Alien: Covenant - Origins - The Official Movie Prequel

XXI

With every passing day, Daniels looked forward more and more to deepsleep. It seemed that for every item ticked off her pre-departure checklist, a dozen more appeared. Mundane containers of materials and supplies had to be repositioned within the main cargo hold in order to fit them within predetermined spaces.

That was easy, however, compared to inspecting the massive terraforming machines and their related support vehicles, each of which was a technical marvel unto itself. Everything they needed had to be there, stored in its proper space. Once the Covenant passed the moon, there would be no returning for spare parts. If they left something behind, they would have to do without.

There was one essential they wouldn’t need to haul, though, and that was dirt. She grinned to herself. Plowable soil for the farmers, refinable ore for the miners, and perpendicular rock for her vertically inclined husband. She wondered what he would do if Origae-6 turned out to be a desert world, composed of nothing but shifting dunes. Or more likely, something marvelously fertile but akin to the North American Great Plains or the Ukrainian steppe.

She forced herself to return to the work at hand. She was getting ahead of herself, imagining the surface of a world that from long-range survey was known to be livable, but whose topography was still a mystery. It had been determined that Origae-6 had land, oceans, near-terrestrial gravity, and a breathable atmosphere. Beyond that, it would be up to the colonists themselves to discover its finer details.

She and Jacob would be two of those doing the discovering. Once they were there, it would take years before every last piece of colonization equipment was unloaded, checked out, and put into service.

“You sleep with that comm unit more than you do with me.”

Turning away from the buzz of activity in the cargo hold, she wrapped both arms around the device and hugged it to her.

“It keeps me warm. You’re always in the head.”

Her husband’s expression turned doleful. “Ship food doesn’t always agree with me. It’ll be better in deepsleep. Nothing too hot to upset my stomach.”

Holding onto the comm unit with one hand, she poked him several times in the chest with a forefinger. “You’re always tired when you come to bed.”

“How would you know?” he countered. “You’re always asleep by the time I finish work.” His mouth arced into a playful smile. It was hard for anyone to resist that smile. It had charmed engineers, professors, politicians, Weyland-Yutani executives, and—when a certain moment had come—had charmed her into saying “yes.”

She sighed heavily. “There’s no free time on this job. Not until we go into deepsleep, and then it doesn’t matter.” Turning, she gestured to where an enormous excavator was being wheeled into position for transit, the task made slightly easier by the fact that the artificial gravity on the ship was set slightly less than Earth-normal. “Not only do I have to make sure everything that’s loaded is as described in the general manifest and in working order, but in the end it’s up to me to decide where it all should go.” She held up the comm unit. “It’s one thing to diagram it out nice and neat in an office, and something else when you’re expected to squeeze in an extra dirt marauder or two at the last minute.”

He nodded understandingly. “Funny how some jobs never change. You’re riding in Earth orbit, hundreds of kilometers above the surface, but you’re doing the same job as a clipper ship supercargo loading tea and porcelain in eighteenth-century Hong Kong. Fitting cargo into a hold.”

She coughed. The humidity, like every other component of life support on the Covenant, was supposedly set to an optimum level, but she intended to have a word with Mother about the on-board atmosphere. She found it too dry.

“I’ll be glad when the company stops trying to cram yet another load onto the ship.” She made a face. “That’s one thing that differs from your clipper ship. We can carry anything that will fit on board, without having to worry about sinking.” Her comm unit chimed softly and he waited while she attended to detail number 786 of the day’s thousand or so.

“What about you, Jacob?” she asked when she had signed off again. “How’s your day going?”

“That’s what I came to tell you.”

Feigning impatience, she gestured with the comm unit. “You could have just called.”

“I know.” That irresistible smile again, she marveled. “But then I’d miss out on one of the rare chances to interrupt you in person.” He turned serious. “We got another security update from Ground. Telling us to look out for this, warning us to be alert for that. More of the same, except with even greater urgency.”

She shook her head. Behind her, metal clanged on metal and she winced. She felt a personal sense of responsibility toward each and every piece of equipment that was being loaded.

“I don’t see the point of issuing warnings with ‘greater urgency.’ There isn’t anything we can do that we haven’t already done, and from what I understand, surface security has been locked down so tight that a Norway rat couldn’t get into a shuttle without showing three separate kinds of identification and having a retina scan run on its beady little eyes.”

“Nevertheless,” he replied firmly, “I have to go around and run a check on each and every station and crew member.”

“What, again?” The disbelief in her voice was palpable.

“Again.” He nodded.

So in order to comply with unbending company regulations, Jacob was forced to ask his wife a series of pointed questions. Some of her answers were suitable. The ones that were unprintable he modified so as not to shock the undoubtedly innocent proctors who would have to collate the results. When he had concluded the unavoidable interview he turned to leave, only to remember what he had really wanted to tell her in the first place.

“Surface security says that Weyland-Yutani’s operatives are making progress in identifying and running down the people who were behind our would-be saboteur. They’re convinced it’s the same people who tried to have Jenny Yutani abducted, and who took a few shots at Sergeant Lopé.”

She frowned. “I thought the Yutani kidnapping was scarenews.”

He shook his head. “Nope. There really was an attempt. Security central thinks all three incidents may be linked together. I didn’t get a lot of details. The company is playing this very close to the besuto.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Be bad publicity for the mission if word gets out.” She looked up at him. “Speaking of security, when do we get our chief back? And that new recruit, Rosenberg?”

“Rosenthal,” her husband corrected her.

Daniels gave an irritable shrug. “A rose by any other name. I’m sure she’s competent, or Lopé wouldn’t have picked her to fill the final slot in ship security. If the company is so worried about our status up here, why do they keep delaying his return?”

“Apparently,” Jacob told her, “our good sergeant is somehow involved in the effort to identify and locate those behind these assorted attempts. Surface is reluctant to let him go until that situation is resolved.”

She nodded. “Which means they expect it to be resolved before our scheduled departure date. That’s encouraging, anyway. Still, I’ll feel better when every element of the crew is at full strength.”

Reaching out, he let the back of his right hand slide across her cheek. “Always worried about the manifest, even when it involves people and not material. If you don’t find a way to relax you’re going to have a nervous breakdown before we leave orbit.”

Grabbing his hand, she gave it a quick kiss before letting it go. “Nice of you to worry. Me, I’ll relax when I’m in deepsleep.”

He chuckled. “No you won’t. You’ll toss and turn and moan for your comm unit so you can run a check on your own comatose status.”

She smiled back. “I still wish they made deepsleep pods for two.”

He shook his head sadly. “Too many mechanical hookups. Besides, you know what they say. You go to sleep and when you’re awakened years later, it’s as if no time has passed at all.” Reaching up, he rubbed at his chin with one hand. “Even your beard stops growing. Metabolic narcosis.”

“Speak for yourself.” She looked over a shoulder. “Got people waiting for me to sign-off on another hunk of junk. See you later, in lace.”

He wanted to take her in his arms, but he had work to do, too. The remark about lace in space was a reference to a nightgown she had worn a year ago, on a South Pacific cruise provided and paid for by the company. She’d reluctantly left the garment behind. It was admittedly not regulation.

Turning, he left, heading for the bridge. He had his own tasks to accomplish. As he walked and acknowledged other members of the busy preparation team, he found himself considering what he had told his wife. The Covenant was as secure as it could be made. According to everything he had been told, ground security had been tightened as much as was possible. There was nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Even so, he concurred with his wife.

While Sergeant Hallet was entirely competent, Jacob knew he would feel better when Lopé was back on board.

The cows did not look up from their grazing as two autovans trundled down the winding dirt road in their direction. The one bull in their midst gave a single, desultory snort before returning to his own cropping. The ancient stone fence that separated the undulating fields from the unimpressive roadway prevented him from objecting to the vehicles’ arrival in any meaningful way.

Flying high above the silent vans, a small flock of barn swallows struggled northward. One of their number, unable to cope with the pollution it had picked up nearer to the city, fell out of the sky to land dead by the wayside. Its companions did not pause or look back.

Parking outside the farm complex’s main building, the two automated vans idled silently as their passengers disembarked. More melanin-deprived than their colleagues, a couple of them exhibited mild but unmistakable sunburn on their foreheads and cheeks, the consequence of several days spent wandering up and down a southern beach. A pair of basic service bots arrived to take charge of the minimal luggage.

Once inside the complex the group dispersed temporarily to bathrooms and private quarters. An hour later they gathered once more in the central meeting room. Pavel was the first to speak.

“We have all had some time to think. What is the consensus?”

In the same tone she would have employed as a member of a weekly sewing circle, the matronly member of the council replied without hesitation. “I think he lied. I think he lied from the time the first image was shown to him. I think he lied from his fake sweat to his false promises.”

The youngest of the group nodded in ready agreement. “Where I come from, we would say he was stalling. With undeniable skill, but still stalling.”

Around the council of six it went. Someone suggested asking the Prophet for his opinion, but since Fields hadn’t been present during the intercession broadcast there was likely little he could add to whatever consensus they reached.

In any event, the final determination was unanimous. Hideo Yutani had lied about believing them, and was doubtless at this very moment exhorting his security forces to strive harder than ever to locate the source of the broadcast.

“Then what,” the Baron murmured, “are we to do? That we have not already tried?”

Again, the youngest member of the group spoke up. “I despise liars,” he said angrily. “Taking someone out is simpler than trying to take them alive.” He eyed his colleagues.

“We have people who might be able to do that,” Yukiko commented, “but while personally gratifying, it would not accomplish our goal, which is to halt the departure of the Covenant. Giant corporations such as Weyland-Yutani do not stop dead in their tracks, even if their chief executive does so. Propelled by their own momentum, company activities would continue. If something unfortunate happened to Hideo Yutani, I could see a monster like Weyland-Yutani scheduling his funeral for the same day as the Covenant’s departure.” Her distaste was evident. “For the publicity and sympathy it would bring. His death would only contribute a monument and a martyr to the project.”

The younger man looked properly chastened. “I withdraw my suggestion.” He regarded his colleagues. “Are there any others?”

“Given the greatly heightened state of security at Weyland-Yutani,” the Baron said, “it is unlikely that an opportunity remains to abduct anyone of importance, either to the family or to the company itself. While our reach is long, our resources are finite. The Covenant is scheduled to depart within a few short weeks, and we are running out of time.”

“Then what do you suggest?” The youngest council member looked over at his senior. Cupping a brandy snifter easily in his left hand, the Baron gestured with the other.

“I most sincerely regret to say that I have none.”

“We cannot give up.” In concert with his voice, Pavel’s cheeks shook. “We cannot abandon the words of the Prophet.” He scrutinized his associates. “We all know what that would mean for the future of the species.”

“I’d gladly give my own life to the cause,” the matron declared solemnly, “but I’m not one for futile gestures. Immolating myself in Leicester Square would garner us a lot of publicity, but wouldn’t accomplish a thing.”

The discussion continued. Ideas were broached, debated, discarded. The sense of frustration continued to grow. After an hour both the participants and their ideas were exhausted. At that point, the older of the two women on the council cleared her throat to gain the floor.

“No matter what route we choose, given the time remaining to us it’s likely we’ll only have one more opportunity to do what must be done. Therefore it cannot fail. Whatever avenue of pursuit we decide upon must be conclusive, irresistible, and infallible.”

Yukiko bowed—or possibly it was a polite nod—in her direction. “You don’t speak unless you have something significant to say, Millicent,” she said. “Please tell us you have come up with an idea that has not yet been proposed.”

“I think I have.” The other woman smiled; a most reassuring, pleasant expression. “Tell me what you think.” She proceeded to lay out the details of the plan she had concocted. As she spoke, the reaction among the other council members varied from astonishment to uncertainty to muted horror. There were hints of revulsion, but no one came out in forceful objection.

Downing the remainder of his brandy, Baron Ingleton licked his lips as he regarded the woman seated across from where he was standing. Unlike Yukiko, there was no mistaking the bow he executed.

“I can only commend your vision, Millicent. If it can be done, if it can be carried out as you describe, your proposal stands a better chance of stopping the colonization mission than anything we have yet tried.”

The youngest member of the group agreed, with a caveat. “If it goes too far, it will literally terminate the mission. I’m not sure killing everyone on board the ship is an acceptable price to pay.”

The matron turned to him. Her eyes were blue and remarkably steely. “If it works as intended, that result will be avoided. If not…” She let the implication hang in the air. “We will have to accept ending the lives of hundreds in exchange for the future of the human race. When extinction is at issue, there will be occasions when some collateral damage is to be expected. If the worst should come to pass, those colonists already on board will know and feel nothing.”

Her response did not fully mollify the young man. “There are dozens of children on board. The youngest colonists.” His lips tightened. “I know as well as any of you the issues that are at stake, but no matter how I try, I can’t find it in me to refer to dozens of dead children as ‘collateral damage.’” He shook his head. “We need to think of something else.”

“There is nothing else.” Pavel was in accord with the older woman’s strategy. “We’ve tried to think of something else… and we’ve failed.” He looked over at the woman who ought to have been offering chocolate biscuits to giggling neighborhood kids. “Millicent has come up with a plan that, if our people can pull it off, will accomplish everything we must do. If it works perfectly, only a handful of people will be sacrificed. If more have to die…” He shrugged his enormous shoulders, “better that the rest of mankind should survive. Oh-tee-bee-dee.”

“I know as well as you the nature of our goals.” Clearly upset now, his younger counterpart shifted in his chair to glare at the representative from Europe. “But there has to be another way.” He looked resolutely around the semicircle of colleagues. “I for one can’t sign off on a proposal that could potentially result in the death of hundreds of innocents.”

His eyes widened abruptly.

Behind him Baron Ingleton, calm and composed as ever, pulled the heirloom blade from the middle of the younger man’s back and stepped aside as the body—eyes still open in surprise—fell forward to tumble off the chair. Locating a cloth, the Baron proceeded to wipe the slender blade clean.

“We can relax in the knowledge that our former colleague’s conscience will remain forever clear, as he will not be required to sign off on Ms. Millicent’s proposal.” He sighed. “I regret that we will have to anoint a new representative from South America.”

“There will be time later.” An impatient Pavel turned back to the older woman. “We approve of your excellent plan. Have you considered the finer details?”

She nodded, the maternal smile back in place. “It’s relatively straightforward. Once successfully set in motion, it should prove impossible to stop.”

“What about military intervention?” Yukiko asked pointedly.

Millicent looked over at her. “That could certainly crimp our prospects for success, but the timeframe favors us. First the company would have to divine what is happening. Then they would have to inform the military, who would subsequently have to verify the details. Someone would have to reach a decision to intervene, orders would have to be given…” She sat back in her chair, which anticipated the movement and accepted her weight easily. “Our endeavor would be over and done with before the various corporate, political, and military entities could reach a decision.” Her smile widened. “Inertia is our friend.”

“And the Covenant mission would be finished.” Pavel looked entirely satisfied. “Or at the very least, postponed for many years.”

“Decades,” Yukiko put in. “Time we would have to spread the Prophet’s message. Time in which to build up our strength, to the point where the very notion of colonization would be unthinkable.”

Everyone looked to the representative from Africa. “Choma, Baron Ingleton can authorize the critical personnel from among our associates on the continent, but the execution will require the most adept work by people in your region. Are they up to it, do you think?”

The man in question considered, then nodded reassuringly. “Yes, we can handle our end if Baron Ingleton can supply the necessary specialists.” He looked around at his four colleagues. “I believe this can be done. I think it will work.”

Pavel heaved himself erect. “Then let us get to work. From this moment on, every hour is precious.”

They filed out. It was only on the way back to her own rooms that Yukiko thought to inform Dr. Bismala about the body in the meeting room, and the need to send in some people to clean it up.