Pitch Black Page #5

INT. MAIN CABIN - CRASH SHIP - DAY

Breaking out pressure suits:

FRY:

Liquid oxygen canisters inside. Start

ripping them out. Quick hits only -- try

to make it last.

AUDREY:

Well, is someone coming for us? Or are

we all just gonna die of exposure or

dehydration or sunstroke or maybe even

something worse?

(off their looks)

Hey, you don't have to worry about scaring

me.

SHAZZA:

We're worried you'll scare us.

(ushering her away)

Name's "Audrey," right, love? And you're

goin' to Taurus Three like we were?

AUDREY:

Yeah, but...do we even have enough food

to get there? Or will we have to resort

to cannibalism?

ZEKE:

(to Fry)

I'll see 'bout makin' this air go a bit

further, cap'n. With your permission,

a' course.

Fry blinks. "They actually think I'm the captain." Zeke and the

others get to work. Fry finds herself staring at another

problem. Riddick.

FRY:

And him?

JOHNS:

Big Evil?

FRY:

We just keep him locked up forever?

JOHNS:

Be my choice. Already escaped once from

the max-slam facility on --

FRY:

I don't need his life story. Is he really

that dangerous?

JOHNS:

Only around humans.

Riddick has his mouth on the hull, virtually licking the metal.

Fry moves closer -- and now sees it sheeting down the hull.

FRY:

Oh, Christ....

They're losing water. Suddenly Fry is running, snatching up an

emergency light, climbing wall-rungs...

INT. MACHINE LEVEL - CRASH SHIP - DAY

And crawling through dusty superstructure to reach the water

cistern. She opens a crank-hatch -- and finds light invading the

interior. Her face dies.

ZEKE (V.O.)

(shouting)

Well? Is it just the pump?

FRY:

Ask if anyone has anything in cargo!

Anything to drink!

INT. CARGO HOLD - DAY

Oversize DOORS RUMBLE open. Fry, Johns, and Paris climb into

this dark corridor lined with cargo containers. Each container

has an access door.

PARIS:

Mine here....

As Paris unlocks, Johns steadies himself, suddenly light-headed.

FRY:

S'matter?

JOHNS:

Little swamp-flu from the Conga system.

Never shook it with all this cryo-sleep.

Paris opens his container to reveal...

INT. PARIS' CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - DAY

Tiffany chairs stacked 10 high. Bronze eagle lecterns. Oriental

umbrellas. Neo-Egyptian castings.

JOHNS:

King Tut's tomb....

PARIS:

Be surprised what these will fetch in the

Taurus system. Here. This Wooten here --

easy, easy. Very rare.

They open the Wooten desk. Cubbyholed inside are dusty bottles

of sherry. Vintage Port. Glenfiddich. Bicardi 151.

FRY:

This is it? Booze? That's what you have

to drink?

PARIS:

(educating her)

200-year-old single-malt scotch is to

"booze" as foie gras is to "duck guts."

JOHNS:

(cracking a bottle)

A toast to whatever he just said.

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