INDEPENDENCE DAY
AN AMERICAN FLAG
An American flag oddly still, posted in gray dusty sand. As the scene pulls back we can see that it is the surface of the moon.
One small step for man, one large pile of garbage for moonkind. Untouched for years, the flag stands next to the castoff remains of the Apollo mission. Slowly the discarded equipment begins to rattle and shake.
An enormous shadow creeps towards us blotting out the horizon, a loud rumble is heard.
Suddenly we are covered in darkness as the shadow engulfs us. Only the lonely image of our Earth hangs in the air, until a huge silhouetted object suddenly blocks our view.
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In New Mexico sits a field of large satellite dishes scanning the skies.
S.E.T.I. INSTITUTE, NEW MEXICO
A lone technician works on his putting skills. Behind him, wall to wall technical equipment quietly sifts through data. A red light begins to flash.
The Technician turns and slowly walks towards the source. One by one a series of light turn on. The Technician grabs a pair of headphones. His eyes widen.
In the sleeping quarters an alarm sounds. Sleepily a supervisor picks up the phone.
"If this isn't an insanely beautiful woman, I'm hanging up." Doctor Suzie Costello snarls.
"Shut up and listen." The Tech hisses. He holds the phone up to a speaker, increases the volume. A strange almost musical tone plays out in sequential patterns.
Hearing it, the Suzie sits bolt upright, banging her head on the bunk above her.
A pyjama party on acid has begun. Five other technicians, in various states of undress, hover anxiously around the main console. Suzie enters, tying her robe. "God, I hope it's not just another damned Russian spy job."
"Negative. Computer affirms the signal is unidentified."
"The boys from Air Res Traffic say the skies are clear. No terrestrial launches." Tech one is so excited he can't sit in the chair he is kneeling on instead, hanging up the phone as he speaks "It's the real thing. A radio signal from another world."
The room becomes quiet as they realize that after years of searching the heavens, they might have finally found something.
"Let's not jump the gun. Run a trajectory source computation." Suzie speaks calmly even as her hands twist the robe. Tech Three slides over to another computer. Suzie adds "I want to know exactly where it's coming from."
"This can't be right." Tech Three just stares at his screen in disbelief.
"What's wrong?" Suzie steps closer, her heart pounding now.
"Calculated distance from source is at three hundred and eight five thousand kilometres." The tech turns to face Suzie with open horror, "It's coming from the moon."
Suzie reaches over and turns up the volume on the speaker. As they listen to the strange sound.
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PENTAGON
Elevator doors open revealing four star General Claymore, Commander in Chief U.S. Space Command. Understandably nervous, the Commanding Officer escorts him down the hall.
"Who else knows about this?" the General demands as he strides along, the CO scuttling to keep up with wide eyes.
"S.E.T.I. in New Mexico identified a signal but they're even more confused than we are." The CO answers and the General shoots him a disapproving glance as they stop at doors.
"Excuse me, Sir." The CO jumps, he slides his security card through the lock and the doors fly open.
Banks of computers, Technicians and assistants working feverishly through the night. The Officers cross the room.
SPACE COMMAND - THE PENTAGON
"Satellite reception has been impaired but we were able to get these." The CO says as they arrive at a glass table. The surrounding officers snap to attention as a second officer quickly brings over a large transparency. We see a grainy image of a large vague object.
"Looks like a big turd." The General snorts and the two Officers exchange a glance.
"We estimate it has a diameter of over five hundred and fifty kilometres and a mass roughly one fourth the size of our moon." The CO informs him and the General turns to the Second Officer, concerned.
"A meteor?"
"No Sir. Definitely not."
"How do you know?" the General demands.
"Well, er... it's slowing down."
"It's doing what?" the General asks with a frown, looking around the room for confirmation.
"It's... slowing down, Sir."
The General walks over to a phone, picks it up. "Get me the Secretary of Defence."
There is a pause and the General bristles "Then wake him up."
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A bedroom, pre-dawn.
Lying in bed Doctor J. Smith reads a stack of papers. The phone rings.
"Hi. It's me." A breathy voice whispers.
"The warm look on Smith's face tells us everything about how he feels about the woman on the other end. "Hi honey. What time is it there?"
Dressed in a night gown, MRS. River Smith unpacks her briefing papers lays them out on a small desk as she talks. Through the window we see Los Angeles at night. "Two in the morning. I know I didn't wake you?"
"As a matter of fact you did." He snorts.
"Liar." River smiles softly as she turns from the window.
Smith sits up. "I have a confession to make. There's a beautiful young blonde sleeping next to me."
Sleeping next to him, his six-year-old daughter, Jenny.
"You didn't let her stay up watching T.V. all night?"
"Of course not." He says with annoyance at her tone.
The little girl stirs awake, looks up. "Mommy?"
"You're flying back right after the luncheon? Okay, here she is." Smith hands her the phone and gets out of bed. Habitably he turns on the television.
A cartoon comes on. Smith turns to his daughter who holds the remote. She accepts the phone with glee "Daddy let me watch Letterman."
"Traitor." He growls, kissing her and then Smith exits the room.
As Smith steps out of his bedroom, a Security guard snaps to attention. Someone hidden behind a newspaper, sits on a bench. The security guard nods as he respectfully speaks "Good morning, Mr. President."
"Good morning, George."
The paper is dropped revealing TOSHIKO SATO, mid-thirties, aggressive, sharp, the President's communications director. Quickly she gathers her things and follows Smith.
Two servants are preparing breakfast as Smith and Toshiko enter the kitchen. Smith sits down, grabs a coffee. "You're up early this morning, Tosh."
She tosses him one of the many newspapers in her hands.
"They're not attacking your policies, they're attacking your age." She snarls, reading aloud from another paper "This one. '...addressing Congress, Smith seems less like the President and more like the orphan child Oliver asking, 'please sir, I'd like some more.' Rude cretins!"
"Clever." Smith snorts good naturedly.
"Age was never an issue when you stuck to your guns. You were thought of as young and idealistic. But the message has gotten lost. There's too much compromise, too much politics." Tosh argues.
"Isn't it amazing how fast everyone can turn against you." Smith says pointedly and realizing she may be pushing him too far, she hands him another paper.
"Well, the Orange County Register has named you one of the ten sexiest men of the year." She says with a grin and he snorts as he accepts it.
"You see, substance at last." He shakes the paper at her.
An Aide appears at the doorway. "Excuse me, Mr. President. It's the Secretary of Defence."
Smith goes to the phone, picks it up.
"Yes?" his face changes from interest to confusion "Say that again?"
