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Laboratory: A high-tech science facility behind glass. Shaw and Ford, in lab gloves and smocks, open the dumbwaiter. David is there to assist. The Engineer's head rises into view, ghoulish and elephantine. Vapor rises from it. A readout blinks: STERILIZED.

FORD: Okay, sample is sterile now. No contagion present.

SHAW: David.


VICKERS: So are they all dead?

They lift it onto the steel table.

SHAW: What? . . . Who?


They pass scanners over the skull. Images accumulate and rotate on the laboratory displays. X-ray and ultrasound.

VICKERS: Your engineers. Are they all dead, or aren't they?

SHAW: I don't know, we just got here.

FORD (to David): Scan.


SHAW: Do you even care if they are all dead?

VICKERS: Weyland cared.

Ford leans close to study an X-ray image. She almost seems to see a ghostly second face.

FORD: Dr. Shaw, have a look at this.


SHAW: That's not an exo-skeleton.

FORD: No. . . I think it's a helmet.

SHAW: Let's see if we can lift it up.

FORD: We should be able to . . . no. . . It's too heavy for us. . . . David.


David traces the head with his fingers. A seam opens up around the edge of the face. He gets a fingertip into the seam. Pries away the long-dead Engineer's mask. It comes free.

VICKERS: Careful.

DAVID: Like so.

The visage revealed is human, except for its giant scale. White-skinned. Hairless. Withered but beautiful as a Greek statue. Eyes closed. An expression of suffering on its face.


VICKERS: What is that on it's head?

SHAW: Looks like new cells, in a state of . . .

FORD: Change.

SHAW: Yes.


Vickers and David stand near the lab table, staring at the god�s head. Vickers looks shaken. David, fascinated.

VICKERS: Changing into what?

SHAW: Can you run a stimuli in the local cerebrum? I think we can trick the local nervous system into thinking it's still alive.

SHAW: Thirty amps.


FORD: Okay . . . no more. . . Lightly making an incision. . . Okay.

SHAW: Go up . . . forty.

FORD: Okay, forty up.

SHAW: Did you see that?


FORD: Yes, see.

SHAW: Go up another ten.

FORD: Okay, up ten.

SHAW: That's a little bit too much, go down ten.


FORD: Okay, down ten.

SHAW: Down another twenty.

FORD: I'm trying, but something's wrong . . .

SHAW: Go down! Ford stop it!


SHAW: David, contain it now!

VICKERS: Contain it! Turn it off now!

DAVID: Mortal after all.

SHAW: Ford, take a sample . . . have a look.


Buffeting clouds and howling winds. The storm batters the ship, bouncing it on its suspension.

DAVID: Of course, sir.


DAVID: Miss Vickers.

VICKERS: What did he say, David.

DAVID: I don't think he would want me to say.

VICKERS: What . . did he say.


DAVID: I'm sorry, but that's . . . . .

DAVID: . . . confidential!

VICKERS: So help me God, I will find the cord that makes you run and cut it! . . . What did he say!

DAVID: He said . . . try harder. . . . . Cup of tea, mum?


SHAW: Let's have a look at it's DNA. . . Isolate the strand.

FORD: Okay. . . Compare it to the gene sample.

SHAW: Yea.


FORD: Overlay.

COMPUTER VOICE: Processing . . . Processing . . . DNA match.

SHAW: Oh my God. . . It's us. . . . What killed them?














DAVID: Big things have small beginnings.









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