This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.
DEUS X
"Mysterious Ways" (Pilot)
by
Rus McLaughlin
rusmclaughlin@aol.com
Twitter: rusmclaughlin
Copyright (c) 2011. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced
without the express written permission of the author.
TEASER
FADE IN:
INT. SHIP'S MEDICAL BAY
An unconscious man - DOUG STRAW, 30's - lies on a metallic
medical bed, stripped down to his Army Green boxers.
His eyes SHOCK OPEN, he lurches off the bed as if hit by a
cattle prod, sitting bolt upright. A MALE NURSE in scrubs is
right there, easing him down.
MALE NURSE
Whoa-whoa-whoa... easy soldier,
easy. The ride's just starting.
STRAW
I'm fine. I'm fine. Sorry. I always
do that, coming out of suspension.
MALE NURSE
Yeah, okay. Slow, steady breathing.
Make sure you hydrate yourself.
He hands Straw a bottled water, and goes back to work.
Straw's calm, centered, sweating like he's woken up from a
nightmare, and he's already over it. He slips off the bed,
moving around the clean, clinical Medical Bay. He wanders
over to a window in the bulkhead; it's SHUTTERED.
STRAW
I guess I'm here.
MALE NURSE
Safe and sound.
STRAW
Where's here?
MALE NURSE
Your gear's under the bed. Your
escort's outside. Captain Wagner
wants you front and center in forty
mins, so I guess you're already
late. It'll take you thirty just to
get there.
STRAW
So I'm on an Orson-class ship.
(no response)
These shudders don't open?
MALE NURSE
Not today.
Straw considers that, then beelines for the bed and pulls out
a set of pressed green military fatigues.
INT. CAPTAIN'S OFFICE
Straw stands in the doorway of an impeccably tidy office.
Large window set into the bulkhead, ALSO SHUDDERED. A long
pivoted workstation/desk at one end. Behind it: CAPTAIN ILSA
WAGNER, a brisk, blonde, 50ish German. She's got a pair of
glasses perched on her nose.
STRAW
Chief Warrant Officer Douglas
Straw, reporting as ordered, sir.
WAGNER
You're early. Take a chair.
Straw sits. She studies him for a moment.
WAGNER
So. You're the guy.
STRAW
Yessir.
WAGNER
I spent a whole hour on Fort Meyers
once. Running security there for
two years had to be batshit insane.
STRAW
It was challenging, sir.
WAGNER
Major Chen told me once you were
"ingested." His words.
STRAW
More challenging some days than
others.
WAGNER
It takes a lot to shake you,
doesn't it?
Straw doesn't let on, but his attention is on A REFLECTION in
Wagner's glasses: it's her computer screen, displaying
STRAW'S PERSONAL FILE.
STRAW
I never found the situation that
was improved by panicking, sir.
WAGNER
Oh, that's good, Chief. That's a
good one. I'm almost sorry to poach
you away from Chen, he's got a high
enough turnover as-is. Just can't
take all the snakeheads, I guess.
STRAW
Xenos, yessir. Some of them can be
pretty intimidating.
WAGNER
You a religious man?
STRAW
My service file codes me agnostic,
but you know that. Upper right,
tenth line down.
Wagner's eyes shift, figuring it out instantly. She takes her
glasses off, tosses them on her desk with a clatter.
WAGNER
Clever little prick.
STRAW
Yessir. I assume that's why you
requisitioned me.
WAGNER
Kid, I've got thirty-five security
chiefs and a military governor on
my boat. Why the hell would I need
you?
STRAW
Beg pardon, sir. This feels like a
job interview.
WAGNER
(working console)
Not anymore. I'm hereby raising
your security clearance to S-3.
STRAW
Sir?
WAGNER
Now you're official. See?
She perches her glasses back on her nose, mockingly "showing"
him the screen's reflection again. She tosses the glasses
aside, settles back in her chair, takes a breath.
WAGNER
Seven years ago, we found an
artifact in deep space. Codename
Alpha. We've studied it for years,
and far as I can tell, we still
haven't figured out dick.
STRAW
How do we know it's important?
Wagner snorts. She's got a big secret.
WAGNER
You'll run security on our research
posts. The science lead is Nathan
DeStefano. Heard of him?
STRAW
Nossir.
WAGNER
Probably better that way. Crew's
nearly all brain-types, eggheads.
We've learned it's best to keep a
minimal armed presence there.
STRAW
Then what's the problem? Espionage?
WAGNER
If only. The environment around
Alpha is...unstable. The strangest
shit you ever saw on Fort Meyers
will not compare. All personnel
undergo mandatory psychographics
every two weeks, and we still don't
catch everyone before they pop. On
top of that, there is absolutely no
way to anticipate what Alpha itself
might throw at you at any given
second. I am not exaggerating when
I say every moment on, in, or near
that thing is dangerous.
STRAW
You make it sound like it's alive.
WAGNER
You like a challenge, right?
STRAW
Respectfully sir, what kind of
artifact needs a warship the size
of Manhattan to guard it?
Wagner raps a pad on her desk; the shudder on the bulkhead
window OPENS. Something HUGE and pale fills the view. She
nods at it.
Straw moves to the window, pressing against it to see more.
STRAW
What is that?
WAGNER
That's God.
Straw glances back at her, then turns back to the window.
EXT. SPACE - THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
Straw is looking out the window, simply in awe.
PULL BACK
Until the window is a pinprick in the side of an impossibly
huge warship - THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.
PAN AROUND
To see what Straw sees: A COLOSSAL MAN floating through space
and huge beyond imagining. This is ALPHA: naked (no genitalia
visible), pale gray/white skin, flowing shoulder-length hair.
The Sword of Damocles is the length of His fingernail.
His right hand continually balls into a fist, then relaxes.
Three hundred smaller ships - the 9TH FLEET - fly escort
around Him, surrounding Him like gnats. Alpha ignores them as
He calmly cruises through space.
FADE OUT:
END OF TEASER
ACT ONE
FADE IN:
EXT. SPACE
Alpha flies through space, surrounded by the 9th Fleet.
Closer: a two-man FOLKER areospace fighter zips through the
fleet, on course for Alpha's head.
INT. THE FOLKER - CONTINUOUS
A Chinese pilot, EDDIE HA, is cocooned in the front seat,
Straw in the rear. Both wear environment suits.
Straw watches Alpha's flexing hand.
STRAW (FILTER)
He always do that with his hand?
EDDIE (FILTER)
Started about two weeks ago. Funny
that you figured Alpha for a guy.
STRAW (FILTER)
He looks like a guy.
EDDIE (FILTER)
Check the crotch. He's missin' his
three-piece set.
STRAW (FILTER)
(incredulous)
God's androgenous.
EDDIE (FILTER)
Don'tcha just wish you could tell
the Pope?
Eddie banks left, on course for Alpha's slightly open mouth.
STRAW (FILTER)
We're going in through the mouth?
EDDIE (FILTER)
Like DeStefano says, it's that or
up the ass. I don't care if half
the Joint Chiefs swing both ways,
we're still the fuckin' Marines.
Straw studies Alpha's immense, benign face getting closer.
The eyes are solid white, no irises or pupils. Wavy hair
flows; a strand occasionally drags in front of His face.
A QUICK FLASH of light to starboard.
EDDIE (FILTER)
...the Hell?
Straw glances at his instruments, then claws the sky with his
eyes, locking onto something.
INTERCUT:
EXT. SPACE - CONTINUOUS
A FAST-MOVING SHIP, barely a blip at this distance, zips
across the starfield, a quick flyby down Alpha's left side.
STRAW (FILTER)
Sword of Damocles, Folker-119,
brake: I have visual on a fold-in,
mid-class xeno victor, ten klicks
off Alpha's port-side. I can't get
a sensor lock.
RADIO VOICE
Copy Folker-119. Victor is stealth
active. Maintain visual, alert wing
Kilo on intercept.
Another FLASH: the intruder's GONE.
STRAW (FILTER)
Damocles, Folker-119. Xeno victor
just folded out. He's gone.
RADIO VOICE
Copy, Folker-119. Return to course.
Kilo will sweep. Damocles out.
STRAW (FILTER)
Get a lot of visitors out this way?
EDDIE (FILTER)
Welcome to the funhouse.
Eddie pilots the Folker straight at Alpha's open mouth, and
at the quarter-mile gap between His upper and lower teeth;
they're like granite mountains.
Shadows fall on Straw as he's literally swallowed whole.
INT. ALPHA'S MOUTH - CONTINUOUS
The Folker's spotlights snap on, climbing to an AIRLOCK built
into the upper pallet at the back of the mouth, lit up. The
Folker flies straight in. The doors close behind it.
INT. ALPHA - THE STEM
A vast, dimly lit cave, mountain ranges of muscle and spinal
column. Way down, man-made structures are built into the
bone, lit up like Christmas trees.
The Folker falls at them, a controlled flat-spin.
Straw gets a look over the side: coming up fast is MAIN
MISSION, a huge, three-story ellipse sticking half-out of the
vertebrae wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows curve up its roof,
lots of movement inside. There's a railed wraparound deck
around its middle.
They fall past it. Straw looks up at its smooth underside as
it drops away.
EDDIE (FILTER)
That's Main Mission, we're heading
up there later. Ready for your
check-up?
The outpost is stretched out across a few vertebrae, built
right into the bone. Lights dot the structure. A BOOM CAR
high-speed elevator zooms up-Stem on its rail.
Eddie vectors the fighter towards a landing pad.
INT. ISOLATION CHAMBER/MEDICAL BAY
Straw sets his environment suit aside; he and Eddie are down
to their green boxers, in a small, white clean room.
EDDIE
Got any nanotech in your skin?
STRAW
No more than anybody else.
A FEMALE VOICE comes over the intercom.
MAGS - 21 YEARS OLD (COMM. VOICE)
Stop smirking, Eddie. Chief Straw,
you'd better brace yourself.
The room is bathed in BLUE LIGHT. Straw grimaces as SPARKS
fly off his forearm, his chest, arms, and thighs, POP POP
POP! The blue light FADES. Straw dusts ash off himself.
A door OPENS: a beautiful Jewish woman (21) in a blue
jumpsuit is smiling at the beefcake. MARGARET "MAGS" SHULMAN
looks way too young to be a doctor.
MAGS - 21 YEARS OLD
Doctor Shulman, chief medical. Come
on in, let's get you set up.
Mags leads them into a high-tech Medical Bay, all gleaming
metal and white plastic. She's enjoying herself.
STRAW
You just destroyed two paychecks'
worth of gear.
MAGS - 21 YEARS OLD
Trust me, you really don't want to
be wearing any embedded nanotech
here. Deep breath.
She swabs his chest and INJECTS HIM with a shiny metal gun.
Workmanlike, Mags reaches for the bright green bracelet on
her wrist - a FLEXI - "unlocking" it with a touch. It
flattens out, candybar style, and she opens it like a book;
the Flexi is now a notepad-sized translucent sheet.
Graphics and controls glide onto its surface. Mags touches
one, holds it up to Straw's chest; the Flexi shows her an X
Ray view of his chest.
MAGS - 21 YEARS OLD
Okay, your codelock and BIOS
monitor are in...
She steps over to a workstation and calls up a holographic
screen: it displays a male silhouette and live vital signs.
Mags steps back. SHE'S NOW 55 YEARS OLD.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
And you're all synched up - what?
STRAW
You're older.
Mags touches her face, sees her obviously older hands. She
touches her Flexi; it becomes a mirror. Mags sighs at her
reflection, very frustrated. Very tired.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Journal On. I'm back to what looks
like my base age. Note time and
report...Christ, anything.
COMPUTER VOICE
Time from last age shift, 83 hours
exactly. No patterns have emerged.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Thank you.
STRAW
Are you okay?
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Nathan's in Main Mission, that's
one vertebrae up. He's your boss
now, maybe you should go meet him.
Mags turns away, heading back to her work station.
EDDIE
She's fine. I'll take you up. Leave
your suit, Alpha's got gravity and
atmosphere, inside and out.
STRAW
That's not possible.
EDDIE
Yeah, and the rest of this shit is.
Straw glances back to Mags. Her back's to him, slumped.
EXT. MAIN MISSION LANDING PAD
Straw leans over the railing to look down the Stem. A slight
breeze meets him. The drop seems to go forever.
He's on a wide landing pad adjacent to Main Mission, in
uniform; chrome SMARTGUN on his hip, smaller and boxy STUNNER
on the other side. Blue Flexi on his wrist. Two Folkers are
parked here. Eddie's poking around his.
EDDIE
I gotta do post-flight. You good?
STRAW
Don't think I'll get lost.
Straw heads across a ramp connecting the pad to Main Mission.
COMPUTER VOICE
Codelock recognized: Straw, Douglas
A. Full access.
A red door-light turns green; it OPENS. Straw goes through.
INT. MAIN MISSION
Double doors slide OPEN. Straw ENTERS, taking stock.
It's the iPod of nerve center design: three interconnected
tiers of whites, light grays, and cherrywood. N.D. ENGINEERS
in jumpsuits and Flexis occupy workstations. A BIG holograph
of Alpha is central, showing Him inside and out, with some
sections flashing red, green, or blue. Voices BUZZ. The
forward bulkhead is one big 150-foot holographic MAIN SCREEN.
Three people in special uniforms - MONITORS - are in a bank
set into the floor, chattering rapidly, fingers flying over
keyboards. Silver domes cover their faces - RAPIDLY FLASHING
LIGHTS are visible underneath.
MONITOR #1 (P.A.)
All points, be advised: gravity in
Cage-16 has increased to two-point
five Earth standard.
Straw angles to a station above theirs, manned by an African
with an English accent giving orders: FRANK AIMES(48). The
activity's more frantic here.
STRAW
Excuse me, are you the Duty Ops?
I'm looking for Dr. DeStefano.
AIMES
If he was here, you'd hardly miss
him...sorry, yes, Frank Aimes,
pleased to meet you. We're having
more of a day than usual.
STRAW
Doug Straw. Anything I can do?
AIMES
Not sure. Some sort of writing
appeared on a wall near one of our
dig sites, and everyone who's seen
it's gone violently insane.
STRAW
You cordoned it off?
AIMES
It's moving. And we can't risk the
Monitors getting a good look, so
tracking the damn thing's tricky.
Straw studies the Monitors.
DESTEFANO (O.S.)
Amazing, isn't it? They're hit with
ten terabytes of data every second
and they just suck it up. It's like
we weaponized ADHD.
They turn: A DWARF in a sports jersey and sneakers is there,
sweating, checking his own pulse. No Flexi. NATHAN DESTEFANO
(40) moves with total certainty of purpose, intense eyes,
robust voice, always the center of attention.
AIMES
What happened to you?
DESTEFANO
Went for a jog. Clear all J-probes
out of the port-side scapulae and
task a drone. Get Bill to project
the insanity graffiti's path, then
laser out the whole section of wall
as it passes through, clamp on and
just pull it right out. Let's see
if that doesn't isolate the thing.
AIMES
Since when do you jog?
DESTEFANO
You should come with, get the blood
pumping. I don't suppose Grayson
described the writing before he
wigged out?
AIMES
He said it was like Sanskrit.
DESTEFANO
Huh.
(to Straw)
Y'know, there's no word in Sanskrit
for "miracle." Or for "irony." Man,
those people must've been dull.
STRAW
Dr. DeStefano, I'm Doug Straw, your
new security chief.
DESTEFANO
Hello. Do you jog?
STRAW
Every day.
DESTEFANO
Invigorating, isn't it?
STRAW
That's my experience.
DESTEFANO
You're gonna like it here.
DeStefano grins at him. Straw just stares back.
An ALARM SOUNDS.
MONITOR #1 (P.A.)
New contact: Class-4 manifest off
the upper atlas, inbound!
DESTEFANO
Track it! Frank?
AIMES
It's big and it pings biologic!
DESTEFANO
Yeah, look up, Frank.
Looking up through the transparent dome; the silhouette of a
HUGE GREAT WHITE SHARK circles overhead, descending rapidly.
AIMES
Holy shit.
STRAW
You get this often?
DESTEFANO
Spontaneous generation? Every day.
Four-ton flying sharks? Nope, first
time.
Everyone in Main Mission watches the 40-foot monster glide
past the forward window, moving exactly as if it was swimming
through water, on course for the Landing Pad.
Straw MOVES, DeStefano close behind.
EXT. LANDING PAD/MAIN MISSION DECK - CONTINUOUS
The shark's swimming right at Eddie. He's unarmed, sees it
coming and drops, rolling under the nearest Folker. The shark
BUMPS it hard, knocking the fighter ten feet away, bending
the landing gear and denting the hull bad.
Eddie scrambles to get back under cover as the shark turns
for another pass.
Straw strides out onto the Main Mission deck, drawing his
smartgun, eyes on the shark now coming his way.
STRAW
Max yield, full spread.
His smartgun BEEPS. No hesitation: Straw aims, FIRES...
...a burst of yellow bolts slams into the shark, LIGHTING IT
UP; its skeleton FLASHES under its skin. The beast whips
around and rapidly "swims" down-Stem.
Straw thumbs a button on his smartgun; a thin panel OPENS and
displays a full video gunsight. Straw leans over the rail.
STRAW
Targeting. Zoom. Zoom.
FRZAHM! FRZAHM! FRZAHM! Straw fires three more bursts down
the Stem. DeStefano leans over the rail, watching.
DESTEFANO
Nice shot! But in future, we study
things first, then shoot them.
Eddie! You okay?
EDDIE
Still kickin'!
DESTEFANO
Grab a Folker and go fishing! Shark
fin soup's on the menu tonight!
STRAW
You're not gonna study it first?
DESTEFANO
I make exceptions.
He heads back inside. Straw stares at him.
INT. MAIN MISSION - CONTINUOUS
DeStefano ENTERS, Straw trailing behind.
DESTEFANO
Bill! I want graffiti pictures
before you start lasering. We'll
figure out how to look at 'em
later. Frank, put a Cricket on the
pad. I'm going out.
STRAW
Out where, Doctor?
DESTEFANO
Nathan. Mags is the doctor, I've
just got a bunch of PhDs.
STRAW
Out where?
DeStefano's heading for another door.
DESTEFANO
Oh, I spent about six months trying
map a fingerprint on Alpha's right
hand before he stopped cooperating.
Think I'll give his left a try.
STRAW
(incredulous)
God's got fingerprints.
DeStefano pauses half-out the door, considers, shrugs.
DESTEFANO
You do.
He EXITS. Straw's not sure what to make of him.
EXT. THE STEM
A Boom Car - high-speed elevator - ZOOMS down a vertical
monorail running the length of Alpha's spinal column.
INT. BOOM CAR
Straw watch the view outside: a massive installation is set
in Alpha's muscle and bone. Its lights flow over the Boom
car's glass, over Straw, as he calmly takes it all in.
INT. STATION HOUSE/HOLDING
A skinny bookworm-type, GRAYSON, screams his lungs out, held
in a double-armlock courtesy two SECURITY GUARDS; one is
CARRIE SANTOSIERO (32), a seriously tough lady showing muscle
under her short-sleeve uniform. She wears a baseball cap low
over her eyes and sergeant stripes.
GRAYSON
I SAW! I KNOW!
They push him through a corridor of padded cells with clear
plastic doors, several occupied by also-hysterical PRISONERS.
Grayson lifts up and kicks off the wall, bashing the Guard
into a cell door, twisting away. Santosiero grabs him, and
Grayson comes at her - she blocks with a forearm, he BITES
into it. Judo move: she sends him face-first into a cell door
and holds him there,jamming her fist against his neck.
He struggles, face turning red, veins popping. Grayson drops.
Fast, she and the Guard pick him up and dump him in an empty
cell. They're out and the door sealed just as Grayson's back
up and beating his head against the glass, drawing blood.
GRAYSON
I KNOW! I KNOW IT! I SAW!
SANTOSIERO
Shit! Lights out on six!
Santosiero glances at the OBSERVATION WINDOW opposite the
cells, looking out to the Station House: Straw's there. She
instantly knows who he is, and isn't happy to see him.
Straw hits a button. Grayson's cell FLASHES, and Grayson
drops like a stone, unconscious.
SANTOSIERO
(to Guard)
Keep him that way until somebody
from Medical shows. He can tell
them what he knows.
Santosiero moves to the door at the end of the Holding
corridor and turns into the Station House proper, a smallish
security post with workstations. Straw's waiting for her.
STRAW
You've got a stunner. You went for
his artery instead.
Santosiero pauses, suddenly aware of the shift in authority.
She's not in charge anymore, and she doesn't like it.
SANTOSIERO
It's not his fault Alpha decided to
pop him.
STRAW
You're the outpost Sergeant?
SANTOSIERO
Or was.
STRAW
You don't want the job anymore?
They appraise each other. Santosiero offers her hand first.
SANTOSIERO
Carrie Santosiero. I'll get my
stuff out of your office.
STRAW
Thank you. Any idea where your last
boss landed? I'd like a word.
SANTOSIERO
Steve Wichman vanished a month ago.
STRAW
Then I want the case file on that
investigation.
SANTOSIERO
No, I mean he vanished right in
front of us. Three of us saw Steve
just fade away. He's gone.
(looks him over)
That's your new beat, copper.
STRAW
Did you run down all the poppers?
SANTOSIERO
There's two unaccounteds somewhere
down in the Cage. You learn the
lingo fast.
STRAW
We had lingo on Fort Meyers.
Unfortunately, I just pushed a four
ton shark towards the Cage, so
let's account for everybody.
Santosiero doesn't budge for a second, then softens slightly,
nods, and HEADS OUT. Straw watches her go.
EXT. SPACE - TIME BREAK
Alpha cruises through space, the 9th Fleet escorting.
WAGNER (O.S./FILTER)
Looks like you had a fun first day.
INT. STRAW'S QUARTERS
Small, but not cramped. There's a bunk and a bathroom. Straw
sits by a small desk built into the wall, all touch controls.
Wagner's image is on a screen there.
STRAW
Every job has a breaking-in period.
Did we ever ident that Victor?
WAGNER (MONITOR)
It was an Ohusq-Den scout. That was
a good spot, Chief.
STRAW
Thank you, sir. I don't know the
Ohusq-Den.
WAGNER (MONITOR)
Minor race, but they have ambition.
We're about to bump their territory
so we're expecting some noise.
STRAW
We can't plot around their boarder?
WAGNER (MONITOR)
Sure, just as soon as DeStefano
stops putzing around and installs
Alpha's steering wheel. Until then,
we go where He goes.
STRAW
Where's He going, sir?
Wagner considers. She either doesn't want to say, or she's
not supposed to.
WAGNER (MONITOR)
Earth.
STRAW
...How long?
WAGNER (MONITOR)
Unless something changes, three
years, and you never heard this.
STRAW
Yessir. DeStefano doesn't seem all
that concerned.
WAGNER (MONITOR)
Hopefully that's because he's a lot
smarter than we are. Daily reports,
starting tomorrow. Get some sleep.
STRAW
Goodnight, sir.
Wagner DISCONNECTS.
Straw sits silently for a moment. He reaches in under his
collar, and pulls out a silver chain - a necklace - and takes
it off, setting it down on his desk.
There's a silver cross on the end of it.
He moves to the bunk, taking off his shoes and placing them
close by. Straw lies down, hands folded over his chest, and
closes his eyes.
A COMM BUZZ.
STRAW
Straw.
AIMES (COMM. VOICE)
Duty Ops. Report to Medical. Steve
Wichman just reappeared.
Straw's eyes open.
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT ONE.
ACT TWO
FADE IN:
EXT. SPACE - THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
In formation to Alpha's starboard.
INT. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES - COMMAND DECK
Cavernous; dozens of DECK OFFICERS locked into their consoles
control every function of this Manhattan-sized ship.
Wagner ENTERS the COMMAND TIER overlooking the deck, drinking
coffee. Her EXO and ten mission-critical command stations are
here, manned by BRIDGE OFFICERS. Other ships in her fleet are
visible out mammoth windows reaching up across the ceiling.
WAGNER
I have the deck. Sit-Rep.
EXO
We had a few more sightings, but
nothing exciting.
WAGNER
The Ohusq-Den wouldn't survive our
brand of exciting and they know it.
BRIDGE OFFICER
Sensor contact: Ohusq-Den combat
carrier just folded in on their
side of the fence.
WAGNER
Not a real trusting bunch, are-
BRIDGE OFFICER
She's spiking!
Wagner reacts...
INTERCUT:
EXT. SPACE - THE 9TH FLEET
Quick, distant flashes becomes A SALVO of ENERGY BOLTS that
SLAM into several support ships around the Damocles. The
Damocles itself is untouched.
WAGNER
Target the hostile!
EXO
He's gone! Vipped in just long
enough to shoot, then vipped out.
WAGNER
Pricks want to play tag with me?
Alert Status One throughout the
fleet, update Main Mission. I want
total sensor coverage to a thousand
klicks inside enemy space with
firing solutions!
They jump at her orders, leaving Wagner alone with her scowl.
INT. MEDICAL BAY
STEVE WICHMAN is blond, blue-eyed and tanned, All American,
worn bomber jacket over his uniform. Bit of paunch, not
enough to slow him down. He's seated, staring at soft light
patterns on a screen.
From a distance, Straw and Santosiero watch Mags (55) examine
him medically.
SANTOSIERO
Oh yeah, it's sharkmeat. Full burst
from a Folker railgun. And we found
the last Popper, dock worker trying
like hell to auto-cannibalize. That
one I did buzz.
STRAW
Okay. Solid work, Sergeant.
(re. Wichman)
What about him?
SANTOSIERO
Looks like Steve to me. That's what
he was wearing. I dunno....
(off Straw's prompt)
I've seen him survive things normal
people don't survive. It just never
took him this long to make it back.
Straw processes that. Mags comes over.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
It's him. Everything checks and his
BIOS reads normal.
STRAW
What about psychographics?
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
He's showing a normal drift pattern
for a two-month gap. Outside of
that, no sign of psychosis or
retardation. He's fine.
Straw thinks. He and Santosiero head over to Wichman. The
man's got charisma to spare; his hand's out before Straw gets
close. They shake.
WICHMAN
Steve Wichman. Hey, Carrie.
SANTOSIERO
Hey, boss.
STRAW
Doug Straw, welcome back. Do you
know what happened?
WICHMAN
My team was looking for a popper in
the Cage, I turned around and they
faded away. Four weeks, huh?
STRAW
Afraid so. You should know that
until we figure a few things out,
your codelock's been re-gauged for
restricted access. My call.
WICHMAN
I probably would've cancelled it.
STRAW
No reason to stop you going to the
bathroom.
WICHMAN
Well, I appreciate the professional
courtesy. How're you liking Funtown
so far?
STRAW
I'm still formulating an opinion.
WICHMAN
Yeah, it takes some getting used
to. Especially the half-an-asshole
in charge.
DESTEFANO
And the fat fuck who "confiscates"
all the chocolate he finds.
DeStefano's in the room, walking over to Wichman and clapping
hands with him, grinning. Real camaraderie there.
WICHMAN
Rigors of the job, shorty.
DESTEFANO
I was just starting to think you
weren't making it back.
WICHMAN
Yeah, and how many times have we
thought that?
DESTEFANO
Well, this time we saved your room.
(greatly amused/to STRAW)
Once, we had this problem with a
parasite and, y'know, tentacles.
Steve's dragged off and bashed
around until his BIOS monitor goes
silent, while we blow up Cthulu
with a bunch of drones. He ends up
hiking through Alpha's pancreas for
two days until we find
him...through echo location. "I
waaaaaaaant a beeeeeeeeeer!"
WICHMAN
It was an honest cry for help.
STRAW
Did you get that beer?
WICHMAN
I did!
STRAW
Well, that's encouraging. But
before you get too settled in, we
should transfer you to the Damocles
for observation and full debrief...
DESTEFANO
No need. We're better set up here.
STRAW
With respect, there's a security
element to consider.
WICHMAN
Nathan, the man's right. Let him do
his job.
DESTEFANO
(over protests)
Alpha singled you out. That means
you're here until I figure out what
He did and I'm satisfied He's done
with you, and everybody better get
used to that.
(silence)
Then maybe we'll see about putting
you back on the clock.
Straw didn't like that. His eyes are on Wichman.
WICHMAN
He never listens to me, either.
Straw acknowledges the sympathy, but clearly isn't happy. The
others crowd Wichman, happy to see him, shaking his hand, and
leaving Straw very much alone, at a distance, the outsider.
INT. CORRIDOR - OUTSIDE MEDICAL BAY
A oval tunnel, organic and warm. The door to Medical OPENS:
Straw emerges at full stride, leaving Medical behind.
STRAW
Comm: Security.
SECURITY COMM VOICE
Station House Five.
STRAW
Straw. Put a guard on the door to
the Medical Bay.
SECURITY COMM VOICE
Which Medical Bay?
STRAW
The one on the Stem.
SECURITY COMM VOICE
Chief, there are three....
STRAW
The one Steve Wichman's in! I don't
want him wandering unsupervised.
SECURITY COMM VOICE
We'll take care of it.
The Corridor opens up to a Boom Car Station open to the air,
with a really spectacular view of the Stem.
STRAW
Computer, re-route the nearest Boom
to this station on my authority.
Leaning on the rail, stewing.
He hears MUSIC: a slow, tuneless, bluesy GUITAR RIFF drifts
up from somewhere. Straw looks around for the source, can't
find one. He starts to wonder....
DESTEFANO
It's not Alpha.
DeStefano's leaning against the wall, distant.
DESTEFANO
If your wondering. That's Porter,
maintenance chief. Pretty good, eh?
STRAW
You've got a lot of chiefs here.
DESTEFANO
It's a big place.
STRAW
I'm putting a guard on Wichman.
DESTEFANO
Good.
STRAW
If he's getting his job back, I'd
rather know sooner. I don't like to
waste my time.
DESTEFANO
Nothing's a waste.
The Boom Car arrives, the doors OPEN. Straw heads in without
a word, and watches doors close on DeStefano's smile.
SHOOM! The Boom Car fires off, up out of sight. DeStefano's
smile fades.
INT. BOOM CAR - CONTINUOUS
Straw watches the view outside, thinking.
STRAW
Comm: Santosiero.
SANTOSIERO (COMM. VOICE)
What's up, Chief?
STRAW
Are you flight-rated in a Cricket?
SANTOSIERO (COMM. VOICE)
Sure.
STRAW
Meet me in the hanger bay. Now.
He CUTS the comm channel.
INT. MEDICAL BAY
Mags (55) shines a penlight into Wichman's baby blue eyes.
WICHMAN
I happen to like older and younger
women. You're a twofer in my book.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
How young? I've gone down to three.
WICHMAN
Well, we'd sleep in separate beds,
of course.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Or one big one. I need a lot of
room when I get going.
DeStefano ENTERS.
DESTEFANO
Is Mags still prodding you?
WICHMAN
Yeah, she won't have it the other
way around.
DESTEFANO
Mags?
He nods her over. Mags approaches; they're too far for
Wichman to hear, voices low.
DESTEFANO
I need you to unlock all Steve's
psychographic reports, going back
two years.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Those tests don't stand up long
term. Personality drift alone....
DESTEFANO
Call it scientific curiosity.
(louder/to WICHMAN)
Good news, buddy! Mags just agreed
to give you a sponge bath!
He EXITS with a grin and a thumbs-up, waving.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Thanks, Nathan.
She looks: Wichman's gesturing, "I'm ready!"
EXT. THE CAGE
Even bigger than the Stem; below is the curved expanse of the
ribcage, an expanse of meat and bone. Lungs are the ceiling.
Installed lights throw shadows everywhere.
A CRICKET - an oval-shaped ship, transparent sloped nose -
shoots past, spotlights cutting the dark.
INT. CRICKET - CONTINUOUS
Santosiero pilots. Straw rides shotgun, alternating between
working a computer panel and taking in the view.
SANTOSIERO
Gamma Base is a few hundred klicks
that way, on the sternum.
STRAW
Okay. So what else?
SANTOSIERO
There isn't much else. A reactor
tech popped and went on walkabout.
Steve got a BIOS hit and we came
down, split up for a foot-search.
Ten minutes into that, we all hear
Steve shouting. We get there just
in time to see him vanish.
(nods)
That's the place. I'll take us in.
STRAW
Slow.
SANTOSIERO
What're you doing?
STRAW
Sensoring the area for metallics.
SANTOSIERO
You're not gonna find any.
Straw's panel PINGS - a hit. They exchange a look; Santosiero
doesn't like being wrong. Straw doesn't like being right.
EXT. THE CAGE - RIB FORMATION
The Cricket comes in for a landing, touching down. The rib is
miles across. Far distant, the ribcage curves upward.
It's cold and dark here. Straw and Santosiero step out onto
the hard bone, wearing baseball caps and jackets with built
in lamps cutting the darkness. Reading off their Flexis.
STRAW
Wichman reappeared here, too.
SANTOSIERO
Yeah.
STRAW
Synch to the Cricket's sensor pack
and spread out. You're looking for
any kind of metal, I don't care how
small.
Santosiero nods, splitting off. Straw follows sensor tracks
on his Flexi screen.
The "ground" is textured, with natural fissures. Straw kneels
down and runs his hand along the bone. Curious.
A PING registers on his Flexi; a long FISSURE is right next
to him, fist-sized. Straw locks his Flexi back on his wrist
and shines a light down the fissure.
He hesitates slightly... hell with it. He reaches in.
Rooting around up to his elbow, then up to his shoulder,
grimacing, two fingers on it. He grannys an apple-sized METAL
SPHERE out of the fissure, and frowns at it.
STRAW
Son of a bitch.
A NOISE: Straw's up, fast-drawing, aiming his smartgun at
nothing, flashlight beam swallowed up by miles of pitch black
cavern. He stands, shoving the sphere into a jacket pocket.
ROWS OF SHARK TEETH APPEAR OUT OF THE DARKNESS behind Straw,
a giant mouth, open and ready to eat him whole.
Straw SPINS, gun-first...
...there's a WIDE, GRASSY PARK there: a bright, sunny day and
blue skies. Slight breeze, flowing grass, rustling trees.
A lone, distant picnic table. A FIGURE lies on it.
Straw's jaw drops.
His smartgun screen shows the park, too. Straw takes a
tentative step onto the grass - solid ground. Cautiously, he
moves forward.
The figure is a NAKED BLONDE WOMAN, facing away, lying on her
side in a pool of congealed blood, curled up. Her hair twists
slightly in the breeze. There isn't a mark on her, but SHE'S
DEAD. Straw aims right at her, slowly circling around.
Coming around to see her beautiful face. Her body is dead
still, but HER EYES FOLLOW STRAW, darting independent of each
other. It would be eerie enough if she was alive.
BLONDE CORPSE
Did you figure it out?
STRAW
Yes.
One eye shift away from him, back to the direction he came;
the Cage, and Santosiero running towards him.
SANTOSIERO
CHIEF!
STRAW
Stay there!
He glances at Santosiero, then back to the Blonde Corpse...
...she's still here, the Park's still here, but HIS SMARTGUN
SCREEN SHOWS AN EMPTY STARFIELD.
STRAW
Shit...!
Straw glances back - Santosiero's shouts are cut off. She and
the Cage disappear behind Alpha's skin.
EXT. SPACE - CONTINUOUS
Straw suddenly can't breathe.
HE'S OUTSIDE, floating weightless in hard vacuum somewhere
between Alpha's chest and upper arm, flailing helplessly in
space as he starts to die....
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT TWO
ACT THREE
FADE IN:
EXT. SPACE - ALPHA
Straw flails in space, drifting slightly between Alpha's
chest and inner arm.
INT. MEDICAL BAY - CONTINUOUS
An ALARM SOUNDS. Mags (55) and Wichman look up to see a
warning message flash up on a monitor;
STRAW, DOUGLAS A.
CRITICAL INJURY WARNING
TERMINATION IMMINENT
Mags spins around in her chair, fingers flying over control
pads. Wichman leans in over her shoulder.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Oh my God, I think he's in hard
vacuum.
WICHMAN
Security, this is Wichman, we've
got a EVA emergency, I need a
rescue team...
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Starboard, off the Cage!
WICHMAN
...starboard! Off the Cage! He's
got maybe forty seconds! Move it!
Mags calls up a tactical 3D graphic of Alpha, zooming on a
blip labeled Straw, Douglas A. It's close to the arm.
EXT. SPACE - CONTINUOUS
Straw's still got his smartgun; he FIRES, propelling him
backwards, towards the arm. He keeps firing.
...barely a blip against Alpha's body...
He's rocketing towards the arm, out of control.
Gravity from Alpha's arm pulls him in, but STRAW'S OUT OF
AIR, starting to die. Falling helplessly towards Alpha, no
longer shooting, LOOSING CONSCIOUSNESS.
Wind whipping him as he hits a thin atmosphere...
...WHAM! Straw lands on his back - a leg hits first, BREAKING
THE ANKLE - and bounces in the low gravity. He hits again,
tumbling hard, scraping to a stop fifteen meters away as he
flops onto his back.
Straw's all kinds of fucked up - beat up, scraped up, frost
bitten and frozen solid, convulsing bad from the bends. He's
GASPING for breath, but it's not working!
His head lolls to one side, looking straight down Alpha's
arm, right to the far-distant palm. Alpha's fingers slowly
curve up and around into a fist, then open up like a flower,
over and over.
The smartgun's still in Straw's hand, dented screen open and
pointed at Alpha's hand, recording every second.
INTERCUT:
INT. MEDICAL BAY - CONTINUOUS
Mags glances at some new readings.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
He's down... he's still alive!
(louder)
Chief, listen to me: the air's too
thin and you're hyperventilating.
You've got to slow your breathing
down or you'll suffocate.
Straw's trying like hell to say something through clenched
teeth. The sounds he makes come out like painful barks.
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
Stop trying to talk. We've got a
Cricket inbound. Just hang on!
STRAW
Get... guh-guard! Ah-ah-arrest...
Wichman!
MAGS - 55 YEARS OLD
What?
Cobra-quick, Wichman grabs Mags in a choke-hold from behind.
Her utter shock turns to panic as he starts squeezing the
life out of her. Mags pushes up from her chair, struggling,
but Wichman's too strong. They slam to the floor, Mags on
top, Wichman gritting his teeth as she swings wildly,
uselessly, trying to get away.
He whispers, eyes squeezed shut, CRYING.
WICHMAN
I'm sorry...I'm so sorry....
She can't get out anything but whimpers. The fight's fading,
she's almost gone.
Wichman opens his eyes: MAGS IS NOW A 9-YEAR-OLD GIRL.
Total shock - Wichman lets go and kicks away from Mags' limp
body, horrified by what he's done. Staring at her. Panting.
She's still breathing. Starting to come around. Mechanically,
Wichman gets up, crosses Medical to grab an injector gun and
load it. 9-Year-Old Mags groggily sees him coming at her with
it, starts to scream...
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD
No!
Scrambling away - Wichman grabs her ankle and INJECTS her.
Mags fights it, then her head hits the deck, UNCONSCIOUS.
He tosses the injector away. Next move?
INT. CORRIDOR - OUTSIDE MEDICAL BAY
A SECURITY GUARD stands by the door to Medical. The door goes
Green, OPENS: Wichman's seated, he looks up.
WICHMAN
Hey, Jeff!
SECURITY GUARD
Steve! Thought we'd lost you, man!
WICHMAN
Yeah, and how many times have we
thought that?
SECURITY GUARD
Hah! No shit. So what's the real?
The Security Guard heads into Medical, the door CLOSES: Red.
A moment later, the door goes Green, OPENS. Wichman EXITS
wearing the Guard's gun-belt and carrying unconscious 9-Year
Old Mags over his shoulder, heading down the corridor.
INT. MAIN MISSION
DeStefano comes running in.
DESTEFANO
Put up SatCam Nine!
The huge Main Screen MATERIALIZES out of thin air, showing a
long-distance image of Alpha's right arm. A Cricket zooms
into frame, heading for a barely-visible speck.
DESTEFANO
How fast?
AIMES
Two minutes and they'll have him.
DESTEFANO
Mags, how bad is he?
(no response)
Mags? Comm: Doctor Shulman.
(no response)
Cancel Wichman's codelock.
DeStefano shoots Aimes a dire glance, quickly heading out.
INT. CORRIDOR
Wichman moves through the hallways like a cruise missile,
carrying Mags. He passes an ENGINEER going the other way.
ENGINEER
Is that Mags?
WICHMAN
Yeah, she fainted after her last
switch.
ENGINEER
Poor her. Nice to have you back.
WICHMAN
Thanks.
The Engineer keeps going, none the wiser.
Wichman reaches AN INTERSECTION, and STOPS, involuntary.
He tries to look down the side corridor, but can't get his
head to move. A glance out of the corner of his eye is the
best he can manage. Wichman leans on the wall, and suddenly
BASHES HIS HEAD AGAINST THE CORNER, and AGAIN, trying to
shake something loose. Blood in his hair.
He straightens, and marches down the side corridor.
EXT. SPACE - THE 9TH FLEET
Sweeping past a heavy cruiser, the Eastwood.
FOUR SQUID-LIKE ALIEN GUNSHIPS suddenly FOLD IN. They spin
to face the Eastwood and OPEN FIRE, stitching a solid line
across as they glide the length of her hull. They finish
their run, drifting past the cruiser...
...the Sword of Damocles is in the background: the Gunships
VANISH, folding out just as a dozen streams of pulsed laser
fire from the Damocles rip past.
INT. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES - COMMAND TIER
Wagner stands, arms folded and scowling, as another WHITE
FLASH washes over her.
EXO
Clean miss. The Eastwood reports
moderate damage, the Al-Basra and
Ushakov took particle hits. Still
nothing for us.
WAGNER
Do these assholes not know my ship
alone could wipe out their entire
navy in an hour?
(thinks)
They're saving something for us.
EXO
They couldn't get past our defense
grid if they tried. And they
haven't tried.
WAGNER
I do not trust this hunt-and-peck
bullshit.
(thinks)
Send fleet-wide: prepare to
redeploy.
An evil smile creeps across Wagner's face. Idea.
INT. STRAW'S ROOM
Wichman is seated at Straw's desk, idly messing around with
Straw's silver cross and chain.
Behind him, the door OPENS. DeStefano takes a step in.
WICHMAN
You said you saved my room.
DESTEFANO
I lied. Do you hold it against me?
Wichman smiles, tired. He doesn't turn around. DeStefano
checks: 9-Year-Old Mags is unconscious on the bed.
WICHMAN
How'd you know?
DESTEFANO
Because I'm me. I assume the Ohusq
Den grabbed you on that vacation
you took last year.
(no reply)
I stared at your psychographics for
a while and it's subtle, but that's
where the deviation starts. Looks
like normal personality drift week
to-week, but over the long term
it's pretty obvious you've been
completely brainwashed. They put a
slow-acting worm in your mind, yes?
Kinda clever. Then we had that fly
by yesterday, and Straw found this.
He holds up the apple-sized Metal Sphere.
DESTEFANO
Teleport beacon, so they could vip
you out and back in. You really
should've destroyed this, y'know.
(then)
Why'd they send you back?
WICHMAN
I wish you hadn't come, Nathan.
Wichman turns, reaching for his gun; Santosiero and TWO
SECURITY GUARDS are right behind DeStefano, aiming stunners.
Wichman smiles, relieved. The Guards move in, disarm him and
cuff him. Santosiero kneels down to check 9-Year-Old Mags.
WICHMAN
Tell Mags I'm sorry.
DESTEFANO
We might be able to undo what they
did. I promise you we'll try.
(again)
Why did they send you back?
No answer; Wichman CAN'T answer. DeStefano steps aside as the
Guards lead Wichman out. Santosiero steps over to Destefano.
SANTOSIERO
You really think they can undo it?
DESTEFANO
His conditioning's reinforced
itself for nine months now.
SANTOSIERO
And Straw nearly got himself killed
on his second day. Command could've
just given me the promotion. You
could've said the word.
DESTEFANO
I could've. But I didn't.
Looking her in the eye until Santosiero gets the picture loud
and clear. DeStefano EXITS.
INT. MEDICAL BAY
9-Year-Old Mags carries a stepladder across Medical, past A
DOCTOR and N.D. STAFF. Bandages on her neck and arm.
DOCTOR
So this is you resting?
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD
Wow, you really nailed Mom's voice.
She plunks her stepladder down at line of hospital beds and
climbs up; this bed's covered by a clear plastic dome, sealed
tight. STRAW'S INSIDE. He looks in bad shape, but alert. One
eye's completely red, bloodshot. Scarred patches of skin.
Mags touches the dome and holographic controls APPEAR. She
starts manipulating them, reading results.
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD
I used to think I'd be taken more
seriously if I didn't have breasts.
Not so, it turns out.
(off controls)
Good news, they saved most of your
skin and there's no permanent heart
damage, but the ankle brake's going
to take a while.
STRAW
Are you okay?
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD
You keep asking me that.
(then, lower)
Were you scared?
STRAW
Yes.
They exchange a look through the plastic shield. Mags slides
a finger along the holo-controls; the plastic dome DISSOLVES.
Straw sits up, slow and stiff.
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD
Take it slow. Go easy on the ankle.
Karl? Hep-lock his PICC line, we'll
dissolve it later.
She steps down and heads off with her stepladder.
Straw stretches. Grayson - calm but depressed - is on the
next bed over, looking over at him.
GRAYSON
You're a lucky guy.
STRAW
Thanks. You look better.
GRAYSON
"Better." My little episode means
they're cashiering my ass off the
most important archeological find
in human history. Where am I
supposed to go after this?
Grayson turns away. Straw doesn't say a thing.
INT. THE STEM
Time break. Zeroing in on the lights of CREW QUARTERS.
INT. STRAW'S QUARTERS
Straw keeps entering commands into his workstation, getting
an error message back: CANNOT SYNCH TO DEVICE. Irritated, he
scoops up his smartgun and tries keying in commands off its
touch-screen.
There's a KNOCK at the door.
STRAW
Come.
A tall, thin black man with a springy shock of hair ENTERS;
Straw immediately notices his nametag: PORTER.
PORTER
Hey there, Maintenance. You called?
STRAW
I can't upload to the workstation.
PORTER
Right-right. Well.
He motions. Very reluctantly, Straw moves - there's a plastic
cast on his left ankle - hopping on his good leg to the bunk.
Porter sits and starts figuring the problem out.
STRAW
I didn't expect the Maintenance
Chief to answer the ticket.
PORTER
I'm a man of the people.
STRAW
I heard you on guitar.
PORTER
Oh, uh, sorry about that. Sometimes
I, I, I forget how sound carries
around in here.
STRAW
You're good.
PORTER
Thanks. So you, you're into acid
blues, huh?
STRAW
A buddy dragged me to pH's farewell
gig at the Stratocast. Hooked me.
PORTER
Aw, man, I wanted to catch that so
bad, you know? Couldn't do it. I
was between jobs. You play?
STRAW
A little.
PORTER
We should jam sometime. I got an
extra guitar I can lend.
STRAW
Okay. Sure.
PORTER
(re. workstation)
Somebody just forgot to zero it for
the new user. Try now.
Straw presses an icon on his smartgun's screen; a video image
of the Park APPEARS on the workstation's screen, as shot from
the gun's camera. Straw pauses it.
PORTER
That's here? Jesus. Ah, shit...
sorry, sorry. I try not to take the
Name in vain around here, you know?
STRAW
You really think Alpha is God?
PORTER
I hope not. I mean, bad enough if
we built all this into a living
being. But if it's God, well, well
God forgive us.
STRAW
I don't feel God here.
PORTER
Just you wait.
Porter smiles again, and EXITS with a small wave.
Straw hops back to the chair and jumps the video ahead to the
Blonde Corpse, her eerie eyes following him.
BLONDE CORPSE (MONITOR)
Did you figure it out?
He stares at it, frowning.
EXT. SPACE - THE 9TH FLEET
A 9th Fleet CORSAIR flies off Alpha's port side, His face in
the background.
Four Alien Gunships FOLD IN above it, twisting to make their
attack run: they're instantly bombarded by laser fire from
two directions, punching clean through their hulls.
One gunship FOLDS OUT as the other three are BLOWN TO BITS.
Elsewhere in the fleet: an ALIEN ATTACK CRUISER takes a
pounding from three directions. It tries to fold out, and
DETONATES from the strain, steel tentacles flailing.
INT. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES - COMMAND TIER
Wagner watches her displays, pleased. An AIDE hands her a
thin e-reader. She reads it.
EXO
Three more vipping in, fourth quad,
Kingmaker and Aja have solutions.
WAGNER
Prosecute.
EXO
(into comms)
Damo One to Actuals, open on all
xeno victors. Engage to terminate,
and watch the shrapnel spread.
WAGNER
(re. e-reader)
Good news. The Presidium authorizes
us to answer any hostile action
with due force. I love diplomats.
She sneers a bit, pleased with herself.
INT. MAIN MISSION - CONTINUOUS
DeStefano stands, his back to everyone, hands in pockets, in
front of a expansive starfield; the Main Screen displays a
forward view outside Alpha. It's like standing right in front
of a movie screen.
He doesn't move, silently studying the fleet.
Thinking.
Straw walks up behind him, sporting a big limp.
STRAW
Dr. DeStefano?
DESTEFANO
Wagner's triangulated her fields of
fire, but she spread the fleet
pretty thin to do it. And there's
the Ohusq-Den boarder, right there.
He tosses the Metal Sphere to Straw.
DESTEFANO
That was a good find.
STRAW
Thank you. I want to transfer
Wichman off Alpha soon-as.
DESTEFANO
Not yet. We're missing something.
STRAW
He's either a spy or a saboteur or
both. Does it matter?
DESTEFANO
Yes.
STRAW
And we're dead sure they didn't
load him with a body-bomb?
DESTEFANO
Active BIOS, Steve Wichman.
A window-in-window APPEARS on the Main Screen: the silhouette
of a man labeled WICHMAN, STEVEN J. reads out bio-signs.
DESTEFANO
His blood pressure's through the
roof, but otherwise...
STRAW
Where's that data coming from?
DESTEFANO
Well, his BIOS monitor.
(realizes)
Mags! I need a real-time BIOS scan
on Steve, full-spectrum, now!
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD (COMM. VOICE)
His monitor feed's still steady.
DESTEFANO
It's been modified to give us a
false read! NOW, Mags!
The BIOS silhouette CHANGES: crackling with sharp, volatile
energy surging through Wichman's body.
DESTEFANO
He's rigged.
Off their reaction.
INT. HOLDING/STATION HOUSE
Inside a holding cell, Wichman is dripping sweat, clutching
himself. He girds himself and PUSHES...
...A BLINDING PULSE SHOOTS OUT OF HIS BODY.
ALL THE ELECTRONICS in the Station House DIE; lights go out,
computers go off, doors on the holding cells pop open. Red
emergency lights come on.
A SECURITY GUARD on duty jumps out of his chair, drawing his
smartgun and rushing for the Holding Cells. Wichman barrels
out of Holding, flash-burned; he scoops a riot gear helmet
off a nearby counter as the Guard aims point-blank and pulls
the trigger: NOTHING HAPPENS.
Wichman BASHES the Guard in the head with the helmet.
INT. MAIN MISSION
An ALARM GOES OFF. Aimes checks his board.
AIMES
Reading a massive EMP burst! All
the electronics in Station House
Two are fried!
STRAW
That's him.
DESTEFANO
That's nothing. At those levels, he
can disable the whole installation.
AIMES
Nathan!
Nodding at the Main Holoscreen: TEN THOUSAND FLASHES appear
on the Ohusq-Den side of the boarder, as A MASSIVE ALIEN
ARMADA folds in.
DeStefano and Straw can only watch it happen.
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT THREE
ACT FOUR
FADE IN:
EXT. SPACE
The Alien Armada OPENS FIRE; a thousand particle streams
homing in on the 9th Fleet...
INT. MAIN MISSION - CONTINUOUS
...Straw and DeStefano watch the particle streams slowly
closing on the 9th Fleet. There's nothing they can do about
it. They exchange a look, then turn and head for the door.
STRAW
Security: full lockdown. Restrict
access to S-3 codelocks and sweep
for Steve Wichman. Aimes, figure
out where he's got to go to scram
all our reactors at once.
DESTEFANO
Assume a five-klick blast radius.
AIMES
We're kind of under attack, here!
DESTEFANO
That's Wagner's problem. Steve's
ours.
Straw and DeStefano break into a run, EXITING.
EXT. BOOM CAR
Zooming down-stem on its track.
INT. BOOM CAR
DeStefano is thinking hard, staring at nothing. Behind him,
Straw works off his Flexi, pacing rapidly.
MAGS - 9 YEARS OLD (COMM. VOICE)
The head trauma's manageable, but
your guy's codelock was dug out of
his chest. He lost a lot of blood.
STRAW
Santosiero, track that codelock.
Aimes? What've you got?
AIMES (COMM. VOICE)
He has to be heading for Stem 20 or
21.
STRAW
Get that?
SANTOSIERO (COMM. VOICE)
Got it. Do we shoot on sight?
DESTEFANO
They don't win.
STRAW
What's that, Doctor? -No, stunners
only, body-bombs detonate if the
carrier dies.
DeStefano's eyes light up; he's moving, full of energy.
DESTEFANO
Computer, re-direct us to the
Hanger Bay! Aimes! I want the J
probes re-deployed to scan....
STRAW
Aimes, do NOT. What the hell do you
think you're doing?
DESTEFANO
Wagner's about to chop the entire
Ohusq military. What do they care
if Steve shuts our lights off?
(no response)
He wanted to go to the Damocles!
STRAW
He couldn't even dent the Damocles!
DESTEFANO
If he gets inside, a full-yield EMP
blast puts a ten-klick hole in the
Damo's defense grid! She's the
lynchpin! If the Ohusq can disable
her with atomics, that leaves the
fleet wide open, outnumbered twelve
to one.
Straw's eyes shift, weighing the possibilities.
STRAW
No...they'll fold ten ships inside
her and detonate the engine cores.
DESTEFANO
And then they take Alpha.
Straw thinks....
DESTEFANO
They've played to our assumptions
from the start.
STRAW
Aimes, deadlock all our birds and
re-deploy the monitors. Pounce
anything moving between Holding and
the Hanger Bay.
Straw and DeStefano exchange a look, and a nod.
INT. HANGER BAY
Wide, bright. Ten Folkers hang vertically from clamps, a few
more are parked on the deck.
A PILOT in a flight suit and helmet strides towards one. A
skinny GREASE MONKEY is calibrating something up on the wing.
The Grease Monkey barely glances at the Pilot. The second he
looks down, the Pilot draws a sidearm and SHOOTS him; the
mechanic's skeleton lights up under his skin and he tumbles
to the deck, DEAD.
The Pilot glances around - IT'S WICHMAN inside the helmet. He
grabs a bolt-key from the Grease Monkey's belt, bends under
the Folker and unlocks a panel on the fuselage. Out slides an
instrument package and keyboard. He types, and a flat circuit
block pops out. Wichman grabs it.
The circuit block drops to the deck. Wichman climbs up to the
Folker's cockpit.
ANGLE
Straw and DeStefano ENTER through a sliding door just in time
to see a Folker lift off and hover fifteen feet off the deck.
STRAW
Aimes! Wichman's in a Folker, over
ride it and land him!
AIMES (COMM. VOICE)
Remote override isn't responding!
He must've*
The Folker OPENS FIRE. Straw and DeStefano dive for cover.
Its railguns are DEAFENING.
A solid stream of supersonic projectiles TEAR through parked
Folkers, instantly reducing them to piles of twisted scrap.
The guns sweep up to a suspended Folker and saw the entire
forward half off; it CRASHES to the deck as the DECK CREW
runs for cover.
Wichman pivots his ship, railguns blazing until every fighter
in the Hanger Bay is shot to pieces, useless.
Straw, DeStefano and a few Deck Crewmen lean out from cover
as Wichman's Folker glides smoothly out of the Hanger.
STRAW
Is there any way he can get out?
DESTEFANO
Yes.
STRAW
(to Deck Crewman)
What've you got left that flies and
shoots?
DECK CREWMAN #1
You want me to bolt your smartgun
to a Cricket?
DECK CREWMAN #2
No, hang on! There's a Folker down
in the Maintenance Bay! Something
about a shark ramming it....
STRAW
Prep it!
They MOVE.
INT. THE CAGE/FOLKER COCKPIT
A Folker SCREAMS past, bat-out-of-hell fast. Inside, Wichman
is sweating hard. Spasms rock his face uncontrollably.
AIMES (COMM. VOICE)
Steve, it's Frank. I know you're
fighting this, if you can just help
us in any small way, that's enough*
Wichman CUTS the comlink.
The Folker ZOOMS ahead, leaving the Cage behind.
INT. HANGER BAY
A pad rises up from below, holding a badly dented Folker;
it's missing a few panels and most of its weaponry. The Deck
Crew and Straw immediately swarm it.
DECK CREWMAN #2
Charlie! Load the railgun mags!
(to Straw)
We already started stripping her,
so you're down to the port railgun,
no missiles, no lasers, and I can't
promise the targeting's synched up.
STRAW
I'll eyeball it.
AIMES (COMM. VOICE)
He just cut the link.
DESTEFANO
Signal the Damocles, tell them to
fire on any Folker that approaches
without an IFFR signal.
AIMES (COMM. VOICE)
There's too much hard radiation
flying around out there. Nothing's
getting out!
Straw slips into the pilot seat, DeStefano heads for the REO
chair; Straw puts a hand up.
STRAW
Whoa, stop. This isn't your ride.
DESTEFANO
Oh, so you know your way around in
here already?
Straw frowns begrudgingly, thumbs at the back seat. DeStefano
drops in, the Deck Crew clears away, the cockpit seals, and
the Folker's engines SURGE, lifting off the ground.
DESTEFANO
Straight and take a hard left.
STRAW
Wichman went to the right.
DESTEFANO
We're going out the front. He's
going out the back.
It takes a second for Straw to register exactly what that
means, and his distaste is obvious.
DESTEFANO
He's got a lot further to go than
us! Hit it!
Straw steers the Folker out of the Hanger, peels left, and
slams the throttle open full. DeStefano hits the back of his
chair, shocked by the force of it.
Their Folker rockets up-Stem, maximum velocity.
INT. MAIN MISSION
Aimes is at his station, giving orders.
AIMES
Release primary airlock! We've lost
all SatCams, so whatever's going on
out there, it's gotta be thick.
Working controls on his workstation.
INT. ALPHA'S MOUTH
Straw's Folker dips through the open airlock in Alpha's
palette and ZOOMS through the mouth.
STRAW
Copy that.
The fighter angles to the right, aiming for the earliest gap
through the teeth. The engine is red-lined, all the panels
are SHAKING with the strain.
Straw grits his teeth and keeps the throttle at Full -
DeStefano hanging on - as Alpha's teeth come at them very
fast...
EXT. SPACE - ALPHA
...Straw's Folker shoots out of Alpha's mouth and banks hard,
heading back along Alpha's jaw and over his shoulder.
Above them, a solid canopy of EXPLOSIONS flows in a wave, two
hundred meters off Alpha's skin. IT'S A FULL-SCALE WAR out
here, hundreds of human warships and fighters versus a
thousand Alien ships, all trading fire.
Straw pushes his Folker low, hugging Alpha's back and flying
at terrifying velocities.
INTERCUT:
INT. STRAW'S FOLKER
DeStefano is glued to the battle above him, watching mighty
ships splinter and die under withering fire.
DESTEFANO
Jesus....
STRAW
Keep praying. If they notice us,
all they've gotta do is crack our
canopy.
DESTEFANO
There's a happy-incoming! INCOMING!
Stray energy bolts HIT Alpha and SHATTER, raw energy
crackling over His undamaged skin, way too close; they shake
the Folker up, and Straw starts weaving madly to avoid them.
TWO squid-like OHUSQ FIGHTERS break off from the battle and
swing behind the Folker, FIRING at it.
DESTEFANO
Two on our tail!
STRAW
You're the doorgunner! Do something
about it!
DeStefano hits a button.
Four small panels pop open on the Folker's aft plates - two
top, two bottom - and spray a random volley of laser fire at
the Ohusq Fighters; one's clipped and dips, grinding into
Alpha's skin, tumbling, and EXPLODING.
FAR AHEAD, the "landscape" rises sharply, becoming Alpha's
buttocks. A bright object flies out from the crack; IT'S
WICHMAN'S FOLKER. It banks, heading back up towards Alpha's
flexing right hand.
WICHMAN (COMM. VOICE)
Sword of Damocles, this is Folker
08, brake: I'm declaring a pilot
emergency, request priority trap.
Straw climbs to intercept him...
...SPINNING his Folker to bring guns on the second Ohusq
fighter. He blazes away with the ship's railgun, chewing off
the Ohusq's engine; it tumbles away, helpless, as Straw spins
back on course, homing in on Wichman's Folker.
They're closing fast. Wichman hasn't seen them.
STRAW
I could warn him.
DESTEFANO
He wouldn't listen. Do it.
Straw targets Wichman's Folker.
INTERCUT ALL:
INT. WICHMAN'S FOLKER
Wichman's at the controls, looking for a way to reach the
Damocles through the colossal battle.
WICHMAN (COMM. VOICE)
Sword of Damocles, this is Folker
08, brake...
He glances to one side, SEES STRAW'S FOLKER lining up...
...and BREAKS HARD LEFT as Straw FIRES, clean miss. Both men
jam their throttles full, Wichman out in front and trying to
shake Straw's Folker. He pulls hard verticals and 90-degree
turns, but Straw sticks hard, FIRING at him.
A half-dozen Ohusq Fighters dive at them, firing laser bolts
at both Folkers.
Straw weaves around them as Wichman DESTROYS an Ohusq, then
spins 180-degrees to put his guns on Straw's Folker.
A few slugs put holes in Straw's wing as another Ohusq
fighter clips off one of Wichman's tail fins. DeStefano's
doorgun lasers blow another enemy fighter apart.
An Ohusq fighter gets position on Straw's Folker and shoots,
BLOWING OFF AN ENGINE POD. The other flickers, barely lit, as
Straw's Folker spins out of control.
That Ohusq turns on Wichman; he fires a missile, hitting it
dead in the face. Boom.
Straw grabs the stick with both hands, trying to muscle his
plane into obedience. DeStefano hangs on. ALARMS sound.
STRAW
C'mon! C'MON!
Maneuvering thrusters let him stabilize a little, but his
Folker still jerks around drunkenly. It's all he can do to
keep Wichman in his sights.
Both Folkers hurtle towards Alpha's hand, facing each other.
In pure desperation, Straw mashes the trigger. A solid stream
of supersonic projectiles rip past Wichman's Folker, unable
to zero in. It gets close, closer... and ENDS. Straw checks
his instruments: AMMO: 0 flashes on his panel.
Wichman's HUD: TARGET LOCK.
DESTEFANO
He's painted us!
Wichman's finger hovers over his controls; he hits a switch,
the missile display CHANGES from HEATSEAKER to F/F and he
instantly PULLS THE TRIGGER.
Straw sees the missile launch. It's coming right at him.
DeStefano checks a reading on his panel, and suddenly starts
working furiously, fingers flying over the keyboard.
STRAW
Sorry, Doctor.
DESTEFANO
It's okay. See, in order to disable
the remote pilot protocols on that
Folker, Steve had to remove the
IFFR block. For "Identify Friend or
Foe Receiver." And he just fired a
Friend or Foe missile at us.
He finishes, closes his eyes and touches a button.
The missile TWITCHES. Closing, closing...
...Straw grits his teeth...
...the missile ZIPS RIGHT PAST Straw's Folker, much to his
surprise. Straw whips around to see it turn around and zoom
past again, this time on track for Wichman.
Wichman's Folker spins away from them, and flees.
DESTEFANO (FILTER)
Thanks, Fatso.
WICHMAN (FILTER)
My pleasure, Shorty.
Wichman's Folker breaks right, releases flares, but the
missile stays true and DETONATES ON IMPACT, tearing Wichman's
Folker in two.
A small flash, and a MASSIVE EMP DETONATION bursts out of the
wreckage. The wave spreads five kilometers in all directions.
All the electronics in Straw's Folker DIE; everything goes
dark. The Ohusq fighters around them start to tumble, also
totally without power, and all of them are on a collision
course with Alpha's right-hand fist.
Straw and DeStefano look up at it, looming. Helpless.
Alpha's fist OPENS.
A wave of hope hits them as His fingers part, giving them a
clear path straight through. Their tiny ship sails through
the part as they simply stare in amazement. An Ohusq fighter
hits the side and EXPLODES, the others simply freefalls along
with Straw and DeStefano.
They come out the other side. DeStefano looks back.
DESTEFANO
He stopped flexing his hand.
STRAW
Look.
The Ohusq fleet is quickly FOLDING OUT. The battle's over.
STRAW
They know.
(then)
Set our emergency beacon, willya?
Their Folker drifts through a sea of debris, emergency beacon
BEEPING, Alpha's passive face in the distance.
FADE TO:
INT. STRAW'S OFFICE
Straw sits behind a crowded workstation/desk in a small, dark
office. Santosiero ENTERS and takes a chair facing him.
SANTOSIERO
You called, boss?
STRAW
You're being reassigned off Alpha.
SANTOSIERO
Wha...what?
STRAW
A Cricket will transfer you to the
Eastwood at 1400 hours. You'll get
new orders after debrief.
SANTOSIERO
Chief, I think I've demonstrated
that you need me here...!
STRAW
You're fired, Sergeant. I don't
care where we are, if you'd made
even a cursory sweep of the area
when Wichman vanished like you
should've, there'd be one less dead
man on this base. But you just
shrugged your shoulders and took
command and no, I don't need that.
She glares at him, fuming, somewhere between shock and the
urge to hit him. Straw doesn't even blink.
Santosiero gets up without a word and STORMS OUT.
Straw leans back and exhales. His Comm BUZZES.
STRAW
Straw.
DESTEFANO (COMM. VOICE)
It's me. I'm gonna go stretch my
legs outside. Care to join?
Straw cocks his head. Is DeStefano serious?
EXT. ALPHA
Straw stands on Alpha's surface, awestruck by the canopy of
stars overhead. He's in a thick parka and hat, breathing
through noseplugs, breathing out steam. And he's smiling.
Behind him, a bundled-up DeStefano holds A METAL CANNISTER.
STRAW
Now this is something.
DESTEFANO
Yeah. How often to you get to touch
space without an atmosphere suit?
Kinda makes you forget.
He wanders over to a piece of debris - a fragment of a dead
starship - and KICKS it away. There's a lot of junk littering
Alpha's surface, making it feel like a graveyard.
DESTEFANO
I should get someone to clean this
place up. CentCom estimates Wagner
wiped about half of the Ohusq-Den's
navy. That's what we do, y'know.
Drift on through and accidently
shift the balance of power for the
entire quadrant. Hooray, us.
(shouting at Alpha)
YOU'D THINK THE OMNIPOTENT CREATOR
OF ALL THINGS COULD'VE ORCHESTRATED
THAT SHIT A LITTLE BETTER. SO MAYBE
NOT ALL THOSE PEOPLE HAD TO DIE FOR
NO REASON. HOW'S THAT FOR AN IDEA?
STRAW
You really think Alpha is God?
DESTEFANO
You've been here a few days now,
you tell me: did this thing write
down a bunch of rules for us on
some rocks? Did he talk to anybody
through a burning bush? Part a sea?
Do you think for a second He loves
us or judges us, or even knows
we're here?
STRAW
I think if a shark hadn't dented a
Folker, Wichman would've killed us
all.
DeStefano grins at him.
DESTEFANO
Exactly! Watch this.
DeStefano unscrews the canister, and slowly pours out a thin
stream of ash.
Solar winds instantly pick it up and bend it into ribbons
flowing through the air, catching light from a distant star
as it forms amazing, impossible patterns. It's beautiful.
STRAW
What about his friends, family?
DESTEFANO
Nah. This and a wake is what Steve
wanted. Probably figured it'd be
more memorable.
STRAW
You never really believed Wichman
was back, did you?
DESTEFANO
No.
(shrug)
He was my friend. I had to give him
the benefit of the doubt.
Straw simply nods.
The ash flows away down Alpha's body, dissipating, diffusing
until it's gone.
DESTEFANO
And I did trust him. Steve worked
for us, not Wagner. He never
reported anything behind my back,
which isn't a claim you can make.
STRAW
I have orders. But Wagner doesn't
need to know everything.
DESTEFANO
We'll see.
They fall silent; neither looks uncomfortable about their new
understanding. Straw looks around, something in the distance
holds his attention.
STRAW
Are those mountains?
DESTEFANO
That's a nipple.
STRAW
(incredulous)
God has nipples.
DESTEFANO
Yep. Wanna know why?
DeStefano grins at him. Straw doesn't expect an answer, and
turns his attention back to the view.
PULL BACK
They're standing on Alpha's ribcage, barely even specs
against the giant's pale skin.
Alpha gently soars through space, surrounded by the Sword of
Damocles and the 9th Fleet. As ever, He ignores them,
continuing on His way....
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT FOUR
THE END
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