Act 2, Scene 3
Space, the shuttle. John Jameson is wrestling with controls, hitting switches and punching in commands like a man possessed.
NASA: Praetor, your shield is at 92 of tolerance! Throttle down, repeat, throttle down!
JOHN JAMESON: Houston, we have exactly ninety minutes of oxygen left on this crate and over one hundred thousand miles to travel. I'm coming in full throttle.
NASA's response is cut off by increasing static. He leaves the command chair to float into the back of the ship. The lights back here are flickering on and off wildly, creating a strange sort of rapid photography stop-motion.
Suddenly, a leering face looms out of the darkness! It's Stevens, dead. John curses and tows the corpse over to the nearest bulkhead, where he uses one of the affixing straps to anchor it in place. The man is still wearing his spacesuit so it's not easy. Those dead staring eyes glare accusingly at him the entire time.
JOHN: What the hell happened to you down there…
A hand clutches his wrist! John cries out in fear, but the hand belongs to Chang. Her eyes are wide and staring like her colleague's, but she's alive – just.
JOHN: My God…
CHANG: Brought him back…
John steers her over to one of their extending beds. She too is wearing her spacesuit except for her head, which is uncovered. He manages to strap her down.
JOHN: Try not to move.
CHANG: (screaming the words through pain)Brought him back!
JOHN: (soothingly)Yes. Yes, you did.
COMPUTER: Shield stresses at 97.
JOHN: What happened to you down there?
NASA: Praetor, respond! Status!
JOHN: Stevens is dead, Houston. Some sort of massive shock to his system. Chang carried him to the shuttle. She's injured but I can't treat her through the suit…and I'm not sure the suit isn't the only thing holding her together.
NASA: Preator, repeat…you're breaki…
The signal dies through extreme interference. Chang screams. John examines her suit with his fingertips until he comes to her abdomen. There is a rip there, a tear, big enough for him to prod with a finger.
JOHN: What the…
When he takes his finger away, there's a black viscous substance around the tip. He reaches for a specimen jar, rips it from its Velcro holdings and manages to extricate it from his finger into the jar.
Chang begins to shake violently. Blood comes from her mouth in streams. She chokes and splutters.
CHANG: BROUGHT HIM BACK!
John opens up a sealed container and grabs a syringe. He propels himself to her convulsing body and applies the syringe to her neck.
JOHN: Sssh…don't speak. Just sleep.
She stops convulsing and looks at him with a trace of lucidity for the first time.
CHANG: John…kill me.
JOHN: (shocked) What?
CHANG: It brought him back. Don't let it…bring me back. Please…
JOHN: It?
Her eyes close and she lapses into unconsciousness. John pushes himself away from her bed, fear etched across his face.
JOHN: It?
There is a smash of breaking glass. We cut to see that the specimen jar John placed the drop of black matter into has been broken…and not only that, but that the glass is floating on the outside, suggesting that something broke through from the inside out.
JOHN: Oh Jesus…
We cut to Stevens' dead body. A black substance is spreading up from his neck to his chin. Black tendrils enter his head through his mouth, nose and ears…and moments later his eyes snap open. He lets loose a horrific scream of rage and what sounds disturbingly like hunger and makes to reach for John, but is prevented from doing so by the restraining belt.
JOHN: Mother of God!
John scrambles for the corridor connecting the cockpit to the main living quarters as the Stevens corpse struggles to free itself from its bonds. Jameson throws himself forward with every ounce of strength in his body, propelling himself with his arms and legs, swimming through the weightlessness.
He reaches the corridor and slams the door control, just as the Stevens corpse rips the belt free and makes a lunge for him. The door closes and Stevens' face is pressed up against the viewing window, screaming soundless rage through the foot-thick separating door. Stevens' fists pound on it, but to no avail.
COMPUTER: Shield stresses at 98. Approaching critical.
NASA: Praetor, respond…
John flicks a switch.
JOHN: Houston, we have an uncontained quarantine situation up here, code red. I'm taking immediate action to prevent planetside exposure.
NASA: Colonel, that is a negative! Prepare for remote control.
JOHN: Sorry, Houston, but I'm not landing this bird.
He floats to the cockpit and presses a series of buttons before reaching for the throttle control toggle. With one final longing look at the Earth in the (rapidly approaching) distance, he throws the switch to maximum.
COMPUTER: Warning. Shield stresses at 105. Breach is imminent.
Behind John, the connecting door shudders under its assault from whatever is reanimating the Stevens corpse.
JOHN: (sad smile)Tell me something I don't know…