ALIENS (1986) 
Directed by James Cameron
Screenplay by  James Cameron
Story by James Cameron, David Giler & Walter Hill

   Sigourney Weaver.............. Lieutenant Ellen Ripley 
Carrie Henn..................... Rebecca "Newt" Jorden 
Michael Biehn.......................... Corporal Hicks 
Paul Reiser.............................. Carter Burke 
Lance Henriksen................ Science Officer Bishop 
Bill Paxton............................ Private Hudson 
William Hope........................ Lieutenant Gorman 
Jenette Goldstein..................... Private Vasquez 
Al Matthews............................ Sergeant Apone 
Mark Rolston............................ Private Drake 
Ricco Ross.............................. Private Frost 
Colette Hiller......................... Corporal Ferro 
Daniel Kash........................ Private Spunkmeyer 
Cynthia Scott....................... Corporal Dietrich 
Tip Tipping............................. Private Crowe 
Trevor Steedman................... Private Wierzbowski

     FADE IN

 1   SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE - SPACE                                 1   

     Silent and endless.  The stars shine like the love of 
     God...cold and remote.  Against them drifts a tiny chip of 

     CLOSER SHOT  It is the NARCISSUS, lifeboat of the ill-fated 
     star-freighter Nostromo.  Without interior or running lights 
     it seems devoid of life.  The PING of a RANGING RADAR grows 
     louder, closer.  A shadow engulfs the Narcissus.  Searchlights 
     flash on, playing over the tiny ship, as a MASSIVE DARK HULL 
     descends toward it.

 2   INT. NARCISSUS                                                 2   

     Dark and dormant as a crypt.  The searchlights stream in the 
     dusty windows.  Outside, massive metal forms can be seen 
     descending around the shuttle.  Like the tolling of a bell, 
     a BASSO PROFUNDO CLANG reverberates through the hull.

     CLOSE ON THE AIRLOCK DOOR  Light glares as a cutting torch 
     bursts through the metal.  Sparks shower into the room.

     A second torch cuts through.  They move with machine 
     precision, cutting a rectangular path, converging.  The 
     torches meet.  Cut off.  The door falls inward REVEALING a 
     bizarre multi-armed figure.  A ROBOT WELDER.

     FIGURES ENTER, backlit and ominous.  THREE MEN in bio-
     isolation suits, carrying lights and equipment.  They approach 
     a sarcophaguslike HYPERSLEEP CAPSULE, f.g.

               Internal pressure positive.  Assume 
               nominal hull integrity.  Hypersleep 
               capsules, style circa late twenties...

     His gloved hand wipes at on opaque layer of dust on the 

     ANGLE INSIDE CAPSULE  as light stabs in where the dust is 
     wiped away, illuminating a WOMAN, her face in peaceful repose.

     WARRANT OFFICER RIPLEY, sole survivor of the Nostromo.

     Nestled next to her is JONES, the ship's wayward cat.


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 2

                           LEADER (CONT'D)
                    (voice over; filtered)
               Lights are green.  She's alive.  
               Well, there goes our salvage, guys.

                                                     DISSOLVE TO:


     She's lying in a bed, looking wan, as a female MED-TECH raises 
     the backrest.  She is surrounded by arcane white MEDICAL 
     EQUIPMENT.  The Med-Tech exudes practiced cheeriness.

               Why don't I open the viewport?  Watch 
               your eyes.

     Harsh light floods in as a motorized shield slides into the 
     ceiling, REVEALING a breathtaking vista.  Beyond the sprawling 
     complex of modular habitats, collectively called GATEWAY 
     STATION, is the curve of EARTH as seen from high orbit.  
     Blue and serene.

                           MED-TECH (CONT'D)
               And how are we today?


               Just terrible?  That's better than 
               yesterday at least.

               How long have I been on Gateway 

               Just a couple of days.  Do you feel 
               up to a visitor?

     Ripley shrugs, not caring.  The door opens and a MAN enters, 
     although Ripley sees only what he is carrying.

     A familiar large, orange TOMCAT.


     She grabs the cat like a life preserver.


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 3

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
                    (cooing baby-cat talk)
               Come here Jonesy you ugly old 
      ugly thing.

     Jones patiently endures Ripley's embarrassing display, seeming 
     none the worse for wear.  The visitor sits beside the bed 
     and Ripley finally notices him.  He is thirtyish and handsome, 
     in a suit that looks executive or legal, the tie loosened 
     with studied casualness.  A smile referred to as "winning."

               Nice room.  I'm Burke.  Crater Burke.  
               I work for the company, but other 
               than that I'm an okay guy.  Glad to 
               see you're feeling better.  I'm told 
               the weakness and disorientation should 
               pass soon.  Side effects of the 
               unusually long hypersleep, or 
               something like that.

               How long was I out there?  They won't 
               tell me anything.

               Well, maybe you shouldn't worry about 
               that just yet.

     Ripley grabs his arm, surprising him.

               How long?

     Burke gazes at her, thoughtful.

               All right.  My instinct says you're 
               strong enough to handle this... Fifty-
               seven years.

     Ripley is stunned.  She seems to deflate, her expression 
     passing through amazement and shock to realization of all 
     she has lost.  Friends.  Family.  Her world.

               Fifty-seven...oh, Christ...

               You'd drifted right through the core 


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 4

                           BURKE (CONT'D)
               It's blind luck that deep-salvage 
               team caught you when they... are you 
               all right?

     Ripley coughs suddenly as if choking and her expression 
     becomes one of dawning horror.  Burke hands her a glass of 
     water from the nightstand.  She slaps it away.  It shatters 
     with a SMASH.  Jones dives, yowling.  Ripley grabs her chest, 
     struggling as if she is strangling.

     The Med-Tech hits a console button.

               Code Blue!  415.  Code Blue!  4-1-5!

     Burke and the Med-Tech are holding Ripley's shoulders as she 
     goes into convulsions.  A DOCTOR and TWO TECHS run in.  
     Ripley's back arches in agony.


     They try to restrain her as she thrashes, knocking over 
     equipment.  Her EKG races like mad.  Jones, under a cabinet, 
     hisses wide-eyed.

               Hold her...Get me an airway, stat!  
               And fifteen cc's of... Jesus!

     AN EXPLOSION OF BLOOD beneath the sheet covering her chest!  
     Ripley stares at the SHAPE RISING UNDER THE SHEET.  Tearing 
     itself out of her.

     HER P.O.V. as the sheet rises.  A GLIMPSE OF the CHITTERING 
     HORROR...IT SCREECHES.  TIGHT ON RIPLEY  screaming, snapping 
     up INTO FRAME.

     Alone in the darkened hospital room.  She gasps for breath, 
     clutching pathetically at her chest.  There is no demented 
     horror ripping itself out of her.  Her eyes snap about wildly, 
     slowly focusing on the reality of her safety.  Shuddering, 
     bathed in sweat, she kneads her breastbone with the heel of 
     her hand and sobs.

     A VIDEO MONITOR beside the bed snaps on.  A MED-TECH's face.

               Bad dreams again?  Do you want 
               something to help you sleep?


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 5

               No.. I've slept enough.

     The Med-Tech shrugs and switches off.  Touching a button on 
     the nightstand she opens the viewport, REVEALING Gateway and 
     the turquoise Earth.  She hugs Jones to her and rocks with 
     him like a child, still shattered by the nightmare.  
     Shivering.  Sleep is far off.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               We made it, Jones.  We made it.

     But at what price?

                                                          CUT TO:

 4   EXT. PARK                                                      4   

     Sunlight streams in shafts through a stand of poplars, beyond 
     which a verdant meadow is VISIBLE.

     EXTREME F.G.  Jones stalks toward a bird hopping among fallen 
     leaves.  He leaps.  And smack into A WALL.

                    (voice over)

     WIDER ANGLE  as Jones steps back confused from the HIGH-
     video-loop.  Ripley sits on a bench in what we now SEE is an 
     ATRIUM off the medical center, still somewhere in the bowels 
     of Gateway Station.  Benches.

     Some unenthusiastic potted trees.  The sterile corridors 
     VISIBLE beyond glass doors b.g.

     Burke ENTERS in his usual mode, casual haste.

               Sorry...I've been running behind all 

     Ripley seems healthier now, but still a bit brittle.

               Have they located my daughter yet?

               Well, I was going to wait until after 
               the inquest...


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 6

     He opens his briefcase, removing a sheet of printer hard 
     copy, including a telestat photo.

               Is she...?

               Amanda Ripley-McClaren.  Married 
               name, I guess.  Age:  sixty-six 
               time of death.  Two years ago.
                    (looks at her)
               I'm sorry.

     Ripley studies the PHOTOGRAPH, stunned.

     The face of a woman in her mid-sixties.  It could be anybody.  
     She tries to reconcile the face with the little girl she 
     once knew.


               Cancer.  Hmmmm.  They still haven't 
               licked that one.  Cremated.  Interred 
               Parkside Repository, Little Chute, 
               Wisconsin.  No children.

     Ripley gazes off, into the pseudo-landscape, into the past.

               I promised her I'd be home for her 
               birthday.  Her eleventh birthday.  I 
               sure missed that one.
               Well... she had already learned to 
               take my promises with a grain of 
               salt.  When it came to flight 
               schedules, anyway.

     Burke nods, a simpatico presence.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               You always think you can make it up 
               to somebody...later, you know.  But 
               now I never can.  I never can.

     Let's get one thing straight...Ripley can be one tough lady.  
     But the terror, the loss, the emptiness are, in this moment, 
     overwhelming.  She cries silently.


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 7

     Burke puts a reassuring hand on her arm.

               The hearing convenes at 0930.  You 
               don't want to be late.

 5   INT. CORRIDOR - GATEWAY                                        5   

     Elevator doors part and Ripley emerges, in mid-conversation 
     with Burke.  DOLLYING AHEAD OF THEM as they move rapidly 
     down the corridor.

               You read my's complete 
               and accurate.

               Look, I believe you, but there are 
               going to be some heavyweights in 
               there.  You got Feds, you got 
               interstellar commerce commission, 
               you got colonial administration, 
               insurance company guys...

               I get the picture.

               Just tell them what happened.  The 
               important thing is to stay cool and 

 6   INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - ON RIPLEY - GATEWAY                     6   

     She's not cool.  Not unemotional.

               Do you people have earwax, or what?  
               We have been here three hours.  How 
               many different ways do you want me 
               to tell the same story?

     She faces the EIGHT MEMBERS of the board of inquiry at a 
     long conference table.  Gray suits and grim faces.  They 
     aren't buying.  Behind Ripley on a large VIDEO SCREEN, PARKER 
     grins like a goon from his personnel mugshot.  His file prints 
     out next to it.  BRETT's face and dossier replace it, and 
     then the others as the SCENE continues...

     KANE, LAMBERT, ASH the android traitor, DALLAS.


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 8

     VAN LEUWEN, the ICC representative, steeples his fingers and 

                           VAN LEUWEN
               Look at it from our perspective.  
               You freely admit to detonating the 
               engines of, and thereby destroying, 
               an M-Class star-freighter.  A rather 
               expensive piece of hardware...

                           INSURANCE INVESTIGATOR
               Forty-two million in adjusted dollars.  
               That's minus payload, of course.

                           VAN LEUWEN
               The shuttle's flight recorder 
               corroborates some elements of your 
               account.  That the Nostromo set down 
               on LV-426, an unsurveyed planet, at 
               that time.  That repairs were made.  
               That it resumed its course and was 
               subsequently set for self-destruct.  
               By you.  For reasons unknown.

               Look, I told you...

                           VAN LEUWEN
               It did not, however, contain any 
               entries concerning the hostile life 
               form you allegedly picked up.

     Ripley sense the noose tightening.

               Then somebody's gotten to it...  
               doctored the recorder.  Who had access 
               to it?

     The ECA (Extrasolar Colonization Administration) 
     Representative (ECA REP) just shakes his head.

                           ECA REP
               Would you just listen to yourself 
               for one minute.

     Ripley glares at the ECA Rep, a woman on the ungenerous side 
     of fifty.  Van Leuwen sighs with exasperation.


     Aliens-EDITED                                           p. 9

                           VAN LEUWEN
               The analysis team which went over 
               your shuttle centimeter by centimeter 
               found no physical evidence of the 
               creature you describe...

                    (losing it)
               That's because I blew it out the 
               Goddamn airlock!
               Like I said.

                           INSURANCE MAN
                    (to ECA Rep)
               Are there any species like this 
               'hostile organism' on LV-426?

                           ECA REP
               No.  It's a rock.  No indigenous 
               life larger than a simple virus.

     Ripley grits her teeth in frustration.

               I told you, it wasn't indigenous.  
               There was an alien spacecraft there.  
               A derelict ship.  We homed on its 

                           ECA REP
               To be perfectly frank, we've surveyed 
               over three hundred worlds and no 
               one's ever reported a creature which, 
               using your words...
                    (read from Ripley's 
               ...'gestates in a living human host' 
               and has 'concentrated molecular acid 
               for blood.'

     Ripley glances at Burke, silent at the far end of the table.  
     His expression is grim.  Her mouth hardens as a bit of the 
     old nail-eating Ripley surfaces.

               Look, I can see where this is going.  
               But I'm telling you those things 
               exist.  Back on that planetoid is an 
               alien ship and on that ship are 
               thousands of eggs.  Thousands.  Do 
               you understand?


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 10

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               I suggest you find it, using the 
               flight recorder's data.  Find it and 
               deal with it -- before one of your 
               survey teams comes back with a little 

                           VAN LEUWEN
               Thank you, Officer Ripley.  That 
               will be...

                    (louder, stepping on 
               ...because just one of those things 
               managed to kill my entire crew, within 
               twelve hours of hatching...

     Van Leuwen stands, out of patience.

                           VAN LEUWEN
               Thank you, that will be all.

     Ripley stares him down, glowering at the board.

               That's not all, Goddamnit!  If those 
               things get back here, that will be 
               all.  Then you can just kiss it good-
               bye, Jack!  Just kiss it goodbye.

     Ripley turns sharply away, trembling with frustration and 
     anger.  Dallas looks back at her from the video screen, his 
     eyes burning from the photograph, as we:

                                                          CUT TO:

 7   INT. CORRIDOR                                                  7   

     Ripley kicks the wall next to Burke who is getting coffee 
     and donuts at a vending machine.

               You had them eating out of your hand, 

               They had their minds made up before 
               I even went in there.  They think 
               I'm a head case.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 11

               You are a head case.  Have a donut.

 8   INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - TIGHT ON RIPLEY - LATER                 8   

     Van Leuwen clears his throat.

                           VAN LEUWEN
               It is the finding of this board of 
               inquiry that Warrent Officer Ellen 
               Ripley, NOC-14672. has acted with 
               questionable judgment and is unfit 
               to hold an ICC license as a commercial 
               flight officer.

     Burke watches Ripley taking it on the chin, white-lipped but 

                           VAN LEUWEN (CONT'D)
               Said license is hereby suspended 
               indefinitely.  No criminal charges 
               will be filed at this time and you 
               are released on own recognizance for 
               a six month period of psychometric 
               probation, to include monthly review 
               by an ICC psychiatric tech...

 9   INT. CORRIDOR                                                  9   

     DOLLY BACK as the conference room door bangs open and Ripley 
     strides through.  She shrugs off Burke's restraining arm and 
     catches up to Van Leuwen walking down the corridor.

               Why won't you check out LV-426?

                           VAN LEUWEN
               Because I don't have to.  The people 
               who live there checked it out years 
               ago and they never reported and 
               'hostile organism' or alien ship.  
               And by the way, they call it Acheron 

               What are you talking about.  What 

     Van Leuwen steps into an elevator with some others, but Ripley 
     holds the door from closing.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 12

                           VAN LEUWEN
               Terraformers... Planet engineers.  
               It's what we call a shake 'n' bake 
               colony.  They set up atmosphere 
               processors to make the air 
               breathable...big job.  Takes decades.  
               They've already been there over twenty 
               years.  Peacefully.

     The door tries to close.  Ripley slams it back.  People are 
     getting annoyed.

               How many colonists?

                           VAN LEUWEN
               Sixty, maybe seventy families.

               Sweet Jesus.

                           ELEVATOR PASSENGER
               Do you mind?

     Ripley's hand slides off the door, strengthless.

     TIGHT ON HER  FROM INSIDE the elevator as the doors close 
     like fate on her lost expression.

10   EXT. ALIEN LANDSCAPE - DAY                                    10   

     A hideous, storm-blasted vista.  Tortured rock forms.

     Bleak twilight at midday.

     PAN SLOWLY ONTO a CORRODED METAL SIGN set in concrete pylons, 
     which reads:


     Some local has added below in spray-can graffiti "Have a 
     nice day."  Gale-force wind SCREECHES around the steel sign, 
     driving a freezing rain.

     The COLONY, b.g., is a squat complex with lots of floodlights.

11   EXT. COLONY COMPLEX                                           11   

     The town is a cluster of bunkerlike metal and concrete 
     buildings connected by conduits.  Neon signs throw garish 
     colors across the vaultlike walls, advertising bars and other 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 13

     It looks like a sodden cross between the Krupps munitions 
     works and a truckstop casino in the Nevada boondocks.

     Huge-wheeled tractors crawl toadlike in the rutted "street" 
     and vanish down rampways to underground garages.

     ANGLE ON THE CONTROL BLOCK  the largest structure.  It 
     resembles vaguely the superstructure of an aircraft carrier... 
     a flying bridge.

     VISIBLE across a half kilometer of barren heath, b.g., is 
     the massive complex of the nearest ATMOSPHERE PROCESSOR, 
     looking like a power plant bred with an active volcano.  Its 
     fiery glow pulses in the low cloud cover like a steel mill.

12   INT. MAIN CONCOURSE - NEAR CONTROL BLOCK                      12   

     A central space, laid out like a scaled-down shopping mall 
     with no styling flourishes.  We SEE a cross section of the 
     types of people who have come to live on Godforsaken Acheron.  
     Tough.  Pragmatic.  "Grapes of Wrath" faces.  Calloused hands.  
     Not too many interior decorators.  Some children race in the 
     corridor on things that look suspiciously like "Big Wheels."

13   INT. OPERATIONS ROOM - CONTROL BLOCK                          13   

     Jammed with computer terminals, technicians, displays...  
     most of the business of running the colony flows through 
     here.  It's high tech but used and scrungy.  Papers piled 
     up.  Coffee cup rings.

     DOLLY AHEAD OF LYDECKER, the Assistant Operations Manager, 
     as he catches up to the harried Operating Manager, SIMPSON.

               You remember you sent some wildcatters 
               out to that plateau, out past the 
               Ilium range, a couple days ago?

               Yeah.  What?

               There's a guy on the horn, mom-and-
               pop survey team.  Says he's homing 
               on something and wants to know if 
               his claim will be honored.



     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 14

                           SIMPSON (CONT'D)
               Some honch in a cushy office on Earth 
               says go look at a grid reference in 
               the middle of nowhere, we look.  
               They don't say why, and I don't ask.  
               I don't ask because it takes two 
               weeks to get an answer out here and 
               the answer's always 'don't ask.'

               So what do I tell this guy?

               Tell him, as far as I'm concerned, 
               he finds something it's his.

     DAY                                                           14   

     It roars across corrugated rock, blasting through soggy drifts 
     of volcanic ash.

15   INT. TRACTOR                                                  15   

     At the controls, intent on a PINGING scope, is RUSS JORDEN, 
     independent prospector.  Beside him is his wife/partner ANNE 
     and in the back their two kids are playing among the heavy 
     sampling equipment.

                    (gloating cackle)
               Look at this fat, juicy magnetic 
               profile.  And it's mine, mine, mine.

               Half mine, dear.

     NEWT, their six-year-old daughter, yells from the back...

               And half mine!

               I got too many partners.

               Daddy, when are we going back to 

               When we get rich, Newt.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 15

               You always say that.  I wanna go 
               back.  I wanna play 'Monster Maze.'

     Her older brother TIM sticks his jeering face close to hers.

               You cheat too much.

               Do not.  I'm just the best.

               Do too!  You go in places we can't 

               So!  That's why I'm the best.

               Knock it off!  I catch either of you 
               playing in the air ducts again I'll 
               tan your hides.

               Mom.  All the kids play it...

               Holy shiiit!

     ANGLE THROUGH FRONT CANOPY  ON a bizarre shape looming ahead.  
     An enormous bonelike mass projecting upward from the bed of 
     ash.  The tractor slows.

     Canted on its side and buckles against a rock outcropping by 
     the lava flow, it is still recognizable as an EXTRATERRESTRIAL 
     SHIP.  Bio-mechanoid.  Nonhuman design.

                           JORDEN (CONT'D)
               Folks, we have scored big this time.

16   EXT. TRACTOR                                                  16   

     Jorden and Anne step down, wearing ENVIRONMENT SUITS.

     Carrying LIGHTS, PACKS, CAMERAS, TEST GEAR.  Their breath 
     clouds in the chill air.

               You kids stay inside.  I mean it!  
               We'll be right back.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 16

     They trudge toward the alien derelict.

                           ANNE (CONT'D)
               Shouldn't we call in?

               Let's wait till we know what to call 
               it in as.

               How about 'big weird thing'?

     They pause at a twisted gash in the hull.  Blackness inside.

17   INT./EXT. TRACTOR                                             17   

     Newt has her face pressed to the glass, steaming it.

     Watching her parents enter the strange ship.  Tim GRABS HER 
     from behind.  She SHRIEKS.


18   EXT. LANDSCAPE - NIGHT                                        18   

     The tractor and the derelict are dark and motionless.

     The wind HOWLS around them.

     Tim is curled up in the driver's seat.  Newt shakes him awake, 
     trying hard not to cry.

               Timmy...they've been gone a long 

     Tim considers the night.  The wind.  The vast landscape.

     He bites his lip.

               It'll be okay, Newt.  Dad knows what 
               he's doing.

     CRASH!  Newt SCREAMS as the door beside her is RIPPED OPEN.  
     A dark shape lunges inside!

     Anne, panting and terrified, grabs the dash mike.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 17

               Mayday!  Mayday!  This is Alpha Kilo 
               Two Four Niner calling Hadley Control.  
               Repeat.  This is...

     As Anne shouts the mayday Newt looks past her, to the ground.  
     Russ Jorden lies there inert, dragged somehow by Anne from 
     inside the ship.  There is SOMETHING ON HIS FACE.  An 
     appalling MULTILEGGED CREATURE, pulsing with obscene life.  
     Newt begins to SCREAM hysterically, competing with the 
     shrieking wind which rises to a crescendo as we:

                                                          CUT TO:

19   INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT - GATEWAY - DAY                       19   

     Silence.  Ripley, looking haggard, sits at a table in the 
     dining alcove contemplating the smoke rising from her 
     cigarette.  The place is modest, to be charitable, and there 
     are few personal touches.  Though it's late in the day Ripley 
     is still wearing a robe.  The bed is unmade.  Dishes in the 
     sink.  Jones prowls across the counter.  The WALLSCREEN is 
     on, blaring vapidly.

                           VOICE FROM VIDEO
               Hey, Bob!  I heard you and the family 
               are heading off for the colonies!

               Best decision I ever made, Bill.  
               We'll be starting a new life from 
               scratch, in a clean world.  No crime.  
               No unemployment...

     The door BUZZES.  Ripley jumps like a cat.  Jones doesn't.

20   INT. CORRIDOR                                                 20   

     Carter Burke stands in the narrow, dingy corridor with 
     LIEUTENANT GORMAN, Colonial Marine Corps.  Young and severe 
     in his officer's dress-black.  The door opens slightly.

               Hi, Ripley.  This is Lieutenant Gorman 
               of the...

     SLAM.  Burke buzzes again.  Talks to the door...

                           BURKE (CONT'D)
               Ripley we have to talk.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 18

                           BURKE (CONT'D)
               They've lost contact with the colony 
               on Acheron.

     The door opens.  Ripley considers the ramifications of that.  
     She motions them inside.

21   INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT - A LITTLE LATER                      21   

     Burke and Gorman are seated, nursing coffee.  Ripley paces, 
     very tense.

               No.  There's no way!

               Hear me out...

               I was reamed, steamed and dry-cleaned 
               by you guys...and now you want me to 
               go back out there?  Forget it.

     We SEE that she's gut scared, covering it with anger.

     Burke sees it.

               Look, we don't know what's going on 
               out there.  It may just be a down 
               transmitter.  But if it's not, I 
               want you an advisor.  
               That's all.

               You wouldn't be going in with the 
               troops.  I can guarantee your safety.

               These Colonial Marines are some tough 
               hombres, and they're packing state-
               of-the-art firepower.  Nothing they 
               can't handle...right, Lieutenant?

               We're trained to deal with these 
               kinds of situations.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 19

                    (to Burke)
               What about you?  What's your interest 
               in this?

               Well, the corporation co-financed 
               that colony with the Colonial 
               Administration, against mineral 
               rights.  We're getting into a lot of 
               terraforming...'Building Better 

     Burke is revealing his early days in sales.

               Yeah, yeah.  I saw the commercial.

               I heard you were working in the cargo 

               That's right.

               Running loaders, forklifts, that 
               sort of thing?

               It's all I could get.  Anyway, it 
               keeps my mind off of... everything.  
               Days off are worse.

               What if I said I could get you 
               reinstated as a flight officer?  And 
               that the company has agreed to pick 
               up your contract?

               If I go.

               If you go.
               It's a second chance, kiddo.  And 
               it'll be the best thing in the world 
               for you to face this fear and beat 
               it.  You gotta get back on the 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 20

               Spare me, Burke.  I've had my psych 
               evaluation this month.

     Burke leans close, a let's-cut-the-crap intimacy.

               Yes, and I've read it.  You wake up 
               every night, sheets soaking, the 
               same nightmare over and over...

               No!  The answer is no.  Now please 
               go.  I'm sorry.  Just go, would you.

     Burke nods to Gorman who rises with him.  He slips a 
     TRANSLUCENT CARD onto the table, heads for the door.

               Think about it.

22   EXT. ACHERON LANDSCAPE - NIGHT                                22   

     As the wind HOWLS through tormented rock, BUILDING IN PITCH 
     until we:

                                                          CUT TO:

23   INT. APARTMENT                                                23   

     Ripley lunges INTO FRAME with an animal outcry.  She clutches 
     her chest, breathing hard.  Bathed in sweat she lights a 
     cigarette with trembling hands.  Do we hear a faint, desolate 

     TIGHT ON PHONE CONSOLE  as Ripley's hand inserts Burke's 
     card into a slot. "STAND BY" prints out on the screen and is 
     replaced by Burke's face, bleary with sleep.

                    (on video phone)
               Yello?  Oh, Ripley.  Hi...

               Burke, just tell me one thing.  That 
               you're going out there to kill them.  
               Not study.  Not bring back.  Just 
               burn them out... clean... forever.

               That's the plan.  My word on it.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 21

     CLOSEUP - RIPLEY  taking a deep slow breath.  It's time to 
     look the demon in the eye.

               All right.  I'm in.

     She punches off before Burke replies, before she can change 
     her mind.  She turns to Jones sitting on the bed and her 
     tone becomes admonishing...

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               And you my dear, are staying right 

     Jones blinks, cynical cat eyes..."count me right out."

                                                          CUT TO:

24   EXT. DEEP SPACE - THREE WEEKS LATER                           24   

     An empty starfield.  Metal spires slice ACROSS FRAME.

     A mountain of steel following.  A massive military transport 
     ship, the SULACO.  Ugly, battered...  functional.

25   INT. CORRIDOR TO CARGO LOCK                                   25   

     An empty corridor, seemingly miles long.  No movement.

     The THRUMMING of hyperdrive engines.

26   INT. CARGO LOCK                                               26   

     An enormous chamber, cavernous and dark.  Squatting in the 
     shadows are two orbit-to-surface shuttles.

     DROP-SHIPS.  Heavy machinery all around them...  cranes, 
     loading equipment.

27   INT. BRIDGE                                                   27   

     Dark electronic womb.  CAMERA DOLLIES SLOWLY among murmuring 
     instrumentation.  A sudden high-pitched TRILLING accompanies 
     a sequence of lights.  An alarm.

28   INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT                                         28   

     Blackness, until a bank of indicators lights up.

     Hydraulics lift a grid of equipment from a row of horizontal 
     HYPERSLEEP CYLINDERS.  It reaches the ceiling.  Locks.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 22

     CLOSE ON RIPLEY'S CAPSULE as trickles of water run down the 
     frosted canopy.

                                                     DISSOLVE TO:

29   INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT                                         29   

     Lit up, white and sterile.

     The canopies of the row of capsules are raised.  Ripley sits 
     up.  Rubs her arms briskly.  Next to her Gorman and Burke 
     are stirring and beyond them the troopers, wearing shorts 
     and dog tags.  They are:





     COM-TECH PFC VASQUEZ (female)








     The ship is fully automated in interstellar flight so there 
     is no crew, except for EXECUTIVE OFFICER (ECA) Bishop, who 
     supervises planetary maneuvering.

     GROANS echo across the chamber.

               Arrgh.  I'm getting too old for this 

     SPUNKMEYER says this sincerely, though he must have enlisted 
     underage not long ago.  Looking surly, DRAKE sits up.  He's 
     young as well but street-tough.  Nasty scar curling his lip 
     into a sneer.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 23

               They ain't payin' us enough for this.

               Not enough to have to wake up to 
               your face, Drake.

               Suck air.  Hey, look 
               like I feel.

     HICKS, an older lifer-type who keeps his own counsel, just 
     snorts good-naturedly.

     Ripley scans the group as they shuffle past her to a bank of 
     lockers.  Though not supermen they are lean and hardened... 
     tough, capable, jaded.  They combine the specialized techno-
     combat training of the twenty-first century fighting man 
     with those qualities universal to "grunts" through the ages.  
     SERGEANT APONE moves down the row of freezers.

               This floor's freezing.

               Christ.  I never saw such a buncha 
               old women.  You want me to fetch 
               your slippers, Hudson?

               Would you, Sir?

     Ripley steps back as the troopers shuffle past nodding cursory 
     hellos.  She feels isolated by the camaraderie of this 
     tightknit group.

     VASQUEZ eyes her coldly as she passes.  Like Drake, Vasquez 
     is younger then the rest and her combat-primer was the street 
     in a Los Angeles barrio.  She is tough even by the standards 
     of this group.  Hard-muscled.

     Eyes cunning and mean.

                           HUDSON (CONT'D)
               Hey, ever been mistaken 
               for a man?

               No.  Have you?

     She slaps Drake's open palm and it clenches into a greeting 
     which is part contest.  It gets rougher.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 24

     Painful.  Until she cuffs him hard and they break with vicious 
     laughter.  Dobermans playing.  Conscripted from juvenile 
     prison, the two of them were trained to operate the formidable 
     "SMART-GUNS."  That is part of their bond.

     BISHOP is helping everyone like a valet.  As he passes close 
     to her Ripley notices a strange TATTOO across the back of 
     his left ALPHA-NUMERIC CODE.

               Hey, hand job, you take my towel?

               I need some slack, man.  How come 
               they send us straight back out like 
               this?  We got some slack comin', 

               You just got three weeks.

               I mean breathing, not this frozen 

               Yeah, 'Top'...what about it?

               You know it ain't up to me.
               Awright!  Let's knock off the grabass.  
               First assembly's in fifteen...let's 
               shag it.

30   INT. SHOWERS                                                  30   

     High pressure water jets and a blast of hot air when you 
     step out...a drive through car wash for people.

     Through the swirling steam Hudson, Vasquez and FERRO are 
     watching Ripley dry off.

               Who's the fresh meat again?

               She's supposed to be some kinda 
               ...She was an alien once.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 25

               Whoooah!  No shit?  I'm impressed.

               Let's go...let's go.  Cycle through!

31   INT. MESS HALL                                                31   

     An unconscious segregation takes place at the troopers 
     assemble at one long table while Gorman, Burke, Bishop and 
     Ripley sit at another.  Everybody is nursing a coffee, waiting 
     for eggs from the AUTOCHEF.  Among the troopers dress 
     discipline is lax...fatigues customized and emblazoned with 
     patches.  Drake's tunic is cut off to a vest and has "Eat 
     the apple and fuck the Corps" stenciled on back.  "Peace 
     Through Superior Firepower," "Pray for War" and "I've Served 
     My Time in Hell:  Cetti Epsilon NC-104" are some others.

               Hey, 'Top.'  What's the op?

               Rescue mission.  There's some juicy 
               colonists' daughters we gotta rescue 
               from virginity.

     Apone is stocky, grizzled, with peregrine eyes.  He runs it 
     loose and fair, but only because he knows his people are the 

               Shee-it.  Dumbass colonists.  What's 
               this crap supposed to be?

               Cornbread, I think.  Hey, I wouldn't 
               mind getting me some more a that 
               Arcturan poontang.  Remember that 

               Looks like that new Lieutenant's too 
               good to eat with us grunts.

                    (glancing over shoulder)
               Yeah.  Got a corn cob up his ass, 

     Across the room, at the other table, Gorman sits with his 
     creases perfect...the consummate strack NCO.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 26

     Bishop takes a seat beside Ripley, who pointedly gets up and 
     moves to the far side of the table.  He looks wounded.

               I'm sorry you feel that way about 
               Synthetics, Ripley.

     Ripley spins on Burke, her tone accusing.

               You never said anything about an 
               android being here!  Why not?

               Well, it didn't occur to me.  It's 
               been policy for years to have a 
               synthetic on board.

               I prefer the term 'artificial person' 
               myself.  Is there a problem?

               A synthetic malfunctioned on her 
               last trip out.  Some deaths were 

               I'm shocked.  Was it an older model?

               Cyberdyne Systems 120-A/2.

     Bishop turns to Ripley, very conciliatory.

               Well, that explains it.  The A/2's 
               were always a bit twitchy.  That 
               could never happen now with out 
               behavioral inhibitors.  Impossible 
               for me to harm or, by omission of 
               action, allow to be harmed a human 
               More cornbread?

     WHAM!  Ripley knocks the plate out of his hand, halfway across 
     the room.

               Just stay away from me, Bishop!  You 
               got that straight?


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 27

     Burke and Gorman exchange glances.

     Wierzbowski, at the next table, shrugs and turns back to the 
     other troopers.

               She don't like the cornbread either.

32   INT. READY ROOM - TIGHT ON APONE - ARMORY                     32   



     WIDER ANGLE  as the troops snap to from their lounging among 
     the racks of high-tech weaponry.  Gorman enters with Burke 
     and Ripley.

               At ease.  I'm sorry we didn't have 
               time to brief before we left Gateway 


               Yes, Hicks?

               Hudson, Sir.  He's Hicks.

               What's the question?

               Is this going to be a stand-up fight, 
               Sir, on another bug-hunt?

               All we know is that there's still no 
               contact with the colony and that a 
               xenomorph may be involved.

               A what?

                    (to Wierzbowski; low)
               It's a bug-hunt.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 28

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               So what are these things?

     Gorman nods to Ripley, who stands before the troops.

     She sets some RECORDING DISKETTES on the table.

               I've dictated what I know on these.

               Tease us a bit.


               Okay.  It's important to understand 
               this organism's life cycle.  It's 
               actually two creatures.  The first 
               form hatches from a spore...a sort 
               of large egg, and attaches itself to 
               its victim.  Then it injects an 
               embryo, detaches and dies.  It's 
               essentially a walking sex organ.  
               The --

               Sounds like you, Hicks.

               The embryo, the second form, hosts 
               in the victim's body for several 
               hours.  Gestating.  Then it...
                    (with difficulty)
               ...then it...emerges.  Moults.  Grows 
               rapidly --

               I only need to know one thing.


               Where they are.

     Vasquez coolly points her finger, cocks her thumbs, and blows 
     away an imaginary alien.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 29

               Yo!  Vasquez.  Kick ass!

               Anytime.  Anywhere.

               Somebody said alien...she thought 
               they said illegal alien and signed 

               Fuck you.

               Anytime.  Anywhere.

               Am I disturbing you conversation Mr. 

     Hudson settles down, smirking.  Ripley locks eyes with 

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               I hope you're right.  I really do.

                    (to all)
               I suggest you study the disks Ripley 
               has been kind enough to prepare for 

               Are there any questions?  Hudson?

               How do I get out of this chicken-
               shit outfit?

     Gorman scowls then, thanking Ripley with a nod, takes over 
     the predrop briefing.

               All right.  I want this to go smooth 
               and by the numbers.  I want DCS and 
               tactical database assimilation by 
                    (some groans)
               Ordnance loading, weapons strip and 
               drop-ship prep details will have 
               seven hours...


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 30

33   EXT. SPACE - ACHERON                                          33   

     They have arrived.  From orbit the planet looks serene 
     ...Pearlescent cloud cover masking the environmental torment 
     beneath.  The SULACO floats, its MANEUVERING JETS FIRING.  A 
     bluish glow.  Then twice more, rapidly.

34   INT. BRIDGE                                                   34   

     Bishop is installed in his command seat, hemmed in by 

                    (into mike)
               Attention.  This concluded final 
               maneuvering operations.  Thank you 
               for your cooperation.  You may resume 


     sliding into a heavy ordnance rack with an echoing CLANG.  
     PULL BACK as the rack of tactical missiles is lifted, 
     REVEALING two powerful hydraulic arms.

     Spunkmeyer, seated inside a POWER LOADER, swings the ordnance 
     up into a belly nacelle of the DROP-SHIP where it locks into 
     place.  As he exerts pressure with his hands against the 
     servo-controls the hydraulic arms move correspondingly...but 
     with a thousandfold increase in power.  The forklift-style 
     CLAWS on each arm can crush with tons of pressure.  The loader 
     has an open ROLL CAGE to protect the operator, and is 
     supported by squat HYDRAULIC LEGS which also move 
     correspondingly with the driver's movements.

     You have never seen anything like this before.

     Advanced as it is to us, it's only an old forklift to 
     them...battered and well used.  Covered with grease.

     Repainted many times.  Across the back is stencilled


     Spunkmeyer's machine swings out from under the drop-ship and 
     we become aware of the intense activity throughout the 
     cavernous loading bay.  Troopers on foot or driving TOW-
     MOWERS, OVERHEAD LOADING ARMS...all in motion.

     Hicks checks off items on an electronic manifest.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 31

36   INT. READY ROOM - ARMORY                                      36   

     Wierzbowski, Drake and Vasquez are fieldstripping light 
     weapons with precise movements.  Around them, in racks, is 
     an arsenal of advanced personal artillery.

     Vasquez likes the feel of the guns, the weight... the 
     authority.  Her hands move without hesitation.  CLACK.  CLACK.  
     CLACK.  She swings one of the SMART-GUNS out on a work stand.  
     Using a body brace and GYRO-STABILIZED SUPPORT ARM, it is a 
     computer-aimed, video targeted automatic weapon.  The 
     futuristic equivalent of a .30 caliber light machine gun.  
     Sort of a steadicam that kills.

37   INT. LOADING BAY - ANGLE ON BURKE AND GORMAN                  37   

     with pre-flight activity b.g.

               Still nothing from the colony?

               Dead on all channels.

     Ripley watches the drop-ship being loaded.  A cross between 
     a Huey Aircobra gunship and the space shuttle might describe 
     it.  An orbit-to-surface troop carrier, heavily armed for 
     the close support of ground missions.

     She watches a six-wheeled APC, ARMORED PERSONNEL CARRIER, 
     being raised hydraulically into the ship's belly.  Ripley 
     looks around as Frost wheels a rack of incomprehensible 
     equipment toward her.

               Clear, please.

     Ripley jumps aside, nodding apologetically.  She turns.

     Steps hastily back.  Hudson cruises by with a laden forklift.

               Excuse me.

     Angle on Apone  standing with Hicks, as Ripley approaches 

               I feel like a fifth wheel here.  Is 
               there anything I can do?


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 32

               I don't know.  Is there anything you 
               can do?

               I can drive that loader.  I've got a 
               Class Two rating.  My latest career 

     Apone turns.  A SECOND POWER LOADER sits unused in an 
     equipment bay.

     TWO SHOT APONE AND HICKS  skeptical.  Considering.

     TIGHT ON POWER SWITCH  as Ripley's finger punches it on.

     A RISING WHINE of power.

     TIGHT ON THE HYDRAULICS as the massive machine stirs to life.

     FULL, as the loader starts.  Ripley is strapped into the 
     safety cage, her arms and legs inserted in the servo-sensor 
     assemblies.  She takes a step.  BOOM!

     Two tons of hardened steel takes a step.

     Ripley spins the wrist servos.  The huge claws swing, 
     open...slide smoothly into lifting brackets on a cargo module, 
     nearby.  She raises it deftly.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Where you want it?

     Hicks looks at Apone, cocks an eyebrow appreciatively.

38   INT. READY ROOM - ARMORY                                      38   

     The troopers are suiting up for the drop.  Strapping on their 
     bulky COMBAT-ARMOR...interlocking plates like football 
     padding.  They tape their wrists.  Draw on segmented boots.  
     The sole cleats CLACK like hooves on the deck plates.  Lockers 


     Their fingers move methodically over the fastenings.

     It has its own rhythm...CLICK.  CLICK.  CLICK.

               Let's move it, girls!  On the ready 
               line.  Let's go, let's go.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 33

39   INT. DROP-SHIP - APC                                          39   

     Ripley, wearing a flight jacket and headset, files into the 
     ship with the hulking troopers.  Inside they pass directly 
     into the APC we saw loaded earlier and take seats facing 
     each other across a narrow aisle.  They will drop already 
     strapped into their ground vehicle for rapid deployment.  A 
     KLAXON SOUNDS, signalling depressurization of the cargo lock.

     Hudson prowls the aisle, his movements predatory and 
     exaggerated.  Ripley watches him working his way toward her.

               I am ready, man.  Ready to get it 
               on.  Check-it-out.  I am the ultimate 
               badass...state of the badass art.  
               You do not want to fuck with me.  
               Hey, Ripley, don't worry.  Me and my 
               squad of ultimate badasses will 
               protect you.  Check-it-out...

     He slaps the SERVO-CANNON controls in the GUN BAY above them.

                           HUDSON (CONT'D)
               Independently targetting particle-
               beam phalanx.  VWAP!  Fry half a 
               city with this puppy.  We got tactical 
               smart-missles, phased-plasma pulse-
               rifles, RPG's.  We got sonic 
               eeelectronic ballbreakers, we got 
               nukes, we got sticks --

     Hicks grabs Hudson by his battle harness and pulls him into 
     a seat.  His voice is low, but it carries.

               Save it.

               Sure, Hicks.

     Ripley nods her thanks to Hicks.  MOTORS WHINE and the craft 
     lurches.  Burke, next to Ripley, grins eagerly like this is 
     a sport fishing trip.

               Here we go.

     She looks like she's in a gas chamber waiting for the pellet 
     to drop.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 34

40   EXT. SULACO                                                   40   

     The drop-ship lowers from the cargo-lock on a massive launch 
     rig.  The night side of Acheron yawns below...  enigmatic.

41   INT. COCKPIT                                                  41   

     Ferro and Spunkmeyer run rapidly through the switches.

               Initiate release sequencer on my 
               mark.  Three.  Two.  One.  Mark!

42   EXT. SULACO - DROP-SHIP                                       42   

     Hydraulic WHINE.  Clamps SLAM BACK.  The ship drops.

43   INT. DROP-SHIP - APC                                          43   

     Apone, stalking the aisle, snatches for a handhold.

     Bishop, Burke and Gorman groan at the sudden gees.

     Ripley closes her eyes...the point of no return.

44   EXT. DROP-SHIP                                                44   

     It screams down through the stratosphere, plunging into dark 

45   INT. COCKPIT                                                  45   

     Beyond the canopy is gray limbo.  The craft shudders and 

                    (icy calm)
               Switching to DCS ranging.

               Two-four-o.  Nominal to profile.  
               Picking up some hull ionization.

               Got it.  Rough air ahead.

46   INT. HOLD - APC                                               46   

     TIGHT ON HICKS  asleep in his harness.

                    (voice over; filtered)
               Stand by for some chop.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 35

     TIGHT ON GORMAN  as the ship begins to buck, his eyes closed.  
     Pale.  Sweating.  He rubs his hands on his knees repeatedly.

               How may drops is this for you, 

               Thirty-eight... simulated.

               How many combat drops?

               Well... two.  Three, including this 

     Vasquez and Drake exchange do-you-believe-this-shit 
     expressions.  Ripley looks accusingly at Burke.

47   INT. COCKPIT                                                  47   

               Turning on final.  Coming around to 
               a seven-zero-niner.  Terminal guidance 
               locked in.  Where's the damn beacon?

48   EXT. DROP-SHIP                                                48   

     It emerges from the low cloud ceiling.  From the twilight 
     haze ahead the distant colony LANDING BEACONS become visible.

49   INT. HOLD - APC                                               49   

     Stumbling as the ship pitches, Ripley makes her way forward 
     console lined with monitor screens.  She joins Burke watching 
     over Gorman's shoulder as the Lieutenant plays the board 
     like a video director.

     TIGHT ON MONITOR CONSOLE  REVEALING screens labelled with 
     the names of the troopers.  Two for each soldier.  The upper 
     screens show images from the IMAGE-INTENSIFIED VIDEO CAMERAS 
     in their helmets.  The lower screens are BIO-MONITORS:  EEG, 
     EKG, and other graphic life-function readouts.  Other screens 

               Let's see.  Everybody on line.  Drake, 
               check you camera.  There seems to be 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 36

     CLOSE ON DRAKE  as he whacks himself on the head with an 
     ammo case.  A familiar malfunction.

                           GORMAN (CONT'D)
               ...that's better.  Pan it around a 

               Awright.  Fire-team A.  Gear up.  
               Let's move.  Two minutes.  Somebody 
               wake up Hicks.

     A clatter of activity as they don backpacks and weapons.

     Vasquez and Drake buckle on their smart-gun body harnesses.

     Ripley watches the AP station loom on the exterior screens.

               That the atmosphere processor?

               Uh-hunh.  One of thirty or so, all 
               over the planet.  They're completely 
               automated.  We manufacture them, by 
               the way.

50   EXT. SHIP - AP STATION                                        50   

     The tiny ship circles the roaring tower.  A metal volcano 
     thundering like the engines on God's Lear jet.

51   INT. HOLD - APC                                               51   

     Gorman plays with the controls, zooming the image of the 

                    (to Ferro via mike)
               Hold at forty.  Slow circle of the 

               The structure seems intact.  They 
               have power.

     On the screen the colony buildings loom in and the low 
     visibility like wrecks of freighters on the sea floor.

                    (to Apone)
               Okay, let's do it.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 37

               Awright!  I want a nice clean 
               dispersal this time.

     Ripley turns as Vasquez squeezes past her.

               You staying in here?

               You bet.

                    (turning away)

                    (to Ferro via mike)
               Set down sixty meters this side of 
               the telemetry mast.  Immediate dust 
               off on my 'clear,' then stay on 

               Ten seconds, people.  Look sharp!

52   EXT. COLONY COMPLEX                                           52   

     Landing beacons sweep harsh light across the wet Tarmac.

     The ship roars down, extending the loading ramp.  Slams down 
     on hydraulic LANDING LEGS.  The APC hits the ground a moment 
     later, pulling away from the ship as it leaps up in a cloud 
     of spray and peels off, circling.

     The APC pulls to the edge of the complex.  The CREW DOOR 
     opens.  Troopers hit the ground running.  Spread out.

     They drop behind immediate cover.  Apone scans with him image 
     intensifier visor lowered.

     APONE'S P.O.V.  through the starlight-scope visor.

     Bright as a sunny day, though contrasty and lurid, we SEE 
     the colony buildings.  Trash blows in the street.

     No other movement.

                    (voice over; filtered)
               First squad up, on line.  Hicks, get 
               yours in a cordon.  Watch the rear.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 38

               Vasquez, take point.  Let's move.

     Sprinting in a skirmish line, Apone's team advances on the 
     colony main entry-lock.  Parked tightly across the doors are 
     two heavy-duty tractors.  Vasquez reaches one of the tractors, 
     looks inside.  The controls are ripped out, as if by a crowbar 
     or axe.  She moves on.

53   EXT. COLONY BUILDING                                          53   

     Vasquez reaches the main doors, Drake flanking on the right.  
     Apone tries the door controls.  Nothing.

               Sealed.  Hudson, run a bypass.

     Hudson, all business now, moves up and studies the door 
     control panel.  He pries off the facing and starts clipping 
     on the bypass wires.

                           APONE (CONT'D)
               First squad, assemble on me at the 
               main lock.

     The wind roars around the bleak structures.  A neon sign 
     creaks overhead.  Hudson makes a connection.  The door shrieks 
     in its tracks and rumbles aside.  It jams partway open.  
     Apone motions Vasquez inside.  She eases over the wrecked 
     tractor, through the doors.

     The others follow.

                    (voice over; filtered)
               Second team, move up.

     Flanking positions.

54   INT. COLONY - MAIN CONCOURSE                                  54   

     DOLLYING SLOWLY FORWARD, following Vasquez and Apone as they 
     move into the broad corridor.  A few emergency lights are 
     still on.  Wind moans along the concourse.

     Pools of water cover the floor.  Farther down, rain drips 
     through blast holes in the ceiling.  Evidence of a fire fight 
     with pulse-rifles.

     ON VASQUEZ  moving forward.  Taut.  Alert.  Her smart-gun 
     cannon swinging slowly in an arc.  She studies the video 
     aiming monitor, looking down rather than ahead.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 39

     Their footsteps echo.

55   INT. APC                                                      55   

     Ripley watches as the bobbing images reveal the empty colony 

               Quarter and search by twos.  Second 
               team move inside.  Hicks, take the 
               upper level.  Use your motion 

56   INT. MAIN CONCOURSE - SECOND LEVEL                            56   

     Hicks leads his squad up the stairwell to second level.

     They emerge cautiously.  An empty corridor recedes into the 
     dim distance.  Hicks unslings a rugged piece of equipment.  
     Aims it down the hall.  He adjusts the "gain."  It remains 

               Nothing.  No movement.

     They pass rooms and offices.  Through doors they see 
     increasing signs of struggle.  Furniture overturned.

     Papers scattered... floating sodden in the puddles.

57   INT. APC                                                      57   

     Ripley et al watching.

               Looks like my room in college.

     Nobody laughs.

58   INT. SECOND LEVEL                                             58   

     Hicks' group passes several burnt-out rooms.  There are no 
     bodies.  In several offices the exterior windows are blown 
     out, admitting wind and rain.  Hicks picks up a half-eaten 
     donut beside a coffee cup overflowing with rainwater.

59   INT. LOWER LEVEL - QUARTERS                                   59   

     Apone's men are searching systematically in pairs.  They 
     pass through the colonists' modest apartments, little more 
     than cubicles.  Hudson, on tracker, flanks Vasquez as they 
     move forward.  Hudson touches a splash of color on the wall.  
     Dried blood.  His tracker BEEPS.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 40

     Vasquez whirls, cannon aimed.  The BEEPING grows more frequent 
     as Hudson advances toward a half open door.  The door is 
     splintered partway out of its frame.  Holes caused by pulse-
     rifle rounds pepper the walls.  Vasquez eases up to the door.  
     Kicks it in.  Tenses to fire.

     Inside, dangling from a piece of flex conduit, a junction-
     box swings like a pendulum in the wind from a broken window.  
     It clanks against the rails of a child's bunkbed as it swings.

60   INT. DROP-SHIP - APC                                          60   

     Ripley watches Hicks' monitor.

               Wait!  Tell him to...
                    (plugs in headset 
               ...Hicks.  Back up.  Pan left.  There!

     TIGHT ON MONITOR  as the image shifts, revealing a section 
     of wall corroded almost through in an irregular pattern.

     TIGHT ON RIPLEY  knowing what it is.

                    (voice over; filtered)
               You seeing this okay?  Looks melted.

     Burke raises an eyebrow at Ripley.

               Hmm.  Acid for blood.

                    (voice over; filtered)
               Looks like somebody bagged them one 
               of Ripley's bad guys here.

61   INT. FIRST LEVEL                                              61   

     Hudson is looking at something.

               Hey, if you like that, you're gonna 
               love this...

     WIDER ANGLE  showing the trooper standing beneath a gaping 
     hole.  Another hole, directly beneath, is at his feet.  The 
     acid has melted right down through two levels into the 
     maintenance level.  Revealing pipes, conduit, 
     equipment...eaten away by the ferocious substance.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 41

               Second squad?  What's your status?

                    (voice over; filtered)
               Just finished our sweep.  Nobody 

                    (to Gorman)
               The place is dead, Sir.  Whatever 
               happened, we missed it.

62   INT. APC                                                      62   

     Gorman turns to the others.

               All right, the area's secured.  Let's 
               go in and see what their computer 
               can tell us.
                    (into mike)
               First team head for operations.  
               Hudson, see if you can get their CPU 
               on line.  Hicks, meet me at the south 
               lock by the up-link tower...

63   INT. FIRST LEVEL                                              63   

                    (voice over)
               ...We're coming in.

                    (cupping his mike)
               He's coming in.  I feel safer already.

                    (sotto voice)
               Pendejo jerkoff.

64   EXT. COLONY COMPLEX                                           64   

     Lights arc across the dormant buildings as the APC turns 
     onto the "main drag."  It trundles down the rutted street, 
     throwing up sheets of filthy water as the massive wheels hit 
     pondlike potholes.  Windblown rain lashes across the 

     Hicks emerges from the south lock just as the APC rolls up 
     close to the entrance.  The crew-door slides back.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 42

     Gorman emerges, followed by Burke, Bishop, and Wierzbowski.  
     Burke looks back to see Ripley stop in the APC doorway, eyeing 
     the ominous colony structure.  She meets his eyes.  Shakes 
     her head "no."  Not ready.

                    (voice over; filtered)
               Sir, the CPU is on-line.

               Okay, stand by in operations.
                    (to those present)
               Let's go.

65   INT. APC                                                      65   

     The crew-door cycles home with a clang.  Ripley sits in the 
     dark interior, lit by the tactical displays.  The wind howls 
     outside, an incredibly desolate sound.  She hugs herself.  
     Alone.  Unarmed.  She knows she's in a tank, but remembers 
     the acid.  Leaps up.  Hits the door switch.

66   EXT. APC - SOUTH LOCK                                         66   

     The crew-door opens and Ripley emerges.  In time to see the 
     lock doors rumbling closed.


     The wind snatches her words away.  The crew door whines shut 
     behind her.  She walks to the exterior lock door-controls 
     and studies them.  She punches some unfamiliar buttons.  
     Nothing happens.  She looks really nervous, alone in the 
     howling wind.  She hits another button.  The door-motors 
     come to life and she relaxes a little.  Glances behind her.  
     AND SCREAMS!  There's a face right there!  Right at her 
     shoulder.  She jumps back, gasping for breath.

               Scare you?

               Christ, Wierzbowski!

               Sorry.  Hicks said to keep an eye on 

     He gestures for her to precede him inside.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 43

67   INT. CONTROL BLOCK CORRIDOR                                   67   

     Ripley catches up with the others as they move into the bowels 
     of the complex.

                    (to Burke)
               Looks like you company can write off 
               its share of this colony.

               It's insured.

     ON RIPLEY  as they move along the corridor...reacting to the 
     fact that she is back in alien country.  She sees the ravaged 
     administration complex.  Fire-gutted offices.

     Hicks notices her looking around nervously.  He motions to 
     big Wierzbowski with his eyes and the trooper casually falls 
     in beside her on the other side, rifle at ready.  a two-man 
     protective cordon.  She glances at Hicks.  He winks, but so 
     fast maybe it's something in his eye.

     Trooper Frost emerges from a side corridor ahead.

               Sir, you should check this out...

     He leads the way into the corridor.

68   INT. CORRIDOR                                                 68   

     This wing is completely without power.  The troopers switch 
     on their pack lights and the beams illuminate a scene of 
     devastation worse than they have seen.  Her expression reveals 
     that Ripley is about to turn and flee.

               Right ahead here...

     They approach a barricade blocking the corridor, a hastily 
     welded wall of pipes, steel-plate, outer-door panels.  Acid 
     holes have slashed through the floor and walls in several 
     places.  The metal is scratched and twisted by hideously 
     powerful forces, peeled back like a soup can on one side.  
     They squeeze through the opening.

69   INT. MEDICAL WING                                             69   

     They pack-lights play over the devastation of the colonists' 
     last ditch battle.  The equipment of the med labs has been 
     uprooted to add to the barrier.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 44

     The walls are perforated by pulse-rifle fire and acid.  
     Scorched by untended fires to bare metal.  A few instruments 
     glow with emergency power.

               Last stand.

               No bodies?

               No, Sir.  Looks like it was a helluva 

     TIGHT ON RIPLEY  transfixed by something.

               Over there.

     The others turn and approach, seeing what she sees.  She has 
     entered a second room, part of the med lab area.  In a storage 
     alcove at near eye level stand seven transparent cylinders.  
     STASIS TUBES.  They glow faintly with an eerie violet light 
     given off by the field which preserves the specimens inside.

     They look like jars containing SEVERED ARTHRITIC HANDS, the 
     palsied fingers curled in a death-rictus.

     Structurally they are more like spiders with sickening 
     translucent skin, a flacid scrotal body, gill-like organs 
     underneath drifting in the suspension fluid.

     Something you definitely do not want on your face, for 

               Are these the same...?

     Ripley nods, unable to speak.  Burke leans closer in 
     fascination.  His face almost touching one cylinder, is lit 
     by its glow.

               Watch it, Burke...

     The creature inside lunges suddenly, slamming against the 
     glass.  Burke jumps back.  From the palm of the thing's 
     handlike body emerges a pearl-escent TUBULE.  like a tapered 
     piece of intestine, which slithers tonguelike over the inside 
     of the glass.  Then it retracts into a sheath between the 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 45

                    (to Burke)
               It likes you.

     Only two of the creatures seem to pulse with life.

     Burke taps the other stasis cylinders but the hand-things 
     remain inertly clenched.

               These are dead.  There's just the 
               two alive.

     On top of each cylinder is a file folder.  Ripley takes a 
     folder from above one of the live specimens.  Inside is a 
     medical chart printout with handwritten entries.

               Removed surgically before embryo 
               implantation.  Subject:  Marachuk, 
               John L.   Died during procedure.
                    (looking up)
               They killed him getting it off.

               Poor bastard.

     They are startled by a LOUD BEEP.  They turn.  Hicks is intent 
     on his motion tracker, aimed back toward the shattered 
     barricade.  BEEP.  BEEP.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Behind us.

     He gestures at the corridor they just passed through.

               One of us?

                    (into headset)
               Apone...where are your people?  
               Anybody in D-Block?

                    (voice over; filtered)
               Negative.  We're all in Operations.

     Vasquez swings the smart-gun to ready position on its support 
     arm, locking it with an authoritative CLICK.  She and Hicks 
     head toward the source of the signal, the others following.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 46

70   INT. CORRIDOR                                                 70   

     Hicks' tracker is reading out more rapidly.  They turn into 
     the kitchens, a stainless steel labyrinth.

     Ripley hangs back.  Then realizes there is nothing behind 
     her but darkness.  She catches up to the group.

71   INT. KITCHENS                                                 71   

     The troopers enter, their lights bouncing around the stainless 
     steel surfaces.

               It's moving.

     Vasquez is scanning, gaze intense.  The other troops grip 
     their weapons tightly.

               Which way?

     Hicks nods toward a complicated array of food processing 
     equipment.  They move forward, weapons leveled.

     Ripley shuffles forward in the dark.  Wierzbowski trips over 
     a metal cannister, sending it CLANGING.

     Ripley half climbs the wall.

     Hicks' tracker beeps steadily.  The beeps merge.

     Become a solid tone.  CRASH.  Something moves in the dark, 
     toppling a rack of stockpots.

     ON VASQUEZ  pivoting smoothly to fire.  In the same instant 
     Hicks' rifle slashes INTO FRAME.  Slams Vasquez' barrel 
     upward.  A STREAM OF TRACER FIRE rips into the ceiling, the 

                           VASQUEZ (CONT'D)
               You fuck!

     Hicks ignores her, moving past and aiming his light under a 
     row of steel cabinets.  He gestures to Ripley, who steps 
     forward.  Trusting his judgment.  She crouches beside him.

     RIPLEY'S P.O.V.  lit by Hicks' pack-light... a tiny cowering 
     figure.  A very dirty, very terrified NEWT JORDEN.  She 
     clutches a plastic food packet in one hand, its top gnawed 
     partway through.  In the other hand she grips the HEAD OF A 
     LARGE DOLL, holding it by the hair.  Just the head.  Eyes 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 47

     Newt is pathetically emaciated...fragile-looking as Dresden 
     china, her hair tangled and matted.

               Come on out.  It's all right...

     Ripley moves toward her, reaching slowly under the cabinet.  
     Newt backs away, trembling visibly, her vision fixated like 
     a rabbit blinded by headlights.

     Ripley's hand almost reaches her.

     The kid bolts like a shot, scuttling along beneath the 
     cabinetry.  Ripley scrambles to follow... to keep her in 
     sight.  Crabbing frantically sideways.  Hicks makes a grab, 
     catching one tiny ankle.  He snaps his hand out a moment 

               Ow!  Shit.  Watchit, she bites.

     The girl reaches a ventilation duct set in the baseboard, 
     its grille kicked out.  She scrambles inside, her tiny body 
     barely fitting, wriggling like a fish.

     In his bulky armor Hicks knows he'll never make it into the 
     tiny duct.  Ripley dives.  She squirms into the duct without 
     thinking.  Just ahead she sees Newt enter a dark space and 
     slam a steel hatch.  Ripley pushes the hatch open before the 
     child can latch it, and crawls in after her.

     Newt is backed into a cul-de-sac in the tiny steel chamber.  
     Ripley shines her light around in amazement.

     It is a NEST.  A nest built by a child.  Wadded up blankets 
     and pillows line the space, mixed up with a haphazard array 
     EMPTY FOOD PACKETS, even a battery operated TAPE PLAYER.  
     All foraged from the wrecked colony.  Ripley marvels at the 
     child's incredible adaptability, the ability to functions 
     even in this nightmarish environment.

     Newt edges along the far wall and dives for the hatch.

     Ripley grabs her, controlling her in a bear hug.  The kid 
     struggles wildly, like a cat at the vets.  Eyes wide, hands 
     lashing out in a frenzy...but silent.  No scream.

               It's okay, it's okay.  It's over...  
               you're going to be all right now...  
               it's're safe...


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 48

     Newt goes limp, almost catatonic.

     and trembling, her eyes track wildly and she flinches from 
     unseen terrors.  We READ a dark nightmare world in her eyes.

     Ripley's light falls on something amidst the debris...  a 
     FRAMED PHOTOGRAPH of Newt, dressed up and smiling, a ribbon 
     in her hair.  In embossed gold letters underneath it says:



72   INT. OPERATIONS - ON NEWT - MANAGER'S OFFICE                  72   

     sitting huddles in a chair, arms around her knees.

     Looking at a point in space.

               What's her name again?


     WIDER ANGLE  REVEALING Gorman sitting in front of her while 
     Dietrich watches the readouts from a BIO-MONITORING CUFF 
     wrapped around Newt's tiny arm.

               Now think, Rebecca.  Concentrate.  
               Just start at the beginning...

     No response.  Ripley enters, carrying a coffee mug.

                           GORMAN (CONT'D)
               Where are your parents?  You have to 

               Gorman!  Give it a rest would you.

     Gorman stands with a sigh of dismissal.

               Total brain-lock.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 49

               Physically she's okay.  Borderline 
               malnutrition, but I don't think any 
               permanent damage.

     She unsnaps the bio-monitoring cuff.

               Come on, we're wasting our time.

     Gorman and the others exit, leaving only Ripley with Newt.  
     Through the window of the office, out on the main floor of 
     the operations room, we SEE Gorman join Burke and Bishop at 
     a computer terminal.

     Ripley kneels beside Newt, brushing the girl's unkempt hair 
     out of her eyes in a gentle, maternal fashion.

               Here, try this.  A little instant 
               hot chocolate.

     She wraps the child's hands around the cup.  Raises it to 
     her lips for her.  The girl drinks mechanically, spilling 
     down her chin.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Poor thing.  You don't talk much do 
               you?  That's okay by me.  Most people 
               do a lot of talking and they wind up 
               not saying very much.

     She sets the cup down and wipes the child's chin clean.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Uh oh.  I made a clean spot here.  
               Now I've done it.  Guess I'll just 
               have to do the whole thing.

     She pours water from a squeeze bottle onto a small cloth and 
     gently washes the little girl's face.

     Newt's eyes seem to focus on her for the first time.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Hard to believe...there's a little 
               girl under all this.  And a pretty 
               one at that.

     Newt gazes at her.  Ripley smiles.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 50

73   INT. OPERATIONS                                               73   

     The ground teams are gathered around a terminal in the 
     computer center.  Hudson has the CPU main computer on-line 
     and reading out.

     TIGHT ON MONITOR SCREEN  as an abstract of the main colony 
     ground plan drifts across the screen.


     Hudson bashes at the keyboard, his fingers dancing expertly.

                    (to Gorman)
               What's he scanning for?

               PDT'S.  Personal-Data Transmitters.

     Every adult colonist had one surgically implanted.

               If they're within twenty klicks we'll 
               read it out here, but so far... zip.

74   INT. OFFICE                                                   74   

     Ripley is washing Newt's tiny hands with a cloth, pink skin 
     emerging from black grime.

               I don't know how you managed to stay 
               alive but you're one brave kid, 

     Newt's voice is almost inaudible.


     Ripley leans closer.  Feels like she's breathing on coals.  
     The sound was incomprehensible.

               What did you say?

               Newt.  My n-name's Newt.  Nobody 
               calls me Rebecca except my dork 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 51

     Ripley grins inanely, not wanting to move or speak... or 
     break the spell.

               Well, Newt it is then.  My name's 
               Ripley...and people call me Ripley.

     Ripley picks up her tiny limp hand, shaking it formally.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Pleased to meet you.  And who is 
               this?  Does she have a name?

     Newt glances at the disembodied doll, still clutched in one 
     filthy hand.

               Casey.  She's my only friend.

               What about me?

     Newt's reply is flat, neutral.

               I don't want you for a friend.

               Why not?

               Because you'll be gone soon, like 
               the others.  Like everybody.  You'll 
               be dead and you'll leave me alone.

     Ripley gazes at her, chilled both by the ominous statement 
     and by the situation which could have produced this outlook 
     in a child.

               Oh, Newt.  You mom and dad went away 
               like that, didn't they?

     Newt nods, staring at her knees.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               They'd be here if they could, honey.  
               I know they would.

                    (with cold certainty)
               They're dead.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 52

               Newt.  Look at me...Newt.  I won't 
               leave you.  I promise.

               You promise?

               Cross my heart.

               And hope to die?

     Ripley smiles grimly at the inadvertently macabre expression.

               And hope to die.

     And because she's a child, the darkest terrors, even the 
     ones seen and not imagined, can still be banished by a smile 
     and a single promise.

     Newt's eyes brim as she gazes at Ripley.  Her lower lip starts 
     to tremble, and her face slowly deforms into an abject mask.  
     She sobs as she clamps her arms around Ripley's neck.  The 
     sobs come in waves as Ripley rocks her, tears of suppresses 
     terror and grief and hurt rolling down her face.  It is a 

     Ripley closes her eyes, hoping that this promise can be kept.

75   INT. OPERATIONS                                               75   

     Everyone jumps as Hudson cries out triumphantly.

               Hah!  Stop your grinnin' and drop 
               your linen!  Found 'em.


               Unknown.  But, it looks like all of 
               them.  Over at the processing 
               station...sublevel 'C' under the 
               south tower.

     TIGHT ON SCREEN  showing an amoebalike cluster of flashing 
     blue dots clumped tightly in one area.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 53

               Looks like a Goddamn town meeting.

               Let's saddle up.

               Awright, let's go girls, they ain't 
               payin' us by the hour.

76   EXT. ACHERON - TWILIGHT                                       76   

     The APC roars across the stygian landscape, traversing the 
     causeway which connects the colony to the ATMOSPHERE STATION 
     a kilometer away.  Behind it the drop-ship settles to the 
     ground at the colony landing field.

     PAN WITH THE APC TO REVEAL the massive structure.

     Like a vast foundry the conical exhaust tower flickers with 
     spectral light.

77   INT. APC                                                      77   

     The troopers sit, more subdued now, swaying and bouncing in 
     the heavily sprung vehicle.  Wierzbowski is in the saddle.  
     Ripley and Newt sit side by side just aft of the driver's 

               I was the best at the game.  I knew 
               the whole maze.

               The 'maze'?  You mean the air ducts?

               Yeah, you know.  In the walls, under 
               the floor.  I was the ace.  I could 
               hide better than anybody.

               You're really something, ace.

     Ripley's gaze shifts out the windshield as the processing 
     station looms ahead.

78   EXT. APC/STATION                                              78   

     The vast structure towers above the parked personnel carrier.  
     Deploying in front of the APC, backlit by its lights, the 
     troopers cast long shadows.  They look ominous.  Hulking 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 54

     The base of the station is a depthless maze of conduits and 
     pressure vessels, like an oil refinery.

     Or a Dantean version of one.  The THRUM of functioning machine 
     systems echoes through the labyrinth.

                    (voice over; static)
               Forty meters in.  Ramp on axial two-
               two.  Access to sublevels.

     The troopers start down the open rampway.  Light filters 
     down through several levels of steel mesh floor, catwalks 
     and pipes.  Below that is darkness.

                           GORMAN (CONT'D)
                    (voice over; static)
               B-Level.  Next one down.

     The thrumming of machines grows louder as they descend.

79   INT. APC                                                      79   

     Huddles around the screens are Ripley, Burke and Gorman.  
     Newt squeezes in from behind.  Gorman is doing his video 
     wizard bit, dancing on the buttons.

                    (to team)
               We're not making that out too well.  
               What is it?

                    (voice over; static)
               You tell me.  I only work here.

80   INT. COMPLEX                                                  80   

     The group stands before a bizarre tableau.  Among the 
     refinerylike lattice of pipes and conduits something new and 
     not of human design had been added.

     It is a structure of some sort, extending from and crudely 
     imitating the complex of plumbing, but made of some strange 
     encrusted substance.  It vaguely resembles the chambered 
     nests of swallows on a much larger scale, and it attenuates 
     so gradually into the original hardware that it is hard to 
     see where one ends and the other begins.

     The alien structure seems to extend far back into the complex 
     of machinery.  The plant thrums loudly, its functioning 
     seemingly not impaired.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 55

81   INT. APC                                                      81   

     Ripley stares at the scene in dread fascination.

               What is it?

               I don't know.

                    (to team)
               Proceed inside.

82   INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE                                          82   

     They enter the organic labyrinth, playing their lights over 
     the walls.  Revealing a BIO-MECHANICAL LATTICE, like the 
     marrow of some vast bone.  The air is thick with STEAM.  
     Trickling water.  The place seems almost alive.

83   INT. APC                                                      83   

     They watch in various helmet-camera P.O.V.'s of the wall 

               Oh God...

     CLOSE ON VIDEO  as it PAN SLOWLY...REVEALING a bas-relief of 
     detritus from the colony:  furniture, wiring, human bones, 
     skulls...Fused together with a translucent, epoxylike 

                    (voice over; static)
               Looks like some sort of secreted 

               They ripped apart the colony for 
               building materials.

               And the colonists...When they were 
               done with them.
               Newt, you better go sit up front.  
               Go on.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 56

84   INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE                                          84   

     Steam swirls around them as the troopers move deeper inside.

               Hotter'n hell in here.

               Yeah... but it's a dry heat.

85   INT. APC                                                      85   

     Ripley leans forward suddenly, studying the graphic readout 

               They're right under the primary heat 

               Yeah?  Maybe the organisms like the 
               heat, that's why they built...

               That's not what I mean.  Gorman, if 
               your men have to use their weapons 
               in there, they'll rupture the cooling 

               She's right.


               So... then the fusion containment 
               shuts down.

               So?  So?

               We're talking thermonuclear explosion.

                    (into mike)
               Apone, collect magazines from 
               everybody.  We can't have any firing 
               in there.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 57

86   INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE                                          86   

     The troopers look at each other in dismay.

               Is he fucking crazy?

               What're we supposed to use, man?  
               Harsh language?

                    (voice over; static)
               Flame-units only.  I want rifles 

               Let's go.  Pull 'em out.

     He walks among the troopers, collecting the magazines from 
     each one's weapon.

     Vasquez turns hers over reluctantly.

     The three who are carrying them get out small incinerator 
     units.  When Apone moves on, Vasquez slips a spare magazine 
     from concealment and inserts it in her weapon.  Drake does 
     the same.  Hicks hangs back in the shadows.  He opens a 
     cylindrical sheath attached to his battle-harness.  Slides 
     out an old style PUMP TWELVE-GAUGE with a sawed-off butt 
     stock.  Chambers a round.

                    (low, to Hudson)
               I always keep this handy.  For close 

               Let's move.  Hicks, back us up.

87   INT. LARGER CHAMBER                                           87   

     The air is thick.  Lights flare.

                    (voice over; very 
               Any movement?

     Hudson watches his tracker, scanning.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 58

               Nothing.  Zip.

     Apone stops, his expression changing.  They face a wall of 
     living horror.  The colonists have been brought here and 
     entombed alive...

     COCOONS protrude from the niches and interstices of the 
     structure.  The cocoon material is the same translucent epoxy.  
     The bodies are frozen in carelessly twisted positions.  
     Macabre image of frozen agony.  Many are desiccated.  

     Rip-cages burst outward, as if exploded from within.

     Paralyzed, brought here, entombed in living death as hosts 
     for the embryos growing within then.

     Dietrich moves close to examine one of the figures, perhaps 
     the most "recent."  A WOMAN, ghost-white and drained.  The 
     WOMAN'S EYES SNAP OPEN...They seem to plead.


     The woman's lips move feebly.

               Please... God... kill me.

88   INT. APC                                                      88   

     Ripley watches the woman, white knuckled.  The sound of 
     RETCHING comes over the general frequency.

89   INT. COCOON CHAMBER                                           89   

     The woman begins to convulse.  She SCREAMS, a sawing shriek 
     of mindless agony.

               Flame thrower!  Move!

     Frost hands it to him.  Suddenly, the woman's chest EXPLODES 
     in a gout of blood.  A SMALL FANGED HEAD EMERGES, HISSING 

     Apone pulls the trigger.  Then the other troopers carrying 
     flame throwers open fire.  An orgy of purging fire.  The 
     cocoons vanish in the shimmering heat.

     A SHRILL SCREECHING begins, like a siren made from fingernails 
     on blackboards.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 59


     glimpsed, a glistening bio-mechanoid creature larger then a 
     man.  Lying dormant, it had blended perfectly with the 
     convoluted surface of fused bone.  The troopers don't see 
     it.  Smoke from the burning cocoons quickly fills the confined 
     space.  Visibility drops to zero.



               Can't lock up...

                    (with an edge)
               Talk to me, Hudson.

               Uh, seems to be in front and behind.

90   INT. APC                                                      90   

     Gorman is plating with the gain controls on the monitors.

               We can't see anything back here, 
               Apone.  What's going on?

     Ripley senses it coming, like a wave at night.  Dark, 
     terrifying and inevitable.

               Pull your team out, Gorman.

     NICHES                                                        91   

     as they come alive.  Bonelike, tubelike shapes shift, becoming 
     emerging ALIENS.  Dimly glimpsed...glints of slime.  

               Go to infrared.  Looks sharp people!

     The squad members snap down their image-intersifier visors.

               Multiple signals.  All round.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 60


     Dietrich turns to retreat, her flamethrower held tightly.  A 
     nightmarish silhouette materializes out of the smoke behind 
     her!  It strikes like lightning.

     SEIZES HER.  She fires reflexively, wild.  The jet of flame 
     engulfs Frost nearby.

     Apone spins as the double SCREAM.  Can't see anything in the 
     thick smoke.

92   INT. APC                                                      92   

     Ripley watches Frost's monitor go black.  His bio-readouts 
     flatten.  The other screens show glimpses of shimmering 
     infrared silhouettes of the aliens, the images bobbing and 
     panning confusedly.

93   INT. COCOON CHAMBER                                           93   

     Vasquez nods to Drake with grim satisfaction.

               Let's rock.

     They OPEN UP simultaneously, lighting up the smoke like 
     welders' arcs.

                    (voice over; static)
               Who's firing?  I ordered a hold fire, 

     Vasquez rips off her headset.  She is riveted to the targeting 
     screen, moving ferret-quick in a pivoting dance.  Thunder 
     and lightning.  Better than sex for her.  FLASH-CRACK!  An 
     alien SCREECH from the darkness.

94   INT. APC                                                      94   

     The battle of phantoms unfolds on the video screens.

     Ripley flinches as another scream comes over the open 
     frequency.  Wierzbowski's monitor breaks up.

     His life signs plummet.  Voices blend and overlap.

                    (voice over)
               Let's get the fuck out of here!


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 61

                    (voice over)
               Not that tunnel, the other one!

                    (voice over)
               You sure?  Watch it...behind you.  
               Fucking move, will you!

     Gorman is ashen.  Confused.  Gulping for air like a grouper.  
     How could the situation have unravelled so fast?

                    (to Gorman)
               GET THEM OUT OF THERE!  DO IT NOW!

               Shut up.  Just shut up!

     CRASH!  Crowe's telemetry cuts off like the plug was pulled.  
     Flat line.

                           GORMAN (CONT'D)
               Uh,...Apone, I want you to lay down 
               a suppressing fire with the 
               incinerators and fall back by squads 
               to the APC, over.

                    (voice over; heavy 
               Say again?  All after incinerators?

     Ripley watches it fall apart.

               I said...

95   INT. COCOON CHAMBER                                           95   

     Apone adjusts his headset.

                    (voice over; static)
               ...lay down (garbled) squads 

     Gorman's voice breaks up completely.  A SCREAM.

     Apone whirls, uncertain.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 62

               Dietrich?  Crowe?  Sound off!  

     Nothing.  He spins.  Almost blows Hudson's head off.

               We're getting juked!  We're gonna 
               die in here!

     Apone hands him a magazine.  Hudson slaps it home, looking 
     truly terrified.

               Yeah.  Right.  Right!  Fuck the heat 

     He FIRES.  Vasquez, nearby, is laying down a horrendous field 
     of fire.  Strobe-bright flashes sear the darkness.  She 
     pivots, firing mechanically in controlled bursts.  Scoring 
     points in her own private video game.

     She SPINS as Hicks approached laterally.  WHAM!  She fires 
     "at" him.  Hicks see a nightmarish figure right 
     behind him, catapulted backwards by Vasquez' blast.

96   INT. APC                                                      96   

     Apone's monitor SPINS CRAZILY AND GOES DARK.

               I told them to fall back...

               They're cut off!  Do something!

     But he's gone.  Total brain-lock.

     TIGHT ON RIPLEY  as she struggles with a decision.

     She's terrified...of what she knows she's about to do.  But 
     more than that, she's furious.  Shouldering past a paralyzed 
     Gorman she runs up the aisle of the


                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
                    (in passing)
               Newt, put your seatbelt on!


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 63

     Ripley jumps into the driver's seat of the APC.  Takes a 
     deep breath.  Starts slapping switches.

               Ripley, what the hell...?

     She slams the tractor into gear.

97   EXT. APC                                                      97   

     as the drive-wheels spin on the wet ground.  The massive 
     machine leaps forward.

98   INT. APC                                                      98   

     Ripley sees smoke pouring out of the complex ahead as she 
     slides sideways onto the descending rampway.

     She slams the left and right drive-wheel actuators viciously, 
     spinning the machine in a roaring pivot.

     Gorman lunges forward along the aisle, abandoning his command 

               What are you doing?  Turn around!  
               That's an order!

     He claws at her, hysterical.  Burke pulls him off.

99   INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE                                          99   

     The APC roars down into the smoky structure, tearing away 
     outcroppings of alien-encrustation.  Ripley hits the 
     floodlights.  Strobe-beacon.  Siren.  She homes on the flash 
     of weapons fire ahead.

100   INT. COCOON CHAMBER                                         100   

     The APC crashes inside, showering debris.  Hicks, supporting 
     a limping Hudson, appears out of the smoke.

     The APC pulls up broadside and Burke gets the crew-door open.

     Drake and Vasquez back out of the dense mist, firing as they 
     fall back.

     Drake goes empty, slams the buckles cutting loose his smart-
     gun harness, and unslings a flame thrower.

     Hicks pushes Hudson inside, leaps in after him and drags 
     Vasquez inside, massive gear and all.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 64

     She sees a DARK SHAPE lunge toward Drake.  She fires one 
     burst, prone.  Clean body hit.

     The flash lights up the hideous inhuman grin, blowing open 
     the thing's thorax.  A spray of BRIGHT YELLOW ACID slashes 
     across Drake's face and chest, eating into him like a hot 
     knife through butter.  He drops in boiling smoke, reflexively 
     triggering his flame thrower.

     The jet of liquid fire arcs around as he falls, engulfing 
     the back half of the APC.

101   INT. APC                                                    101   

     Vasquez rolls aside as a gout of napalm shoots through the 
     crew-door, setting the interior on fire.

     Hicks is rolling the door closed when Vasquez lunges, clawing 
     out the opening.  He stops her, dragging her inside.

               Drake!  He's down!

     Hicks screams right in her face.

               He's gone!  Forget it, he's gone!

               No.. No, he's not.  He's --

     Burke and Hudson help him drag her from the door.

                    (to Ripley)
               Let's go!

     Ripley jams reverse.  Nails the throttle.  The APC bellows 
     backward up the ramp.  Hudson disappears under a pile of 
     equipment as a storage rack breaks free.  Hicks gets the 
     door almost closed.  Suddenly CLAWS appear at the edge.  
     Newt screams.  Against the combined efforts of Hicks, Burke 
     and Vasquez the door is being SLOWLY WRENCHED OPEN FROM 

     Hicks yells at a paralyzed Gorman.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Get on the Goddamn door!

     Gorman backs away, eyes wide.  Hicks jams his shoulder against 
     the latching lever and frees one hand to raise his 12-gauge.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 65

     An alien head wedges through the opening, its hideous mouth 
     opening.  And Hicks jams his SHOTGUN MUZZLE between its jaws 
     and pulls the trigger!  BLAM!

     The creature is flung backward, its shattered head fountaining 
     acid blood.  The spray eats into the door, the deck, hits 
     Hudson on the arm.  He shrieks.  They slide the door home 
     and dog it tight.

102   EXT. APC                                                    102   

     The armored vehicle roars backward up the ramp.  Slams into 
     a mass of conduit.  Tears free.  Ripley works the shifters, 
     pivoting the massive machine.  Everybody's shouting, trying 
     to put out the fire.  Pandemonium.

103   INT./EXT. APC                                               103   

     Something lands on the roof with a metallic clang.

     Gorman has plastered himself against a wall, as far from the 
     door as possible.  A latch lever behind his head turns.  The 
     small hatch against which he was leaning is ripped away and 
     SOMETHING snatches him out the opening  He disappears to the 
     waist with a shriek, legs kicking.  The alien clings to the 
     roof, pulling him out.  Its tail whips over, scorpionlike, 
     and buries a four inch stinger in Gorman's shoulder.

     Hicks grabs a joy stick at the FIRE-CONTROL CONSOLE and turns 
     it rapidly.  On the roof the alien looks up as servo-motors 
     whir.  A remote control turret cannon, a 20mm chain-gun, 
     swivels toward it in a curt arc.

     VOOM.  The creature is blasted off the vehicle's armored 
     back and tumbles away.  Gorman, slumped unconscious, is 
     dragged back inside.

     The APC rips away a section of catwalk and heads for clear 
     air, its flank trailing fire like a comet.

     Ripley fights the controls as the big machine slews, 
     broadsiding a control-room out-building.  Office furniture 
     and splintered wall sections are strewn in the APC's wake.

     Suddenly, an alien arm arcs down, right in front of Ripley's 
     face.  It smashes the windshield.  Glistening, hideous jaws 
     lunge inside...

     Ripley recoils.  Face to face once again with the same mind-
     numbing horror.  She reacts instinctively.  Slams both sets 
     of brakes with all her strength.  The huge wheels lock.  The 
     creature flips off, landing in the headlights.  Ripley hits 
     full throttle.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 66

     The APC roars forward, smashing over the abomination.  Its 
     skeletal body is crushed under the massive wheels.  It rolls, 
     tumbling...lost in the darkness behind as the machine thunders 
     onto the causeway and away from the station.

     A sound like bolts dropped in a meat grinder is coming from 
     the APC's rear end.  Hicks eases Ripley's hand back on the 
     throttle lever.  Her grip is white knuckled.

               It's okay...we're clear.  We're clear.  
               Ease up.

     The grinding clatter becomes deafening even as she slows the 

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Sounds like a blown transaxle.  You're 
               just grinding metal.

104   EXT. APC                                                    104   

     The tractor limps to a halt.  A HALF-KILOMETER from the 
     atmosphere processing station.  The APC is a smoking, acid-
     scarred mess.

105   INT. APC                                                    105   

     Ripley, still running on the adrenalin dynamo, spins out of 
     her seat into the aisle.

               Newt?  Where's Newt?

     Feeling a tug at her pants leg she looks down.  Newt is wedged 
     into a tiny space between the driver's seat and a bulkhead.  
     She is trembling, and looks terrified, but it's not the basket 
     case catatonia of before.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               You okay?

     Newt gives her a THUMBS-UP, wan but stoic.  Ripley goes back 
     to the others.  Hudson is holding his arm and staring in 
     stunned dismay at nothing, playing it all back in his mind.

               Jesus...Jesus...I don't believe it.

     Burke tries to have a look at Hudson's arm.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 67

                           HUDSON (CONT'D)
                    (jerking away)
               I'm all right, leave it!

     Ripley joins Hicks who is bent over Gorman, checking for a 

               He's alive.  I think he's paralyzed.

               He's fucking dead!

     She grabs Gorman by the collar, hauling him up roughly, ready 
     to pulp him with her other fist.

                           VASQUEZ (CONT'D)
                    (to Gorman)
               Wake up pendejo!  I'm gonna kill 
               you, you useless fuck!

     Hicks pushes her back.  Right in her face.

               Hold it.  Hold it.  Back off, right 

     Vasquez releases Gorman.  His head smacks the deck.

     Ripley opens Gorman's tunic, revealing a bloodless purple 
     puncture wound.

               Looks like it stung him.

               Hey...hey!  Look, Crowe and Dietrich 
               aren't dead, man.

     They turn to see Hudson at the MTOB monitors, pointing at 
     the bio-function screens.

                           HUDSON (CONT'D)
               They must be like Gorman.  Their 
               signs are real low but they ain't 

     Hudson is pale, panicky, and his voice echoes around the 
     tiny metallic space and comes back to all of them as the 
     near hysteria they all feel, fluttering just at the edges of 
     their minds.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 68

               You can't help them.  Right now 
               they're being cocooned just like the 

               Oh, God.  Jesus.  This ain't 

     Ripley and Vasquez lock eyes.  Ripley doesn't want it to be 
     "I told you so" but Vasquez reads it that way.  She turns 
     away with a snap.

106   INT. MED LAB                                                106   

     Bishop is hunched over an occular probe doing a dissection 
     of one of the dead parasites.  Spunkmeyer enters with some 
     electronics gear on a hand truck and parks it near Bishop's 
     work table.

               Need anything else?

     Bishop waves "no" without looking up.

107   EXT. COLONY - DROP-SHIP                                     107   

     Spunkmeyer emerges, crossing the Tarmac to the loading ramp 
     of the ship.  As he nears the top of the ramp, his boot 
     slips...skidding on something wet.  Kneeling, he touches a 
     small puddle of thick slime.  He shrugs, and hits the controls 
     to retract the ramp and close the doors.

108   INT. APC                                                    108   

     ON VASQUEZ  wired and intense.

               All right, we can't blow the fuck 
               out of them...why not roll some 
               canisters of CN-20 down there.  Nerve 
               gas the whole nest?

               Look, man, let's just bug out and 
               call it even, okay?

                    (to Vasquez)
               No good.  How do we know it'll effect 
               their biochemistry?


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 69

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               I say we take off and nuke the entire 
               site from orbit.  It's the only way 
               to be sure.

               Now hold on a second.  I'm not 
               authorizing that action.

               Why not?

     Burke senses the challenge in her tone and backpedals 
     flawlessly into conciliatory mode.

               Well, I mean...I know this is an 
               emotional moment, but let's not make 
               snap judgments.  Let's move 
               cautiously.  First, this physical 
               installation had a substantial dollar 
               value attached to it --

               They can bill me.  I got a tab 
               running.  What's second?

               This is clearly an important species 
               we're dealing with here.  We can't 
               just arbitrarily exterminate them --


               Yeah, bullshit.  Watch us.

               Maybe you haven't been keeping up on 
               current events, but we just got out 
               asses kicked, pal!

     Ripley faces Burke squarely and she's not pleased.

               Look, Burke.  We had an agreement.

     Burke moves in, lowering his voice.  He takes her aside from 
     the others.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 70

               I know, I know, but we're dealing 
               with changing scenarios here.  This 
               thing is major, Ripley.  I mean really 
               major.  You gotta go with its energy.  
               Since you are the representative of 
               the company who discovered this 
               species your percentage will naturally 
               be some serious, serious money.

     Ripley stares at his like he's a particularly disagreeable 

               You son of a bitch.

               Don't make me pull rank, Ripley.

               What rank?  I believe Corporal Hicks 
               has authority here.

               Corporal Hicks!?

               This operation is under military 
               jurisdiction and Hicks is next in 
               chain of command.  Right?

               Looks that way.

     Burke starts to lose it and it's not a pretty sight.

               Look, this is a multimillion dollar 
               operation.  He can't make that kind 
               of decision.  He's just a grunt!
                    (glances at Hicks)
               No offense.

               None taken.
                    (into mike)
               Ferro, you copying?

                    (voice over; static)
               Standing by.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 71

               Prep for dust-off.  We're gonna need 
               an immediate evac.
                    (to Burke)
               I think we'll take off and nuke the 
               site from orbit.  It's the only way 
               to be sure.

     He winks.  Burke looks like a kid whose toy has been snatched.

               This is absurd!  You don't have the 
               authority to --

     CLACK!  The sound of a rifle bolt snapping home truncates 
     his rant.  Vasquez has a pulse-rifle cradled, not exactly 
     aimed at Burke but not exactly aimed away either.  Her 
     expression is masklike.  End of discussion.

     Ripley sits behind Newt, putting her arm around her.

               We're going home, honey.

109   EXT. DROP-SHIP                                              109   

     The ship rises through the spray thrown up by the downblast 
     of the VTOL jets, hovering above the complex like a huge 
     insect, its searchlights blazing.

110   EXT. APC                                                    110   

     The group is filing out of the personnel carrier, which is 
     clearly a write off.  Hicks and Hudson have Gorman between 
     them, and the others emerge into the wind.

     They watch the ship roar in on its final approach.

111   INT. DROP-SHOP COCKPIT                                      111   

     Ferro flicks the intercom switch several times.  Thumps her 
     headset mike.

               Spunkmeyer?  Goddammit.

     The compartment door behind her slides slowly back.

                           FERRO (CONT'D)
               Where the fu --

     Her eyes widen.  It's not Spunkmeyer.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 72

     Am impression of leering jaws which blur forward, then a 
     whirl of motion and a truncated scream.  The throttle levers 
     are slammed forward in the melee.

112   EXT. APC - LANDSCAPE - STATION                              112   

     They watch in dismay as the approaching ship dips and VEERS 
     WILDLY.  Its main engines ROAR FULL ON and the craft 
     accelerates toward them even as it loses altitude.

     It skims the ground.  Clips a rock formation.  The ship slews, 
     sideslipping.  It hits a ridge.  Tumbles, bursting into flame, 
     breaking up.  It arcs into the air, end over end, a Catherine 
     wheel juggernaut.


     She grabs Newt and sprints for cover as a tumbling section 
     of the ship's massive engine module slams into the APC and 
     it explodes into twisted wreckage.

     The drop-ship skips again, like a stone, engulfed in 


     The remainder of the ground team watches their hopes of 
     getting off the planet, and most of their superior fire power, 
     reduced to flaming debris.

     There is a moment of stunned silence, then...

               Well that's great!  That's just 
               fucking great, man.  Now what the 
               fuck are we supposed to do, man?  
               We're in some real pretty shit now!

               Are you finished?
                    (to Ripley)
               You okay?

     She nods.  She can't disguise her stricken expression when 
     she looks at Newt, but the little girl seems relatively calm.  
     She shrugs with fatalistic acceptance.

               I guess we're not leaving, right?


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 73

               I'm sorry, Newt.

               You don't have to be sorry.  It wasn't 
               your fault.

                    (kicking rocks)
               Just tell me what the fuck we're 
               supposed to do now.  What're we gonna 
               do now?

               May be we could build a fire and 
               sing songs.

               We should get back, 'cause it'll be 
               dark soon.  They come mostly at night.  

     Ripley follows Newt's look to the AP station looming in the 
     twilight, the burning drop-ship wreckage jammed into its 
     basal structure.

113   EXT. CONTROL BLOCK - NIGHT                                  113   

     The wind howls mournfully around the metal buildings, dry 
     and cold.

114   INT. OPERATIONS                                             114   

     The weary and demoralized group is gathered to take stock of 
     their grim options.  Vasquez and Hudson are just setting 
     down a scorched and dented packing case, one of several culled 
     from the APC wreckage.

     Hicks indicates their remaining inventory of weapons, lying 
     on a table.

               This is all we could salvage.  We've 
               got four pulse-rifles with about 
               fifty rounds each.  Not so good.  
               About fifteen M-40 grenades and two 
               flame throwers less than half 
      damaged.  And We've got 
               four of these robot-sentry units 
               with scanners and display intact.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 74

     He opens one of the scorched cases, revealing a high-tech 
     servo-actuated machine gun with optical sensing equipment, 
     packed in foam.

               How long after we're declared overdue 
               can we expect a rescue?

               About seventeen days.

               Man, we're not going to make it 
               seventeen hours!  Those things are 
               going to come in here, just like 
               they did before, man...  they're 
               going to come in here and get us, 
               man, long before...

               She survived longer than that with 
               no weapons and no training.

     Ripley indicates Newt, who salutes Hudson smartly.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               So you better just start dealing 
               with it.  Just deal with it, 
               Hudson...because we need you and I'm 
               tired of your bullshit.  Now get on 
               a terminal and call up some kind of 
               floor plan file.  Construction 
               blueprints, maintenance schematics, 
               anything that shows the layout of 
               this place.  I want to see air ducts, 
               electrical access tunnels, 
               subbasements.  Every possible way 
               into this wing.

     Hudson gathers himself, thankful for the direction.

     Hicks nods approval of her handling of it.

               Aye-firmative.  I'm on it.

               I'll be in medical.  I'd like to 
               continue my analysis.

               Fine.  You do that.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 75

115   INT. OPERATIONS                                             115   

     Burke, Ripley, Hudson and Hicks are bent over a large 
     HORIZONTAL VIDEOSCREEN, like an illuminated chart table.

     Newt hops from one foot to the other to see.

               This service tunnel is how they're 
               moving back and forth.

               Yeah, right, it runs from the 
               processing station right into the 
               sublevel here.

     He traces a finger along the abstract ground plan.

               All right.  There's a fire door at 
               this end.  The first thing we do is 
               put a remote sentry in the tunnel 
               and seal that door.

               We gotta figure on them getting into 
               the complex.

               That's right.  So we put up welded 
               barricades at these intersections...
               ...and seal these ducts here and 
               here.  Then they can only come at us 
               from these two corridors and we create 
               a free field of fire for the other 
               two sentry units, here.

     Hicks contemplates her game plan and raises his hand, 

               Outstanding.  Then all we need's a 
               deck of cards.  All right, let's 
               move like we got a purpose.


                    (imitating Hudson)


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 76

116   INT. SERVICE TUNNEL - SUBLEVEL                              116   

     A long straight service tunnel, lined with conduit, seems to 
     go on forever.  Vasquez and Hudson have finished setting up 
     two of the robot sentry guns on tripods in the tunnel.


     She hurls a wastebasket down the tunnel, into the automatic 
     field of fire.  The sentry guns swivel smoothly, the 
     wastebasket bounces once...and is riddled by two quick bursts 
     of EXPLODING 10MM ROUNDS into dime-sized shrapnel.  They 
     retreat behind a heavy steel FIRE DOOR which they roll closed 
     on its track.  Vasquez, using a PORTABLE WELDING TORCH, begins 
     sealing the door to its frame, as Hudson paces nervously.

               Hudson here.  A and B sentries are 
               in place and keyed.  We're sealing 
               the tunnel.

117   INT. SECOND LEVEL CORRIDOR                                  117   

     Hicks pauses in his work.

                    (into mike)

     He and Ripley are covering an air duct opening with a metal 
     plate, welding it in place, showering sparks in the dark 
     corridor.  Behind them Burke and Newt are moving back and 
     forth with cartons of food on a hand truck, stacking it inside 
     the operations center.

     Hicks sets down his welder and pulls a small object out of a 
     belt pouch.  A braceletlike EMERGENCY LOCATING BEEPER.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Here, put this on.  Then I can locate 
               you anywhere in the complex on this --

     He indicates a tiny TRACKER hooked to his battle harness.  
     He shrugs, a little self-consciously.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Just a...precaution.  You know.

     Ripley pauses for a moment, regarding him quizzically.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 77

                    (strapping it on)

               Uh, what's next?

     She consults a printout of the floor plan.

118   EXT. CONTROL BLOCK                                          118   

     The wind has died utterly and in the even more eerie stillness 
     a diffuse mist has rolled into shroud the complex.  Visibility 
     is low in the fog.

     Everything looks underwater.  There is no movement.

119   INT. CORRIDOR                                               119   

     In the barricaded corridor sentry-gun "C" sits waiting, its 
     "ARMED" light flashing green.  Through a hole torn in the 
     ceiling at the far end of the corridor the fog swirls in.  
     Water drips.  An expectant hush.

120   INT. MED LAB ANNEX - OPERATING ROOM                         120   

     Ripley carries an exhausted Newt through the inner connecting 
     rooms of the medical wing.  She reaches an OPERATING ROOM 
     which is small but very high-tech ...vaultlike metal walls, 
     strange equipment.

     Several metal cots have been set up, displacing O.R.  
     equipment which is pushed into one corner.

     Newt is resting her head on Ripley's shoulder, barely 
     awake...out of steam.  Ripley sets her on one of the cots 
     and Newt lies down.

               Now you just lie here and have a 
               nap.  You're exhausted.

               I don't want to...I have scary dreams.

     This obviously strikes a chord with Ripley, but she feigns 

               I'll bet Casey doesn't have bad 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 78

     Ripley lifts the doll's head from Newt's tiny fingers and 
     looks inside.  It is, of course, empty.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Nothing bad in here.  Maybe you could 
               just try to be like her.

     Ripley closes the doll's eyes and hands her back.

     Newt rolls her eyes as if to say "don't pull that five-year-
     old shit on me, lady.  I'm six."

               Ripley...she doesn't have bad dreams 
               because she's just a piece of plastic.

               Oh.  Sorry, Newt.

               My mommy always said there were no 
               monsters.  No real ones.  But there 

     Ripley's expression becomes sober.  She brushes damp hair 
     back from the child's pale forehead.

               Yes, there are, aren't there.

               Why do they tell little kids that?

     Newt's voice reveals her deep sense of betrayal.

     She's seen that the world can be just as terrifying as her 
     most primal child's nightmare if not more so, and that's a 
     lot worse than finding out there is no Santa.

               Well, some kids can't handle it like 
               you can.

               Did one of those things grow inside 

     Ripley begins pulling blankets up an tucking them in around 
     her tiny body.

               I don't know, Newt.  That's the truth.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 79

               Isn't that how babies come?  I mean 
               people babies... they grow inside 

               No, it's different, honey.

               Did you ever have a baby?

               Yes.  A little girl.

               Where is she?


               You mean dead.

     It's more statement than question.  Ripley nods slowly.

     She turns, reaching for a PORTABLE SPACE HEATER sitting 
     nearby, and slides it closer to the bed.  She switches it 
     on.  It HUMS and emits a cozy orange glow.

                           NEWT (CONT'D)
               Ripley, I was just thinking... Maybe 
               I could do you a favor and fill in 
               for her.  Just for a while.  You can 
               try it and if you don't like it, 
               it's okay.  I'll understand.  No big 
               deal.  Whattya think?

     Ripley gazes at her a long time before answering...  a 
     conflict between the urge to crush the child to her in a 
     forever hug and the knowledge that neither of them may see 
     another dawn.

               I think it's not the worst idea I've 
               heard all day.  Let's talk about it 

     She switches off the light and starts to rise.  Newt grabs 
     her arm.  A plaintive voice in the dark.

               Don't go!  Please.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 80

               I'll be right in the other room, 
               Newt.  And look...I can see you on 
               that camera right up there.

     Newt looks at the VIDEO SECURITY CAMERA above the door.

     Ripley unsnaps the TRACKER BRACELET given to her by Hicks 
     and puts it on Newt's tiny wrist, cinching it down.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Here.  Take it for luck.  Now go to 
               sleep...and don't dream.

     Ripley walks away and Newt rolls on her side, hugging Casey 
     and gazing at the hypnotically pulsing function light on the 
     bracelet.  The space heater hums comfortingly.

121   INT. MED LAB                                                121   

     ECU Gorman, his eyelids slitted open like those of a corpse, 
     but with the eyes tracking erratically.  The only sign of 

                    (voice over)
               How is he?

     Ripley stands over the Lieutenant, who is lying motionless 
     on an examining table.  Bishop looks up from his instruments 
     nearby, the light of a single gooseneck lamp giving his 
     features a macabre cast.

               I've isolated a neuro-muscular toxin 
               responsible for the paralysis.  It 
               seems to be metabolizing.  He should 
               wake up soon.

               Now let me get this straight.  The 
               aliens paralyzed the colonists, 
               carried them over there, cocooned 
               them to be hosts for more of those...

     Ripley points at the stasis cylinders containing the face-
     hugger specimens.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Which would mean lots of those 
               parasites, right?  One for each 
               person...over a hundred at least.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 81

               Yes.  That follows.

               But these things come from 
               where are all the eggs coming from.

               That is the question of the hour.  
               We could assume a parallel to certain 
               insect forms who have hivelike 
               organization.  An ant of termite 
               colony, for example, is ruled by a 
               single female, a queen, which is the 
               source of new eggs.

               You're saying one of those things 
               lays all the eggs?

               Well, the queen is always physically 
               larger then the others.  A termite 
               queen's abdomen is so bloated with 
               eggs that it can't move at all.  It 
               is fed and tended by drone workers, 
               defended by the warriors.  She is 
               the center of their lives, quite 
               literally the  mother of their 

               Could it be intelligent?

               Hard to say.  It may have been blind 
               instinct... attraction to the heat 
               or whatever... but she did choose to 
               incubate her eggs in the one spot 
               where we couldn't destroy her without 
               destroying ourselves.  That's if she 
               exists, of course.

     Ripley ponders the ramifications of Bishop's analysis.

               I want those specimens destroyed as 
               soon as you're done with them.  You 

     Bishop glances at the creatures, pulsing malevolently in 
     their cylinders.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 82

               Mr. Burke gave instructions that 
               they were to be kept alive in stasis 
               for return to the company labs.  He 
               was very specific.

     Ripley feels the fabric of her self-restraint tearing.

     She slaps the intercom switch.


122   INT. MED LAB ANNEX                                          122   

     In a small observation chamber separated from the med lab by 
     a glass partition, Ripley and Burke have squared off.

               Those specimens are worth millions 
               to the bio-weapons division.  Now, 
               if you're smart we can both come out 
               of this heroes.  Set up for life.

               You just try getting a dangerous 
               organism past ICC quarantine.  Section 
               22350 of the Commerce Code.

               You've been doing your homework.  
               Look, they can't impound it if they 
               don't know about it.

               But they will know about it, Burke.  
               From me.  Just like they'll know how 
               you were responsible for the deaths 
               of one hundred and fifty-seven 
               colonists here --

               Now, wait a second --

                    (stepping on him)
               You sent them to that ship.  I just 
               checked the colony log...  directive 
               dates six-twelve-seventy-nine.  Signed 
               Burke, Carter J.

     Ripley's fury is peaking, now that the frustration and rage 
     finally have a target to focus on.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 83

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               You sent them out there and you didn't 
               even warn them, Burke.  Why didn't 
               you warn them?

               Look, maybe the thing didn't even 
               exist, right?  And if I'd made it a 
               major security situation, the 
               Administration would've stepped in.  
               Then no exclusive rights, nothing.

     He shrugs, his manner blase, dismissive.

                           BURKE (CONT'D)
               It was a bad call, that's all.

     Ripley snaps.  She slams him against the wall, surprising 
     herself and him, her hands gripping his collar.

               Bad call?  These people are fucking 
               dead, Burke!  Well, they're going to 
               nail your hide to the shed...  and 
               I'll be there when they do.

     She steps back, shaking, and looks at him with utter loathing, 
     as if the depths of human greed are a far more horrific 
     revelation than any alien.

               I expected more of you, Ripley.  I 
               thought you would be smarter than 

               Sorry to disappoint you.

     She turns away and strides out.  The door closes.

     Burke stares after her, his mind a whirl of options.

123   INT. CORRIDOR                                               123   

     Ripley is walking toward operations when a STRIDENT ALARM 
     begins to sound.  She breaks into a run.

124   INT. OPERATIONS                                             124   

     Ripley double-times it to Hicks' TACTICAL CONSOLE where Hudson 
     and Vasquez have already gathered.  Hicks slaps a switch, 
     killing the alarm.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 84

               They're coming.  They're in the 

     The TRILLING of the motion sensor remains, speeding up.

     TWO RED LIGHTS on the tactical display light up simultaneously 
     with an echoing crash of gunfire which vibrates the floor.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Guns A and B.  Tracking and firing 
               on multiple targets.

     The RSS guns pound away, echoing through the complex.

     Their separate bursts overlap in an irregular rhythm.

     A counter on the display counts down the number of rounds 

               They must be wall to wall in there.  
               Look  at those ammo counters go.  
               It's a shooting gallery down there.

125   INT. SERVICE TUNNEL - TIGHT ON RSS GUNS                     125   

     blasting stroboscopically in the tunnels.  Their barrels are 
     overheating, glowing cherry red.  One CLICKS empty and sits 
     smoking, still swiveling to track targets it can't fire upon.

126   INT. OPERATIONS                                             126   

     The digital counter on B gun reads zero.

               B gun's dry.  Twenty on A.

     Ten.  Five.  That's it.

     SILENCE.  Then a GONGLIKE BOOMING echoes eerily up from 

               They're at the fire door.

     The BOOMING INCREASES in volume and ferocity.

               Man, listen to that.

     Mixed with the echoing crash-clang is a nerve-wrecking SCREECH 
     of claws on steel.  The intercom buzzes, startling them.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 85

                    (voice over)
               Bishop here.  I'm afraid I have some 
               bad news.

               Well, that's a switch.

127   INT. OPERATIONS - MINUTES LATER                             127   

     Everyone, including Bishop, is crowded at the window, intently 
     watching the AP station which is a dim silhouette in the 
     mist.  Suddenly a column of flame, like an acetylene torch, 
     jets upward from the complex at the base of the cone.

               That's it.  See it?  Emergency 

               How long until it blows?

               I'm projecting total systems failure 
               in a little under four hours.  The 
               blast radius will be about thirty 
               kilometers.  About equal to ten 

               We got problems.

               I don't fucking believe this.  Do 
               you believe this?

               And it's too late to shut it down?

               I'm afraid so.  The crash did too 
               much damage.  The overload is 
               inevitable, at this point.

               Oh, man.  And I was gettin' short, 
               too!  Four more weeks and out.  Now 
               I'm gonna buy it on this fuckin' 
               rock.  It ain't half fair, man!

               Hudson, give us a break.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 86

     They watch as another gas jet lights up the fog-shrouded 

                    (to Hicks)
               We need the other drop-ship.  The 
               one on the Sulaco.  We have to bring 
               it down on remote, somehow.

               How?  The transmitter was on the 
               APC.  It's wasted.

               I don't care how!  Think of a way.  
               Think of something.

               Think of what?  We're fucked.

               What about the colony transmitter?  
               That up-link tower down at the other 
               end.  Why can't we use that?

               I checked.  The hard wiring between 
               here and there was severed in the 

     Ripley is wound up like a dynamo, her mind spinning out 
     options, grim solutions.

               Well then somebody's just going to 
               have to go out there.  Take a portable 
               terminal and go out there and plug 
               in manually.

               Oh, right!  Right!  With those things 
               running around.  No way.

               I'll go.



     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 87

               I'm really the only one qualified to 
               remote-pilot the ship anyway.  Believe 
               me, I'd prefer not to.  I may be 
               synthetic but I'm not stupid.

               All right.  Let's get on it.  What'll 
               you need?

               Listen.  It's stopped.

     They listen.  Nothing.  An instant later comes the HIGH-
     PITCHED TRILLING of a motion-sensor alarm.  Hicks looks at 
     the tactical board.

               Well, they're into the complex.

128   INT. MED LAB                                                128   

     One of the acid holes from the colonists' siege has yielded 
     access to subfloor conduits.  Bishop lying in the opening, 
     reaches up to graph the portable terminal as Ripley hands it 
     down to him.  He pushes it into the constricted shaft ahead 
     of him.  She then hands him a small satchel containing tools 
     and assorted patch cables, a service pistol and a small 
     cutting torch.

               This duct runs almost to the up-link 
               assembly.  One hundred eighty meters.  
               Say, forty minutes to crawl down 
               there.  One hour to patch in and 
               align the antenna.  Thirty minutes 
               to prep the ship, then about fifty 
               minutes flight time.

     Ripley looks at her watch.

               It's going to be closer.  You better 
               get going.

               See you soon.

     He squirms into the shaft, pushing the equipment along ahead 
     of him with a scraping rhythm.  The diameter of the conduit 
     is barely larger than the width of his shoulders.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 88

     Vasquez slides a metal plate over the hole and begins spot 
     welding it in place.

129   INT. CONDUIT                                                129   

     Bishop looks back as the welder seals him in.  He sighs 
     fatalistically and squirms forward.  Ahead of him the conduit 
     dwindles straight to seeming infinity.  Like being in the 
     bore of a very long Howitzer.

130   INT. MED LAB                                                130   

     Ripley jumps as an ALARM suddenly blares through the complex.

                    (voice over)
               They're in the approach corridor.

                    (into mike)
               On my way.

     Ripley jumps up, unslinging a FLAMETHROWER from her shoulder 
     in one motion, and sprints for Operations with Vasquez.  The 
     sound of SENTRY GUNS opening up in staccato bursts echoes 
     from close by.

131   INT. OPERATIONS                                             131   

     Ripley runs to the tactical console where Hicks is mesmerized 
     by the images from the surveillance cameras.

     The flashes of the sentry guns flare out the sensitive video, 
     but impressions of figures moving in the smoky corridor are 
     occasionally visible.  The robot sentries hammer away, driving 
     streamers of tracer fire into the swirling mist.

               Twenty meters and closing.

     Fifteen.  C and D guns down about fifty percent.

     The digital readout whirl through descending numbers.

     An inhuman SHRILL SCREECHING is audible between bursts of 

               Now many?

               Can't tell.  Lots.  D gun's down to 
               twenty.  Ten.  It's out.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 89

     Then the firing from the remaining guns stop abruptly.

     The video image is a swirling wall of smoke.  Small fires 
     burn, dim glows in the mist.  There are black and twisted 
     shapes, and pieces of twisted shapes, scattered at the edge 
     of visibility.  However, nothing emerges from the wall of 
     smoke.  The motion sensor TONE shuts off.

               They retreated.  The guns stopped 

     The moment stretches.  Everyone exhales slowly.

               Yeah.  But look...

     The digital counters for the two sentry guns read "0" and 
     "10" respectively.  Less than a second's worth of firing.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Next time they can walk right up and 

               But they don't know that.  They're 
               probably looking for other ways to 
               get in.  That'll take them awhile.

               Maybe we got 'em demoralized.

                    (to Vasquez and Hudson)
               I want you two walking the perimeter.  
               I know we're all in strung out shape 
               but stay frosty and alert.  We've 
               got to stop any entries before they 
               get out of hand.

     The two troopers nod and head for the corridor.  Ripley sighs 
     and picks up a cup of cold coffee, draining it in one gulp.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               How long since you slept?  Twenty-
               four hours?

     Ripley shrugs.  She seems soul weary, drained by the nerve-
     wracking tension.  When she answers, her voice seems distant, 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 90

               They'll get us.

               Maybe.  Maybe not.

               Hicks, I'm not going to wind up like 
               those others.  You'll take care of 
               it won't you, it if comes to that?

               If it comes to that, I'll do us both.  
               Let's see that it doesn't Here, I'd 
               like to introduce you to a close 
               personal friend of mine.

     He picks up his pulse-rifle and with the casually precise 
     movements of long practice he snaps open the bolt, drops out 
     the magazine and hands it to her.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               M-41A 10mm pulse-rifle, over and 
               under with a 30mm pump-action grenade 

     Ripley hefts the weapon.  It is heavy and awkward.  But there 
     is an irrational promise of security in its lethal cold steel 
     lines, to at least the sense that she will be in some greater 
     measure the master of her own fate.

     She raises it clumsily.

               What do I do?

132   INT. CONDUIT                                                132   

     Bishop is in claustrophobic limbo between two echoing 
     infinities.  The pipe rings with his scraping advance.

     He approaches an irregular hole which admits a tiny shaft of 
     light.  He puts his eyes up to the acid-etched opening.

     HIS P.O.V.  as drooling jaws flash toward us, SLAMMING against 
     the steel with a vicious scraping SNAP.

     Bishop flattens himself away from the opening and inches 
     along, looking pale and strained.  He glances at his watch.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 91

133   INT. OPERATIONS                                             133   

     Ripley has the stock of the M-41A snugged up to her cheek 
     and is awkwardly trying to keep up with Hicks' instructions.  
     The Corporal is standing close behind her, positioning her 
     arms.  It's intimate but that's the last thing on their minds.

               Just pull it in real tight.  It will 
               kick some.  When the counter here 
               heads zero, hit this...

     He thumbs a button and the magazine drops out, clattering on 
     the floor.

                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               Just let it drop right out.  Get the 
               other one in quick.  Just slap it in 
               hard, it likes abuse.  Now, pull the 


                           HICKS (CONT'D)
               You're ready again.

     Ripley repeats the action, not very smoothly.  Her hands are 
     trembling.  She indicates a stout TUBE underneath the slender 
     pulse-rifle barrel.

               What's this?

               Well, that's the grenade launcher 
      probably don't want to mess 
               with that.

               Look, you started this.  Now show me 
               everything.  I can handle myself.

               Yeah.  I've noticed.

134   INT. CORRIDOR                                               134   

     DOLLYING WITH Ripley walking down the corridor, now carrying 
     the newfound friend, the M-41A.  Gorman steps out of the 
     door to the med lab, looking weak but sound.

     Burke is right behind him.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 92

               How do you feel?

               All right, I guess.  One hell of a 
               hangover.  Look, Ripley... I...

               Forget it.

     She shoulders by him into the med lab.  Gorman turns to see 
     Vasquez staring at him with cold, slitted eyes.

               You still want to kill me?

                    (turning away)
               It won't be necessary.

135   INT. MED LAB - ANNEX                                        135   

     Ripley crosses the deserted lab, passing through the annex 
     to the small O.R. where she left Newt.

136   INT. MED LAB - O.R.                                         136   

     Entering the darkened chamber, Ripley looks around.

     Newt is nowhere to be seen.  On a hunch she kneels down and 
     peers under the bed.  Newt is curled up there, jammed as far 
     back as she can get, fast asleep.  Still clutching "Casey."

     Ripley stares at Newt's tiny face, so angelic despite the 
     demons that have chased her through her dreams and the reality 
     between dreams.  Ripley lays the rifle on top of the cot and 
     crawls carefully underneath.  Without waking the little girl, 
     she slips her arms around her.

     Ripley becomes merely the larger of two children huddling 
     together in the darkness under their bed.

     Newt's face contorts with the externalization of some 
     tormented dreamscape.  She cries out, a vague inarticulate 
     plea.  Ripley rocks her gently.

               There, there.  Sssshh.  It's all 


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 93

137   EXT. UP-LINK TOWER - VIEW OF AP STATION                     137   

     A VIEW OF the processing station from the colony landing 
     platform.  A rising wind is clearing out the low fog and the 
     silhouette of the station grows sharper.  Several systems of 
     high pressure conduits at the base of the conical tower are 
     actually glowing dull red with heat in the darkness.  High 
     voltage discharges arc around the upper latticework, lighting 
     the blighted landscape with irregular glaring flashes.

     PAN ONTO BISHOP, F.G.  hunched against the wind at the base 
     of the telemetry tower.  He has a TEST-BAY PANEL open and 
     the portable terminal patched in.  His jacket is draped over 
     the keyboard and monitor unit to protect it from the elements 
     and he is typing frenetically.

                    (to himself)
               Now, if I did it right...

     He punches a key marked "ENABLE."

138   INT. SULACO CARGO LOCK - IN ORBIT                           138   

     The drop bay is empty and silent, with the remaining ship 
     brooding in the shadows.  A KLAXON sounds and rotating 
     clearance lights come on.  Hydraulics whine to life.  Drop-
     ship two moves out on its overhead track and is lowered into 
     the drop bay fro launch-prep.

     Service booms and fueling couplers move in automatically 
     around the hull.  A recorded announcement echoes across the 
     huge chamber.

                           FEMALE VOICE
               Attention.  Attention.  Automatic 
               fueling operations have begun.  Please 
               extinguish all smoking materials.

139   INT. OPERATING ROOM - TIGHT ON RIPLEY - MED LAB             139   

     as she awakens with a start.  She checks her watch...  an 
     hour has passed.  She gently disengages herself from Newt 
     and is about to crawl out from beneath the cot when she sees 
     something and FREEZES.

     Across the room, just inside the door to the med lab, are 
     two innocuous but nonetheless chilling objects.

     TWO STASIS CYLINDERS.  Their tops are hinged open, and the 
     suspension fields are switched off.  They are both EMPTY.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 94

     Ripley feels a slow upwelling wave of terror rise through 
     her in that silent frozen moment...the inescapable certainty 
     of a lethal presence.  Unable to move or breathe, she looks 
     around frantically, assessing the situation.

               Newt.  Newt, wake up.

               Wah...?  Where are...?

               Sssh.  Don't move.  We're in trouble.

     Newt nods, now wide awake.  They listen in the darkness for 
     the slightest betrayal of movement.  The scrabble of multiple 
     legs across the polished floor, for example.

     There is only the droning HUM of the little space heater.

     Ripley reaches up and, clutching the springs of the underside 
     of the cot, begins to inch it away from the wall.

     The SQUEAL OF METAL as the legs scrape across the floor is 
     jarringly loud in the stillness.

     When the space is wide enough she cautiously slides herself 
     up between the wall and the edge of the cot, reaching for 
     the rifle she left lying on top of the mattress.  Here yes 
     clear the edge of the bed.  The rifle is GONE.

     She snaps her head around.  A SCUTTLING SHAPE LEAPS TOWARD 
     HER from the foot of the bed!  She ducks with a startled 
     cry.  The obscene thing hits the wall above her, legs moving 
     lightning fast.  Reflexively she slams the bed against the 
     wall, pinning the creature inches above her face.  Its legs 
     and tail writhe with incredible ferocity and it emits a 
     demented, piercing SQUEAL.

     Ripley heaves Newt across the polished floor and in a frenzied 
     scramble rolls from beneath the cot.  She flips it over, 
     trapping the creature underneath.

     They back away, gasping.  Ripley's eyes flash around the 
     shadowed room where every corner of space between equipment 
     holds lethal promise.  The creature scuttles from beneath 
     the bed and disappears under a back of cabinets in a blur.  
     Ripley hugs Newt close and heads toward the door, moving as 
     if every object in the room had a million volts running 
     through it.  She reaches the door.  Hits the wall switch.  
     Nothing happens.  Disabled from outside.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 95

     She tries the lights.

     Nothing.  She pounds on the door.  The acoustically dampened 
     door panel thunks dully.  She moves to the observation window, 
     glancing frantically over her shoulder.  The bare floor behind 
     her is like a screaming threat.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)

     She pounds on the window.  Through the double thickness window 
     we can SEE that the lab is dark and empty.  Ripley whirls, 
     hearing a loathsome scrabbling behind her.  Newt starts to 
     whimper, feeding off her fear.  She steps in front of the 
     video surveillance camera and waves her arms in a circle.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Hicks!  Hicks!

140   INT. OPERATIONS - TIGHT ON VIDEO MONITOR                    140   

     showing Ripley waving her arms.  There is no sound, a surreal 

     A hand ENTERS FRAME and switches off the monitor.

     Ripley's image vanishes.

     WIDER ANGLE  as Burke straightens casually from the console.  
     Hicks is talking via headset with Bishop and hasn't noticed 
     Ripley's plight or Burke's action.

                    (into mike)
               Roger.  Check back when you've 
               activated the ship.
               He's at the up-link tower.


141   INT. OPERATING ROOM                                         141   

     Ripley picks up a steel chair and slams it against the 
     observation window.  It bounces back from the high-impact 
     material.  She tries again.

     REVERSE ANGLE  from the med lab side, showing her futile 
     efforts, the chair hitting with a dull THWACK barely audible 
     through the double thickness pressure port.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 96

     Ripley turns, studying the room.  She fumbles through a 
     clutter of equipment on a counter next to her and finds a 
     SMALL EXAMINATION LIGHT.  Snapping it on she plays the beam 
     over the walls.  Tall assemblies of surgical and 
     anaethesiology equipment loom in the dark.  She hears, or 
     thinks she hears, movements.  The light spins across the 
     room, swiveling and bobbing frantically.  Like an indicator 
     of her growing panic.

     Newt starts a thin, high wailing.


     Ripley steadies herself, realizing Newt's terror and the 
     child's dependence on her.  She plays the beam across the 
     ceiling.  Holds on something.  Gets an idea.

     She removes her lighter from a jacket pocket and picks up 
     some papers from the counter.  Moving cautiously she boosts 
     Newt up onto the SURGICAL TABLE in the center of the room 
     and clambers up after her.

                           NEWT (CONT'D)
               Mommy...I mean, Ripley...I'm scared.

               I know, honey.  Me too.

     Ripley lights the papers and holds the flaming mass under 
     the temperature sensor of a fire control system SPRINKLER 
     HEAD.  It triggers, spraying the room from several sources 
     with water.  An ALARM sounds throughout the complex.

142   INT. OPERATIONS                                             142   

     Hicks jumps at the sound of the alarm, finally identifying 
     its source among the lights flashing on his board.  He bolts 
     for the door, yelling into his headset as he moves.

               Vasquez, Hudson, meet me in medical!  
               We got a fire!

143   INT. OPERATING ROOM                                         143   

     Ripley and Newt are drenched as the sprinklers continue to 
     drizzle in the darkness.  The SIREN hoots maniacally, masking 
     all other sound.  Ripley scans the room with her light, her 
     hair plastered to her face, wiping water out of her eyes.  
     She is eye level with a complex surgical MULTILIGHT.  She 
     looks into its tangle of arms and cables, inches away.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 97

     Looks away.  Her eyes snap back.  SOMETHING LEAPS AT HER 
     FACE.  She SCREAMS and topples off the table, splashing to 
     the floor.  Newt shrieks and scrambles away as Ripley hurls 
     the CHITTERING creature off of her.  It slams against a wall 
     of cabinets, clings for a moment, then leaps back as if driven 
     by a steel spring.  Ripley scrambles desperately, pulling 
     equipment over on top of herself, clawing across the floor 
     in a frenzy of motion.  In a blurr of multijointed legs the 
     creature scuttles up her body.

     She tears at it, but it is incredibly powerful for its size.  
     It moves like lightning toward her head, avoiding her fumbling 
     hands.  Newt screams abjectly, backing away, until she is 
     pressed up against a desk in one corner.

     Ripley has both hands up, forcing the pulsing body back from 
     her face.  The thing's tail whips around her throat and begins 
     to tighten, forcing the underside of its body close to her.  
     Ripley thrashes about, knocking over equipment, sending 
     instruments CLATTERING.

     Water streams over her, into her eyes, blinding her and making 
     it impossible to get a grip on the creature's body.

     ANGLE ON NEWT  as crablike legs appear from behind the desk, 
     right behind her.  She sees it and, thinking fast, jams the 
     desk against the wall, pinning the writhing thing.  The desk 
     jumps and shudders against all the pressure her tiny body 
     can bring to bear on it.

     She wails between gritted teeth as the second creature gets 
     one leg free, then another and another.  Squeezing itself 
     inexorably onto the desk top...toward her.

     The legs of the chittering thing claw at Ripley's head, 
     getting a surer grip even as she whips her head from side to 
     side.  The obscene TUBULE extrudes wetly from the sheath on 
     the creature's underside, forcing itself between the arms 
     she has crossed tightly over her face.

     A figure appears at the observation window, a silhouette 
     behind the misted-over glass.  A hand wipes a clear spot.

     Hick's eyes appear.  He steps back.  WHAM!  A burst of pulse-
     rifle fire shatters the tempered glass.  Hicks dives into 
     the crazed spider web pattern and explodes into the room in 
     a shower of fragments.  He hits rolling, his armor grinding 
     through the shards, and slides across to Ripley.  He gets 
     his fingers around the thrashing legs of the vicious beast 
     and pulls.  Between the two of them they force is away from 
     her face, though Ripley is losing strength as the tail 
     tightens sickeningly around her throat.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 98

     Hudson leaps into the room, flings Newt away from the desk 
     to go skidding across the wet floor, and blasts the second 
     creature against the wall.  Point-blank.  Acid and smoke.

     Gorman appears at Ripley's side and grabs the tail, unwinding 
     its writhing length like a boa constrictor coil from her 
     throat.  All of them grip the struggling, SHRIEKING creature.

               The corner!  Ready?

               Do it!

     Hicks hurls the thing into the corner.  It scrabbles upright 
     in an instant and leaps back toward them.

     WHAM!  Hudson gets it clean.

     Ripley collapses, gagging.  The alarm and sprinklers shut 
     off automatically.  Hicks sees the stasis cylinders.

      was Burke.

144   INT. OPERATIONS - ANGLE ON HUDSON                           144   

     looking decidedly stressed-out.  He grips his rifle tightly, 

               I say we grease this rat-fuck son of 
               a bitch right now!

     THE GROUP is gathered around Burke who sits in a chair, 
     maintaining an icy calm although beads of sweat betray intense 
     concealed tension.  Only a few minutes have passes and 
     everyone is still buzzed on adrenaline, as if the whole group 
     is charged with high voltage.

               I don't get it.  It doesn't make any 
               Goddamn sense.

     Ripley stands in front of Burke, every fiber of her being 
     accusing him with absolute outrage.  Burke tries to break 
     Ripley's stare, which is like a diamond drill.  He can't.


     Aliens-EDITED                                          p. 99

               He wanted an alien, only he couldn't 
               get it back through quarantine.  But 
               if we were impregnated ...whatever 
               you call it...and then frozen for 
               the trip back at just the right 
               time...then nobody would know about 
               the embryos we were carrying.  Me 
               and Newt.

     Ripley glances at the little girl, a frail figure sitting 
     nearby, hugging her knees and watching the proceedings with 
     somber eyes.  She is all but lost in an adult jacket someone 
     has found for her, and her still damp hair is plastered to 
     her forehead and cheeks.

               Wait a minute.  We'd know about it.

               The only way it would work is if he 
               sabotaged certain freezers on the 
               trip back.  Then he could jettison 
               the bodies and make up any story he 

               Fuuuck!  He's dead.
                    (to Burke)
               You're dogmeat, pal.

               This is total paranoid delusion.  
               It's pitiful.

               You know, Burke, I don't know which 
               species is worse.  You don't see 
               them screwing each other over for a 
               fucking percentage.

               Let's waste him.
                    (to Burke)
               No offense.

     Ripley shakes her head, the rage giving way to a sickened 


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 100

               Just find someplace to lock him up 
               until it's time to --

     THE LIGHTS GO OUT.  Everyone stops in the sudden darkness, 
     realizing instinctively it is a new escalation in the 
     struggle.  Hicks looks at the board.  Everything is out.

     Doors.  Video screens.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               They cut the power.

               What do you mean, they cut the power?  
               How could they cut the power, man?  
               They're animals.

     Ripley picks up her rifle and thumbs off the safety.

               Newt!  Stay close.
                    (to the others)
               Let's get some trackers going.  Come 
               on, get moving.  Gorman, watch Burke.

     Hudson and Vasquez pick up their scanners and move to the 
     door.  Vasquez has to slide it open manually on its track.

145   INT. CORRIDOR                                               145   

     The two troopers separate and move rapidly to the barriers 
     at opposite ends of the control block.

     DOLLYING WITH VASQUEZ as she moves forward with feral steps 
     in the darkness.

     ON HUDSON  scanning the med lab and the nearby barrier.

                    (voice over)

     BEEP.  Hudson's tracker lights up, a faint signal.

               There's something.

     He pans it around.  Back down the corridor.  It beep again, 

                           HUDSON (CONT'D)
               It's inside the complex.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 101

                    (voice over)
               You're just reading me.

               No.  No!  It ain't you.  They're 
               inside.  Inside the perimeter.  
               They're in here.

               Hudson, stay cool.  Vasquez?

     ANGLE ON VASQUEZ  swinging her tracker and rifle together.

     She aims it behind her.  BEEP.

               Hudson may be right.

146   INT. OPERATIONS                                             146   

     Ripley and Hicks share a look..."here we go."

               It's game time.

               Get back here, both of you.  Fall 
               back to Operations.

147   INT. CORRIDOR                                               147   

     Hudson backtracks nervously, peering all around.  He looks 
     stretched to the limit.

               This signal's weird...must be some 
               interference or something.  There's 
               movement all over the place...

                    (voice over)
               Just get back here!

     Hudson reaches the door to operations at a run, a moment 
     before Vasquez.  They pull the door shut and lock it.

148   INT. OPERATIONS                                             148   

     Hudson joins Ripley and Hicks, who are laying out their 
     armament.  Flamethrowers.  Grenades.  M-41A magazines.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 102

     Hudson's tracker beeps.  Then again.  The tone continues 
     through the SCENE, its rhythm increasing.

               Movement!  Signal's clean.

     He pans the scanner.  Stops.  The range display reads out, 
     counting down.

                           HUDSON (CONT'D)
               Range twenty meters.

                    (to Vasquez)
               Seal the door.

     Vasquez picks up a hand-welder and moves to comply.

               Seventeen meters.

               Let's get these things lit.

     He hands one flamethrower to Ripley and begins priming the 
     other himself.  It lights with a muffled POP.

     Ripley's lights a moment later.  Sparks shower around Vasquez 
     as she begins welding the door.  Hudson's tracker is beeping 
     like mad now, as fast as their hearts.

               They learned.  They cut the power 
               and avoided the guns.  They must 
               have found another way in, something 
               we missed.

               We didn't miss anything.

               Fifteen meters.

               I don't know, an acid hole in a duct.  
               Something under the floors, not on 
               the plans.  I don't know!

     She picks up Vasquez' scanner and aims it the same direction 
     as Hudson's.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 103

               Twelve meters.  Man, this is a big 
               fucking signal.  Ten meters.

               They're right on us.  Vasquez, how 
               you doing?

     Vasquez is heedlessly showering herself with molten metal as 
     she welds the door shut.  Working like a demon.

               Nine meters.  Eight.

               Can't be.  That's inside the room!

               It's readin' right.  Look!

     Ripley fiddles with her tracker, adjusting the tuning.

               Well you're not reading it right!

               Six meters.  Five.  What the fu --

     He looks at Ripley.  It dawns on both of them at the same 
     time.  She feels a cold premonitory dread as she angles her 
     tracker upward to the ceiling, almost overhead.  The tone 
     gets louder.

     Hicks climbs onto a file cabinet and raises a panel of 
     acoustic drop-ceiling.  He shines his light inside.

     HICKS' P.O.V.

     A soul-wrenching nightmare image.  Moving in the beam of 
     light are aliens.  Lots of aliens.  They are crawling like 
     bats, upside down, clinging to the pipes and beams of the 
     structural ceiling, not touching the flimsy acoustic panels.  
     They glisten hideously as they claw their way forward in 
     silence.  They cover the ceiling of the operations room.  
     The inner sanctum is utterly violated.

     ON HICKS                                                152

     blasted by fear.

     Something moves...he snaps the light around.  It's a meter 
     behind him.  IT LUNGES!  He drops reflexively, the claws 
     raking across his armor.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 104

     Hicks falls into the room just as the creatures detach en 
     masse from the handholds.  THE CEILING EXPLODES, raining 
     debris.  Nightmare shapes drop into the room.

     Newt screams.  Hudson opens fire.  Vasquez grabs Hicks, pulls 
     him up, firing one handed with her flamethrower.

     Ripley scoops up Newt and staggers back.  Gorman turns to 
     fire and Burke bolts for the only remaining exit, the corridor 
     connecting to the med lab.  In the strobelike glare of the 
     pulse-rifles we SEE flashes of aliens, moving forward in the 
     smoke from the flamethrower fires.  They move like nothing 
     human...  leaping quick as insects at times or gliding with 
     powerful, balletic grace.

               Medical!  Get to medical!

     She dashes for the corridor.

149   INT. MED LAB CORRIDOR                                       149   

     DOLLYING BEHIND HER as she sprints, the walls becoming a 
     frenzied blur.  Ahead of her Burke clears the door to the 
     med lab.  HE SLIDES IT CLOSED.  Ripley slams into the door.  
     Tries the latch.  Hears it LOCK from the far side.

               Burke!  Open the door!


     Behind her an alien is moving down the corridor like a 
     locomotive, a graceful skeleton shape as lethal and inhuman 
     as you can imagine.  Strobe flashes backlight the demented 
     silhouette.  Shaking, Ripley raises her rifle.  She squeezes 
     the trigger.  NOTHING HAPPENS.

     The creature HISSES, baring its teeth as it advances.

     Ripley checks the SAFETY.  The safety is off.  The DIGITAL 
     COUNTER.  The magazine is full.  Newt begins to wail.  
     Ripley's hands, slick with sweat, are trembling so much she 
     almost drops the rifle.  Panic screams in her brain.  The 
     thing is almost on her, filling the corridor, when she 
     remembers.  She snaps the bolt back, chambering a round.  
     Whips the stock to her shoulder.

     as the silhouette is hurled back, screeching insanely.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 105

     Ripley is slammed against the door by the recoil, blinded by 
     the flash and deafened by the concussion.

150   INT. OPERATIONS                                             150   

     Hicks looks up.  Fires POINT-BLANK at a leaping silhouette.  
     SCREEEECH!  The fire-control system has tripped, with 
     sprinklers spraying the room and a mindless SIREN wailing.  
     Total pandemonium.

               Let's go!  Let's go!

               Fuckin' A!

     Hudson screams as floor panels lift under him, and clawed 
     arms seize him lightning fast, dragging him down.

     Another skeletal shape leaps on him from above.  He disappears 
     into the subfloor crawlway.  Hicks, Vasquez and Gorman make 
     it to the med lab access corridor.

151   INT. CORRIDOR                                               151   

     Stunned, Ripley sees through dissipating smoke the creature 
     rising to advance again.  Flinching against blast and glare 
     she drills it POINT-BLANK with a BLINDING BURST that carries 
     the M-41A's muzzle right up toward the ceiling.  Newt covers 
     her ears against the CONCUSSION.

               Hold your fire!

     The troopers seem to materialize out of the smoke.

                    (indicating door)

               Stand back.

     Hicks snaps the torch off his belt and cuts into the lock.  
     Inhuman shapes enter the far end of the corridor.

     Vasquez hands her flamethrower to Gorman and unslings her 
     rifle.  She starts loading 30mm grenades into the launcher, 
     like oversize 12-guage shells.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 106

               You can't use those in here!

               Right.  Fire in the hole!

     She pumps a round up and fires.  The grenade EXPLODES and 
     the blast almost knocks them down.  Hicks kicks the door 
     open, molten droplets flying.

                    (shouting at Vasquez)
               Thanks a lot!  Now I can't hear shit.


152   INT. MED LAB ANNEX                                          152   

     Vasquez slides the door almost closed, then fires three 
     grenades rapid-fire through the gap.  She slams the door 
     home as the grenades detonate, the explosion sounding gonglike 
     through the metal.

     Ripley sprints across the room, trying the far door.

     Burke has locked it as well.  Hicks switches his hand-torch 
     from CUT to WELD and starts sealing the door they just passed 

153   INT. MED LAB                                                153   

     Burke, hyperventilating with terror, backs across the dark 
     chamber.  Gasping, almost paralyzed with fear, he crosses 
     the chamber to the door leading to the main concourse.  His 
     fingers reach for the latch.  It moves by itself.  The door 
     opens slowly.

     ON BURKE  his eyes wide, transfixed by his fate.  We hear 
     the BULLWHIP CRACK of a tail-stinger striking as we:

                                                          CUT TO:

154   INT. MED LAB ANNEX                                          154   

     The door dimples with a clanging impact, separating slightly 
     from its frame.  Another crash, the squeal of tortured steel.  
     Newt grabs Ripley by the hand and tugs her across the room.

               Come on!  This way.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 107

     She leads Ripley to an air vent set low in the wall and 
     expertly unlatches the grille, swinging it open.  Newt starts 
     inside but Ripley pulls her back.

               Stay behind me.

     Ripley trades her rifle for Gorman's flamethrower before he 
     can protest and enters the air shaft, which is a tight fit.  
     Newt scrambles in behind, followed by Hicks, Gorman and 
     Vasquez on rearguard.  Glancing back fearfully Newt pushes 
     on Ripley's butt as they crawl rapidly through the shaft.

               Come on.  Crawl faster.

               DO you know how to get to the landing 
               field from here?

               Sure.  Go left.

     Ripley turns into a larger MAIN DUCT where there is enough 
     room to crab-walk in a low crouch.  She runs, scraping her 
     back on the ceiling.  The troopers' armor clatters in the 
     confined space.  They approach an intersection.  She fires 
     the flamethrower around the corner, the looks.  Clear.

                           NEWT (CONT'D)
               Go right.

     They sprint into the narrow connecting duct, the maze becoming 
     a blur.  Ripley fires the flamethrower periodically, as they 
     pass side ducts covered by louvered grilles or vertical shafts 
     going to higher or lower levels.

                    (into headset)
               Bishop, you read me?  Come in, over.

     There is a long pause then Bishop's VOICE, almost 
     unintelligible with interference, comes over the radio.

                    (voice over; static)
               Yes, I read you.  Not very well...

155   EXT. UP-LINK RELAY - LANDING FIELD                          155   

     Bishop is huddled against the base of the telemetry mast, 
     out of the wind which is now gusting viciously.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 108

                    (yelling; over 
               The ship is on its way.  ETA about 
               sixteen minutes.  I've got my hands 
               full flying...  the weather's come 
               up a bit.

     Bishop's fingers are blurring over the terminal keys and he 
     squints, watching the screen as the flight telemetry updates 

     In the b.g. the AP station has become a raging demon, wreathed 
     in boiling steam and electrical discharges.

156   INT. AIR DUCT                                               156   

               All right, stand by there.  We're on 
               our way.  Over.

     The beam of Ripley's light wavers hypnotically in the tunnel 
     ahead.  She blinks, seeing something...not sure.

     at the absolute limit of the light's power.

               Back.  Go back!

     They try to crawl back, jamming together.  Behind them, the 
     way they have come, a GRATING is battered in with a FEROCIOUS 
     CLANG and the deadly silhouette of a warrior flows into the 
     duct.  They are trapped.  Vasquez uses her flamethrower, 
     bathing the tunnel in fire.  Hicks snaps out his hand-welder 
     and cuts into the wall of the duct.  Molten metal spatters 
     him, as sparks fill the tunnel with lurid light.  Vasquez' 
     flamethrower sputters.

               Losing fuel.

     Between eye-searing bursts of flame Ripley sees the glistening 
     apparitions closing in.  Hicks' torch feathers out.  Empty.  
     Bracing his back he kicks hard at the cherry-hot metal.  It 
     bends aside.

     Beyond is a narrow SERVICE WAY, lined with pipes and conduit.  
     Hicks slides through the searing hole, lifting Newt safely 
     through as Ripley hands her out.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 109

     Ripley follows and turns to help Gorman.  Vasquez' 
     flamethrower goes dry.  She draws her SERVICE PISTOL.

     Suddenly she looks up as a WARRIOR SCREECHES DOWN FROM A 
     VERTICAL SHAFT, right above her.

     She fires with incredible rapidity...BAM!  BAM!  BAM!

     Rolls aside.  It lands on her legs and she snaps her head to 
     one side just as its TAIL STINGER buries into the metal wall 
     beside her cheek.  She fires again, emptying the pistol, 
     kicking the thrashing shape away.

     Acid cuts through her chickenplate armor, searing into her 
     thigh.  She cries out, gritting her teeth against the white-
     hot pain.  Gorman sees Vasquez hit, unable to move.  Sees 
     the creatures coming the other way...and turns away from the 
     escape hole.  He crawls back to her, grabs her battle harness 
     and starts dragging her towards safety.  Too late.  The 
     approaching alien warriors have reached and passed the 
     opening.  Vasquez sees him, barely conscious.

                           VASQUEZ (CONT'D)
                    (hoarse whisper)
               You always were an asshole, Gorman.

     She seizes his hand in a deadly drip, but we RECOGNIZE it as 
     the "power greeting" she shared with Drake...  something for 
     the chosen few.  Gorman returns the grip.

     He hands her two grenades and arms two himself as the 
     creatures are upon them.

157   INT. SERVICE WAY                                            157   

     RUSHING WITH Ripley, Newt and Hicks as a full tilt run.

     The service way lights up with a POWERFUL BLAST behind them 
     and they stumble with the shock wave.  Newt breaks out ahead 
     and it's all Ripley and Hicks can do to keep up.

               This way.  Come on, we're almost 

               Newt, wait!

     The kid moves like lightning, diving and dodging around 
     obstacles.  If it wasn't clear before it's clear now that we 
     are on her turf, and she's the ace.  Running on and on, their 
     breathing loud and echoing...the walls a directionless blur.  
     Newt never hesitates.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 110

     They reach a junction with a narrow ANGLED CHUTE which runs 
     upward at a steep 45 degrees.

               Here!  Go up.

158   INT. CHUTE                                                  158   

     Ripley looks up the angles shaft, seeing light at the 
     exterior vent hood.  The sound of wind booms down from above.  
     Like blowing across a bottle top vastly amplified.

     Ripley enters, bracing her feet on perilously narrow side 
     ribs in the shaft.  She looks down.  The chute descends far 
     into the depths, lost in shadow.  She starts to climb with 
     Next behind/below her, and Hicks, just emerging from the 
     side duct.

               Just up there --

     Newt slips, a rusted rib collapsing under her foot.  She 
     slides...catches herself with one hand.  Ripley reaches for 
     her, dropping her light.  The hand-light goes skittering and 
     bumping down the chute, around a bend, and disappears.

     Ripley strains, reaching, her hand groping for Newt's.

     They miss, inches apart.

                           NEWT (CONT'D)
               Riiiiipppleee --

     She slips.  Hicks lunges, grabbing her oversized jacket.

     AND SHE SLIPS OUT OF IT.  With an echoing scream Newt 
     plummets, sliding down the chute into darkness.

     MOVING WITH HER, the walls racing by in a dizzy blur like a 
     bobsled ride.  THe shaft pitches left.  Newt bounces, sliding 
     halfway up the wall.  The chute forks ahead.

     Newt tumbles into the right shaft, which drops at a steeper 
     angle into the depths.  Just disappearing down the LEFT SHAFT 
     we SEE Ripley's light.

     Ripley looks Hicks in the eye.  And kicks free...sliding 
     down the chute after Newt.  Ripley slams her feet into the 
     side-ribs, bracing herself in a controlled descent.

     Ripley reaches the "V."  Sees the glow of the light in the 
     left fork.  She goes left.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 111


     She hears a plaintive reply, so echoey and distorted it has 
     no direction.

               Mommy...where are you?

     Ripley reaches the bottom of the chute where it intersects 
     with a HORIZONTAL SERVICE TUNNEL.  The light is lying there, 
     but no Newt.  The echoing wail comes again.

                           NEWT (CONT'D)

     Ripley starts down the tunnel, answering.  Newt's call comes 
     again.  Fainter?  She can't tell.  She spins in a growing 
     panic, starts the other way.

                    (to her headset)
               Hicks, get down here.  I need that 

159   INT. SUBBASEMENT                                            159   

     Newt is in a low grottolike chamber, filled with pipes and 
     machines.  It is flooded, almost up to Newt's waist.

     She looks up, seeing light streaming through a grating.

     Ripley's voice seems to come from there.

               Newt!  Stay wherever you are!

     Newt climbs some pipes, straining to reach the grating.

160   INT. SERVICE TUNNEL                                         160   

     Hicks joins Ripley, unsnapping the emergency-locator from 
     his belt.  They follow the signal into a lighted area where 
     the power apparently was not cut.

               This way.  We're close...

     Following the signal they come to a grating set in the floor.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 112

               Here!  I'm here.  I'm here.

     Ripley runs to the grating.  Looking down she sees Newt's 
     tearstreaked face.  Newt reaches up.  Her tiny fingers wriggle 
     up through the bars of the grate.  Ripley squeezes the child's 
     precious fingertips.

               Climb down, honey.  We have to cut 
               through this grate.

     Newt backs away, climbing down the pipe as Hicks cuts into 
     the bars with his hand-torch.

161   INT. SUBBASEMENT                                            161   

     Newt, standing waist deep in the water, watches sparks shower 
     blindingly as Hicks cuts.  She bites her lip, trembling.  
     Cold and terrified.  Silently a glistening shape rises in 
     one graceful motion from the water behind her.  It stands, 
     dripping, dwarfing her tiny form.  Newt turns, sensing the 
     movement...She SCREAMS as the shadow engulfs her.

162   INT. SERVICE TUNNEL                                         162   

     Ripley panics, hearing screaming below, then splashing.

     She and Hicks kick desperately at the grating, smashing it 
     down.  Heedless of the cherry-hot edges Ripley lunges into 
     the hole with her light.

               Newt!  Newt!

     The surface of the water reflects the beam placidly.

     Newt is gone.  Bobbing in the water, eyes staring, is "Casey" 
     the doll head.  In sinks slowly, distorting, vanishing in 

     Hicks pulls Ripley away from the hole.  She struggles 
     furiously, trying to tear out of his grip.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               No!  Noooo!

     He drags her back.  It takes all of his strength.

               She's gone!  Let's go!


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 113

     He sees something moving toward them through a lattice of 
     pipes.  Ripley is irrational.  Hysterical.

               No!  No!  She's alive!  We have to --

               All right!  She's alive.  I believe 
               it.  But we gotta get moving!  Now!

     He drags her toward an ELEVATOR not far away at the end of 
     the tunnel.  Gets her inside, slamming her against the back 
     wall.  Hits the button to go to surface level.

     An alien warrior leaps into the tunnel, starts toward them.  
     The doors are closing.  Not fast enough.

     The creature gets one arm through, the doors closing on it.  
     THEY OPEN AGAIN, an automatic safety feature.  THE WARRIOR 
     HISSES, LUNGING.  Hicks FIRES, POINT-BLANK.  It spins away, 
     SCREECHING.  Acid sluices between the closing doors, across 
     Hicks' armored chest plate, as he shields Ripley with his 
     body.  The lift starts upward.  Hicks' fingers race with the 
     clasps as the stuff eats its way toward his skin.  Galvanized 
     out of her hysteria, Ripley claws at his armor, helping him 
     as much as she can.  He screams as the acid contacts his 
     chest and arm.  He shucks out of the combat armor like a 
     madman, dropping the smoking pieces to the floor.  Acrid 
     fumes fill the air, searing eyes and lungs.  The elevator 
     stops.  The doors part and they stumble out, Ripley supporting 
     Hicks who is doubled over in agony.

               Come on, you can make it.  Almost 

163   EXT. LANDING FIELD                                          163   

     Drop-ship two descends toward the landing grid, side-slipping 
     in hurricane gusts.  Bishop stands, guiding it with the 
     portable terminal.  The ship sets down hard.

     Slides sideways.  Stops.  Bishop turns as Ripley and Hicks 
     stumble out of a doorway in the colony building behind him.  
     He goes to them, helping to support Hicks and they run toward 
     the ship, buffeted by the gale.

     Ripley shouts, her words barely audible over the wind.

               HOW MUCH TIME?


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 114


               WE'RE NOT LEAVING!

     The loading ramp deploys and they run into the ship.

164   EXT. PROCESSING STATION                                     164   

     An infernal engine, roaring out of control.  Steam blasts 
     and swirls, lightning zaps around the superstructure and 
     columns of incandescent gas thunder hundreds of feet into 
     the air.

     We APPROACH, hypnotically.  The drop-ship ENTERS FRAME, moving 
     toward the station.  It pivots, hovering in the blasting 
     turbulence, and settles onto a NARROW LANDING PLATFORM ten 
     levels above the ground, or about a third of the way up the 
     enormous structure.

165   INT. DROP-SHIP                                              165   

     Ripley finishes winding tape around a bulky object and drops 
     the roll.  She has crudely fastened a M-41A assault rifle 
     together, side by side, with a flamethrower.

     A massive, unwieldy package of absolute firepower.  Her 
     movements are curt, precise...determined.  She works rapidly, 
     snatching magazines, grenades, belts and other gear from the 
     fully stocked ordnance racks of the drop-ship.

     Bishop comes aft from the pilot's compartment to help Hicks 
     dress his injuries.  Hicks is sprawled in a flight seat, the 
     contents of a FIELD MEDICAL KEY strewn around him.  He's out 
     of the game...contorted with pain.


               She's alive.  They brought her here 
               and you know it.

               In seventeen minutes this place will 
               be a cloud of vapor the size of 

     Ripley is stuffing gear rapidly into a satchel, her hands 


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 115

               Hicks, don't let him leave.

                    (grimacing with pain)
               We ain't going anywhere.

     She hefts the hybrid weapon, grabs the satchel and spins to 
     the door controls.  The door opens.  Wind and machine-thunder 
     blast in.

               See you, Hicks.

     Hicks is holding a wad of gauze plastered over his face.

               Dwayne.  It's Dwayne.

     Ripley grabs his hand.  They share a moment, albeit brief.  
     Mutual respect in the valley of death.


                    (nods with satisfaction)
               Don't be long, Ellen.

     Ripley runs down the ramp, crossing the platform to the open 
     doors of a LARGE FREIGHT ELEVATOR.  The doors close.

166   INT. FREIGHT ELEVATOR                                       166   

     The elevator descends.  Bars of light move rhythmically across 
     her as Ripley stands facing the doors, watching the landings 
     go by.  The heat grows more intense.  Pipes glowing cherry-
     red pass by.  Steam hisses and billows.

     The lift clatters in a steady beat.  Hypnotic.

     Ripley removes her jacket and dons a battle harness directly 
     over her T-shirt.  Her hair is matted, and she glistens with 
     sweat.  Her eyes burn with a determination that holds the 
     gut-panic in check.

     The elevator descends.  She checks her weapon.  Attaches a 
     BANDOLIER OF GRENADES to her harness.  Primes the 
     flamethrower.  Checks the rifle's magazine.  Racks the bolt, 
     chambering the first round.  She checks the MARKING FLARES 
     jammed in the thigh pockets of her jump pants.  She drops an 
     unprimed grenade, trembling, forcing herself to be strong.  
     We SEE she doesn't know doodley about grenades.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 116

     This is the most terrifying thing she has ever done.  She 
     begins to hyperventilate, soaking with sweat.  Her fingers 
     slick and slippery on the rifle.  The elevator descends.

     The lift motors whine, slowing.  It hits bottom with a bump.  
     The safety cage retracts.  Slowly, expectantly, the doors 

     HER P.O.V.  THROUGH the parting empty corridor.  
     Dark, swirling with steam, a ruddy glow VISIBLE here and 
     there.  It seems to have been a descent into Dantean Hell.  
     The air itself vibrates with heat distortion.  Couplings 
     groan.  Machinery whines and throbs.  Like the beating of a 
     vast heart the pounding of massive pumps echoes through the 

167   INT. CORRIDOR                                               167   

     Ripley moves out of the lift, knuckles white on the rifle.  
     Her eyes dart, straining to penetrate the lethal gloom.  
     Behind her we SEE a SECOND ELEVATOR next to hers, its lift 
     cage somewhere on a higher floor.  Ahead the corridor is 
     encrusted with the alien excressence and not far down the 
     bio-mechanoid catacomb begins.

     She enters the maze, darting glances at Hick's LOCATOR, taped 
     to the top of her kludge weapon.

     A VOICE echoes down the tunnels, calm and mechanical.

               Attention.  Emergency.  All personnel 
               must evacuate immediately.  You now 
               have fourteen minutes to reach minimum 
               safe distance.

168   INT. CATACOMB                                               168   

     Range and direction read out in rapid-fire alpha-numerics on 
     the locator display.

     Ripley blinks sweat out of her eyes, moving through the 
     swirling steam of the alien maze.  She approaches an 
     intersecting tunnel.  Flashing emergency lights illuminate 
     the insane fresco of the walls.  She spins, firing the 
     flamethrower.  Nothing there.  She whirls back.  Moves 
     forward, trembling and adrenalized.

     Skeletal figures drown in the walls, frozen in macabre 
     tormented positions like human insects in amber.

     Steam blasts, blinding her.  The locator signal strengthens 
     an she turns, crouches through a low passage, turns again.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 117

     At each intersection she quickly lights a FIFTEEN-MINUTE 
     MARKING FLARE and drops it.

     For the way back.  She has to turn sideways, inching through 
     a fissure between two walls of death...cocoon niches, human 
     bas-relief sealed in resin.


     She recovers , then recognizes the face sealed in the wall.  
     Carter Burke.

      me.  I can feel 
               it...inside.  Oh,'s moving!  
               Oh gooood...

     She looks at him.  No one deserves this.


     She hands him a grenade, wrapping his fingers around the 
     spoon, and pulls the primer.  She moves on.

               You now have eleven minutes to reach 
               minimum safe distance.

     Ripley moves ahead.  The locator signals shows she is almost 
     there.  A CONCUSSION rocks the place, like an earthquake, 
     jarring her almost off her feet.  Then another.  The whole 
     station seems to shudder.  A SIREN begins to wail a demented 
     rhythm.  Following the tracker she turns a corner and stops.  
     The RANGE INDICATOR READS ZERO.  She looks down, horrified 
     to see Newt's tracer bracelet lying on the floor of the 
     tunnel.  All hope recedes, disintegrating into mindless chaos.

169   INT. EGG CHAMBER                                            169   

     Newt is cocooned in a pillarlike structure at the edge of a 
     cluster of upright OVOID SHAPES...alien eggs.  Her eyelids 
     flutter open and she becomes aware of her surroundings.  The 
     egg nearest her begins to move...opening like an obscene 
     flower at its top to reveal something stirring within.  Newt 
     stares, transfixed by terror, as the jointed legs appear 
     over the lip of the ovoid one by one.  She SCREAMS.

170   INT. CATACOMBS                                              170   

     Ripley hears the scream and breaks into a run.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 118

171   INT. EGG CHAMBER                                            171   

     Newt watches the face-hugger emerge and turn toward her.  
     Ripley runs in just as it is tensing to leap, and FIRES, 
     blasting it with a burst from the assault rifle.  The flash 
     illuminates the figure of an adult warrior, nearby.  It spins, 
     moving straight for Ripley.  Firing from the hip she drills 
     it with two controlled bursts which catapult it back.  She 
     steps toward it, FIRING AGAIN.  Her expression is murderous.  
     AND AGAIN.  It spins onto its back.

     She unleashes the flamethrower and it vanishes in a fireball.  
     Ripley runs to Newt and begins tearing at the fresh resinous 
     cocoon material, freeing the child.  She swings her up onto 
     her back.

               I knew you'd come.

               Newt, I want you to hang on, now.  
               Hang on tight.

     Groggily Newt hooks her arms and legs through the belts of 
     Ripley's battle harness as Ripley picks up her weapon.  More 
     warriors are moving toward her among the eggs.  She fires 
     the flamethrower.  The eggs are engulfed.  One of the warriors 
     lunges forward, a living fireball.  She blasts it in half 
     with two bursts from the M-41A.  Ripley retreats, ducking 
     under a glistening cylindrical mass.  A PIERCING SHRIEK fill 
     the chamber.  She turns.  And there it is.

     A massive silhouette in the mist, the ALIEN QUEEN glowers 
     over her eggs like a great, glistening black insect-Buddha.  
     What's bigger and meaner than the Alien?  His momma.  Her 
     fanged head is an unimaginable horror.  Her six limbs, the 
     four arms and two powerful legs, are folded grotesquely over 
     her distended abdomen.  The egg-filled abdomen swells and 
     swells into a great pulsing tubular sac, suspended from a 
     lattice of pipes and conduits by a weblike membrane as if 
     some vast coil of intestine were draped carelessly among the 
     machinery.  Ripley realizes she ducked under part of it a 
     moment before.  Inside the abdominal sac can be SEEN the 
     forms of countless eggs, churning their way toward the 
     pulsating ovipositor where they emerge glistening, to be 
     picked up by DRONES.  The drones are tiny scuttling albino 
     versions of the "warrior" aliens we have already seen.

     Ripley pumps the slide on her grenade launcher.  She fires.  
     Pumps and fires again.  Four times.  The grenades punch deep 
     into the egg sac and EXPLODE, ripping it open from within.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 119

     Eggs and tons of gelatinous matter pour across the chamber 
     floor.  The Queen goes berserk, SCREECHING like some psychotic 
     steam whistle.

     Ripley lays about her with the flamethrower, igniting 
     everything in sight with an insane fury.  Eggs shrivel in 
     the inferno, and figures of warriors and drones vanish in 
     frenzied thrashing.  Over all is the Queen's shrieking as 
     she struggles in the flames.  Two warriors emerge from the 
     boiling smoke, closing on her.  She pulls the 
     empty click.  DIGITAL COUNTER flashing crimson zeroes.  She 
     drops the magazine, grabs another from her belt, rams it 
     home and OPENS UP.

     The creatures vanish in rapid-fire flashes.  Ripley backs 
     away, venting her terror in a sustained orgy of fire as she 
     blasts everything that moves in one long eye-searing 
     expenditure of energy.  Then she dashes into the catacombs, 
     navigating by sheer primal instinct.

172   INT. CATACOMBS                                              172   

     Ripley runs, blindly, with panting intensity verging on 
     hysteria.  Impressions crash upon her...the maze blurring 
     by, sirens howling, the station rocking with explosions, 
     emergency lights flashing, steam blasting, red-hot steel 
     hissing.  Reality itself is reduced to a concussive series 
     of strobelike instants of relentless forward motion.

     She sees one of the flares she dropped and turns.

     Sees another, sprinting toward it as the foundations of the 
     world shake.

173   INT. EGG CHAMBER                                            173   

     Lashing in a frenzy, the QUEEN DETACHES FROM THE EGG SAC, 
     ripping away and dragging torn cartilage and tissue behind 
     it.  SEEN DIMLY THROUGH swirling smoke, it rises on its 
     powerful legs and steps forward.

174   INT. CATACOMBS - CORRIDOR                               178-174   

     Ripley uses the flamethrower ahead of her, firing bursts of 
     pulse-rifle fire down side corridors at indistinct shapes 
     and shadows.  The weapon is empty when she reaches the freight 
     elevators.  A mass of debris, falling down the shaft from a 
     higher level, has demolished the life cage she descended in.  
     She slams the control for the other cage and hears the sound 
     of the LIFT MOTOR'S WHINE as it begins its slow descent from 
     several levels up.  AN ENRAGED SCREECH ECHOES in the corridor.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 120

     Ripley sees a silhouette moving in the smoke...a glistening 
     black shape which FILLS THE CORRIDOR TO THE CEILING...THE 
     QUEEN.  Her last cartridge is reading zeroes.  The 
     flamethrower sputters uselessly when she tries that.

     The grenades are gone.  Ripley drops the weapon and looks up 
     the shaft to the descending lift...then at the approaching 
     FIGURE.  The elevator won't be in time.

     She runs to a ladder set in the wall as a horrendous screech 
     beats in her ears.  She scrambles up the rungs.

175   INT. SECOND LEVEL                                           175   

     Ripley struggles up through a narrow hatch, Newt clinging to 
     her.  She dives aside as a POWERFUL BLACK ARM shoots up 
     through the opening, its razor claws slamming into the grille-
     floor inches from her.  Looking down through the grille she 
     sees the great horrifying jaws directly below her, wet and 
     leering.  She scrambles up, running, as the grille-floor 
     lifts and buckles behind her with the titanic force of the 
     creature below.

     It hurls itself with insane ferocity against the metal, pacing 
     her from below as she runs.

176   INT. STAIRWELL                                              176   

     Ripley reaches an open-grid emergency stairwell and sprints 
     upward.  It rocks and shudders with the station's death 

               You now have two minutes to reach 
               minimum safe distance.

177   INT. CORRIDOR - ELEVATORS                               182-177   

     The lift reaches bottom, the doors rolling open.

     The Queen turns and freezes, as if contemplating the open 
     lift cage.

178   INT. STAIRWELL                                              178   

     Ripley stumbles, smashing her knees against the metal stairs.  
     As she rises she hears the LIFT MOTORS start up.  Looking 
     down through the lattice work of the station she sees the 
     lift cage start ominously upward.  She knows there is only 
     one explanation for that.  She runs on, the stairwell becoming 
     a crazy whirl around her.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 121

179   EXT. LANDING PLATFORM                                       179   

     Ripley, with Newt still clinging to her, slams through the 
     door opening onto the platform.

     Through wind-whipped streamers of smoke she sees...THE SHIP 
     IS GONE.


     Her shouts become inarticulate screams of hatred, outrage at 
     the final betrayal.  She scans the sky.


                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)

     Newt is sobbing.

     The lift rises ponderously INTO VIEW.  Ripley turns, backing 
     away from the doors toward the railing.  There is no place 
     to run to on the platform.  EXPLOSIONS detonate in the complex 
     far below and huge fireballs swell upward through the 
     machinery.  The platform bucks wildly.  Nearby a cooling 
     tower collapses with a THUNDEROUS ROAR and the SHRIEK OF 
     RENDING STEEL.  More EXPLOSIONS, one after another, rocketing 
     up from below.

     Ripley stares transfixed as the lift stops.  The safety cage 

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
                    (to Newt; low)
               Close your eyes, baby.

     The lift doors begin to open.  A glimpse of the apparition 

     THEM, its hovering jets roaring.

               You now have thirty seconds to 

     Ripley leaps for the loading boom projecting down from the 
     cargo bay and it raises them into the ship.  A TREMENDOUS 
     EXPLOSION RIPS THROUGH THE COMPLEX nearby, slamming the ship 
     sideways.  Its extended landing legs foul in a tangle of 
     conduit, grinding with a hideous squeal of metal on metal.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 122

180   INT./EXT. DROP-SHIP - STATION                           186-180   

     Ripley leaps into a seat with Newt, cradling her.  Begins 
     strapping in.  Bishop wrestles with the controls.  The landing 
     legs retract, ripping free.  Ripley slams her seat harness 
     latches home.

               Punch it, Bishop!

     The entire lower level of the station disappears in a 
     fireball.  The air vibrates with intense heat waves and 
     concussion.  The drop-ship engines fire.  Ripley is slammed 
     back in her seat.  The ship vaults out and up, Bishop standing 
     it on its tail, pouring on the gees.

     Ripley and Newt see everything shake into a blur.

181   EXT. STRATOSPHERE                                           181   

     The drop-ship lunges up and out of the cloud layer into the 
     clear high night.  Below, the clouds light up from beneath 
     from horizon to horizon.

     A SUN HOT DOME OF ENERGY bursts up through the cloud layer, 
     WHITING OUT THE FRAME.  The tiny ship is slammed by the 
     shockwave, tossed forward...and climbs, scorched but 
     functioning, toward the stars.

182   INT. DROP-SHIP                                              182   

     Ripley and Newt watch the blinding glare fade away and they 
     sit, wide-eyed, trembling, realizing they are finally and 
     truly safe.  Newt starts to cry quietly, and Ripley strokes 
     her hair.

               It's okay, baby.  We made it.  It's 

183   INT. SULACO CARGO LOCK - IN ORBIT - LATER                   183   

     The scorched and battered ship once again sits in its drop-
     bay, steam blasting from cooling vents beside the engine.  
     Rotating clearance lights sweep the dark chamber hypnotically.

184   INT. DROP-SHIP                                              184   

     Bishop stands behind Ripley as she kneels beside a comatose 


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 123

               I gave him a shot, for the pain.  
               We'll need to get a stretcher to 
               cart him up to medical.

     Ripley nods and, picking up Newt, precedes Bishop down the 
     aisle to the loading ramp.

                           BISHOP (CONT'D)
               I'm sorry if I gave you a scare but 
               that platform was just becoming too 

185   INT. CARGO LOCK - DROP-SHIP                                 185   

     Bishop continues as they move down the ramp.

               I had to circle and hope things didn't 
               get too rough to take you off.

     Ripley turns to him, stopping partway down the ramp.

     She puts her hand on his shoulder.

               You did okay, Bishop.

               Well, thanks, I --

     He notices a tiny innocuous drop of liquid splash onto the 
     ramp next to his shoe.  SSSSSS.  Acid.  SOMETHING BURSTS 
     FROM HIS CHEST, spraying Ripley with milklike android blood.

     It is the razor-sharp scorpion TAIL of the alien QUEEN.

     Driven right through him from behind.  Bishop thrashes, 
     seizing the protruding section of tail in his hands, as I 
     slowly lifts him off the deck.  Above them the Queen glowers 
     from its place of concealment among the hydraulic mechanisms 
     inside one landing-leg bay.  It blends perfectly with the 
     machinery until it begins to emerge.  Seizing Bishop in two 
     great hands it rips him apart and flings him aside, shredded, 
     like a doll.  It descends slowly to the deck, the rotating 
     lights glistening across its shiny black limbs, dripping 
     acid and rage.  Still smoking where Ripley half-fried it.  
     The Queen is huge, powerful...and very pissed off.  It 
     descends slowly, its six limbs unfolding in inhuman 

     Ripley moves with nightmarish slowness herself, staring 
     hypnotized...terrified to break and run.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 124

     She lowers Newt to the deck, never taking her eyes off the 

                    (to Newt)

     Newt runs for cover.  The Alien drops to the deck, pivoting 
     toward the motion.  Ripley waves her arms, decoying.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)

     Without warning it moves like lightning, straight at her.

     Ripley spins, sprinting, as the creature leaps for her.

     Its feet slam, echoing, on the deck behind her.  She clears 
     a door.  Hits the switch.  It WHIRRS closed.  BOOM.  The 
     Alien hits a moment later.

186   INT. DARK CHAMBER                                           186   

     Ripley moves ferret-quick among dark, unrecognizable machines.

     VARIOUS ANGLES  VERY TIGHT ON what she is doing...her feet 
     going into stirruplike mechanisms.  Velcro straps fastened 
     over them.  Fingers stabbing buttons in a sequence.

     Her hand closing on a complex grip-control.  The HUM of 
     powerful motors.  The WHINE of hydraulics.

187   INT. CARGO LOCK                                             187   

     The Queen turns its attention from the doors to Newt as the 
     little girl crawls into a system of trenchlike service 
     channels which cross the deck.  The channels are covered by 
     steel grillework and barely big enough for her to crawl 

188   INT. CHANNEL                                                188   

     Newt scurries like a rabbit as the looming figure of the 
     Alien appears above, seen through the bars.  A section of 
     grille is ripped away behind her.  She scrambles desperately.  
     Another section is ripped away right at her heels.  Light 
     pouring in.  The next will be right above her.

189   INT. CARGO LOCK                                             189   

     The Queen spins at the sound of door motors behind her.

     The parting doors REVEAL an inhuman silhouette standing there.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 125


     THE POWER LOADER.  Like medieval armor with the power of a 
     bulldozer.  She takes a step...the massive foot CRASH-CLANGS 
     to the deck.  She takes another, advancing.

     Ripley's expression is one you hope you'll never see...

     Hell hath no fury like that of a mother protecting her child 
     and that primal, murderous rage surges through her now, 
     banishing all fear.

               Get away from her, you bitch!

     The Queen SCREECHES pure lethality and leaps.

     WALLOP!  A roundhouse from one great hydraulic arm catches 
     it on its hideous skull and slams it into a wall.  It rebounds 
     into a massive backhand.  CRASH!  It goes backward into heavy 
     loading equipment.

                           RIPLEY (CONT'D)
               Come on!

     The Queen emerges as a blur of rage, lashing with unbelievable 
     fury.  The battle is joined.

     Claws swipe, tail lashes.  Ripley parries with radical swipes 
     of the steel forks.  They circle in a whirling blur, 
     demolishing everything in their path.  The cavernous chamber 
     echoes with nightmarish sounds...WHINE, CRASH,


     They lock in a death embrace. Ripley closes the forks, 
     crushing two of the creature's limbs.  It lashes and writhes 
     with incredible fury, coming within inches of her exposed 
     body.  She lifts it off the ground.  The hind legs rip at 
     her, slamming against the safety cage, denting it in.  The 
     striking teeth extend almost a meter from inside its fanged 
     maw, shooting between the crash-bars.

     She ducks and the teeth slam into the seat cushion behind 
     her dead in a spray of drool.  Yellow acid foams down the 
     hydraulic arms toward her.  The creature rips at high-pressure 
     hoses.  Purple hydraulic fluid sprays ...machine blood mixing 
     with alien blood.  They topple, off balance.  The Queen pins 
     her.  Ripley hits a switch.

     The power loader's CUTTING TORCH flares on, directly in the 
     thing's face.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 126

     They roll together, over the lip of a RECTANGULAR PIT, A 

190   INT. LOADING LOCK                                           190   

     They crash together four meters below, twisted in the loader's 
     wreckage.  The Alien shrieks, pinned.

     Ripley pulls her arm out of the controls of the loader and 
     claws toward a panel of airlock actuating buttons.

     She slaps the red "INNER DOOR OVERRIDE" and latches the "HOLD" 
     locking-key down.  A KLAXON begins to sound.  She hits "OUTER 
     DOOR OPEN" and there is a hurricane shriek of air as the 
     doors on which they are lying separate, REVEALING the infinite 
     pit of stars, below.

     All this time the Alien has been lashing at her in a frenzy 
     and she has been parrying desperately in the confined space.  
     The airlock becomes a wind tunnel, blasting and buffetting 
     her as she struggles to unstrap from the loader.  The air of 
     the vast ship howls past her into space as she claws her way 
     up a service ladder.

191   INT. CARGO BAY                                              191   

     Newt screams as the hurricane airstream sucks her across the 
     floor toward the airlock.   Bishop, torn virtually in two, 
     his pastalike internal organs whipped by the wind, grips a 
     stanchion and reaches desperately for Newt as she slides 
     past him.  He catches her arm and hangs on as she dangles, 
     doll-like, in the airblast.

192   INT. LOADING LOCK                                           192   

     The Alien seizes Ripley's ankle.  She locks her arms around 
     a ladder rung, feels them almost torn out of their shoulder 

     The door opens farther, all of space yawning below.  The 
     loader tumbles clear, falling away.  It drags the Alien, 
     still clutching one of Ripley's lucky hi-tops, into the depths 
     of space.  Its SHRIEK fades, it gone.

     With all her strength Ripley fights the blasting air, crawling 
     over the lip of the inner doorway.  She releases the OVERRIDE 
     from a second panel.  The inner doors close.

     The turbulent air eddies and settles.

     She lies on her back, drained of all strength.  Gasping for 
     breath.  Weakly she turns her head, seeing Bishop still 
     holding Newt by the arm.


     Aliens-EDITED                                         p. 127

     Encrusted with his own vanilla milkshake blood.  Bishop gives 
     her a small, grim smile.

               Not bad for a human.

     He winks.

     Ripley crosses to Newt.


               Right here, baby.  Right here.

     Ripley hugs her desperately.

193   INT. CORRIDOR                                               193   

     Ripley limps along the corridor, carrying Newt on her hip.

     The ship's systems hum comfortingly.  Newt's head rests on 
     her shoulder.

               Are we going to sleep now?

               That's right.

               Can we dream?

               Yes, honey.  I think we both can.

     HOLD ON THEM AS they recede down the long straight corridor.

                                                         FADE OUT

                               THE END