmental policy.

                    WARNER
               (to Jetson)
        You?

                    JETSON
        Yes, sir.

                    WARNER
        Good.

                    SYKES
        There's another case I'd like to
        take.  A homicide -- a Newcomer
        named Hubley.

Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something.
Sykes avoids his look.

                    WARNER
        Granger and Pitts are already on it.

                    SYKES
        Granger and Pitts have one hell of a
        caseload... and I would have thought
        with Jetson here being the first
        Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's
        body being found over in the
        Newcomer community...

                    WARNER
        Don't tell me what to think.

                    GOLDRUP
        He's got a point.  That's the sort
        of thing we should be doing with
        this early advancement program...

Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally
sighs with resignation.  Sykes grins.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY

The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit.  Next
to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks
like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser.  They move past all
the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during:

                    SYKES
        ... and we work my hours.  I'll do
        the driving, you do the paperwork.
        You gotta learn it so you might as
        well do it all.

                    JETSON
               (after a moment)
        Sergeant... I'd like to thank you
        for what you're doing.

                    SYKES
        What's that?
               (then realizing)
        Look, Jetson.  Get this straight in
        your head.  We're not pals, we're
        not married, and we ain't gonna take
        long moonlight walks together...
        We're just partners.  And don't call
        me Sergeant.  Call me Sykes... or
        Matt if you have to.

                    JETSON
        I am George.

Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half
steps to be exact.  Then it hits Sykes.  He seizes up
cold.

                    SYKES
        Wait a minute.  George?  George
        Jetson?

Jetson nods... he's used to this.
Sykes cracks up.

                    SYKES
               (between laughs)
        Man, somebody really hung one on
        you!  I've heard some good ones for
        you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley
        Davidson.  I guess the people at
        immigration got a little punchy
        after a while, coming up with names
        for a quarter of a million of you.
        You weren't at the back of the line,
        were you, George?

                    JETSON
        My true name is Ss'tangya
        T'ssorentsa'.

                    SYKES
        Gesundheit.  You don't mind if I
        stick to George, do you?


EXT.  POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY

They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile.

                    SYKES
        Anyway, what's it matter to you if
        we think it's funny, right?  Whatta
        you care?

                    JETSON
        That is exactly so.
               (completely deadpan)
        It is like your name... Sykes.  I'm
        sure it doesn't bother you at all
        that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss",
        two words in my language which mean
        "excrement" and "cranium".

Sykes looks at him, perplexed.

                    JETSON
        "Shit... head".

Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing
there, the smirk dropping from his face.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DAY

They're cruising along in downtown traffic.  Sykes drives.
Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat.

                    SYKES
        Let's talk Hubley.

                    JETSON
               (refers to a folder
                he holds)
        His body was discovered three days
        ago, in an alley off of Central
        Avenue, near downtown.

                    SYKES
        With two BRI Sabot slugs in the
        chest.

                    JETSON
               (gently correcting
                him)
        Through the chest.  Rupturing both
        the primary and secondary hearts.

                    SYKES
               (out the window)
        Nice signal, dickwad!

Jetson is momentarily thrown by this outburst from Sykes.
Then...

                    JETSON
        He was employed at the Northwest
        Petroleum Refinery in Torrance.  He
        was manager of the Methane Facility.
        He was also a principle partner in a
        real estate venture to develop low-
        cost housing for Newcomers.

Sykes grimaces at the mention of "Newcomer housing".

                    SYKES
        Terrific.  A real pillar of the
        community.
               (beat)
        Was Hubley missing anything when
        they found him?  Was he ripped off?

                    JETSON
               (checks file)
        There was no wallet... but he was
        still wearing a watch and two rings.

                    SYKES
        The guys at the mini-mart last night
        made a half-assed stab at the money
        in the till -- but I don't think
        that's what they were there for.  I
        think we got us a couple'a
        executions on our hands, George...

                    JETSON
        The murder at the mini-mart is not
        our case.  The Captain said--

Sykes looks over at Jetson, pissed.

                    SYKES
        Look, you want to fit in here,
        right?  You want to learn how to get
        along?

                    JETSON
        Yes.

                    SYKES
        Well, there's a thing about
        partners, about being somebody's
        partner.  You do for each other.
        And other people's rules don't mean
        shit.  It's the rules set up between
        the two of you, that's all that
        counts.  Understand?
               (Jetson nods)
        Okay.  Well, my friend and partner
        was shot last night and I'm after
        the shitbag that did it.  As my
        partner, I'm asking you to respect
        me and help me find him.

Jetson considers this several moments, then--

                    JETSON
        And as my partner, I ask you to
        respect me and my desire not to
        break with procedure.

Sykes stares at him, exasperated.  Without warning, he
slams the car to a stop right in the middle of heavy
traffic, puts it in "Park." Jetson, who is already a
little too close to the dashboard, bangs up against it.
HORNS instantly go crazy behind them.

                    JETSON
        What is wrong?

                    SYKES
               (very calm)
        Nothing's wrong.  I just want to get
        something straight.  You agree that
        there's a good chance these two
        shootings are somehow related,
        right?

YELLING joins the HORNS outside.  Jetson is visibly
unsettled by the chaos.

                    JETSON
        Well... yes, quite possibly.

                    SYKES
        Possibly.  Good.  Well, would you be
        willing to accept the theory,
        George, that... possibly... by
        examining the evidence from one case
        we might shed some small ray of
        light on the other?  Does that sound
        unreasonable to you?

                    JETSON
        Yes... no, it is not unreasonable.
        Although I--

                    SYKES
        Great.
               (a relieved sigh)
        Well, I'm sure glad that's settled,
        aren't you?

And with that he puts the car in gear and pulls rapidly
out.

                    SYKES
        I think we're really starting to
        click now, George -- hmmm?

Jetson doesn't know what to think -- he just holds on.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  HALLWAY - L.A. COUNTY MORGUE - DAY

WINTER, a deputy Medical Examiner (human), is leading
Sykes and Jetson along the hall.  He reads on the fly from
a case file in his hand.

                    WINTER
        You know I've been over all this
        with Fedorchuk and Alterez this
        morning...

                    SYKES
        Come on.  You got nothin' better to
        do, cushy county job like yours.


INT.  AUTOPSY ROOM - DAY

They enter briskly through a swinging door.  They move
among the tables (some occupied, some not) during:

                    WINTER
        Yeah, right.  Don't push your luck.
        Anyway, according to the sheet, the
        guy you nailed outside by the car--

                    SYKES
        The human?

                    WINTER
        Yeah... he was one Martin Helder.
        White male, twenty-seven.  Let's
        see... wrap sheet shows one armed
        robbery conviction, a couple for
        sale of a controlled substance.
        Oh yeah, and he was wired on coke
        when you stopped his clock.

They have reached a table holding a covered body.  Winter
unceremoniously throws back the cover.  There lies the
pale naked body of the Raincoat alien.

                    JETSON
        Have you identified this one?

                    WINTER
        So far he's a John Doe.  Or a Sam
        Slag, if you like.

Jetson smiles slightly out of politeness.

                    WINTER
        No I.D. on him and -- well, you
        know, no fingerprints -- so it could
        be tough.  Your buddies this morning
        went through the mug book but
        couldn't make a facial match.

                    SYKES
        Fedorchuk couldn't find his ass with
        his hands in his back pockets.

Jetson nonchalantly looks over the alien body while Winter
and Sykes continue talking off to one side.

                    WINTER
               (referring to
                Raincoat alien)
        You took this gut out, too, didn't
        you?

                    SYKES
        Yeah.

                    WINTER
        Lucky for you, you got him in both
        of his... well, what we loosely
        refer to as... hearts.

                    SYKES
        Lucky nothing.  I had to empty my
        damn gun into him.

                    WINTER
        That's the way these people are.
        You don't hit both pumps you just
        piss them off.

During this, Jetson has turned the dead alien's hand over
-- sees something that brings a frown of curiosity to his
face.  He leans closer, examining the palm carefully.
Then he peels back the alien's upper lip.

Jetson frowns anew, with concern this time.  He looks
around, spots a Newcomer lab assistant nearby -- BENTNER.
Jetson motions him over.  Jetson begins questioning him
using the alien language.  Sykes and Winter nearby, remain
oblivious.

                    WINTER
        Oh, here's an extra headshot if you
        need one.
               (hands Sykes a
                polariod of dead
                alien's face)
        We're just about to start cutting
        in.  You're welcome to stick around
        if you want.  It's really
        fascinating stuff.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, I'll bet.

Sykes looks over, now noticing Jetson and Bentner in
earnest conversation.  He only catches snatches of the
alien language.  Bentner appears very unsettled by what
Jetson is telling him.  In response to Jetson's final
statement, Bentner nods -- as if agreeing to do something
Jetson has requested.  Sykes goes over to Jetson.

                    SYKES
        What's this?  What's going on?

                    JETSON
        Nothing.

                    SYKES
               (really suspicious
                now)
        Nothing?

                    JETSON
               (looking away)
        Shouldn't we examine their personal
        effects?

Jetson moves off, leaving Sykes there wondering.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  PROPERTY ROOM - COUNTY MORGUE - DAY

Two large plastic packets are dumped of their contents
onto a formica counter.  Sykes looks through the dead
alien's effects while Jetson goes through the human's.
ORTIZ, the college girl working the property counter, sits
nearby doing homework.

Jetson holds up a little foil packet with a puzzled frown.

                    JETSON
        What is this?

                    SYKES
               (looks, then)
        A rubber.  A condom.  You know...
        Coney Island whitefish?
               (Jetson doesn't know
                what one is)
        Men, human men, put them on their,
        uh -- penises -- to protect against
        having babies.
               (Jetson still doesn't
                get it; Sykes turns
                to Ortiz)
        You need this for anything?

                    ORTIZ
        Nope, got my own.  Anything you guys
        don't use gets stuffed away in
        storage.

Sykes tears open the packet, unrolls the condom, dangles
it before Jetson.

                    SYKES
        Get the picture?

                    JETSON
               (frowning)
        And that fits?

                    SYKES
        Well... Yeah, it's rubber.  It
        stretches.

                    JETSON
        And still it fits?

Sykes looks at Jetson's serious expression.  He tosses the
condom and packet back into the counter and continues
searching.  A beat, then he can't stop himself -- he
steals a glance at Jetson's crotch.

Still searching, Sykes picks up one of the dead alien's
well-worn heavy work boots.  He grimaces... the sides and
soles are painted with a viscous black substance.  He very
tentatively sniffs it... and is grateful that it's not
what he thought it might be.

                    SYKES
        What is this stuff?

Sykes gets some on his hands, doesn't know where to wipe
it.  Jetson glances over.

                    JETSON
        It is a resin.

Sykes looks at him... surprised that he knows.

                    JETSON
               (continuing)
        Newcomers working near methane
        gasses at oil refineries must paint
        it on their boots to protect against
        sparks.

                    SYKES
        How the hell do you know that?

                    JETSON
        A large number of my people were
        hired by refineries because the
        methane fumes are not harmful to us.
        My spouse's brother is one.

                    SYKES
        So the Slag they're cutting into
        upstairs worked at a refinery just
        like Hubley worked at a refinery.
               (beat)
        I'd say that "possible" connection
        between the two cases just got a
        hell of a lot more possible.
               (beat)
        Okay, next step -- I gotta go talk
        to the wife of the Slag store owner
        blown away last night.

                    JETSON
        I believe I should interview the
        widow alone.

                    SYKES
        Why the hell--?!
               (realizes it's
                because of his lack
                of "bedside manner")
        Great, fine.  You talk to the wife.

                                    CUT TO:

INT./ EXT.  MINI-MART - LATE AFTERNOON

The shattered windows have been covered with plywood.
Through the open doorway we see Jetson talking to the
Proprietor's Wife.  She studies a photo Jetson shows her,
nods her head, speaking rapidly in the alien language.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  REFINERY - LATE AFTERNOON

Sykes drives along beside the mammoth, steaming network of
buildings and pipes that make up the refinery.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  REFINERY - LATE AFTERNOON

Through the loud and smoky refinery we see Sykes walking
with the newly promoted Methane Section manager, O'NEAL,
in tie and shirtsleeves.  The workmen around them are both
human and Newcomer.

                    O'NEAL
               (yelling over the
                roar)
        Mr. Hubley was an all right guy --
        and a damn good manager.  The men
        liked him.  I'm really gonna have to
        scramble to fill his shoes.

                    SYKES
        Well, one of the men didn't like him
        so much...

They stop and Sykes hands O'Neal the polariod photo of
Raincoat alien.  They have stopped near the heavy
refrigeration-type door leading to the "METHANE SECTION".

Newcomer workers move in and out through the door during:

                    O'NEAL
               (looking at photo)
        You think this is the guy who did
        it?

                    SYKES
        We think he could'a been involved,
        yeah.  You know him?

                    O'NEAL
        To be honest, it's hard to say.  I
        hate to admit it but -- they all
        still kinda look alike to me.

                    SYKES
               (impatient)
        Who else can I ask around here?

                    O'NEAL
               (looking at photo
                again)
        Wait.  You know who it looks like?
        Yeah.  Anderson.  Uh... James
        Anderson.  He isn't in today.  He
        took the afternoon off.

                    SYKES
        I think you're gonna find he's taken
        the rest of his life off.

O'Neal reacts.  Sykes notices the door to the Methane
Section.

                    SYKES
        That where Anderson worked?

                    O'NEAL
        Yes it is.
               (some alien workers
                come through the
                door)
        Thirty-five percent pure Methane gas
        in there.  I don't know how these
        fellas do it.

Sykes watches two more alien workers pass back through the
door.  O'Neal watches Sykes' expression for signs of
suspicion.

                                    CUT TO:

HIGH ANGLE SHOT - SYKES AND O'NEAL

We see Sykes hand O'Neal a card, then move off.  O'Neal
watches him briefly, then crosses to some steps and starts
up this way.
We PAN with him as he enters a door here on the second
level.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  METHANE SECTION CONTROL ROOM - LATE AFTERNOON

O'Neal enters, moves to a telephone, begins to dial.
Beyond is a glass wall overlooking the Methane Section.

                                    CUT TO:

ANGLE - BELOW

CAMERA TRACKS through the Methane Section... past the
alien workers in lab whites... past all the arcane
equipment and chemical procedures... ending in an EXTREME
CLOSE UP of a small cylindrical dispenser as it fills
slowly with a pale blue, viscous liquid.

                                    CUT TO:

INT./ EXT.  SLUG-MOBILE - JETSON'S STREET - DUSK

We're SHOOTING THROUGH the slug-mobile window as Sykes
pulls up in front of Jetson's modest but immaculately
maintained home on the outskirts of Slagtown.  Jetson's
WIFE, an attractive alien woman, stands watering the lawn
with a garden hose.  Jetson's son, age six, rides his
bicycle along the walkway.  Jetson, dressed in his suit
for work, crouches near the walkway, playing with his son.

Sykes pulls the car toward the curb, rolls his eyes.

                    SYKES
        Jesus.  Welcome back Ozzie and
        Harriet...

He HONKS the horn.  Jetson looks up, then moves to his
wife and kisses her goodbye.  Moves to his son, kisses him
on the top of his head.

Sykes watches all this... and as he does, slowly his
derisive expression softens.  As corny as this tableau may
be, there's something very appealing about the innocence
of it... even to an unrepentant cynic like Sykes.

Jetson starts to climb into the car, and we--

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  RESTROOM - BILTMORE HOTEL - NIGHT

CLOSE on an alien hand as it removes one of the drug
dispensers from a tuxedo pocket.  As the hand brings the
dispenser toward the face, we immediately recognize the
exotic silver bracelet worn by Kipling the night before.
It makes that distinctive CLINKING NOISE.  We PAN with the
hand to reveal Kipling's face... sans bandana and
sunglasses now.  He wears a black tuxedo.  He lets a small
dab of the blue gel curl from the dispenser onto his
tongue.  He swallows... and reacts as the rush from the
drug hits him.

The door to the men's room bangs open and a MIDDLE AGED
POLITICO enters, obviously drunk.

Kipling quickly pockets the dispenser, moves past the
Politico to the exit...

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

Sykes drives, heading for the Biltmore Hotel.

                    JETSON
        Mrs. Porter is not taking her
        husband's death well.

                    SYKES
               (impatient)
        Did you learn anything?

                    JETSON
        A week ago two men came to see her
        husband.  After they left, he was
        very frightened.  She identified one
        of the men from a photo I showed
        her.  It was Hubley.

                    SYKES
        Aw-right.  What about the other guy?

                    JETSON
        She didn't know him.  But she said
        her son might.

                    SYKES
        Did you talk to him?

                    JETSON
        He has not been home since that day.
        But she told me where to find him.

Sykes nods.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  MAIN BALLROOM - BILTMORE HOTEL - NIGHT

The men are in tuxedos, the women in evening gowns.  Only
two of three Newcomers faces present.  Kipling threads his
way among the tables as the MAYOR, at the speaker's
platform, addresses the assembly.

                    MAYOR
        ... Our guest speaker tonight has
        done so much in his community and
        for his community in such a short
        period of time.  And I must say, as
        the founder of the first Newcomer
        owned and operated corporation in
        Southern California, he certainly
        has come quite far in the last few
        years.  Granted, not as far as he
        came in the years before reaching
        Los Angeles.

There is laughter from the VIPs.  Kipling slides into a
seat at one of the front tables.  He leans over and
whispers something into the ear of the person seated to
his right.  We see this CLOSE UP, and don't see who he is
whispering to yet.  Whoever it is, nods.

                    MAYOR
               (continuing)
        As Mayor of this city, it gives me
        great pleasure to introduce someone
        who has so readily made our city
        his home... and all of us who live
        here, his friends.  Ladies and
        gentlemen, William Harcourt.

The VIPs applaud as the spotlight sweeps over to a front
table.  At first it hits Kipling, then it adjusts to
capture WILLIAM HARCOURT, seated to Kipling's right.
Harcourt is an exemplar of the successful Newcomer
entrepreneur... handsome, charming, with cool blue eyes
that glint with his piercing intellect.  He rises, smiling
warmly, steps past his striking ALIEN DATE seated to his
right, to make his way to the podium.  He shields his eyes
somewhat from the bright spotlight.

Once behind the podium, he slips his notes from a breast
pocket as the applause ebbs.

                    HARCOURT
        Thank you all for that very warm
        reception.
               (pauses, smiles)
        I'm particularly grateful because I
        actually had the gall to write that
        in my notes: "Thank you all for that
        very warm reception".  Imagine how
        embarrassed I would've been if it
        hadn't have been such a warm
        reception.

The VIPs laugh.  He's won them over instantly with his
charm and candor.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  BILTMORE HOTEL - FOYER - NIGHT

Sykes, followed by a reluctant Jetson, bears down on
Harcourt, who is exiting the hotel with his Date, and
Kipling.  We see Kipling recognize Sykes from their fight
two nights before... but because Kipling looks so
different, Sykes doesn't recognize him outright.  Still,
during this, Sykes senses something, though he's not sure
what.

                    SYKES
        William Harcourt?

                    HARCOURT
        Yes...

                    SYKES
        I'm Sergeant Sykes, and this is
        Detective Jetson, Los Angeles Police
        Department.

                    HARCOURT
               (nodding greeting)
        Sergeant... Detective.  I wasn't
        aware there were any Newcomers at
        the rank of Detective yet.

                    JETSON
        I am the first.

                    HARCOURT
        Congratulations.  This is my
        administrative assistant, Rudyard
        Kipling.

                    SYKES
               (throw away)
        Rudyard Kipling?  No shit?
               (to Harcourt)
        Listen, we just need a minute of
        your time...

                    JETSON
        We'd like to ask you about a
        business associate of your, Warren
        Hubley.

                    HARCOURT
        Yes, I heard about poor Warren.
        Tragic.

                    SYKES
        You were partners with him on some
        Slag -- uh, Newcomer real estate
        thing.

                    HARCOURT
        That's right.  He and I, along with
        seven or eight others.  Listen,
        gentlemen, I will be happy to assist
        you in any way I can --
        unfortunately, at the moment, I'm
        overdue at another function.

Suddenly there's a voice from O.S.:

                    MAYOR (O.S.)
        William...

Harcourt turns as the Mayor and his WIFE step up.

                    HARCOURT
        Mr. Mayor...

                    MAYOR
        William, I was wondering if you
        wouldn't rather ride with Luisa and
        me.  Two limousines trying to make
        it across town in all this traffic,
        we're bound to be later than we
        already are.

                    HARCOURT
        Excellent idea.  Ray, I wonder if
        you know two of your police
        officers... Detective Jetson and
        Sykes.

                    MAYOR
               (shaking their hands,
                dismissively)
        A pleasure.
               (to Harcourt)
        We really should be going.

The wind is knocked from Sykes' sails by the presence of
the Mayor with a very impatient expression.  Harcourt
smiles.

                    HARCOURT
               (continuing)
        Please feel free to call my office
        Monday morning for an appointment.
               (to Jetson)
        Congratulations again on your
        promotion, Detective.  Remember...
        you're out there setting an example
        in our community.  I'll be keeping
        an eye on you.

Harcourt is smiling as he says this last, but his eyes are
penetrating... telegraphing a subliminal warning.
Harcourt and entourage move off... leaving Sykes steaming.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  BILTMORE HOTEL - HARCOURT AND KIPLING - NIGHT

Walking behind the others.  They speak in very low voices;
Harcourt continuing to nod and smile to other passing VIPs
during:

                    KIPLING
        That cop, the human, he was the one
        who killed Anderson and the driver.

                    HARCOURT
        This is becoming a serious breach of
        security.

                    KIPLING
        He didn't recognize me.

                    HARCOURT
        It is his new partner that I'm
        worried about.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  POLICE FIRING RANGE - FRONT DESK - NIGHT

MAFFET, the stocky retired cop behind the counter, hands
Jetson a bag of reloads and some silhouette targets.
Sykes nods to Jetson, motioning him toward the firing
line.

                    SYKES
        Go on ahead.  I'll be right in.
               (to Maffet, low)
        What'd you dig up for me?

Maffet slides open a drawer, takes out a paper bag
containing a massive pistol with an enormous bore.  By
his manner this deal is definitely not kosher.  Sykes
hefts the weapon.

                    MAFFET
        You said you wanted the biggest
        thing I could find... Well, this is
        it.

                    SYKES
        What is it?

                    MAFFET
        Casull .454 Magnum.  You're talking
        twice the impact energy of .44
        Magnum hot loads.

                    SYKES
               (flips open cylinder)
        Only holds five.

                    MAFFET
        Yeah, the shells are too big for six
        in an cylinder.  Hell, Matt, you
        don't need but one.

                    SYKES
               (sighting)
        No... two.


EXT.  SHOOTING RANGE - FIRING LINE - NIGHT

Jetson, looking bizarre in his ear-protectors, is taking
careful aim with his .38 as Sykes walks up.  Jetson slips
the protectors down.

                    SYKES
        Well, let's see what you got,
        Cochise.  Gimme six, rapid fire.

Jetson, a little nervous at this command performance,
turns, sets, and FIRES at the silhouette target.  It's a
large, sloppy grouping.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        How long you been shooting?  That's
        pitiful.  Whattya gonna do if
        somebody draws down on you, wave
        your scores on the written exam at
        'em?

Sykes starts loading the thumb-sized bullets into the
Casull.

                    JETSON
        Why did you do it?

                    SYKES
        Why'd I do what?

                    JETSON
        Agree to work with me?  You don't
        like me... you don't like any of us.
        You have nothing but contempt for
        us.  And yet you become an outcast
        from your club of detectives by
        making me your partner...

                    SYKES
        My partner is dead!  Because one of
        you bastards killed him -- then
        disappeared into a rathole down in
        Slagtown, where he's home and dry,
        'cause nobody sees nothing, nobody
        says nothing...

Sykes grabs a bullet-proof vest from nearby, slaps it onto
the hanging target form.  He hits the switch, running the
target down to the end of the lane.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        But he didn't figure on you, George.
        You're going to get me through that
        wall of silence.  You're going to
        make them talk to me.  You're going
        to help me find that Slag son-of-a-
        bitch.  Comprendo?  And if Fedorchuk
        and the boys in the bullpen don't
        like it, screw them... and if the
        Captain doesn't like it, screw
        him... and if all the Slags down in
        Slagtown don't like it... well screw
        them too!

Sykes raises the Casull, fires.  KA-BOOM!!!  The shell
rockets clean through the bullet-proof vest on the target
form.  The recoil slams Sykes back, jerks his arm up.  KA-
BOOM!!!  again, and another hole is drilled through the
vest.  Other shooters look over.  Sykes sets the gun
down... sees his hand is bleeding.  Jetson absorbs all
this, as we--

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  "X" BAR - NIGHT

A violet neon "X" FILLS FRAME, flashing hypnotically.
It's a bar catering to rough-trade Newcomer clientele.
Several ALIEN MEN, brute laborer-types, lounge around out
front.  They glare with antagonism as Sykes and Jetson
climb out of their car.

                    SYKES
               (to Jetson)
        Okay, just stay back and do what I
        do.  Watch and learn, watch and
        learn...


INT.  "X" BAR - NIGHT

Sykes and Jetson walk into the almost total blackness of
this all-Newcomer place.

A few near-infrared indigo lamps dot the blackness.

                    SYKES
        I can't see dick in here.

We can dimly make out booths along one wall, some tables,
and the bar.  There are maybe twenty figures seated or
standing in the darkness.  The room falls silent in a wave
as Sykes' presence becomes noticed.

Sykes saunters forward, commanding the space with his
unhurried movements.

                    SYKES
               (calling into the
                dark silence)
        Which one'a you Slags is Porter?

                    VOICE
               (from the back of
                the bar)
        Who wants to know?

Sykes squints into the darkness, then--

                    SYKES
               (aside to Jetson)
        Who said that?

                    JETSON
               (tilts his head to
                indicate)
        At the end of the bar.

Sykes nods, starts in that direction.

                    SYKES
        My name is Sykes.  I'm--

                    ALIEN VOICE
        Ss'ai k'ss?

The whole place roars with LAUGHTER.  Too late Sykes
remembers what his name sounds like to them.  He continues
down the bar and a figure in one of the booths sticks his
leg out and trips Sykes with his size 16 work boot.  Sykes
stumbles, then recovers and pivots on the offender.  Hoots
and derisive LAUGHTER.  He sees only shadows.

                    OFFENDER
               (merely a voice in
                the dark)
        Careful, ss'loka', you might hurt
        yourself.

More laughter.  Sykes gives the darkness where the
offender sits a hard stare, then turns and shoulders his
way to the end of the bar.  Jetson follows.  Sykes stops
behind a big Newcomer in greasy work clothes.

ANGLE

The punk Newcomer in the next seat is keeping his head
down, trying to be inconspicuous.

He glances over at the two cops... his expression shifting
to recognition as he spots Jetson.

BACK TO SCENE

Sykes speaks to the Big Newcomer's back.

                    SYKES
        You Porter?

The Big Newcomer continues to sip his mug of sour milk.
Doesn't turn.  Sykes grabs him by the shoulder and turns
him around.  The alien grabs Sykes' hand off, rising to
his full height.  He and Sykes lock eyes.  Meanwhile.  the
punk Newcomer (PORTER) has started to slip away unnoticed.
Jetson spots him, reaches out with one arm, and grabs him
by the jacket.

                    JETSON
        No, Matthew.  I believe this is the
        one you want.

He pulls Porter back into play.  Now Jetson sees Porter's
face... and he, too, reacts with recognition.

Sykes gives Jetson a sour look, releases the Big Newcomer,
and turns his malice on the punk Newcomer.

                    SYKES
        Your name wouldn't happen to be
        Porter, would it?

                    JETSON
        Uh, Matthew...

                    SYKES
               (over his shoulder
                to Jetson)
        Back off, George.

                    JETSON
        But I-- (know this man).

                    SYKES
        I'll handle it.

Jetson backs off, letting him handle it.

                    SYKES
               (to Porter)
        Jesus, are the questions too tough
        for you already?  Let's try again--
               (slowly)
        Is your name Porter?

                    PORTER
        Ss'kya'ta'.

                    SYKES
               (to Jetson)
        What's that?

                    JETSON
        Screw you.

                    SYKES
               (back to Porter)
        Screw me?  That can't be right.

                    PORTER
        Ss'kya ta' ss'loka'.  Ss'trokya'
        ss'lato na'!

                    JETSON
               (to Sykes, low)
        You don't want to know.

                    SYKES
        Tell me.

                    JETSON
        Your mother mates out of season.

                    SYKES
               (to Porter)
        That's very colorful.  But see --
        now I've got a problem.  I don't
        seem to be getting much cooperation
        from you, Porter.  So I guess we're
        gonna have to take this little
        session down to my office, ya
        know?

And instantly Sykes whips out this flashlight, snaps on
the beam, and arcs it into the faces of the aliens around
him.  Jetson gets a blast of it, too.  The aliens are
momentarily blinded.

Sykes has Porter pinned to the bar, the flashlight in his
face, as he starts to handcuff him.  But Porter gets a
hand free and crushes the head of the flashlight.
Darkness falls... along with Sykes' expression of
satisfaction.

Porter hurls Sykes back, slamming him into a table.  The
crowd HOOTS and CHEERS.  Sykes finds his way to his feet.

                    JETSON
        Matthew, you don't have to-- (do this).

                    SYKES
        Stay back!  I'm okay.

He charges Porter, brandishing the flashlight like a club.
The two of them battle, then Sykes sees his opportunity
and brings his knee up viciously into the alien's groin.
Porter doubles over in feigned agony, then slowly rises
again -- smiling.

                    PORTER
        Don't they teach you anything about
        us in cop school, little ss'loka'?

Porter grabs Sykes by the shirt front, is about to deliver
a crushing blow, when another arm cuts into FRAME, locking
with Porter's, blocking the punch.  It is Jetson.

                    JETSON
        Enough.

                    PORTER
               (eyeing Jetson)
        Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'.  You're a
        cop.
               (with some contempt)
        It fits you.

Jetson says something to him in the alien language.
Porter gives him a hard stare, then moves toward the back
exit.  Sykes stumbles over to Jetson.

                    SYKES
        You know that guy?

                    JETSON
               (nods)
        From quarantine, when my people
        first arrived here.  He and I were
        housed together.

                    SYKES
        How could a straight-arrow like you
        ever pick a roommate like him?

                    JETSON
        In the camps, we were lodged four to
        a room.  The selection process was
        entirely random.  We did not get to
        stay with our friends... or
        families...

And he moves toward the back exit.  Sykes watches him go.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  "X" BAR - NIGHT

Porter leans against an alley wall.  He speaks English
learned on the streets.

                    JETSON
        You don't know what your father and
        these two men were arguing about?

                    PORTER
        I told you -- I was in the back of
        the store.  I just heard voices,
        muffled like.

                    SYKES
        One of the two men was Hubley,
        right?  What about the other one?
        Did you know him?

                    PORTER
        Yeah... I seen him around.  High-
        roller dude named Strader.  Joshua
        Strader.  Runs a club on the west
        side.  Encounters.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, I heard of it.

                    PORTER
        That's all I know.  You want
        anything more, you ask somebody
        else.

He pushes away from the wall, heads for the door to the
bar.

                    JETSON
        I am sorry about your father.

Porter throws him a look over his shoulder, then
disappears through the door.  Sykes and Jetson start down
the alley.

                    JETSON
        If I may make a suggestion... We
        have different weak spots than you
        do.  Next time, a blow to the nerve
        plexus under the arm, here, will
        produce the effect I think you were
        looking for.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, sure.  I knew that...

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  BURGER STAND - NIGHT

The wall-mounted menu is in English and the Alien
Language.  The SERVERS are teen aged humans and aliens.

Sykes and Jetson stand at the counter awaiting their
order.

                    KID
               (serving them)
        Six forty-two.

They both put money on the counter.  The kid goes to put
the order together.  Sykes looks at the alien characters
on the menu.

                    SYKES
        I don't think I could ever learn to
        read that shit.
               (beat)
        How long did it take you to learn
        English?

                    JETSON
        Three months.
               (off Sykes' look)
        We learn quickly.  We adapt.  It is
        our strength... what we were bred
        for, to adapt to hostile
        environments.

The Serving Kid puts their bags on the counter.

                    JETSON
               (continuing)
        Thank you.

They take the bags and walk off, digging the food out of
the bags as they talk:

                    SYKES
        My neighbor's kid has a Newcomer
        girl in his class.  She's six years
        old and in seventh grade already...

They climb into the car.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

Jetson doesn't respond... some things are better left
unaddressed.  Meanwhile, Sykes has unwrapped his food and
recoils in disgust.

                    SYKES
        Oh, God.  I think I got yours
        here...

He holds up two strips of raw meat with patches of animal
fur still on them.  Jetson meanwhile is grimacing at the
dripping cheeseburger he's just unwrapped.  They quickly
trade.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        Which one is that?  Raw what?

                    JETSON
               (eating a strip)
        This is mole.  It's good.

                    SYKES
        I'll bet.
               (winces, watching him
                chew)
        Would it really put you out if they
        tossed that on the grill for a
        minute or two?

                    JETSON
        Our bodies do not assimilate the
        nutrients if the food has been
        cooked.

Jetson looks over at him, smiling.

                    SYKES
        Oh, that's real attractive.  You got
        fur in your teeth, George.  Come on,
        man, we're gonna be talking to
        people... jeez.

Sykes looks at his burger, his appetite gone, shoves it
back into the sack and tosses it into the back seat.


INT./ EXT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

As Sykes pulls onto the street.

                    SYKES
        So what was that other word for
        Human... Slow ka?

                    JETSON
        Ss'loka'.  It means literally "small
        but intelligent creature".
               (Sykes looks over,
                doesn't know if he
                likes this)
        It loses much in the translation.

                    SYKES
        And what was that one about my
        mother?  That was a good one.

                    JETSON
        Ss'trokya ss'lato 'na'.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, that's it.  Say it slow.

Jetson pronounces the words and Sykes follows along
haltingly.  After several tries, he can say it passably
well.


INT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

An upscale, mostly yuppie-human dance club.  The
antithesis of the "X" bar.  A human HOSTESS in a slit
dress has just finished seating Sykes and Jetson at a
table.  She moves off.  The two cops look up at the stage.

REVERSE ANGLE

revealing the exotic alien dancer named CASSANDRA.  She
moves with a feline blend of strength and grace.  Framing
her face is a silvery nylon wig that she tosses like a
mane as she undulates to the MUSIC.

Sykes watches with fascination.  The MUSIC ends and
Cassandra steps down from the stage, to be replaced by a
human DANCER as the next SONG cranks up.  Sykes and Jetson
quickly intercept her as she heads backstage.

                    JETSON
        You are Cassandra?

                    CASSANDRA
        That's right.

                    JETSON
        We are with the Police Department.
        This is Sergeant Sykes, and I am--

                    CASSANDRA
               (laughing)
        Ss'ai k'ss?  Perfect.

                    SYKES
        We're looking for your boss --
        Strader.

She eyes the two of them warily, then moves backstage,
assuming they will follow.


INT.  BACKSTAGE - NIGHT

She moves along the narrow corridor.

                    CASSANDRA
        He's not here.  Why ask me?

                    JETSON
        The young woman at the front said
        you might know where he is.

                    CASSANDRA
        She did, did she?  Well, she was
        wrong.  Excuse me, I have to change.

                    SYKES
        No problem.

She moves through a door.  Sykes follows closely so does
Jetson.


INT.  ENCOUNTERS - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Cassandra grabs some clothes and goes into a stall.

                    SYKES
        Look, we're not here doing an
        interview for the school paper.
        This is a homicide investigation...
        and if you don't stop jerkin' us
        around, I'm ready to start playin'
        hardball.

Jetson has waited politely half-in half-out of the room.
Sykes rapidly motions to him to "go look around".  Jetson
mimes back, "Huh?"

                    CASSANDRA
               (slipping out of her
                dance costume)
        Oooh.  Hardball.  That sounds
        interesting.  Are you going to
        strike me?  You could tie me up and
        then do whatever you want with me...
        I've got my own ropes.

                    SYKES
               (still miming to
                Jetson)
        Does that cost extra or you throw
        them in?

                    CASSANDRA
        You've got me all wrong.  I don't
        charge money for something that I
        myself find pleasurable...

Finally Jetson gets what Sykes is trying to tell him.  He
says in the uncertain, stagy voice of a bad liar:

                    JETSON
        I am going out to the car.  I will
        meet you there.

Sykes rolls his eyes as Jetson exits into the corridor.
Cassandra emerges from the stall, wearing a long, stylish,
low-cut dress.

                    CASSANDRA
        Look, I don't know where Mr.
        Strader might be.  He comes and he
        goes.

                    SYKES
               (starting to feel a
                little uncomfortable)
        The girl out front mentioned
        Strader's assistant, somebody named
        Watson.  Maybe he knows.

                    CASSANDRA
               (tensing slightly)
        Todd?  Todd doesn't know either.

She is very close to Sykes now.  She fingers the lapel of
his jacket.

                    CASSANDRA
               (continuing)
        I know... Why don't you hang around
        for a while, let me entertain you?
        It's Matt, right?  Now tell me the
        truth, have you ever... made it...
        with one of us?

                    SYKES
        Not unless I got real drunk and
        nobody told me about it later.

                    CASSANDRA
        A virgin.  I find that very
        arousing...


INT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT

MUSIC drifts up from downstairs.  Jetson moves along the
corridor, scoping things out.  He tries a door.  Locked.
Tries another one.  Open.  He eases it wider, then enters
the darkened office.


INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT

Jetson moves into the office.  Looks around.  Makes his
way to the cluttered desk top.  Pushes things around...
all the usual stuff.  He starts to turn away, then his eye
catches something sticking out from behind a row of ledger
books.  He reaches for it.  A small dispenser -- of the
kind we saw being filled at the refinery.  Jetson studies
it, his suspicions growing.  Opening it, he finds only the
barest trace of a viscous substance.

He smells it... not enough to tell for certain what it is.
But enough that he is very concerned about what it could
be.


INT.  CASSANDRA'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Cassandra is practically melting herself into Sykes now.
She takes his hand and guides his fingertips over her
facial ridges.  She shudders with pleasure.  Sykes begins
to perspire.

                    SYKES
        There's lots of things I haven't
        done, but his ain't high on the
        list.  Don't take it personally.

                    CASSANDRA
        I think you're just a little scared
        now, about what you might find once
        the lights go out.  A little
        scared... and a lot curious.  Maybe
        more than you want to admit.  But
        doesn't that turn you on, that
        curiosity and fear, swirling
        together?
               (coos)
        Think of it as broadening your
        horizons.

                    SYKES
        I like my horizons narrow.

                    CASSANDRA
               (pressing herself
                into him)
        Your voice is saying no, but your
        body is saying yes.

He quickly disengages from her.

                    SYKES
        My voice, body, and everything else
        is saying I'll be back in two hours
        for Strader, and he better damn well
        be here.

He shoves a business card at her, then retreats through
the door.


INT.  CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Sykes closes the door and lets out his breath.


INT.  CASSANDRA'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

Cassandra's expression instantly turns to worry and she
quickly crosses to a phone and punches the intercom
button.


INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT

Jetson, looking through a desk drawer, hears the intercom
BUZZ in the next room.  Through the wall--

                    WATSON (O.S.)
               (tentatively)
        Yes...?

                    CASSANDRA (O.S.)
               (over the intercom,
                breathless)
        Todd, it's me.  The police were just
        here... looking for Strader.  And
        asking about you.

Jetson moves toward the door to the adjoining office,
drawing his gun.  The floor squeaks beneath his feet.  He
looks down, then continues toward the door.


INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT

Jetson eases open the door.  It's the manager's private
office.  Jetson sees the phone receiver resting on the
desk, the desk lamp on, a lit cigarette in an ashtray --
but no one behind the desk.  Jetson eases through the door
and--

-- a chair crashes down on him from behind the door!
Jetson goes down, his gun skittering out of his hand.


INT.  PRIVATE OFFICE - NIGHT

Jetson and his assailant battle in the well-appointed
office.


INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Sykes hears the fight through the private office door.
He throws the door open.


INT.  PRIVATE OFFICE - NIGHT

Sykes stands in the doorway, the Casull straight-armed at
Jetson's assailant.

                    SYKES
        Freeze!  Now!

The assailant does.  He looks at Sykes, scared, breathing
hard.  He's a Newcomer in a snappy Armani suit.  This is
TODD WATSON.  Jetson, on the floor, starts to rise.

Suddenly somebody flies at Sykes from the side, knocking
him sideways down the corridor.  It's Cassandra.  Watson
seizes the moment and shoves the off-balance Jetson into
some furniture and dives for the door.


INT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Watson runs down the corridor, ducking onto a fire escape.
Meanwhile Sykes wrestles with Cassandra.  She's as strong
as he is, but he has the edge in experience.

Jetson, disheveled, appears in the private office doorway,
ready to chase Watson, but not knowing which way he went.

                    SYKES
               (struggling with
                Cassandra)
        Fire escape!  End of the hall!

Jetson nods, takes off down the corridor.  Sykes manges to
get one handcuff on Cassandra's wrist, the other cuff
around a pipe sticking out of the wall.  She SCREECHES at
him in the alien language as he collects the Casull and
charges down the corridor.


EXT.  FIRE ESCAPE - OUTSIDE ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

Jetson pounds down the fire escape.  Below him, he sees
Watson reach the ground and take off running for the
parking area.

Jetson reaches the ground and gives chase.


EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT

Watson zig-zags through the parked cars, Jetson cutting
down other rows trying to make up the distance between
them.


EXT.  FIRE ESCAPE - OUTSIDE ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

Sykes bangs down the fire escape, leaping the last fifteen
feet to the ground.


EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT

Watson reaches his Alfa Romeo, yanks open the door, fires
it up.  Jetson slides up, ten feet behind the car, pulls
his gun, aims.

The white reverse-lights flash on.  Jetson stands there,
gun aimed -- but he hesitates to shoot.  In that split
second hesitation, Watson floors it... Jetson jumping to
avoid being hit.


INT.  ALFA ROMEO - NIGHT

Watson throws the car into Drive, looks up, and sees Sykes
standing right in front of the car.  He hits the gas.
Sykes has no choice then to leap onto the hood of the car.
Watson, with Sykes' face on the other side of the glass,
panics and--


EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT

-- plows the Alfa into some parked cars.

Sykes is up in a flash -- yanks Watson out of the car.

Watson rears back to swing at Sykes, when Sykes swings his
arms around in two wide arcs, his fists landing two direct
hits in the nerve centers under Watson's arms.  Watson
folds over with a "ooowwph" sound and drops to his knees.

                    SYKES
               (breathing hard)
        I'll be damned.  It worked.
               (sees Jetson run up)
        How'd you like that, huh?  Whammo!
        Both barrels.  Dropped him like a
        bag of cement.

Jetson picks up Watson's fallen wallet.  He looks at the
I.D.

                    SYKES
        Who is he?

                    JETSON
        Todd Watson.  The assistant manager.

Watson is still doubled over, just trying to draw one
agonized breath.

                    WATSON
        I don't believe this.  Look at my
        suit.  Look at what you made me do
        to my car.

                    SYKES
               (laughing)
        Your girlfriend put up a better
        fight than you did, pal.

                    JETSON
        We are looking for your employer,
        Joshua Strader.

                    WATSON
        He's out of town.

                    JETSON
        Why did you run?

                    WATSON
        Because you two were chasing me.

                    SYKES
        We were chasing you because you ran,
        you dumb son-of-a-bitch.

                    JETSON
        When will Strader return?

                    WATSON
        Who knows.  He's the boss -- he
        doesn't have to check in with me.

                    SYKES
               (wearily)
        Watson... this is my partner here's
        first coupla days, and he wants to
        make a good impression.  Me, though,
        the way I feel -- this could be my
        last day, know what I mean?  And I'm
        ready to rain on you like a cow
        pissin' on a flat rock.

                    WATSON
        Look -- Mr. Strader hasn't been
        around for a coupla days.  He didn't
        tell me where he was going or when
        he'd be back.  I swear it.

                    SYKES
               (to Jetson)
        What do you think?

                    JETSON
        I believe he is probably lying.

                    SYKES
        Through his ass.
               (to Watson)
        Next time you see him, tell him to
        call me... unless you want us to
        keep coming back on you like a bad
        case of herpes.

Sykes shoves a business card in Watson's breast pocket.
They walk away and Watson slumps against his car.

ANGLE - MOVING WITH SYKES AND JETSON

as they walk wearily to the slug-mobile.

                    SYKES
        George, you can handle the women
        from now on, you mind?

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT

Watson is alone, surveying the damage to his Alfa, when he
hears footsteps.  He turns with a "What now?" expression
and -- a shotgun butt is slammed into his forehead.  He
goes down.  Kipling stands over him, flanked by FOUR HUMAN
THUGS.  One of these is QUINT, senior human in Harcourt's
employ.

                    QUINT
               (to other Thugs)
        Okay, scrape him up.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  ZUMA BEACH APPROACH _ NIGHT

Harcourt's private limo glides down the narrow access
road, passing a lookout car attended by two alien Thugs.
The limo moves down to the beach, parking near an n.d.
van.

Harcourt exits the limo, walks onto the sand to the back
of the van.  Here he finds Kipling and Quint and the three
human Thugs.

They have Watson chained to the van's rear bumper, facing
the sea, and have been working him over with a tire iron.
He's bruised and bloody, but still conscious.

                    HARCOURT
        Any progress?

                    QUINT
        My arm's gettin' tired and so far,
        zip.

                    KIPLING
        He is ss'verdlatya ss'alo to
        Strader.

                    QUINT
        What's that mean?

                    KIPLING
        Duty-bonded.  His allegiance to
        Strader is above pain or life.

                    QUINT
        You tellin' me this guy would die
        before he'd screw his boss and work
        for us?  Nobody's that dumb.

                    KIPLING
        It is something you couldn't
        comprehend, Quint.

Harcourt approaches Watson, kneels beside him, careful to
keep the knee of his designer pants out of the sand.

                    HARCOURT
        I understand you have been resisting
        my offer Mr. Watson.  Your sense of
        duty to Mr. Strader is noble, but --
        no longer an issue, I'm afraid...

Harcourt signals and the two Thugs drag an alien body from
the back if the van: a middle-aged alien, Strader, shot
twice through the front of his silk suit.  Watson's eyes
widen in fear.

                    HARCOURT
               (continuing)
        I will not make this offer again.  I
        want you to work for me, to manage
        the nightclub as Strader's successor.
        If you do, you will know a wealth
        and comfort our people never dared
        imagine...

Watson stares at Harcourt, scared but defiant.

                    WATSON
        Sss'k'a ta'!

Harcourt studies Watson a moment, perhaps even admiring
his resolve.  Then--

                    HARCOURT
        It is such a pity to die for an
        outmoded value.
               (rising)
        Mr. Quint, I believe it's time for
        our friend's swimming lesson.

Watson freaks out, howling and lashing against the chains.

                    HARCOURT
               (to Watson)
        It's important to learn new skills.
        Essential to your growth as a
        person.

Quint and the Thugs free Watson from the bumper.  He bucks
and lunges as they drag him toward the surf.  Quint
addresses one of the Thugs, a new guy.

                    QUINT
        You never seen this before, have
        you, Billy?  oh, man, you ain't
        gonna believe it... seawater is like
        battery acid to these guys... I
        don't know what it is, some kinds
        chemical reaction.  Whatta you think
        it is, Watson?  Whoa, hold him.
               (a wave breaks
                outside, the foam
                rolls in)
        What I love about the surf is you
        can never tell how far up it's going
        to come until it... whoops, got a
        little wet there.

The wave just sloshes over Watson's lower legs.  He
screams.  Flailing, one of his hands dips below the
surface of the water.  He howls and yanks out his hand.
We see the alien hand dripping seawater... then a thousand
droplets of purple alien blood begin to bead all over the
hand.  The Thugs get Watson swinging.

                    QUINT
        Last call, sucker.  One... two...
        THREE!

Watson is flung into the surf.

ANGLE

Harcourt and Kipling have walked down almost to the
waterline.  We HEAR Watson's GURGLES and SCREAMS... then
nothing.  Kipling is very nervous this close to the water.
Harcourt seems unperturbed.

                    KIPLING
        When we picked him up, he was
        talking to those two cops -- the two
        who came to question you about
        Hubley.

                    HARCOURT
        This is getting out of hand.  I want
        you to deal with it.  Immediately.

A wave rushes up the sand.  Kipling quickly steps back.
Harcourt stands firm, staring it down, and the foam stops
six inches from his dress shoes.

                    HARCOURT
               (continuing)
        We must learn to embrace the things
        we fear... and from that grow
        strong.

A moment, then he turns and starts back toward the limo.
He motions to Strader's body and the surf.  The Thugs grab
the body and heave it into the waves.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT

Jetson is talking rapidly in the alien language on the
kitchen wall phone.  Sykes, foreground, takes the bottle
of vodka from the refrigerator, throws some ice in a
glass, pours himself a shot.  As Jetson is talking, he
spots the carton of milk that Sykes inadvertently left out
of the refrigerator two nights ago.

He sniffs it... his eyebrows do an involuntary movement.
He finishes with his wife and hangs up.  He watches Sykes
take a long pull on the vodka.

                    JETSON
               (holds up milk
                carton)
        Would you mind?

Sykes shrugs, tosses him a glass.  Jetson pours the semi-
lumpy milk and takes a big swallow.  Sykes grimaces.
Then--

                    SYKES
               (indicates phone)
        So, she keeps you on a pretty short
        leash, does she?

                    JETSON
        My wife?  She worries about me.

Sykes leans against the counter, getting comfortable, his
voice more weary then bitter.

                    SYKES
        Yeah... I know the routine.

                    JETSON
        You are married?

                    SYKES
        Was.  Divorced.

                    JETSON
        We mate for life.  Divorce... is a
        strange concept to us.

                    SYKES
        It's like having an eleventh finger
        removed.  It hurts like hell, but
        you never really needed the damn
        thing in the first place.

Jetson nods -- even though he doesn't really understand
this.  They drink... Jetson gazes around.

                    JETSON
        Your home is quite disordered.  I
        thought perhaps you had been
        burglarized when I walked in.

                    SYKES
               (growling)
        I appreciate your honesty, George.

He smacks his glass against Jetson's.  They drink.


INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - LATER

Sykes has his wallet out... showing Jetson a dog-eared
photo.

                    SYKES
        Ignore the bitch on the left, that's
        Edie.  I call her Edi Amin... This
        is Kristin, my daughter.  It's kinda
        an old picture... she's twenty now.
        Getting married, in fact... on
        Sunday.

Jetson sitting across the table from Sykes, looks at the
proffered photo.  They're both a little drunk now.

                    JETSON
        Human children can be very
        beautiful.
               (then)
        Getting married?  Congratulations.
        You will be taking Sunday off,
        then...

                    SYKES
               (uneasy)
        Maybe not... I don't know.  I'm not
        sure I'm gonna go.
               (mumbles)
        She doesn't need her burn-out of a
        father there...

Jetson looks at him.  Sees something he never thought
possible in Sykes.  Vulnerability.  Trying to break the
melancholy mood, Jetson reaches for his wallet.

                    JETSON
               (upbeat)
        I must show you...
               (flips open wallet,
                shows four crisp
                photos of his wife)
        And this is Richard.  My son.  He's
        four years old.  We named him after
        the former President, Richard Nixon.

Sykes looks at all the photos sprawled out on the table...
and has to laugh.  He looks up at Jetson's sincere face.
He may be starting to like this guy.

                    SYKES
        You open to a piece of advice?  Tell
        people you named him after Richard
        Burton, the actor.  Just take my
        word for it.

And he clacks his glass against Jetson's sitting on the
table, and--


INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - LATER

They are quite a bit drunker.  Jetson has doffed his
jacket and tie, leans in, listening intently to Sykes.

                    SYKES
        ... and so, and so the doctor says,
        "If this is the thermometer, then
        where'd I leave the pen?"
               (laughs raucously,
                Jetson doesn't
                react)
        You're not... you don't think that's
        funny?  George, work with me, I
        always get a laugh with that one.
        Look, if the doctor's got the
        thermometer in his hand, then
        where's his pen gotta be?

                    JETSON
               (straight-faced)
        In the other man's rectum.

                    SYKES
               (laughing)
        Sticking out of his ass... yeah!
        See, that's what makes it a joke.
        There's like a surprise, and your
        mind fills in the funny picture.
        Here's this guy with a pen stuck in
        his ass and he thinks it's a
        thermometer.
               (Jetson just blinks)
        Nada, huh?

Jetson shrugs apologetically.  Sykes pours them each
another round.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        Your health...

                    JETSON
        Ta ss'trakyona'...

They CLACK glasses, and--


INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - LATER STILL

The party has moves into the living room floor, around the
coffee table.  It's a quieter moment.

                    JETSON
        There is so much our two peoples
        don't understand about each other.

                    SYKES
        No shit, Holmes.  You're only from
        another goddamn planet, for
        chrissakes.

                    JETSON
        You humans are very curious to us.
        You invite us to live among you, in
        an atmosphere of equality we've
        never known before.  You lay before
        us a beautiful green world, full of
        freedoms and opportunities... You
        give us ownership of our lives for
        the first time... and you ask no
        more of us than you do of
        yourselves: to live by the rules...
        rules that aren't made to keep one
        people subordinate to another, but
        rules that exist to preserve
        equality.  You aspire to very high
        ideals here.

Sykes is watching Jetson, mesmerized.  The guy's never
said this much at one time before.

If he wasn't drunk, Jetson would never let himself open up
to a human like this.

                    JETSON
               (continuing)
        I hope you can understand how
        special your world is... how unique
        a people you humans are.  So it us
        all the more painful and confusing
        to us that so few of you seem
        capable of living up the the ideals
        you set for yourselves.

                    SYKES
        Don't count on me, George.  I never
        had any ideals.

Jetson smiles a little.  He knows that's bullshit.

                    JETSON
        We don't understand the hatred, the
        contempt.  But we must bear it... we
        must not react in anger... because
        our situation here is still fragile.
        The separationists would see us
        returned to the quarantine camps.
        The fundamentalists say we have no
        more human rights than dogs or cats.
        But the prejudice we face here is so
        insignificant compared to the pain
        that we've known before.  And that
        is why we are so grateful.

Sykes studies him a long time through heavy-lidded eyes.
Finally--

                    SYKES
        Yeah, well... except I did hear you
        eat your dead.

Jetson looks at him a long beat, then--

                    JETSON
               (deadpan)
        Only on Fridays.

Sykes stares at him for about five seconds and then
explodes with laughter.

                    SYKES
        You son-of-a-bitch.  You're okay.

Jetson stands unsteadily, and announces:

                    JETSON
        I'm going home.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, go home.  Get some sleep.  You
        do sleep, don't you?

Jetson, going out the front door, just waves over his
shoulder without turning around.  He's gone.

                    SYKES
        What a wildman...

Sykes, stands there wobbling, then he collapses backward
onto the sofa, unconscious.  And we MATCH DISSOLVE TO--


INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - DAWN

The first hues of dawn stream through the window.  Sykes
remains passed out on the sofa where we left him.


EXT.  STREET - FRONT OF SYKES' BUILDING - DAWN

The slug-mobile parked at the curb.  Silence, then the
RUMBLE of a heavy truck... and a tow truck turns onto this
street at the corner.

The tow truck glides to the curb in front of the slug-
mobile.  The driver stays inside as his passenger alights
carrying a tool kit and a paper bag.  The human is Quint.

Quint uses a slim-jim to open the slug-mobile door, then
slides behind the wheel.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DAWN

Quint slides the contents from the paper bag.  It is a
packet of C-4 plastic explosives, with a primer cap, and
two lead wires with their ends bared.  Quint bends down,
starts to work under the dash.  As his head disappears
from FRAME, suddenly another head appears above the
seats... George Jetson sitting up groggily in the back
seat.  A blanket slips off his head and shoulders.  He
sits there blinking, rubbing his eyes, feeling lousy.

Under the dash, Quint starts to whistle as he works.
Mistake.

Jetson, with a puzzled expression, leans forward and sees
this guy in the front seat.  Before he can jump-start his
brain, Quint sits up, sees him, and hammers him in the
face with his fist.  Jetson is knocked back, holding his
face.  That was the last thing he needed.


EXT.  STREET - FRONT OF SYKES' BUILDING - DAWN

Meanwhile Quint is shouting and bailing out of the car.
He runs and leaps into the already moving tow truck.

It is sliding around the corner out of sight just as
Jetson stumbles out of the car.  He whips out his gun from
the unfamiliar shoulder rig and it flies out of his hand.
Jetson sags against the side of the car, mumbles an alien
phrase, clearly the equivalent of "Fuck it...".

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - DAY

Sykes is in the fetal position on the couch where we left
him.  Someone is POUNDING on the door.  He regains
consciousness reluctantly.

                    SYKES
        This better be good news or money.

He shambles to the door and gets it open, admitting
Jetson.  Jetson holds the C-4 charge in a handkerchief
with one hand and gives it to Sykes.

                    JETSON
        Hold this.
               (lurching to the
                sink)
        I feel very terrible.

Sykes registers what he's holding.  He moves to Jetson,
who is running his head under the tap.

                    SYKES
        Where'd you get this?!!

                    JETSON
        A man, a human, was wiring it to
        your car.  I didn't get a good look
        at him.
               (then, registering
                that it's day;
                panicked)
        I must call my wife...

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  PRECINCT FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY

Jetson is starting to take on Sykes' looks, his clothing
rumpled and a day old.  Sykes has showered and changed so
he's not suffering as much by comparison.  They approach
Sykes' desk.

                    JETSON
        She's going to divorce me.

                    SYKES
        George, she's not gonna divorce you.
        You mate for life, remember?

                    JETSON
        She's very progressive.  I'm certain
        she's considering it.

ANGLE - A UNIFORMED SECRETARY

distributing phone slips nearby notices Sykes.

                    SECRETARY
        You guys are looking for somebody
        named Strader, right?

                    SYKES
        Yeah.

                    SECRETARY
        Fedorchuk and Alterez just phoned
        in.  They found him.
               (Sykes and Jetson
                react)
        Or at least what's left of him,
        washed up on the beach at Zuma.

Sykes and Jetson react again.

                    SECRETARY
               (continuing; handing
                over  the message
                slip)
        They're still there if you wanna
        catch them.

She moves off.

                    SYKES
        Well, let's roll, George.

                    JETSON
               (with a stricken
                expression)
        To the... to the beach?

                    SYKES
        Come on, let's go, dude.  Surf's up!

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - ZUMA BEACH - DUSK

CRANE SHOT, nice and WIDE, showing the slug-mobile turning
off P.C.H. onto a gravel road which curves down the the
beach.  The following is V.O. as the car approaches the
water.

                    JETSON (V.O.)
        Stop the car.

                    SYKES (V.O.)
        Why?

                    JETSON (V.O.)
        Please, I must get out here.

                    SYKES (V.O.)
        Come on, you won't have to get near
        the water.

                    JETSON (V.O.)
        Stop the car!

We see the car pull to a stop in a cloud of dust.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DUSK

                    SYKES
        All right, okay.  Keep your
        pantyhose on.  Jeez, when in doubt,
        freak out, for chrissake.

Sykes sees that his partner is covered with a sudden sheen
of sweat, his hands shaking.  Sykes softens.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        It's all right, George.  It's cool.
        Just wait here, all right?  I'll be
        back in a coupla minutes.

                    JETSON
        Thank you.

He climbs out and Sykes drives down to the beach... toward
a cluster of vehicles: a Sheriff's black-and-white, a
coroner's wagon, and Fedorchuk's unmarked sedan.


EXT.  BEACH - DUSK

A quick glimpse of a pile of dark yuck in the shape of a
person, black and skeletal beneath the remains of a silk
suit.  Wound around the corpse are streamers of kelp and
other high tide detritus.

ANGLE ON SYKES, FEDORCHUK, AND ALTEREZ

looking down at the body.  A CORONER'S TECHNICIAN is doing
a closer inspection.

                    FEDORCHUK
        Found his wallet in his jacket
        pocket.  Joshua Strader, big as
        life.

                    CORONER'S TECH
        Jesus, what a mess.  It's gonna be a
        bear to make a positive
        determination, but it looks to me
        like he was shot before being tossed
        in the drink.  At least twice--
               (indicates where
                hearts  would've
                been on the body)
        -- here, and here.

Sykes absorbs this.  He rises along with Fedorchuk and
Alterez.

                    SYKES
        How're you two doing on Tuggle's
        killer?

                    ALTEREZ
        The store owner's son is in a street
        gang, so now we're thinking maybe
        it's gang related.

                    SYKES
        Yeah, that's real good.  You guys
        follow up on that for a coupla
        months.

Fedorchuk looks up at Jetson standing on the bluff above.

                    FEDORCHUK
        Look at your dildo partner.  He's
        too scared to even come down to the
        sand.
               (calls up to Jetson,
                even though he's too
                far away to hear)
        You're not gonna get wet standing
        here, moron!

                    SYKES
        I'd like to see you next to a sea of
        hydrochloric acid, Fedorchuk... see
        how much surfin' you'd do.

Alterez shoots a polaroid of the body.  Sykes grabs it as
it emerges from the camera and walks back toward the car.
Fedorchuk flips him the bird.  As Sykes rounds the car, he
sees that someone has drawn on the door in yellow liquid
chalk marker a big star with "E.T. P.D." printed inside
it.  Sykes looks around.  Fedorchuk and the others stand
together chuckling, conspicuously not looking in his
direction.

                    SYKES
        Cute.


EXT.  BEACH ROAD - DUSK

Sykes has stopped to pick Jetson up.

He's wiping the "E.T. P.D."  from the door as Jetson
approaches from the edge of the bluff.  Fedorchuk pulls up
alongside in his n.d. sedan.  He calls off to Jetson, who
is still twenty yards away.

                    FEDORCHUK
        Well, if it isn't Detective Jetson.
        Forget you hip waders, big guy?

                    SYKES
        Lay off, asshole.

                    FEDORCHUK
        I may be an asshole, but at least
        I'm a real detective, not some outer
        shit space thing.

Sykes, his face neutral, which we should by now know to be
highly dangerous, saunters to Fedorchuk's car and leans
against it.

                    SYKES
        Yeah?  you're a real honest-to-god
        detective...?

Sykes grabs the back of Fedorchuk's head and slams it into
the steering wheel, BAM-HONK!, and in doing so, has hurt
his hand again (the hand he hit Jetson with).

He shakes that hand while lunging in and grabbing
Fedorchuk's car keys with the other.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        Then detect these!

Fedorchuk, holding his bloody nose, watches as his car
keys sail out in an arc out over the bluff.  Jetson, just
climbing into the slug-mobile, witnesses the last of this
scene without knowing how it began.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DUSK

Sykes gets in, slams the door.  His hand hurts as he grabs
the wheel.  He holds the wheel gingerly as he slams the
car into gear and hurls gravel up the road toward P.C.H.
Jetson looks over, curious.

                    JETSON
        What was that about?

                    SYKES
               (embarrassed that he
                defended Jetson)
        Nothing.

On Jetson's confused expression, we--

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  BURGER STAND - NIGHT

A different burger stand.  Sykes and Jetson sit across
from each other at one of the outdoor tables... Sykes with
his greasy burger, Jetson with his mole strips.  This time
they have no trouble eating in front of each other as they
talk.

                    SYKES
        ... So we've got three guys dead.
        All Newcomers, all killed the same
        way -- execution style.

                    JETSON
        Warren Hubley was in middle
        management at a refinery... Joshua
        Strader operated a successful bar
        and nightclub...

                    SYKES
        ... and Porter ran a piece of shit
        mom-and-pop mini-mart.
               (beat)
        So what the hell's the connection?

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  PATHOLOGY LAB OFFICE - NIGHT

Sykes and Jetson enter the cluttered lab office.  Winter
is here eating take-out chicken at his cluttered desk.

                    SYKES
        You guys finished the postmortem on
        Strader yet?

                    WINTER
               (his mouth full)
        You mean the Blob?  They're
        finishing up now.

                    JETSON
        Is Bentner here?  I must speak with
        him.

                    WINTER
        He went home early -- his kid was
        sick.

Jetson frowns.

                    WINTER
               (continuing)
        Yeah, but he left something for you.

He wipes his greasy fingers on a napkin, then finds an
envelope on the desk and hands it to Jetson.  Jetson tears
open the sealed envelope.  The message inside is written
in the alien language.

                    WINTER
               (continuing)
        Does this have something to do with
        the test he ran that he wouldn't
        tell me about?

CLOSE ON - JETSON

His expression grows stricken as he reads the message.

BACK TO SCENE

                    SYKES
               (getting very curious
                and suspicious now)
        What kind of test?

                    WINTER
        Looking for some foreign compound in
        the blood of that alien you dropped
        the other day.

                    SYKES
        Did he find anything?

Winter shrugs, indicates the message Jetson reads, as if
to say, "Maybe it says in there".

                    SYKES
               (to Jetson)
        Well?

Jetson refolds the paper and puts it in his pocket.

He is clearly disturbed by what he has read.  He looks at
Sykes a moment, then quickly breaks eye contact.

                    JETSON
        It is nothing.

Jetson quickly moves off.  Sykes hurries off after him.


INT.  HALLWAY - NIGHT

Sykes hurries to catch up with the fast walking Jetson.
They eventually reach the elevators and Jetson jabs the
button during:

                    SYKES
        What's this nothing shit?  It wasn't
        nothing yesterday when you asked
        Bentner to run that test and he
        looked like he was about to shit
        peach pits, and it's not nothing
        now.  Don't lie to me, George,
        you're bad at it.

                    JETSON
               (distant, closed)
        You must leave me alone on this.

The elevator arrives, he steps in.  Sykes follows.


INT.  ELEVATOR - NIGHT

They enter the empty elevator.  Jetson presses the button
to descend.

                    SYKES
        No, see, I don't leave you alone...
        I'm your partner.  I don't work that
        way... Tug didn't work that way.

Jetson remains steadfast.  Sykes, about to explode, slams
his palm against the red Emergency Stop button and the
elevator lurches to a halt between floors.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        No secrets, goddammit!  You don't
        hold back from me.  Whatever is
        going on, you're gonna tell me now!

                    JETSON
               (agonizing)
        No.  I cannot involve you.  This is
        not your concern.

                    SYKES
        The hell it isn't, when somebody
        wires up enough C-4 explosive to my
        car to turn me into pink mist!
               (beat)
        That Slag was on something, and not
        sour milk, either?  Am I right?
               (he has backed Jetson
                to the wall by sheer
                force of will)
        TELL ME!  What is it?

                    JETSON
               (finally)
        ... It is called ss'jabroka'.  To us
        it is a potent narcotic.

                    SYKES
        How potent?

                    JETSON
        Like your cocaine, I suppose.  The
        "high" lasts several hours.  We
        would receive small amounts of it...
        as a reward for our labor.

                    SYKES
        We?  You've taken it?

                    JETSON
        We all did.

                    SYKES
        Where did he get it?  Was there any
        of it on the ship?

                    JETSON
        No... I am sure not.  That is why I
        am so concerned... someone must now
        be producing it here.
               (emphatically)
        But none of my people know how to
        make it.  The process was carefully
        guarded.

                    SYKES
               (as the enormity
                sinks in)
        Jesus, this is major.
               (then)
        Why didn't you tell me sooner?
        Why'd you hold out on me?

                    JETSON
        Your people don't know about this
        part of out past.  And they can't
        know -- It would threaten our entire
        existence here.

The voltage runs out of Sykes.  He seems to understand
Jetson's dilemma.

                    SYKES
        George... look me in the eye...
        George, you don't ever lie to me
        again.

                    JETSON
        I must trust you, Matthew.  I cannot
        stop this without you.

Sykes stare at Jetson... absorbing the enormity of the
earth-shattering secret this alien has asked him to keep.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  COUNTY MORGUE - NIGHT

Sykes and Jetson move quickly to the slug-mobile.  Sykes
reaches for the driver's door handle with his punching
hand.  He winces in pain... the son-of-a-bitch still
hurts.  He looks across at Jetson opening the passenger
door.

                    SYKES
        George?  How about you drive...

Jetson looks over at him... gently reacting to this vote
of confidence.  They walk quickly around to the opposite
doors, climb in.


INT.  CORRIDOR - BUREAU OF NEWCOMER AFFAIRS - NIGHT

Sykes and Jetson move down this government-building
corridor.

                    SYKES
        There's gotta be some other
        connection.

They enter a door marked BUREAU OF NEWCOMER AFFAIRS.


INT.  BUREAU OF NEWCOMER AFFAIRS - NIGHT

HIGH SHOT showing the maze of partitioned cubicles filling
this huge room.  It's all but deserted.  Sykes and Jetson
are off to one side with a heavyset woman (human) COMPUTER
OPERATOR, who they're shanghaied into helping them after
hours.

CLOSER - AT COMPUTER OPERATOR'S DESK

She sits at her computer terminal.  Sykes and Jetson stand
behind her as she types in commands and information.

She types: Hubley, Warren.  The computer screen flashes
past various information, then settles on a screen full of
information of HUBLEY, WARREN.

                    OPERATOR
        Here's Hubley.
               (scanning it)
        Left Quarantine on November
        thirtieth, relocated first to
        Riverside, then moved to Los Angeles
        early in February the following
        year.  Field of expertise: chemical
        manufacturing.  Looks like he passed
        up several other better paying jobs
        waiting for that one at the
        refinery.

                    SYKES
        Try Joshua Strader, will ya,
        darlin'?

                    OPERATOR
        For you, anything.

The Operator punches up STRADER, JOSHUA.  The screen fills
with information.

                    OPERATOR
               (continuing, reading
                from screen)
        Released on November twenty-ninth.
        Came immediately to L.A.  Ten weeks
        after arriving he took over the
        abandoned club which is now
        Encounters.

                    JETSON
               (to Operator)
        Now the store owner, please.  Cecil
        Porter.

She types it in.

                    OPERATOR
        Released December one.  He and his
        wife moved first to Modesto, then
        Coalinga, California -- wherever
        that is -- settled in L.A. in
        April.  Field of expertise:
        organic chemical engineering.  He
        and his wife have one child, a son.

                    SYKES
        Yeah -- we met him.  Wonderful
        boy... close personal friend of
        George's here.

                    OPERATOR
        I'm sorry, Matt.  Nothing here seems
        to be matching up...

But Sykes wasn't listening.  He's starting off... an idea
forming.  He stands there a moment, considering it, his
face looking like he's chewing something sour.  It's so
off-the-wall it takes a moment for him to assimilate it.
Then--

                    SYKES
        Holy shit...
               (to Jetson)
        Look what we're staring at: three
        Newcomers with nothing in common,
        right?  What if it's just one other
        guy who killed these three?
               (Jetson looks at him
                blankly)
        Three and one make four.  Four
        Newcomers... of totally different
        backgrounds...
               (Jetson still doesn't
                get it)
        You and the store owner's son --
        that punker!

Suddenly the realization hits Jetson, too.  He looks at
Sykes.

                    JETSON
        ... Quarantine.

Sykes spins to the Operator, excited.

                    SYKES
        Can you dig up their Quarantine
        records in this thing?

                    OPERATOR
        Sure.  Just a minute.

She moves up a screen to the top of Porter's information. 

                    OPERATOR
               (to herself)
        Porter was in Lodge seven seven two.

She rapidly types in additional information.  The screen
shifts as she jumps files.  Finally she gets a line that
reads: ENTER LODGE NUMBER: She types: 7-7-2.

Sykes and Jetson lean in as the screen goes blank... then
information flashes past as the computer searches... then,
finally: Occupants, Quarantine Lodge 772: HUBLEY,
WARREN......... STRADER, JOSHUA.........

Sykes and Jetson react -- their hunch is coming true.

On the computer screen: .........PORTER, CECIL.........

Sykes and Jetson, their faces bathed in the green kick of
the screen, stare without blinking, waiting for that forth
name.

On the computer screen: .........HARCOURT, WILLIAM.

CLOSE ON - SYKES AND JETSON

reacting to the name.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

CLOSE on a limousine door as it opens and a tall figure
rises from the back seat.  We TILT UP to reveal William
Harcourt.

We MOVE with him as he walks to the n.d. van (from the
beach scene) parked in front of the limousine.  Kipling is
just sliding out of the passenger side of the cab.  Quint
exits the driver door.  Kipling slides open the van's side
panel, reaches in for--

-- a large black suitcase.  He slides it out.  Harcourt
nods.  He and Kipling start into the club, followed by
Quint.


INT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

The club is deserted tonight as Harcourt and entourage
move toward the back.


EXT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Harcourt and the others move up the stairs to the second
floor.  Cassandra, wearing a slinky dress, is at the top
of the stairs waiting for them.  She's very uncomfortable
dealing with Harcourt.  Kipling and Quint continue on
toward the office door.  Harcourt pauses with Cassandra.
He touches her neckline of her dress, letting his fingers
linger against her flesh.

                    HARCOURT
        Quite lovely...
               (best)
        What is your name again?

                    CASSANDRA
               (flinching
                involuntarily at
                his touch)
        Cassandra.

                    HARCOURT
               (a chilling smile)
        I will have to remember that...

He continues down toward the office door.  Cassandra
watches him go.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - MOVING - NIGHT

                    JETSON
        They had months in quarantine to
        develop the plan.  Porter, with his
        chemistry background, must have
        somehow come up with the formula for
        the drug.  Hubley manufactured it --
        at the refinery.  Strader, through
        the nightclub, established a
        distribution network.  And
        Harcourt--

                    SYKES
        Harcourt was the brain who brought
        it all together.


EXT.  REFINERY - ESTABLISHING SHOT - NIGHT


EXT.  REFINERY - NIGHT

The slug-mobile skids to a stop at the loading dock
entrance.  Sykes and Jetson climb out.  They hop up onto
the loading platform and move purposefully into the well-
lit interior through the open door.


INT.  REFINERY - NIGHT

It is Saturday night, the plant is barely operational --
only a few WORKERS around.  Sykes and Jetson move
purposefully toward the back.

                    SYKES
        Okay, George -- we gotta play this
        real smart.

                    JETSON
        If the drug is here, we must destroy
        it.

                    SYKES
        No, George -- you're missing the
        point.  The drug is evidence.  We
        need to have the evidence, ya know?

Jetson doesn't reply -- he's focused beyond what Sykes is
saying.  Sykes spots O'Neal up ahead by the refrigeration
door to the METHANE SECTION.

                    SYKES
               (continuing)
        That's the guy...

O'Neal recognizes Sykes and doesn't wait around for the
big Newcomer bearing down on him.  He dodges quickly
through the refrigeration door and swings it closed.
Jetson's hand hits the door an instant later, before it is
latched, and he pushes it open despite O'Neal's body
weight against the other side.


INT.  METHANE ROOM - NIGHT

Jetson grabs O'Neal by the collar and drags him deeper
into the deserted room.

                    O'NEAL
        Hey, what are you, crazy?!  You
        can't come in here like this!  Hey!

Sykes reaches the doorway, stops and stares.

                    SYKES
        So much for playing it smart...

O'Neal's feet are barely touching the ground as Jetson
moves along the row of drug-manufacturing equipment.

Finally he reaches a stainless steel tub... he runs a long
finger along the inside, comes up with some residue of the
drug.  It glistens blue on his finger.  It holds him
mesmerized for several moments... his expression that of a
former junkie beholding the stuff he used to covet so.

                    SYKES
               (tentatively
                stepping closer)
        Is that it...?

A beat, than Jetson explodes -- he sweeps a rack of
equipment off the worktable, savagely wipes the drug from
his hand onto O'Neal's shirt-front as he slams and pins
the bug-eyed O'Neal to the wall.

                    SYKES
        Uh, George...

                    JETSON
               (in O'Neal's face)
        Where is the drug?  Where have they
        taken it?

                    O'NEAL
               (choking)
        What drug?  This is an oil refinery,
        you...

                    JETSON
               (pushing harder)
        WHERE?!

                    O'NEAL
               (unable to breathe)
        You... can't do... this!

                    SYKES
        George, uh... you're gonna break his
        little chest bones...

                    JETSON
        Stay out of this, Matthew.
               (to O'Neal)
        Tell me where the drug has been
        taken or I will crush your lungs
        against this wall.

O'Neal is experiencing real fear now.  Sykes has decided
to back Jetson up, for better or worse.  He takes the
"good cop" role.

                    SYKES
        Don't piss him off, O'Neal.  When he
        gets like this, I can't control him.
        I've seen this before.  He got like
        this once -- I saw him jerk a guy's
        spine out and show it to him.
        Nothing I could do.  I hadda go
        throw up.

                    O'NEAL
               (at length, with
                great effort)
        ... They took the stuff out, all of
        it -- this afternoon.

                    JETSON
        How much?

                    O'NEAL
        About fifty kilos... of
        concentrate... and some street
        grade... in tubes.

Jetson reacts to this... then increases the pressure.
O'Neal is really in bad trouble now.  Even Sykes takes a
half-step forward -- thinking Jetson might actually crush
this man.

                    JETSON
        Where have they taken it?

                    O'NEAL
        Encount... Encounters Club.

Finally, Jetson eases off.  O'Neal slumps to the floor,
gasping for air.

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  REFINERY - NIGHT

This time Jetson is the Juggernaut... his expression set
and hard... as he strides to the car.  Sykes practically
has to run to keep up.

                    SYKES
        George, c'mon -- lighten up.  It's
        a beauty of a case.  Don't sweat it
        -- we got him by the short hairs.
        He ain't gonna make any more of the
        shit.

                    JETSON
        The fifty kilos, Matthew.  I have to
        find it.  I can't let it get out on
        the street.

                    SYKES
        Why?  What's the big goddamn deal?

Jetson has reached the driver's door of the slug-mobile,
yanks it open.

                    SYKES
               (continuing; as
                Jetson starts the
                car
        You destroy that drug, you destroy
        the case.  Don't blow the whole
        thing now by not following
        procedure.

                    JETSON
               (through the open
                driver's window)
        Fuck procedure.

And to Sykes' shock, he throws the car in gear and peels
out.

                    SYKES
        Hey!!

Jetson accelerates toward the security gate.  The guard in
the shack starts yelling and runs out as the slug-mobile
bashes through the barricade bar.

                    SYKES
        GEORGE!  GODDAMMIT!!

Sykes stands there like a moron -- with no partner, no
car.  A pickup truck carrying a Worker just getting off
his shift starts ambling past.  Sykes runs in front of it,
waving his badge.  The pickup skids to a stop.

                    SYKES
        Police.  Get out.  I need this
        thing.  Out, now!

The poor guy bails out and Sykes jumps in, jamming it into
gear.  The truck has seen better days... it doesn't have
much power to give as Sykes floors it toward the exit.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

As Jetson races along the freeway, whipping past other
traffic.  He takes a hand off the wheel, reaches over and
pops open the glovebox.  He shoves some maps and garbage
aside, reaches deeper inside for something -- we don't see
what.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

Cassandra walks a trio of well-dressed DRUG DEALERS (two
alien, one human) through the deserted club.


INT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT

She leads them to the office door, opens it, then lets
them enter ahead of her.  A couple of them smile at her
lasciviously as they brush past.  She is about to enter
herself when an alien hand flashes in behind her, covering
her mouth, pulling her backward away from the door.

It is Jetson.  He had been hiding behind some crates
stacked here in the corridor.  He pins Cassandra
powerfully to the wall, keeping one hand over her mouth.
She struggles until she sees who it is.

                    JETSON
        I am here to take Harcourt.  Where
        is he?

She hesitates, then decides to cooperate, indicates with a
nod toward the office door.

                    CASSANDRA
        In there.

                    JETSON
               (pulling his gun)
        Show me.


INT.  CONFERENCE ROOM - NIGHT

The large suitcase rests on the expansive conference
table.  A manicured alien hand reaches in and slowly opens
it.  Inside are fifty one-kilo glass tubes full of the
viscous blue drug.  Also several of the small, individual
dispensers.  It is Harcourt, standing behind the table in
a pool of light, who has opened the suitcase.  He is
flanked by Kipling... with Quint elsewhere in the room.
The room is lit by track light, creating pools of light
and dark.

The two alien Dealers' eyes widen at the sight of the
drug.  The human dealer doesn't know what it is.

                    HARCOURT
               (to alien dealers)
        It's been a long time, hasn't it,
        gentlemen?

                    HUMAN DEALER
        What is it?

                    HARCOURT
        A sweet indulgence from out past...
        resurrected for our future.

Harcourt sees the hungering expressions on the alien
Dealers' faces... smiles knowingly.  He slides one of the
dispensers from the suitcase.

                    HARCOURT
               (continuing; to
                alien  dealers)
        Please feel free to sample the
        quality.  The experience will be
        everything you remember it to be...

One of the alien Dealers takes the dispenser, brings it to
his tongue.  The other alien dealer turns to Harcourt--

                    ALIEN DEALER
        Where'd you get it?

                    HARCOURT
        I arranged to spend some time with
        three very resourceful men.  With a
        certain amount of coaxing, one of
        them was able to reconstitute the
        formula for me.
               (beat)
        They worked very well together.
        Unfortunately, they are no longer
        with us... but I was fortunate
        enough to reap the benefit of their
        endeavor.

He indicates the drug.  The first alien Dealer sways
gently, enjoying the sensation.  The second alien Dealer
takes his hit... shudders as the first rush washes over
him.  The human Dealer is no fool... he grabs the
dispenser.

                    HUMAN DEALER
        Let me try some.
               (he does,
                immediately spits
                it out)
        Jesus!  Tastes like detergent!

                    HARCOURT
        And that's all the effect it will
        have on you.  But when my fellow
        Newcomers learn they can obtain it
        here, they will work very hard... to
        make as much money as they can... to
        give it to me.

Suddenly, a voice from the shadows near the open door to
the other office:

                    VOICE
        You haven't told him all of it.

Harcourt and the others react.  Quint leaps to his feet,
caught off guard.  Kipling reaches for his shoulder
holster.  A silhouette beside the open door to the outer
office nudges Cassandra into the light of the room, then
steps out himself.  It is Jetson.

Quint gets his gun out, is about to aim... when his eyes
go wide at the sight of something Jetson holds.

It is the plastic explosive charge that Quint was wiring
to the slug-mobile.  The wires are connected and Jetson's
finger squeezes down hard on the detonation push-switch.

                    QUINT
        He's got the C-4 charge!

Jetson moves forward slowly, holding the bomb in front of
him.  He is sweating rivers.  The others quickly join him.
He nudges Cassandra ahead of himself, keeping her where he
can see her.

                    QUINT
               (continuing)
        Just take it real casual, buddy.
        Keep your finger on that button and
        don't do nothing squirrely.

                    HARCOURT
        If you release that button, you not
        only kill us, but yourself.

                    JETSON
        To get you and that--
               (indicates drug in
                suitcase)
        -- I would do it.

He says it with such straightforward eye contact, that
Harcourt (and we) know he isn't bluffing.

                    JETSON
        Everyone up against that wall.
        Very slowly.
               (to Harcourt)
        Except you.

Harcourt remains behind the desk.  Cassandra stays where
she is, near Jetson.  The others move to the wall.
Kipling in particular is going nuts, letting this happen.

Jetson takes the "sample" dispenser from the table, tosses
it into the suitcase, then closes the lid and locks it.
All the while keeping his eye on Harcourt and the others.

                    HARCOURT
        One small matter seems to have
        escaped your attention.  That--
               (indicates suitcase)
        -- is not on any books as a
        controlled substance.  Legally it
        might as well be fifty kilos of...
        grape jelly.

                    JETSON
        The charge is murder... and
        conspiracy to commit murder.
        Hubley, Porter, Strader... probably
        others.

There's a flicker of concern behind Harcourt's icy blue
eyes.

Cassandra stares at Harcourt.

                    CASSANDRA
        You... you killed Strader?

Cassandra runs to Harcourt grabbing his jacket.

                    CASSANDRA
        Where's Todd?!  Did you do something
        to Todd?!

Harcourt looks down at her, totally uninvolved.

                    HARCOURT
        Todd?  Who is Todd.
               (then remembers;
                smiles)
        Ah, poor Mr. Watson.

Cassandra's eyes go wide as the horror of what he said
sinks in.  Jetson nudges Harcourt with the suitcase.  They
start out.  Cassandra, wild with rage, grabs Quint's .357
and with a KEENING WAIL, brings it up toward Harcourt's
face.

                    JETSON
        NOOO!

Jetson drops the suitcase as he lunges for the gun.  He
manages to knock it away just as she fires -- the bullet
going into the wall behind Harcourt.  Striking like a
mongoose, Kipling leaps forward, grabbing the two lead
wires on the bomb in Jetson's hand and jerking them apart.
Jetson reacts an instant late... releasing the switch...
and nothing happens.

                    KIPLING
        I got it!

Kipling tackles Jetson and they both go crashing to the
floor.  Quint grabs the gun from Cassandra and hammers her
with it, hard.  She drops to her knees and Quint viciously
hits her again.

Meanwhile, Jetson struggles to regain his feet.  Kipling
rears back and delivers a crushing blow under Jetson's arm
-- to the nerve plexus.  Jetson instantly folds over
forward and Kipling savagely brings up his knee into
Jetson's face, flipping him back.  Kipling slams him into
the wall face-first, pinning him there.

                    HARCOURT
        Kill them both.

                    KIPLING
        Here?

                    HARCOURT
               (raging)
        Do it!

Quint brings the gun up, places the muzzle against the
base of Cassandra's skull, starts to squeeze the trigger.
There's a loud BLAM!  and Cassandra flinches... then looks
up.

Quint is blown backward away from her.

Sykes stand in the doorway from the private office, the
Casull smoking in his hand.

Quint hits the wall behind him -- only it's not a solid
wall, but the huge window overlooking the club.  He
crashes through it.

ANGLE FROM DANCE FLOOR

as the wall of mirror explodes IN SLOW MOTION and Quint
cartwheels to the floor in a shower of diamonds.

ANGLE - IN THE OFFICE

Kipling shoves Jetson aside, draws his gun and fires at
Sykes.

Sykes dodges into the private office for cover.

The three Dealers dive behind any available furniture.

Harcourt snatches up the suitcase and rushes to the door
leading into the adjoining outer office.

Sykes swings around the edge of the private office door,
straight-arms the Casull into the office and fires.
Kipling fires back, crossing toward the outer office door,
covering Harcourt's back.  Sykes ducks back down.

An unsteady Jetson rises from the floor, sees Harcourt and
Kipling escaping, and takes off after them.

Sykes straight-arms the gun into the room again... sees
Jetson disappearing through the adjoining office door.  He
moves into the room as the three drug Dealers, arms up in
surrender, rise from behind the furniture.

                    ALIEN DEALER
        Don't shoot, man -- we're unarmed --
        look!

Sykes looks at these harmless wimps... then at Cassandra.

                    SYKES
        You okay?

                    CASSANDRA
               (dazed, but all
                right)
        Yeah...

And he charges out the adjoining office door.


EXT.  FIRE ESCAPE - ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT

Harcourt and Kipling bang down the metal stairs.  Jetson
is ten feet above them.  Sykes flies out onto the fire
escape, a few steps behind Jetson.  A POLICE CAR SIREN is
HEARD arriving O.S.


EXT.  ALLEY - BEHIND ENCOUNTER - NIGHT

Two UNIFORMED OFFICERS bound from their unit and run into
the back entrance of the club, leaving the unit running.

Two seconds later, Harcourt and Kipling leap down from the
fire escape, find themselves near the unit.

                    HARCOURT
        Here!

He throws the suitcase into the passenger side door, jumps
in.  Kipling dives in behind the wheel, slams it into gear
and floors it.

Jetson and Sykes hit the ground just as the unit peels
out.  Sykes raises the Casull and fires at the fleeing
car.  One slug shatters a tail light, others pepper the
rear of the trunk, but the car keeps going.

                    JETSON
        This way!

He indicates the slug-mobile parked nearby.  They race to
it, jump in... Sykes driving.  He burns rubber as he pulls
out.

A second arriving police unit pulls into the alley,
heading straight for the slug-mobile.  Sykes has to grate
between the alley wall and the arriving police unit to get
past.


EXT.  WEST SIDE STREET - NIGHT

Harcourt and Kipling in the first police unit come
thundering down the street zig-zagging through traffic.
The slug-mobile is three-quarters of a block behind them.

INSIDE THE BLACK-AND-WHITE

Harcourt begins fumbling with the dash switches...
eventually hitting the right ones and the roof lights and
SIREN blast on.


EXT.  WEST SIDE STREET - NIGHT

It looks like a backwards chase, the slug-mobile chasing
the howling police car through traffic.

Jetson alertly eyes the approaching traffic -- calls it
out to Sykes the way he was trained at the academy.

                    JETSON
        Slow traffic on your right... you're
        clear at the left rear...
               (Sykes changes lanes)
        Careful, red light ahead...

With Jetson's help, Sykes is able to dice through the
cross-traffic without incident.


EXT.  WEST SIDE STREET - NIGHT

The traffic ahead of the police car peels off in response
to the approaching lights and SIREN.  Kipling dodges
around the stopped traffic easily.

The same traffic that has pulled over for the police car
now starts easing back onto the street, cutting off the
slug-mobile.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

Sykes' expression tells us he's slipped into the same
juggernaut mode we saw during the foot chase in the alley.

                    JETSON
        Yellow light ahead turning red...

But Sykes doesn't slow -- instead he floors it.

                    JETSON
               (continuing; wide-
                eyed)
        Red light!  Red light!


EXT.  WEST SIDE STREET - NIGHT

Sykes peels around the merging traffic, cuts across the
intersection, and continues the chase.  On the wrong side
of the road, head-on into traffic.

Headlights peel off in front of them as they charge along
the wrong side.  They eventually catch up to the police
unit, racing parallel to it, but with the divider between
them.

Sykes keeps one hand on the wheel and draws the Casull
with the other.  He brings it up and around right in front
of Jetson's nose, pointing it through the passenger window
at Kipling.

At that moment, Kipling glances over and reacts to the
bore of this huge gun staring him in the kisser.

Jetson reacts to the gun in his face... then reacts to
something else he sees beyond it.

                    JETSON
        Green light, Matthew.
               (Sykes doesn't
                respond)
        Green light!

Now Sykes looks.  The light at the intersection has just
turned green -- and the rows of the cars that were waiting
start coming.  It's a wall of headlights coming right for
the slug-mobile.

                    SYKES
        Shit!

                    JETSON
        Ss-ai!


EXT.  WEST SIDE STREET - NIGHT

Sykes locks up the brakes.  Kipling veers around a couple
of cars and speeds away.

Because of the other traffic, Sykes has only one course of
action.  He skids a left onto a side street.


EXT.  SIDE STREET - NIGHT

Sykes burns rubber down this quieter street, squeals a
right onto another street that parallels the street the
police unit is on.  At the first street available, he cuts
back in behind the police unit.


EXT.  FIRST STREET OVERPASS - NIGHT

Sykes' car tears along below the overpass -- with the
police unit directly above them!  An on-ramp approaches
for the slug-mobile and Sykes floors it.


INT.  BLACK-AND-WHITE - NIGHT

Harcourt turns in his seat just in time to see the slug-
mobile airborne as it flies from the on-ramp, landing a
few feet behind the black-and-white's bumper.


EXT.  FIRST STREET OVERPASS - NIGHT

With the slug-mobile now, the police unit hangs a right,
cuts through a parking lot, and bounces onto--


EXT.  SECOND STREET AND TUNNEL - NIGHT

The police unit hangs a u-turn into the Second Street
tunnel.  It clips one of the civilian cars, causing a
pile-up of traffic behind the police unit.

The slug-mobile skids to a stop, blocked by the clog of
traffic in the tunnel.  Sykes is out of the drivers door
in a flash, stand on the door frame, and yells--

                    SYKES
        Move your goddamned cars!

People climb out of their cars dazed and bewildered --
ignoring Sykes.  Sykes slides behind the wheel, bangs his
bumper into the car in front of him, and pushes the car
far enough forward to get around.  He speeds off.


INT./ EXT.  BLACK-AND-WHITE - FREEWAY - NIGHT

Kipling rockets up a freeway on-ramp.  Harcourt smiles
with satisfaction -- there's no sign of the slug-mobile
behind them.  Kipling eases off, blends into the flow of
traffic.


EXT.  FREEWAY - NIGHT

Sykes slaloms the slug-mobile through the civilian
traffic like Mario Andretti lapping the pack at
Indianapolis.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

Jetson spots the police unit in the right hand lane ahead.

                    JETSON
        There!

Sykes sees it.  Thinking fast, he eases off, using another
car as a blind.  He waits until the police unit is
parallel to an off-ramp, then guns ahead and swings right,
directly for the police unit.

Kipling looks over, reacts, just as the slug-mobile
broadsides the police unit.  Sykes forces the police unit
up the off-ramp.


EXT.  INTERSECTION - NIGHT

Door handle to door handle, the two cars slue to the
right.  The police unit breaks out in front, but Sykes
stays right on its ass.  They charge up onto--


EXT.  VINCENT THOMAS BRIDGE - NIGHT

The police unit and slug-mobile -- bumper to bumper at 80
MPH.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

As the cars scream along, Jetson cranes out the side
window, looking in distress at the inky seawater flashing
past below.


EXT.  VINCENT THOMAS BRIDGE - NIGHT

They reach the far end of the bridge and skid wide onto--


EXT.  HENRY FORD BOULEVARD - NIGHT

A clear two lane straightaway near the ocean.  Sykes
pushes the slug-mobile to its limits, pulls alongside the
police unit.  The two cars trade blows at 90+ MPH.
Kipling manages to send Sykes onto the dirt shoulder,
slowing him down.


INT.  BLACK-AND-WHITE - NIGHT

Kipling watches the slug-mobile in the rearview mirror,
then looks back out the front to see the end of the road
coming up fast!  Harcourt bellows to Kipling, who slams on
the brakes.


EXT.  END OF BOULEVARD - NIGHT

The police unit skids to a stop before hitting a chain
link fence where the road ends.  An abandoned drawbridge
and the ocean are on the other side of the fence.

With nowhere else to go, Harcourt yells something at
Kipling and Kipling floors it back the way they came.


EXT.  HENRY FORD BOULEVARD - NIGHT

The two cars are racing for a full head-on.  At the last
instant, Sykes wrenches the wheel, throws the slug-mobile
sideways, passenger side first.  The police unit smashes
into the rear door and fender of the slug-mobile, both
cars skidding madly to a stop.  A fire ignites under the
hood of the police unit.


INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

Sykes sits stunned behind the wheel.  Disoriented but
conscious, he raises his head, looks over... sees Jetson
out cold, his forehead gashed and bleeding.  Then he looks
over and sees the fire growing under the police unit's
hood which is crunched up against the rear of the slug-
mobile -- near the gas tank.


EXT.  HENRY FORD BOULEVARD - NIGHT

Sykes slides out of the driver's door, stumbles to
Jetson's door, wrenches it open, and drags the huge
unconscious alien away from the cars.

He's still dragging Jetson away when he spots Harcourt
pulling himself through the smashed police unit window.
Bruised and bleeding, Harcourt reaches in for the
suitcase, then starts to run with it.

With Jetson a safe distance away from the cars, Sykes
clambers to his feet, draws the Casull, and starts off
after Harcourt.

Harcourt reaches the chain link fence leading to the
closed drawbridge.  He heaves the suitcase over, then
starts to climb.

Sykes lumbers past the burning police unit.  Kipling is
still behind the wheel, his head slumped forward.  Sykes
is just past the cars when they explode -- sending hoods
and door panels and glass flying in all directions.
Harcourt, on the other side of the fence, grabs the
suitcase and limps off into the shadowy world of the
abandoned drawbridge.

Sykes reaches the fence.  Instead of climbing, he simply
blows the lock to hell with the Casull, and kicks open the
gate.


EXT.  ABANDONED DRAWBRIDGE - NIGHT

The end of the bridge is in the "up" position... a huge
asphalt slab stabbing up into the night sky.  Harcourt
runs along the pools of light and dark at the edge of the
bridge, the black seawater drifting past beside him.  His
foot slips once and he almost goes over the side.

Sykes -- backlit by the burning cars, the big Casull a
prominent part of the silhouette -- just keeps coming.

Harcourt reaches the shadows at the end of the bridge --
and has nowhere to go.  He is backed into a corner, with
seawater on two side of him.  Harcourt pivots frantically,
sees Sykes coming this way.  Harcourt is a trapped animal.
His chest heaves in panic.  Then his gaze falls on the
suitcase behind him... and slowly... finally... a look of
resolve comes into his eye.

ON SYKES

He eases cautiously toward the shadows where he knows
Harcourt is.  There's some movement among the shadows, and
Sykes straight-arms the Casull, his finger white against
the trigger.

Perspiration drips into Sykes' eye, but he doesn't blink.
A long moment then--

ANGLE - THE SHADOWS

Harcourt emerges from the darkness.  His face is composed,
the superior glint is back in his eye.  His arms are held
away from his sides at 30 degree angles, clearly in
surrender.

Sykes cat-steps forward slowly.  Harcourt stares at Sykes'
eyes, and the desire there that Harcourt will give him an
excuse.  Harcourt simply... smiles.

                    SYKES
        Move a finger, Harcourt, and you're
        history...

                    HARCOURT
        No, Sergeant -- not history...
               (beat)
        Eternity...

And now Sykes sees it -- Harcourt has been holding one of
the one-kilo glass cylinders of the drug concealed behind
his arm.  He brings it up over his head, grins at Sykes,
then tilts back his head and cracks the cylinder open.
The blue gel pours into his mouth and down his chin.  His
mouth fills.

He looks back at Sykes, making eye contact... his eyes
mad, defiant.  And -- he swallows.  Long hold -- then the
wallop of the overdose hits him... his face contorts in
agony as he begins to convulse.  Sykes, wide-eyed, lowers
the Casull and watches as Harcourt drops to the ground and
goes into a massive violent seizure.  His limbs hammer
against the deck... his back arches fiercely.  It is a
brutal, agonizing ten seconds.  Then, finally, his body
becomes still.

Sykes, stunned at what he's just witnessed slowly goes to
him and takes his pulse the way he saw Jetson do it.

HIGH ANGLE SHOT - THE ENTIRE AREA

Sykes stands.  He notices the suitcase nearby, latches it,
and hefts it.  He carries it with him back toward the
inferno of the wrecked cars, the Casull hanging heavy and
cold in his hand.

ANGLE FOLLOWING SYKES

He approaches the burning cars, heading for Jetson.  As he
passes the burning cars, we have a half-second to register
that the driver's door of the police unit is now open
before--

-- a dark figure hurtles at Sykes' back from O.S.!  Sykes
is thrown forward.  The suitcase crashes to the ground,
and the Casull goes skittering off.  Sykes looks up -- to
be met by the singed and bleeding nightmare visage of
Kipling!  Kipling reaches down for the suitcase then Sykes
hears it -- the telltale CLINKING SOUND.  He looks -- and
sees the exotic silver bracelet on Kipling's wrist.  It
connects for him; this is the bandana alien -- the one who
killed Bill Tuggle!

Kipling brings the suitcase above his head.  He is a half-
second from hurling it down on Sykes' skull when -- a GUN
ROARS.  Kipling is thrown back by the chest wound.  Sykes
looks.

ANGLE

Jetson, half sitting up, holds the smoking Casull.

Kipling recovers enough to come at Sykes again with the
suitcase again.  Jetson, shaking but determined, fires
again, and again, and again.

Kipling is driven backward by the fusillade, the suitcase
still over his head... until he is blasted at last and
forever, suitcase and all, into the molten core of the
inferno.

Sykes rises, makes his way to Jetson's side.  Jetson has
let the weight of the gun carry his hand to the ground.
Sykes kneels beside him, gently taking the gun from the
alien's hand.  The two partners remain like this, bathed
in the orange flickering glow of the fire.

HIGH WIDE SHOT

of the drawbridge, the debris, the carnage, and our two
cops...

                                    DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  HENRY FORD BOULEVARD - NIGHT

The police mop-up is winding down.  Cop cars, coroner's
wagons, fire trucks.  We MOVE through it all to find Sykes
and Jetson seated on the curb, away from the railing.

                    JETSON
        With Harcourt and Kipling dead, I
        assume you will be requesting
        reassignment now.

                    SYKES
               (cool)
        It'd be for your own good.  I think
        you'd be better off with a partner
        who's a little more... by the book.
               (smiles)
        ... Still, I gotta tell you, George,
        for a quiet guy, you're sure hell on
        wheels once you get going.  I'd
        kinda hate to miss your next two
        days as a detective.

Jetson smiles.  He glances up as they are bathed in red
and blue light.  A patrol car has pulled up next to them.
Inside is Wiltey, a uniformed cop.

                    WILTEY
        I'll give you guys a lift to the
        station.  They're waiting to take
        your statements on the shootings.

                    SYKES
               (to Jetson)
        Let's go, partner.
               (then casually
                correcting Wiltey
                as he rises)
        And it's shooting.  Singular.

                    WILTEY
        They said two.

                    SYKES
        Nope.  I didn't shoot Harcourt... he
        o.d.'d.

SHOCK CUT - JETSON

We rapidly PUSH IN ON HIM as his head snaps around toward
Sykes.  His expression tells us his blood has just turned
to ice.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  CORONER'S WAGON - NIGHT

ANGLE FORWARD, shooting from the rear of the wagon, toward
the DRIVER and ATTENDANT up front.

                    DRIVER
        So it's just me and her left in the
        hot tub, right?

                    ATTENDANT
        You and the blonde?

                    DRIVER
        No, man, the redhead.  The blonde's
        gone in the house with some other
        guy.  But a few minutes later she
        comes back out, alone, when me and
        the redhead are going at it fast and
        furious in the tub, ya know... and
        she sees us, and... she climbs right
        in with us...

                    ATTENDANT
        You're full of shit!

                    DRIVER
        I swear it!  If I'm lyin', I'm
        dyin'...

And, without warning, A LARGE INHUMAN HAND FLIES UP IN
F.G., having ripped through the sealed body bag just below
FRAME.

                                    CUT TO:

INT.  SQUAD CAR - NIGHT

Jetson is up front with Wiltey; Sykes sits in the back,
though he is on the edge of the seat, leaning forward
toward the front.  Jetson is intently, nervously scanning
ahead and to both sides.

                    JETSON
        You are certain this is the route
        they would have taken?

                    WILTEY
        I'm not positive -- but probably.

                    SYKES
               (warily)
        What's this about, George?  I know
        that look.

                    JETSON
               (spots something out
                a side window)
        There!  Go back.  Down that side
        street.

Wiltey brakes, backs up, then turns into the side street.

ANGLE THROUGH WINDSHIELD

as they approach an eerie scene.  The coroner's wagon is
stopped at an angle in the middle of the intersection,
headlights and roof lights cutting into the night, the
back doors wide open.  A patrol car is also here, on the
other side of the wagon.  There is no movement anywhere
near the two vehicles.

Wiltey pulls the car up, his eyes like saucers at the
eerie scene.  He reaches for the radio hand mike.  Jetson
quickly covers it with a large hand.

                    JETSON
        No!
               (both Sykes and
                Wiltey look at him)
        We must do this alone.

                    SYKES
        Do what?!  George-- ?!

Jetson is already sliding out of the car.


EXT.  STREET NEAR DOCKS - NIGHT

Jetson, Sykes, and Wiltey move warily forward, their guns
drawn.  They reach the van and Sykes takes Wiltey's
flashlight, shines it through the open back doors.  The
doors are bent outward, smashed half off their hinges.
One of the body bags is ripped open, literally split from
end to end.  The blue and red lightbar on the other patrol
car can be seen through the wagon's front windshield.

Jetson starts around the wagon toward the patrol car,
Sykes and Wiltey follow.  Lights all ablaze, it too is
abandoned.  One door has been wrenched off its hinges and
lays in the street, and the front windshield is smashed.
Our three cops approach the car, then Wiltey spots
something beyond the unit.

                    WILTEY
        Oh, God...

Sykes and Jetson look.

The bodies of the coroner wagon Driver and Attendant, as
well as the two OFFICERS from the patrol car, are crushed
and beaten and stretched out on the asphalt.  Their arms
are twisted as though by a mad force -- each pointing down
the street toward the dock warehouses ahead.  Wiltey
stumbles away, backward.

                    WILTEY
        I'm calling for back up, now.

                    JETSON
        Wiltey, no.

But Wiltey is going.  Jetson starts after him... but Sykes
grabs his arm, hard, and spins him.

                    SYKES
        What is this?!

                    JETSON
               (low)
        ... It's Harcourt.

                    SYKES
        Harcourt is dead.

                    JETSON
        No he's not.  Not if he overdosed on
        the drug.
               (searches for the
                words)
        Massive amounts trigger a... a
        change.  Your body functions seize
        up, you appear to be dead, but it's
        really a state of incubation.  When
        you emerge you're...

                    SYKES
               (looks at the four
                bodies sprawled
                before him)
        Tell me about it...

                                    CUT TO:

EXT.  STREET NEAR DOCKS - NIGHT

One minute later.  OPEN CLOSE on a light shining into
CAMERA, then WIDEN to reveal it is one of the door-mounted
spotlights on Wiltey's patrol car.  Wiltey eases the car
down the center of the street.  Sykes and Jetson, guns
ready, walk slowly along on either side of the car... eyes
everywhere.

MOVING POV

as they move past the shadowy dock warehouses... watching
for any signs of movement.

BACK TO SCENE

Sykes and Jetson converse across the hood of the car as
they walk.  Their eyes everywhere.

                    SYKES
        I never thought I'd say this, but --
        for once in my life I think I'm
        willing to wait for back-up.

                    JETSON
        We can't let him get away.

                    SYKES
        Why the hell are you so dead set
        against back-up?

                    JETSON
               (a difficult
                admission)
        Because... because of what will
        happen if humans see what we are
        capable of becoming.

                    SYKES
        But there's no more drug.

                    JETSON
        You understand that.  But how many
        others will?

Sykes looks across at Jetson's troubled expression.

Just then, Wiltey spots a flit of movement cutting across
his headlight beams fifty yards ahead.  Whatever it was,
was large and fast.  It darted into an open warehouse
door.

                    WILTEY
        There he is!

And Wiltey floors it.  Sykes and Jetson watch, unable to
stop him.

                    JETSON
        Wiltey!

He and Sykes take off running.  Wiltey skids to the left,
rockets in through the open warehouse door, out of sight.
Sykes and Jetson pour it on.  They hear a SCREECH OF
BRAKES.  They reach the warehouse door and race through.


INT.  WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

LOW ANGLE, SHOOTING ACROSS the underside of Wiltey's
stopped patrol car as Sykes' and Jetson's feet appear
around the corner of the warehouse door.  The car is still
running -- the exhaust pipe still RUMBLING and expelling
fumes.  The feet slow... then cautiously start around the
car.  We PAN with them as they move around the side of the
car.  A dark liquid begins dripping in EXTREME F.G.  We
MOVE UP, to a CLOSE UP of the car bumper.  The dark liquid
is blood, dripping deep red on the shiny chrome.  We MOVE
UP farther, and--

-- there is Wiltey's severed head.  IN CLOSE UP, resting
on the hood of the patrol car.

Sykes and Jetson stop dead at the sight.  Wiltey's body
lies in a heap on the floor near the car.  They both
stare, then Sykes looks around the shadowy interior of the
warehouse, his expression saying: what the hell could have
done this so fast?

THEIR POV

There are two paths to go.  Both dark and scary as hell.
The sound of a distant FOG HORN blends with the CREAKS and
DRIPS of this waterfront building.

ANGLE - SYKES AND JETSON

Jetson reaches into the patrol car and pulls the shotgun
from the dash mount.  He checks the chamber as Sykes
checks the Casull.

They exchange a knowing look... then wordlessly, they
split up.  Sykes takes the path to the left, Jetson to the
right.

WITH JETSON

As he moves into a dark area.  He slowly picks his way
along a long wall, having to step over all sorts of piled
debris, heading toward us.  We PAN slightly to the left to
HOLD a door in CLOSE UP.  The door, already ajar, eases
open slightly wider.  Jetson hears this.  He reaches the
door, sets himself, then spins and kicks the door open all
the way.  There's nothing inside... now.

Jetson looks up, sees movement in the distance.  It is
Sykes, quite far away, in another section of the
warehouse.  Sykes leaves Jetson's field of view.


INT.  WAREHOUSE - GUARD'S AREA - NIGHT

Sykes walks around a corner -- freezes, and cocks his head
as he hears VOICES -- followed, curiously, by LAUGHTER.
He eases forward, peers around a bend, and sees -- a table
and a chair.  On the table is a mini-television, tuned to
some local late night talk show.  There's a thermos, a
steaming cup of coffee, and a Twinkie with a single bite
out of it beside the TV.  The chair is empty, except for a
jacket slung across the back, the word SECURITY stitched
on the breast.  The guard is nowhere in sight.

Sykes moves toward the table, taking in this eerie sight.
He looks around, then continues on.


INT.  WAREHOUSE - APPROACHING STAIRS - NIGHT

Jetson moves among the dark nooks and crannies, comes to a
set of stairs leading to an upper floor.  The top of the
stairs is pitch black.  Jetson adjusts his grip on the
shotgun, slowly starts up the stairs.


INT.  WAREHOUSE - AT FISH NETS - NIGHT

Sykes comes to rack upon rack of drying fish nets, hanging
from the ceiling.  He has no alternate route -- he begins
pushing through them.

SYKES' POV - MOVING THROUGH FISH NETS

Because of the dimness, he can't see much beyond each rack
of nets immediately before him.  He keeps wading through
-- it's like a house of mirrors, he can't tell now much
farther he has to go to get out of the nets, and the
deeper in he gets, the harder it would be to go back the
way he came.  He pushes past one particular rack of nets
and looming out of the darkness ahead of him is--

-- a terrifying face!

ON SYKES

He stumbles back, gets tangled in the nets, brings up the
Casull, is about to fire when... he sees what the face is.
It's the maiden's figurehead from the bow of an old ship.
The wood is worm-eaten and decayed, creating a hideous
visage.  Sykes stands there a moment, trying to jump-start
his heart again.


INT.  SECOND FLOOR LANDING - NIGHT

Jetson moves along the rickety planks.  He comes to a
door.  He eases it open, enters.


INT.  SECOND FLOOR ROOM - NIGHT

Jetson moves into the shadowy confines.  He hears an
incessant drip from a sink faucet in the corner.  He moves
to it.  Turns the spigot, stopping the drip.  Other drips
are HEARD from a dozen other hidden recesses all around
him.  He glances up at the filthy mirror attached to the
wall above the sink.  Suddenly he sees the movement of
something behind him.  He spins with the shotgun.  A huge
shadow moves along the wall.  He pivots the shotgun again
-- toward the source of the shadow.

It's a length of black tarp, torn and flapping from the
ceiling.  Jetson lets out a deep breath.


INT.  STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT

ANGLE down a short passageway to an intersecting hallway.
A strand of something hangs in FRAME in OUT OF FOCUS F.G.
It makes an indistinct, rhythmic CLINKING SOUND.  Sykes
moves along the intersecting hallway.  The CLINKING SOUND
catches his attention.  He stops, listens, then starts
down the passageway, toward us.

He comes forward into the storage room, having to get very
close to the strand of something before he sees what it
is.  It's a double strand of chain, CLINKING gently
against itself.  Sykes reaches out, steadies the chain,
silencing it.  He considers.  It could've been a natural
occurrence... or something could have brushed against it,
setting it in motion.  He tightens his grip on the Casull,
backing away from the chain.  He senses something behind
him and spins.  Nothing there.  He relaxes.  However--

Behind him now, in SOFT FOCUS, we glimpse movement at the
other end of the short passageway.  It is a figure, moving
slowly forward down the passageway, back-lit by the
hallway light behind it, its shadow filling the passageway
as it approaches Sykes.  It stops, inside the room now,
directly behind Sykes.  Close enough to reach out and
touch him.  It is an alien silhouette, but larger, more
powerful.

Suddenly, Sykes senses something is there.  He turns,
slowly, and--

SHOCK CUT - HARCOURT

as he steps from the shadows -- just like he did the last
time Sykes saw him on the abandoned drawbridge.  Only this
time it is a horribly transformed Harcourt.  His eyes are
red-rimmed and piggish.  His head is lumpen, his skin
thick and hard.  His neck muscles are corded -- giving him
a kind of hellish cobra's cowl.  There is still
intelligence behind the eyes -- but it is a feral
intelligence now.

                    HARCOURT
               (his voice a guttural
                rumble)
        Looking for me, Sergeant?

Sykes stumbles back several steps, wildly brings up the
Casull, and fires.  The powerful Casull round catches
Harcourt in the shoulder, jerking him back.


EXT.  WORK SHED AREA - NIGHT

Jetson, in another area of the docks, hears the echoing
blast of the Casull.  He gauges as best he can the
direction it came from and takes off running.


INT.  STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT

Harcourt recovers from the jolt of the bullet impact.  The
cloth of his disheveled shirt is shredded and powder-
burned, but the bullet couldn't pierce his plated skin.
Harcourt smiles with grotesquely altered teeth, starts
toward Sykes.

Scared shitless, Sykes rapid-fires.  One of his shots
misses, shattering a crate beside Harcourt's head.  The
remaining shots strike Harcourt full on.  Harcourt is
jerked by the impact of the bullets each time, SNARLING in
anger -- but none of the hits stop him.  The Casull is
empty and Harcourt keeps coming.

Sykes stumbles back, but Harcourt is on him in a flash.
Harcourt grabs Sykes' arm holding the gun, yanks hard.  We
HEAR the POP as the shoulder dislocates.  Sykes HOLLERS,
and the gun jumps out of his hand.


INT.  WAREHOUSE - GUARD'S AREA - NIGHT

Jetson races in, shotgun ready.  The last of Sykes' shots
are still ECHOING.  Jetson looks around, frustrated,
unable to tell exactly where they are coming from.  He
sees the likely path and charges that way.


EXT.  DOCK - AT STAIRS - NIGHT

On the CUT, Sykes' body is already tumbling down these
rickety stairs attached to the side of the warehouse,
having been thrown ruthlessly from above.  As Sykes' body
sprawls on the dock, the massive figure of Harcourt
appears at the top of the stairs.

Sykes, scraped and bruised, struggles to his feet.
Harcourt moves down the stairs, then vaults over the
railing the last fifteen feet.  Harcourt lurches forward
and, with a taloned grip on Sykes' shoulders, propels him
down the docks.


EXT.  STREET NEAR DOCKS - NIGHT

The first two arriving black-and-whites skid to stops at
the coroner's wagon.  The Officers leap out, flagging
other arriving units to continue on toward the warehouses.


EXT.  DOCKS - NIGHT

Sykes is on his feet, but his knees buckle, and he almost
collapses again.  Harcourt comes at him.  Then Sykes sees
it--

-- a fishing boat chugging along past the end of one of
the jetties.  Sykes makes a break for it.


EXT.  WAREHOUSE - AT STAIRS - NIGHT

Jetson charges out at the top of the rickety stairs,
frantically scanning for any sign of Sykes.  Then, in the
distance, he spots the two figures running along the jetty
-- Sykes being chased by the re-formed Harcourt.  Jetson
gives the water surrounding the docks an apprehensive
look, then gathers up his courage, and races down the
stairs to help Sykes.


EXT.  JETTY - NIGHT

Sykes lumbers along the narrow jetty.  The fishing boat is
already passing the end of the jetty.  Harcourt is fast
behind Sykes as he reaches the end of the jetty and vaults
off toward the stern of the boat -- landing on the fishing
net piled on the rear deck.  He yells in pain as his ankle
twists under his weight.


EXT.  FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

Sykes lies there, holding his arm, breathing hard,
relieved that he has escaped.


EXT.  JETTY - NIGHT

Harcourt can't reach the boat from the same jetty Sykes
did, so he jumps on a platform beside this jetty, then
onto a second jetty.  And from here, he vaults across the
seawater onto the boat.


EXT.  FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

Sykes sees the phantom figure land on the boat near the
cabin.  The fishing boat chugs up the channel toward the
open sea.


EXT.  DOCKS - NIGHT

Jetson sees this and is shitting bricks.  Suddenly the
stark BEAM of a police helicopter sun-gun stabs down from
above.  Jetson looks up to see the chopper coming in low,
the sun-gun washing over the docks.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

The sun-gun hits Jetson standing on the dock, frantically
waving his badge at the 'copter, signaling it down.  The
Pilot starts to take it down.


EXT.  FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

Sykes is on all fours, clawing his way up the fishing net
toward the back of the boat.  Harcourt gets one hand on
his leg.  Sykes jerks his leg away, and Harcourt's claws
dig deep through Sykes' pants into his legs as he pulls
away.  Sykes BELLOWS in pain.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Jetson is barely in the seat as it lifts away from the
dock.  He has to catch himself from falling out the open
door.  Below, uniformed cops are now seen rushing out onto
the dock.

                    JETSON
        On that boat -- out there!

Jetson indicates the fishing boat headed toward the mouth
of the channel.  The helicopter tilts forward and goes.


EXT.  FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

Sykes manages to pull himself up into the dinghy hanging
over the stern of the fishing boat.  He pushes to the back
of the dinghy as Harcourt's savage visage appears at the
bow.  Harcourt grins -- the predator with his prey
trapped.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Jetson's face is bathed in sweat as he looks out at the
channel water racing past beneath.  They come up on the
boat and the Pilot plays the sun-gun onto the deck,
looking for movement, finally pinning Sykes and Harcourt
at the stern dinghy.


EXT.  BRIDGE OF FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

The Captain reacts to the helicopter overhead, looks back
at what the sun-gun spotlights.  He sees Harcourt standing
at the bow of the dinghy, starting to clamber in.

                    CAPTAIN
        Hey!


EXT.  FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

Harcourt turns, sees the Captain on the bridge above him.
He reaches for a wood-handled gaff nearby.  He rears back
with it and lets it fly like a spear.


EXT.  BRIDGE OF FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

The gaff impales the Captain, off-center in his chest.
The Captain, his face frozen in shock, is thrown back
against the throttle.  The boat lunges forward as the
engines REV loudly.


EXT.  FISHING BOAT - NIGHT

Harcourt is thrown into the dinghy with Sykes.  As
Harcourt recovers, Sykes spots the release for the tie
line on the dinghy.  He lunges forward, throwing the
ratchet.  The line plays out, and the dinghy slides
backward into water!


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Jetson watches this happen.


EXT.  DINGHY - NIGHT

The dinghy bangs along (at the end of the ten foot tie
line) in the wake of the speeding fishing boat.

Harcourt claws his way toward Sykes.  Water is already
splashing in over the stern transom... the dinghy is
sinking.  Harcourt grabs Sykes' leg and pulls him toward
him.  Sykes holds on to the stern cleats with all his
might.  Harcourt yanks him free.  Sykes kicks wildly at
the ratchet release, trying to free the remainder of the
line.  Harcourt is coming in for the kill when--

-- Sykes' foot connects with the ratchet lever.  The rest
of the tie line snakes through the ratchet, freeing the
dinghy from the fishing boat!

The dinghy is rocking wildly, sinking fast.  A wave from
the fishing boat's wake splashes in over the side.  Some
of it hits Harcourt -- he HOWLS and falls away.  Sykes
sees this, tries to clamber over the side, but Harcourt is
on him again.  Sykes' body weight at the side of the
dinghy coupled with the rocking motion cause more water to
wash in over the transom.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Jetson reacts to Sykes and Harcourt battling in the dinghy
below.


EXT.  DINGHY - NIGHT

Harcourt, who is getting more and more wet, HOWLS in
agony, thick blood beginning to bead wherever the water
touches.  Sykes is taking one hell of a beating.  Harcourt
sweeps Sykes up in a bear hug, is about to crush his rib
cage, when Sykes shifts his body weight, knocking Harcourt
off balance.  Harcourt wobbles, fear on his face for the
first time -- then he finally loses it, and the two of
them tumble overboard into the water, capsizing the
dinghy.


EXT.  WATER - NIGHT

Sykes breaks the surface, gasping for air, frantically
clawing with his one good arm at the wedge of dinghy still
above the water.  Suddenly, behind him, Harcourt's
partially melted form erupts from the water, lunges on top
of Sykes, and drags him under.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Jetson hangs in the open door, watching in horror, wanting
to help, knowing he can't.


EXT.  WATER - NIGHT

Sykes breaks the surface, Harcourt's misshapen lump of a
body unmoving but still on top of him.  Sykes shoves it
away, struggling to stay afloat.  His head keeps dunking
under.  He's drowning.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Jetson screws up his courage and turns to the Pilot.

                    JETSON
        Take it down!  Take it down!


EXT.  WATER AND HELICOPTER - NIGHT

The helicopter moves down toward the turbulent water.
Jetson hangs in the doorway, watching Sykes' head dunking
under again.  The helicopter's skids are three feet above
the water.

                    JETSON
               (to Pilot)
        ALL THE WAY!

                    PILOT
        I CAN'T IT'LL DITCH!

Sykes' outreached hand stretches up from the water, but
the skid is just too high.  Jetson has no alternative, and
he does the bravest thing he has ever done.  He moves out
onto the narrow helicopter skid.  Hanging on, three feet
above the water, he reaches down for Sykes' up reaching
hand.

The fingertips of the two hands waver mere inches from
each other... Jetson stretches farther, farther... and the
two hands meet!  Jetson winces from the pain of the
seawater on Sykes' hand.  He starts pulling Sykes up.
When--

HARCOURT'S HEAD BREAKS THE SURFACE A FOOT FROM SYKES'
FACE.  His eye sockets are empty and his skin is mostly
gone.  The nearly skeletal body heaves blindly onto Sykes,
breaking his grip from Jetson's, and dragging him under
again.

Jetson is frantic.  He keeps waiting -- but this time
Sykes doesn't come up.  Jetson doesn't know what to do.
Finally -- he leans down as far as he can, his face a foot
from the water, SCREAMS to block the pain, and plunges his
own arm below the surface!  He feels around, gets hold of
something, and pulls.  It is Sykes' wrist.  He pulls hard,
bringing the sputtering Sykes up out of the water.

                    JETSON
               (to Pilot)
        Take it up!

The Pilot does.  Sykes comes up out of the water.  His
feet are just clear of the surface when -- Harcourt's hand
and arm rocket out of the water, grabbing Sykes' ankle.
Sykes looks down in horror.  The helicopter keeps moving
up, and before Harcourt's body breaks the surface, the arm
tears away from the torso at the shoulder.  Sykes wildly
shakes the clinging severed arm from his ankle, and it
falls back into the water below.

Jetson continues pulling him up into the helicopter as it
moves off toward shore.


INT.  HELICOPTER - NIGHT

Sykes plops on the floor, soaked, battered, holding his
limp arm.  Jetson is quickly whipping off his jacket,
wrapping the dry part around his own arm, wincing in pain.
The Pilot stare down at the circle of water where they
just pulled Sykes from.

                    PILOT
        What the hell was that down there?
        It was weird.

Jetson looks at Sykes, wondering if he will say.  Sykes
looks at Jetson a long moment, then--

                    SYKES
        Looked like every other damn slag to
        me.  Just plain ugly.

Despite the pain, Jetson smiles.

                                 LONG DISSOLVE TO:

INT.  CHURCH ANTEROOM - DAY

We are CLOSE on Sykes, who is having a hell of a time,
trying to tie a tuxedo tie with one arm in a sling.  A
PAIR OF ALIEN ARMS reach into FRAME to help him.  One of
the alien arms is also in a sling.

ANGLE WIDENS to reveal the alien is Jetson.  Both men wear
tuxedos.

                    SYKES
        How do I look?

                    JETSON
        You look very good.

There's a knock at the door.  Sykes opens it.  There
stands Sykes' daughter, KRISTIN, twenty years old, looking
radiant in her wedding dress.  She is in a foyer, and
behind her is the interior of the church with all the
assembled guests, including Mrs. Jetson & son.

                    KRISTIN
        Ready, Daddy...?

Sykes' heart melts.  Before moving to the door:

                    SYKES
        George, uh... I want to apologize
        now, in advance, for all the rotten
        things I'll ever say or do to you
        over the years.

Sykes moves to join his daughter.  As he does:

                    JETSON
        That is all right, Matthew.  After
        all, you are only human.

Sykes, caught off guard, has to laugh.

                    SYKES
               (under his breath)
        What a wildman...

Sykes takes his daughter's arm and the two of them start
down the aisle.

                                    FADE OUT.

                    THE END



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