Independence Day

GENERAL GREY:

Looks like a big turd.

The two Officers exchange a glance.

COMMANDING OFFICER

We estimate it has a diameter of

over five hundred and fifty

kilometers and a mass roughly one

fourth the size of our moon.

The General turns to the Second Officer, concerned.

GENERAL GREY:

A meteor?

SECOND OFFICER:

No Sir. Definitely not.

GENERAL GREY:

How do you know?

SECOND OFFICER:

Well, er... it's slowing down.

GENERAL GREY:

It's doing what?

SECOND OFFICER:

It's... slowing down, Sir.

The General walks over to a phone, picks it up.

GENERAL GREY:

Get me the Secretary of Defense.

(pause)

Then wake him up.

CUT TO:

INT. WHITMORE'S BEDROOM - FRE-DAWN

Laying in bed THOMAS J. WHITMORE reads a stack of papers. The

phone RINGS.

WOMAN'S VOICE

(filtering through phone)

Hi. It's me.

The warm look on Whitmore's face tells us everything about how

he feels about the woman on the other end.

WHITMORE:

Hi honey. What time is it there?

INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Dressed in a night gown, MRS. MARGARET WHITMORE unpacks her

briefing papers lays them out on a small desk as she talks.

Through the window we SEE Los Angeles at night.

MARGARET:

Two in the morning. I know I

didn't wake you?

WHITMORE:

(filtered)

As a matter of fact you did.

MARGARET:

(smiles)

Liar.

INT. WHITMORE BEDROOM - SAME

Whitmore sits up.

WHITMORE:

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, PATRICIA.

MARGARET:

(filtered)

You didn't let her stay up

watching T.V. all night?

WHITMORE:

Of course not.

The little girl stirs awake, looks up.

PATRICIA:

Mommy?

WHITMORE:

You're flying back right after the

luncheon? Okay, here she is.

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