3
Rolling over us, the immense under-belly of this enormous craft obliterates our view. A loud screech. Suddenly the bottom begins to segment.
Dozens of large sections begins to disengage, extracting themselves, twisting away from the larger bilge.
The separated segments themselves are enormous. Slowly they twist downwards on a collision course to the blue planet below... Earth.
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WHITE HOUSE - BASEMENT CORRIDORS
Under a barrage of questions from her own staff, Toshiko hurries down the corridor.
"CNN is running a story that we're covering up some kind of nuclear testing experiments..." and aide is walking along side her, flanking her with a second one.
"Tell them to run with it if they want to embarrass themselves." Tosh replies.
"NASA has been up my butt all morning." The other Aide cuts in "They want to know our position."
"Our official position is we don't have an official position." She slides around one and they both frown.
"Tosh, what the hell is going on?"
Toshiko escapes into the elevator, turns around. "Come on, people. Would I keep you guys out of the loop?
"In a second!"
"Absolutely."
Before she can retort, the elevator doors close.
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OVAL OFFICE
The President, General Claymore, the Secretary of Defence and White House Chief of Staff Frobisher are gathered around the couch.
"At the moment, our satellites are somewhat unreliable. Isn't it possible that thing may just pass us by?" the Secretary of Defence asks, the President's eyes sliding away as he can't help but think of Tosh's name for the man, SOD.
"What if it doesn't "pass us by?" Let's retarget some ICBMs to blow it out of the sky..."Frobisher asks.
"Forgive me, but with the little information we do have, the only thing that would accomplish is turn one dangerous falling object into many." SOD replies as the door opens and Toshiko enters.
"What's the damage?" Smith asks.
"The press is making up their own stories at this point." Tish shrugs as she settles on the sofa.
"Get on the horn with Atlantic Command. Let's upgrade the situation to DEFCON 3." Frobisher demands.
"That's not your call to make, Mr. Frobisher." The General reminds.
"Isn't that a little premature?" Tosh sighs.
"I don't think so." Frobisher responds.
"We're two days away from the fourth of July." SOD points out "We have over fifty percent of our armed forces on weekend leave, not to mention the troops and commanders we have in town for the Fourth of July parade. We call them back now, we're sending up a major red flag."
They go quiet as Commanding Officer from Space Command dashes into the room. "Our intelligence tells us the object has settled into a stationary orbit."
"Well that's good news." Frobisher turns to face the others with a hopeful look.
"Not really." The CO answers.
He lays out the diagrams and photos on the table. Everyone gathers around. "Part of it has broken off into nearly three dozen other pieces."
"Pieces?" the President says with concern.
"Smaller than the whole, yet over fifteen miles in width themselves." The CO explains.
"Where are they heading?" Frobisher asks.
"They should be entering our atmosphere within the next twenty-five minutes."
The room is silenced. All eyes turn to the President who says
nothing. Frobisher leans in close to him. "Like it or not, we're at DEFCON 3. Recall the troops and put them on yellow alert."
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An alarm is buzzing. Owen leans into frame and opens the door to the microwave.
Owen retrieves his home-make cup-a-soup. This cubicle clearly has the Owen touch; Alien and Ripley posters, plants, tons of computers and electronic gizmos.
"Please, tell me you're getting something." Marty enters, looking over Owen's shoulder as he eats.
"There's good news and bad news." Owen says around a mouthful of soup.
"What's the bad news?" Marty grimaces.
"You're in meal penalty for disturbing my lunch." Owen points his spoon as him.
"And the good news is you won't charge me?"
"No. The good news is I found the problem and it's not our equipment. There's some weird signal embedded within the satellite feed." Owen says and waits for something in response but Marty is confused.
"That's the good news?"
Owen slides over to another computer and turns on an intricate computation program. "Yes, because the analog signal has a definite sequential digital patterns embedded within it. When I find the exact binary sequence and I apply a phase reversed signal to that calculated spectra analyzer I built you last Christmas, we should be able to block out the overlay completely..."
"...and we'll be the only guys in town with a clear picture? That's my man." Marty crows.
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CALIFORNIA FARMLANDS, IMPERIAL VALLEY - DAY
Racing over back roads behind a long open field, Tommy rides his beat-up motor bike, searching. Looking up he sees something in the air.
An old bi-wing airplane converted into a crop-duster, buzzes overhead. Spraying insecticide wildly, the plane zigzags over the field.
"Andy! God damn it, Andy!"
"Looking down from the cockpit, Andy Davidson waves stupidly. Shaggy blonde hair and two days' growth, Andy is the image of a fifty-one-year-old little boy.
Tommy follows him below, screaming at him. Andy, flying recklessly, looks down at Tommy not understanding. By the time he looks back he SEES... A LINE OF TREES … at the edge of the field, nearly on top of him. In a trick
move, Andy turns the plane on its side, and slices through the narrow gap between the trees.
Andy screams with delight at his prowess. Tommy looks pissed.
Tommy races over, skidding to a halt next to the landed Bi-with plane. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm bringing home the bacon." Andy says triumphantly as he clambers down to face his son, "Earning my keep. And doing a fine job if I do say so myself."
"It's the wrong field, you idiot! Lucas' farm is on the other side of town." Tommy screams.
"You sure?" Andy says with honest surprise.
"Damn it, he was doing you a favour. You know how hard it is to find someone who doesn't think you're completely crazy?" Tommy wails, "What are we supposed to do now? Huh? Where are we supposed to go now?"
Pissed, Tommy peels away, kicking gravel back at Andy. Pathetically, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels. He takes a healthy swig.
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IRAQI DESERT - REFUGEE CAMP - NIGHT
A tent city. Ubiquitous overcrowding and poverty. Several hundred refugees settle down for the night.
Northern Desert, Iraq
A Bedouin stokes a small fire besides his family's tent. Suddenly a group of shouting screaming tribes people come rushing past him.
The Bedouin watches them with confusion. Overcome with curiosity he goes against the tide of people, up the hillside.
As the Bedouin reaches the top of the hillside, his mouth falls open, aghast as he sees...Creeping from across the horizon above the rocky mountain terrain, a wide FIREBALL high in the sky, flaring and exploding.
A terrifying sight.
