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INT. MESS: The entire crew is seated. Hungrily swallowing huge portions of artificial food. The cat eats from a dish on the table. They are all chattering simultaneously.


KANE: First thing I'm going to do when we get back is get some decent food.

PARKER: I can dig it. I've had worse than this, but I've tasted better, you know what I'm sayin'?

LAMBERT: You pound down this stuff like there's no tomorrow.


PARKER: I'd rather be eating something else, but right now I'm thinking food.

KANE: At least you know what it's made of.

PARKER: Oh man, I don't want to know it's made of. I'm eating . . . .


Suddenly Kane grimaces. Coughing. Choking

PARKER: What's the matter? The food ain't that bad.

RIPLEY: What's wrong.


Kane's condition worsens.

ASH: This is serious.

The others stare at him in alarm, they try to help him. Suddenly he makes a loud groaning noise. Clutches the edge of the table with his hands. Knuckles whitening. He falls back on the table.


Kane screams. His face screws into a mask of agony. A red stain. Then a smear of blood blossoms on his chest.


The fabric of his shirt is ripped apart. A bloody stump erupts from his chest.


A small head the size of a man's fist pushes out. Blood sprays everywhere. The crew shouts in panic. Leap back from the table. The cat spits, bolts away.

Lambert: Oh God!


Parker grabs a utensil as a weapon.

ASH: Don't touch it, don't touch it!


The tiny head lunges forward. Comes spurting out of Kane's chest trailing a thick body. Splatters fluids and blood in its wake. Lands in the middle of the dishes and food. Wriggles away while the crew is paralyzed in shock. Then the Alien being disappears from sight. Kane dead. A huge hole in his chest.


INT. CORRIDOR - "A" DECK: Empty. Parker and Brett descend companionway. They join Ash, Lambert, Ripley and Dallas.

BRETT: Dallas? . . . Dallas?

DALLAS: Yea.

BRETT: Anything?

DALLAS: No . . . you?

BRETT: Nothing.


INT. BRIDGE: The crew looking at Kane's body, wrapped in a makeshift shroud, on view screens. Silent. Depressed.

DALLAS: Inner hatch sealed. . . . . Anybody want to say anything.


Nothing to say. The outer hatch opens. Yawning space outside. Kane's body shoots out into eternity. The hatch closes.


EXT. OUTER SPACE: The Nostromo continues through space.


INT. BRIDGE: The crew has assembled. Brett unfolds several yards of asbestos netting. Hands out five thin rods. Each of them like metal broom handles.

BRETT: This is just an ordinary prod, like a cattle prod. It's got a portable battery, it's insulated all the way here, all the way up to here. Just make damn sure nobody puts their hand on the end of it.

He touches the tip to a metal object. A spark leaps.


BRETT: Shouldn't damage the little bastard, unless it's skin is thinner than ours, but it will give him a little incentive.

LAMBERT: Now we just have to find it.

Ash picks up a portable unit.

ASH: I've taken care of that, I've designed this tracking device. You just set it to search for a moving object. Hasn't got much of a range, but when you get within a certain distance, it will start to give off a signal.

RIPLEY: What's it key on?

ASH: Micro changes in air density.


Dallas picks up the tracker and activates it.

DALLAS: Give me a demo.

Ash waves his hand in front of it, it gives off an audible signal.

ASH: See? . . . . Again.

DALLAS: Got ya. . . . . Two teams, Ash, Lambert, and I. Ripley, take Parker and Brett. Now anyone see this thing and catch in the net that Parker's holding in his lap . . . Parker, I don't want any heroics out of you, allright? Catch it, put it in the air lock, get rid of it. Channels are open on all decks, I want you to communicate, keep in touch at all times, allright? Let's go.


INT. MAINTENANCE - "C" LEVEL: Ripley, Parker and Brett come down ladder onto an endless oily corridor. They stop at the foot of the companionway... They move down corridor into darkness.

RIPLEY: I thought you fixed 12 module?

BRETT: I did, I don't understand it.

PARKER: The circuits must have burned out.


Parker tampers with utility box on the wall.

BRETT: What do we got here.

PARKER: Dammit, hold your light over here, would you. . . Yea, that's it. . . I don't know if this is going to work. . . Put this in there.

BRETT: Right.

PARKER: Oh dammit.

BRETT: Check the insulation.

PARKER: Ssssshit.






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