Alien: Covenant 2

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Yes,” she murmured, “but this is the present.”

  There were times when he thought his daughter deliberately tried to infuriate him.

  “What changes would you suggest, princess?”

  “You worry that things are progressing too slowly in London, even though you express confidence in those attempting to identify the source of our problem.”

  He grunted softly. “I am assured that Captain Bevridge did not achieve his present status through incompetency. Nor was the chief of mission security, Sergeant Daniel Lopé, chosen for his position because he is unqualified. With security on board the ship properly tightened, it’s for him to continue to assist in the ongoing inquiry. But yes—I am still concerned at the pace of the investigation.”

  She tossed her head slightly, and the diamond dust spray in her hair caught the light of the suite’s subtle illumination, giving her the look of a beautiful but tough pixie.

  “Then do something to speed it up.” No one else would have dared use such an abrupt tone with Hideo Yutani.

  “Such as? Bevridge and Lopé already have access to whatever resources they might need.”

  “One never knows when the watchers themselves are being watched.”

  His brows drew together. “Who told you that one?”

  “You did. A long time ago.”

  He chuckled softly. “Your memory of me is better than my own. Are you saying that the object of the investigation may be aware of it, and is taking measures to keep track of our efforts?”

  She gestured with the small sorbet spoon, tracing arcs in the air above the table. “I’m saying that it might speed up the investigation if we came at it from another, complimentary angle that was separate from the first. In combat, never discount the value of opening an unexpected second front.”

  He looked bemused. “Did I say that, too?”

  “No.” She dug into the last of the now watery sorbet. “Kawakami Soroku, I think.”

  He pondered the suggestion before finally replying. “I think it’s a good idea. I don’t see how it can hurt. If the current investigators fail to identify our adversaries, perhaps someone else, utilizing a separate approach, might succeed.”

  Picking up a linen napkin, she dabbed delicately at her lips. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  He nodded. “Someone who occasionally works for a friend of mine. We had dinner recently and his name came up. Someone who moves freely in the world of the legitimate, but who has access to—other resources. Resources that might be denied to Bevridge-san and Sergeant Lopé.”

  “That sounds promising. I concur.”

  “So happy you agree.” His reply was touched with a mixture of sarcasm and affection. “I’ll engage him immediately, have him briefed, and send him on his way. He should be in London by tomorrow evening. Let us hope for good results.”

  “As good as that dessert, anyway.” As they rose from their seats she smiled affectionately at him. “You really should have had some, Father.”

  He shook his head tersely. “I fear that until this matter is successfully resolved I will not be in the mood for anything sweet save your company.” They moved in tandem toward the suite’s exit where four bodyguards were waiting: two to escort him home, two to perform the same service for his daughter.

  “I wish mother was here,” she murmured. “She would have her own ideas about what to do.”

  Her observation stirred Yutani’s heartiest laugh of the day. “Your mother would insist on going to London herself, weapons in hand, to blow away anyone who crossed her path. She was a loose cannon, your mother. Smart and beautiful, but entirely unpredictable.”

  His daughter peered into her father’s face. “Yet you loved her for that.”

  “No, I considered it her worst trait.” The smile returned. “But everything else about her made up for it.”

  * * *

  Yoji Ngata did not look the part of a Yakuza fixer. He was short, balding all the way across his head, round-faced, and visibly plump. The plumpness concealed muscle and a remarkable reaction time. While judo was his specialty, he held so many black belts in so many different martial arts that there was little left for him to try. He was quite capable of out-wrestling, out-maneuvering, and out-fighting anyone his size and most who were bigger than him.

  More importantly, he could inevitably out-think them. Fighting him, one opponent had declared, was like trying to defeat a sentient bowling ball. You couldn’t hurt it, you couldn’t predict what it would do, and the next thing you knew it was landing on your foot.

  He didn’t have to pack. The single black carry-on bag in the closet of his apartment was always packed with the necessities so that he could be ready to go on a moment’s notice. As he bade goodbye to his cat, Lune, secure in the knowledge that the apartment’s AI would take care of his companion, he considered the details of his assignment.

  Lune continued the review in the autocab, upon disembarking at the airport, and as he boarded the private supersonic jet that was waiting to take him to London. He quite liked Greater London, having spent time there on several previous occasions, not all of which involved work. The English city was very different from Greater Tokyo and offered a nice change of scenery… when one could see it through the pollution.

  According to the information that had been provided to him, he was looking for a group of fanatics. They might work for or be employed by the Jutou Combine. Or not. Regular Weyland-Yutani operatives were trying to locate the same people, but if possible, he was to work on his own. That suited him perfectly. Though he could be quite congenial when the situation demanded, he much preferred to fly solo.

  It saved him the discomfit that sometimes arose when people made fun of his appearance, and he had to hurt them.

  XX

  The sun was silver on the rippling waters of the Solent, a welcome change from the gloom that pervaded not only the swollen cities of Britain, but much of its once pristine countryside, as well.

  The threatening overcast was absent along certain sections of coastline where sufficient ocean breezes continued to hold it at bay—though for how much longer not even the best meteorologists could say. Official government predictions were less widely believed ever since lethal pollution had forced the abandonment of much of Paris outside the domed city center.

  Looking like a group of office workers out for a lunchtime stroll, the half-dozen members of the council blended in seamlessly with the families, students, and day trippers on Calshot Beach. Though composed of shingle and not sand, it was still a popular place to catch the sun and watch the comings and goings of enormous trading vessels as they made their way between the three major local ports.

  It was also a good place to have a group conversation without fear of being monitored. The combination of wind, wave, and animated crowd conversation would make picking up dialogue difficult even for the most sensitive surveillance equipment. In the distance, the refuge that was the Isle of Wight beckoned, though only for those who could afford a home within its expensive and comparatively unpolluted environment.

  It didn’t draw the envy or the attention of the council members. Nor did the passing cargo vessels and smaller recreational craft. They ignored the giggling children playing tag with the tide, the overweight but relaxed couples basting in the rare unobstructed sunshine, the occasional pair of lovers lost in each other’s eyes and oblivious to the degraded world around them.

  Oblivion of any kind was denied to the council. Sun, sea, and sky notwithstanding, depression threatened to consume them. Every attempt to prevent the departure of the colony ship Covenant had failed. Their hopes of removing Yutani himself from the equation had crumbled when it was learned that he was friends with the head of the very same Neoyakuza organization they had hired to kill him. Instead of fulfilling the contract, Tatsuya Himura had gone straight to the corporate leader to warn him of the intended hit.

  Duncan Fields wasn’t with the council. The Prophet could not abide wide open
spaces such as that presented by the open sea. Such expansive vistas forced him to contemplate the sky. Contemplating the sky inevitably forced him to consider the void that lay beyond. Considering the void led to more frequent relapses of his nightmarish visions. He much preferred the dark, enclosed spaces of the farm, with its ready access to sleep aids and painkillers.

  “We’re running out of time,” the diminutive Yukiko declared to her companions. The shingle beach reminded her of the gravel-lined shorelines of her own home in eastern Hokkaido.

  The man lumbering along beside her masochistically walked the beach in his bare feet, his shoes held in his left hand. Occasionally he winced as he encountered a sharper-edged stone. He said he welcomed the pain. It helped him to focus.

  “What more can we do?” When he shrugged, the flesh of his shoulders continued to ripple slightly after the gesture had concluded, like water into which a pebble had been tossed. “Yutani’s daughter is now better protected than the Queen. The old man has surrounded himself with a small army. Given the heightened security at the three spaceports supplying material and personnel to the Covenant, we’ll never get someone on board.”

  “We might as well try to take control of a missile base.” The younger man pacing him slipped on the shingle and cursed softly. He eyed his companions. “I know—I’ve put out feelers. That is something that’s not going to happen.”

  “It wouldn’t matter.” The other, older woman was licking a frozen lolly. “Taking control of a facility is one thing. Programming and coordinating a weapons system would require expertise our people are unlikely to have.” A distant blast made her flinch, but it was only the horn of a passing freighter. The great sails on its six masts were in the process of automatically furling.

  “We have to find another approach.” The man who spoke had traded his usual tailored suit for lightweight slacks, sandals, and a shirt spun from tropical silk. He would have seemed perfectly at home at an expensive beach resort in the Chagos, discussing stock options and tax shelters while holding a slender glass full of ice and rum topped with a tiny paper brolly. He stepped with precision over the shingle while pondering various approaches to murder.

  Like the others, he could think of nothing that would work. The effort to involve the Neoyakuza had appeared promising, only to have come to naught beneath the reality of old man Yutani’s seemingly infinite allies.

  It was the seriously overweight member of the council who paused, bringing the group to a halt. Raising his free hand, he used it to shade his eyes against the glare off the water. For all his bulk he had an agile mind, one that worked ceaselessly on behalf of the Prophet and the cause.

  “I think we’re going about this the wrong way.”

  “How do you mean, Pavel?” Millicent, the larger of the two female members of the council, took a last bite of a creamsicle that was melting as rapidly as their hopes.

  Lowering his shading hand he looked down at her, then at the others. “Consider that, initially, each of us was a skeptic, until through the sharing of the visions of the Prophet Duncan we were converted.” He paused a moment. “Instead of trying frontal assaults on Weyland-Yutani we need to attack it from within.” The notion prompted some animated conversation, and before long a decidedly different strategy began to emerge.

  “It’s impossible,” Pierre said firmly. “The company has its entire reputation staked on the successful departure of a colony mission. Billions are at stake.” He sniffed. “Even if we could get inside we wouldn’t have enough time to stop the ship’s departure.

  “Not,” the overlarge Slav countered, “if we can penetrate the company deeply enough.”

  Yukiko laughed bitterly. “You’re talking about somehow sabotaging the Covenant’s departure from within the company itself. Might as well try to sabotage a country from within.”

  “Why not?” Pavel shot back. “It’s been done before.”

  The elegantly dressed gentleman, whose title was baron but whose interests lay in saving mankind from itself, had been deep in thought, considering the organization’s rapidly shrinking options.

  “I know it seems unlikely, but Pavel may be on to something,” he said. “If you can’t cut off the head of a snake, you have to attack the body. No company is impenetrable. If we have to penetrate Weyland-Yutani to keep the colonization mission from proceeding, then that’s what we’ll have to do. Somehow. Even if it costs some lives.” He eyed them evenly. “Even if it costs some of ours.”

  As the most technically proficient among them, the youthful Pierre was first to voice the obvious question.

  “How would we hack the departure?” he said. “We can’t do any real damage if we can’t get inside.”

  The corners of the Baron’s thin, immaculately trimmed mustache rose slightly. “Pierre, that falls on you.”

  The Frenchman made a face. “You ask a lot.”

  The Baron shrugged. “You know as well as any of us what is at stake. What humanity faces if we fail.”

  “It’s still a wonder to me that so few believe.” The matronly woman carefully slipped the scoured lolly stick into a pocket.

  Pavel grunted. “Show them the truth, and they think the Prophet is mad. It is better in my country. We have a history of accepting prophets.”

  The Frenchman began to nod to himself. “It can be done. It will be difficult—and if it fails it could leave a trail leading to all of us—but it can be done. We will only have one chance. After that…?” He gave an eloquent shrug.

  “After that, if the attempt fails,” Yukiko observed, “those of us who escape will try to regroup. We will keep striving until the Covenant mission is cancelled.” She paused. “As for it costing our lives, well, we have long since committed them to the cause.”

  “It will work.” The English baron spoke smoothly and with confidence. “All that’s necessary is to get inside the company. Once in, we can do… whatever is necessary.”

  “Whatever is necessary,” Yukiko repeated as they turned and headed back toward their separate modes of transportation. She didn’t object to the decision that had been reached. The council had always operated on consensus. Being Japanese, she particularly appreciated that.

  Besides which, they were running out of options.

  And out of time.

  * * *

  Yutani kept a fresh towel around his neck as he rode one of the two private elevators up to the second floor of his three-story residence. The gym on the first floor was now empty, his kendo instructor having gathered his equipment and departed. The strenuous workout always left the CEO feeling physically depleted but mentally alert. Having showered in the gym facilities, he was looking forward to a relaxed evening. For a moment he considered importing a courtesan to entertain him for the night, but he realized he was too tired.

  Not young enough anymore to follow kendo with a woman, he told himself ruefully. No matter. Having earlier reviewed the last of the day’s business reports, he could now indulge in some news and perhaps the sports report before retiring for the evening. Following the dictates of the American Buckminster Fuller, he had trained himself to need only three or four hours sleep a night.

  Software maintenance, he knew, was at least as important as the occasional hardware repair.

  As he settled himself on the couch facing the blank wall that doubled as a projector, the autobar delivered a glass filled with ice, sparkling water, and taperaba extract. The cushioning adjusted optimally to his height and weight. Murmured commands brought the wall to life so that it seemed to disappear, replaced by a succession of images and music. In moments the images changed and the music was replaced by a pair of earnest newscasters. As they spoke, the imagery accompanying their reports moved around. Sometimes they hovered in front of the casters, sometimes behind, according to the requirements of each story.

  He watched a report on the modest tsunami that had struck the coast of Chile earlier that day. Though rushing water appeared to lap around his feet, the entertainment
system’s epidermal sensorium was muted, so he didn’t feel the waves. There seemed to be little damage from the tsunami or the earthquake that had spawned it. That was good—Weyland-Yutani had interests in Valparaiso.

  The watery imagery disappeared. Simultaneously, the pair of newscasters were replaced by half a dozen figures seated in a row behind a long table. They wore identical clothing. They spoke in identical voices. They smiled identical smiles.

  Yutani frowned slightly, but gave no other reaction.

  “Are we in?” one of them asked his neighbor. They all appeared to be male. The digital masking was very well done.

  “Easy enough to find out.” A second figure turned to address an unseen pickup. “Hideo Yutani, can you hear me?”

  “Not only can I hear you,” he replied as he used hand gestures to activate some of the special equipment built into the wall system, “but I can see you quite well.”

  “And we can see you.” A third member of the group leaned forward. “Well enough to tell that you are probably initiating search and record instrumentation. You’ll find it a waste of time. Our location is as well masked as our identities. We cannot hurt you through a simple two-way communication, so please pay attention to what we have to say. Breaking the privacy coding of your home entertainment system required some effort. It would only waste time if you execute an emergency termination, and we have to do it all over again.”

  Nevertheless, he set the relevant instrumentation to trace and record anyway. Despite what the speaker declared, some useful information might be gleaned. Only one group with whom he’d had recent dealings had demonstrated this level of ability to penetrate corporate and personal security.

  “Are you part of, or working for, the Jutou Combine?”

  He was rewarded with six identical surprised reactions. In its way, that was answer enough. Another speaker confirmed it.