MUSIC SUGGESTION: https://youtu.be/IWAizvv6nKE "Star Wars: The Old Republic" Full Original Soundtrack
FADE IN:
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away....
EXT. SPACE - TITLE AND TEXT CRAWL OVER A FIELD OF STARS
STAR WARS
Episode I - Millennium's Dawn
It is a golden age. The GALACTIC REPUBLIC readies to celebrate a new Millennium, safeguarded as always by the enigmatic Jedi.
On the outer-rim planet of Naboo, a sudden outbreak of a mysterious illness threatens to disrupt the festivities. Contagious to all life-forms, the rich guild known as the TRADE FEDERATION has valiantly swooped in to quarantine the planet.
With countless Millennium pilgrims already streaming into the Republic's capital of Coruscant, the government finds itself woefully unprepared for a galactic pandemic...
Tilt down to a view of a sapphire moon hanging in the cosmos. A Trade Federation Sheathipede shuttle bursts out of lightspeed and flies by within an inch of your nose. Its sublight thrusters blaze with an eye-watering blue as it speeds toward a beautiful planet wreathed in jungle and desert, its poles capped in ice. Around the planet is a blockade of at least fifty Trade Federation Lucrehulk Class battleships, as well as an assortment of transmission jamming arrays.
INT. SHUTTLE - COCKPIT
In the shuttle's pilot seat, we see the console over the pilot's shoulder as comms open and the hologram of Viceroy Dothrin appears, a Neimoidian.
DOTHRIN: Supply shuttle Haggle-3, you are behind schedule.
SHUTTLE PILOT: Viceroy Dothrin, it's--!
Before the Neimoidian pilot can finish, a robed human hand rises from the shadows and causes him to hesitate.
JEDI (off-screen, softly): A hyperdrive malfunction. Terribly sorry.
CUT TO:
INT. COMMAND BATTLESHIP - BRIDGE
Viceroy Dothrin is standing in the center with his stoop-backed MINISTER YINRAY and surrounded by consoles and crew. The pilot's answer is transmitted to the room, repeating the Jedi's mind control rather monotonously:
SHUTTLE PILOT (over comms):...a hyperdrive malfunction. Terribly sorry.
DOTHRIN: Why even have a pilot? At least droids are on time --
YINRAY (bored): We can't tip off the other systems, Viceroy. Let him land.
Yinray shuffles over to the traffic station with a wary glance back over his shoulder.
DOTHRIN: Haggle-3, proceed to supply bay intake. What a disgrace...
CUT TO:
INT. SHUTTLE - COCKPIT
Hologram-Dothrin radiates disgust from the console.
SHUTTLE PILOT: Supply bay, aye Sir.
In the shuttle's forward window the command Battleship is looming large as the hologram fades and the comm channel closes.
We view the Jedi now from over his shoulder in the navigator's seat next to the pilot.
JEDI: Actually, no.
Close up of the lower half of the Jedi's bearded face.
JEDI: We're not going to the supply bay.
The Neimoidian pilot shakes his head slowly, still under the mind trick, his hands expertly carrying out the Jedi's intent.
CUT TO:
EXT. SPACE - TRADE FEDERATION BLOCKADE
The shuttle banks away from its original course and heads toward a more active docking bay farther along, one actively releasing ships.
CUT TO:
INT. SHUTTLE - COCKPIT
A close up of the Jedi's eyes narrowing.
JEDI: That one will do.
SHUTTLE PILOT: That one...yes.
The cockpit door shoots open behind them and a levitating orb droid floats in. It rotates and maneuvers via tiny air thrusters, and has a long, cute antenna. This is Overrider & Diagnostic Droid, ID tag ODD-1. It chirps insistently.
The robed figure of the Jedi rises, a dark shape in front of the stream of ships and the glowing docking bay.
JEDI: Yes, Odd One. It's time to wake our guest.
ODD-1 does a little pirouette of joy, chirping further interrogative.
JEDI: I agree. Under the circumstances I'd say an extra stimulant wouldn't hurt her.
The droid beeps brightly at him.
JEDI: No, no. None for me.
ODD-1 darts away and the Jedi leaves the cockpit while the bright lights of the docking bay cast harsh shadows over the controls. A voice can heard repeating landing and takeoff protocols over a loudspeaker.
SMASH CUT TO:
Doctor Slate Morgon surging awake with a gasp in her shuttle berth. She looks around wildly, rubbing her neck. ODD-1 backs away, retracting a needle. She's a green-skinned Twi-Lek, by the way. Her large, expressive eyes have a fierce intelligence about them, but it's one that's slightly more comfortable in a lab than on outer space adventures.
SLATE: Ugh...Who are you again?
ODD-1 announces itself in droidspeak.
SLATE: Overrider and Diagnostics Droid One? Did you just dose me?
ODD-1 proudly indicates the affirmative.
Through the open door, the still-hooded Jedi looks in. We still don't get a good idea of what he looks like, other than the beard.
JEDI: Doctor Slate Morgon, forgive the impertinence, but it seems the nature of our mission has evolved.
Slate reaches for her medical kit bag and pulls on a headset mounted with an array of medical viewing lenses.
SLATE: I'm the Republic's top virologist, Jedi. I think I can handle a little evolution. Just keep the bureaucrats out of my way.
JEDI: It's more than bureaucrats now, I'm afraid.
ODD-1 leads the way out to the left, but the Jedi motions for her to go right. She ignores his gesture and tries to follow the droid, but he insists.
JEDI: We're going out the back.
SLATE: The back? What back?
They exit right, and ODD-1 buzzes back across the open doorway screaming not to be left behind.
CUT TO:
INT. COMMAND BATTLESHIP - TROOP EMBARCATION BAY
Exterior shot of the shuttle extending landing gears and finally lurching to a halt on the deck. The rest of the dock is bustling with ships and droid troopers who look like an early version of the nefarious IG-88, only there's LOTS of them.
The landing ramp opens amid falling pools of gas, and the Neimoidian pilot makes his way down, stumbling and disoriented. Two passing droid soldiers pause as they watch him. They look at each other and shrug, as if to say; organic life-forms are such an embarrassment. As they patrol on, the pilot hunches over and takes a few deep breaths, leaning on the shuttle bulkhead to steady himself. In the background, we can just make out a fleeting movement of a small ball flying through the air, and not two but THREE figures scurrying away from the back of the shuttle.
Cut to a row of metallic supply containers. The hurrying figures dash behind them and hunker down in the foreground. The Twi-Lek Doctor is in the middle and now there are two robed Jedi on either side as they unhood themselves in unison. Qui-Gon Jinn is on the left, and the young beardless Obi-Wan Kenobi on the right. ODD-1 skulks about restlessly.
QUI-GON: Now you see what I mean.
SLATE: No, I don't see at all.
QUI-GON: Obi-Wan? What is your assessment?
Obi-Wan peers over the containers.
OBI-WAN: Those aren't medical supply ships. They're troop carriers.
SLATE (trying to see): Troop carriers? For what troops? The Trade Federation doesn't have a military.
CUT TO:
A wide shot of the many squads of battle droids now, giving an idea of the scale. Several cut-ins to the droid troops wielding standard issue blasters, their tin-can like heads blinking deadly thoughts.
OBI-WAN: Well, it appears they certainly built one.
QUI-GON: Capable looking, by the look of them.
SLATE: Why would they be landing troops at a time like this?
OBI-WAN (trying to work it out): It's a ploy. The quarantine is just a cover up of a Trade Federation invasion.
Qui-Gon nods sadly.
SLATE: What? That's crazy! No one would dare do something so vile.
OBI-WAN (raising his unlit lightsaber): We've got to stop them!
QUI-GON: No, not yet. We have an informant on the inside.
Slate turns to him, suspicious.
SLATE: You took a civilian along, when you knew this was an active war zone?
QUI-GON: Suspected. Now confirmed. We should get on the move. Odd One, find us a safe route out of this dock.
ODD-1 swooshes about and then chirps brightly, and the three hurry after the droid, Slate shaking her head.