Alien: Covenant 2

by Alan Dean Foster

  “We have nothing to do with any corporation. We are the followers of the Prophet. We are the Earthsavers.”

  If the solemnity with which this revelation was delivered was supposed to impress Yutani, it failed.

  “Never heard of you.”

  “That is by design,” another of the six declared. “However, one day all will know us.”

  “I’m sure that will be the case,” Yutani agreed. “Public trials and the consequent imprisonment of anti-social terrorists tend to be popular in the media.”

  “We are not anti-social.” The tone of the speaker who replied suggested that Yutani had gotten under his actual skin. “We are entirely pro-people. That is why we strive, on behalf of the Prophet, to do what is necessary for the future of all mankind.”

  Yutani nodded mechanically. He considered calling in his bodyguards to serve as witnesses, but decided against it. There was nothing they could add to the exchange, and their appearance might cause those who had interrupted his evening to break off the conversation. He needed to keep them talking. Silence was rarely informative.

  “A most noble sentiment,” he said evenly. “The rallying cry of every group of fanatics since the beginning of time.”

  “We are not fanatics,” another speaker insisted. “We are devoted to the truth.”

  “You won’t persuade with semantics,” Yutani shot back. “You are the ones who tried to sabotage the Covenant. Who tried to abduct my daughter. You tried to infiltrate the mission’s security team, and when that failed, one of you did his best to assassinate the ship’s chief of security.” His tone turned sharply sarcastic. “But I suppose that would be acceptable, as long as you’re not fanatics.”

  The first speaker replied. “If applying labels makes you feel better, then have at it. Our purpose is no less than the survival of the human species.”

  Yutani blinked. “And what makes you think you can pull off the salvation of our species?”

  “No,” another of the six put in. “Survival.”

  Absurd as it all seemed, Yutani couldn’t keep himself from responding.

  “From what?”

  “OH-TEE-BEE-DE,” they chorused. That all six of the speakers looked exactly alike made the chant all the more unsettling. A bemused Yutani frowned.

  “Excuse me? Is this a game?” he asked, irritation edging his voice. “An elaborate—albeit mildly impressive—amusement?”

  “It is no game, Hideo Yutani.” The fourth speaker replied with exaggerated solemnity. Or more likely, from his point of view, he wasn’t exaggerating. “Oh-tee-bee-dee… Out There Be Demons. Through his visions, the Prophet has shown us that the galaxy is filled with many hostile, bloodthirsty lifeforms who, if they were to find their way to Earth, would seek to exterminate its dominant intelligent lifeform. Us.”

  Then the “Prophet” mentioned in the reports was a “he.” Yutani felt a small surge of satisfaction. That was something, anyway. Every clue was to be welcomed.

  “I see,” Yutani replied. “So you are not merely fanatics, but insane fanatics.”

  “We are not fanatics.” Again the speaker rose to the bait. Yutani responded without hesitation.

  “Are any of you astrophysicists, or specialists in xenobiology? No, I think not. Yet you are saboteurs, kidnappers, murderers, and you suffer from a communal delusion. The longer this continues, the more I feel I’m wasting my time—but you’ve piqued my interest. Tell me how you know about these inimical lifeforms, when our exploration craft and finest scientists haven’t found the slightest proof that any such creatures exist?”

  “We know,” another speaker declared with conviction, “because the Prophet tells us so.”

  “Ah.” Yutani took a sip of his cold drink. “The Prophet. Based on what you’ve already said, I should have expected a detailed, rigorously scientific explanation like that.”

  “We expect mockery and do not fear it. Those who are heir to the truth are untroubled by cynicism.” The first speaker shifted in his seat behind the table. His repositioning was not matched by similar physical adjustments on the part of his companions.

  So, Yutani thought, the digital masking isn’t perfect. The longer such masking went on, the more likely it was to break down. Recording might yet prove useful.

  The individual seated beside the speaker spoke up. “The Prophet’s visions are detailed—”

  “Detailed enough to frighten you, certainly,” Yutani observed, cutting him off. “Doubtlessly detailed enough to persuade you to contribute financial ‘support.’”

  “Our support for the Prophet is minimal,” the speaker replied. “We provide only the basics, the essentials. He does not attempt to raise money, if that’s what you are implying. In fact, he loathes the visions and would give anything if they would stop.”

  Well, Yutani thought, that was an unexpected response. If it was true.

  “Pity I can’t share his ‘visions.’” He gave a casual wave. “Who knows? They might convince me to cancel the mission. That is what you want, isn’t it? To prevent the Covenant from departing. To keep humans from settling among the stars.”

  “That is what we want,” two of the speakers agreed simultaneously.

  “We cannot show you the Prophet’s visions,” another said.

  Yutani let out a sharp grunt. “Why am I not surprised.”

  “What we can do,” the speaker continued, “is share with you the visuals our creative personnel have been able to generate. Ones that represent our best interpretations of his visions.”

  “Go ahead,” he told them airily. “Impress me. Persuade me. It’s only an enterprise costing billions of dollars. I’m sure your prophet’s imagery will convince me to abandon it without question.”

  One of the speakers nodded, and made a gesture off to the side. Once again, the motions didn’t remain unified. Their masking continued to break down. If he could just keep them talking a while longer, he might learn something truly useful.

  Abruptly the six disappeared.

  Nightmares replaced them.

  The images that appeared—one after another in measured procession—were relatively photorealistic. For all that they remained comparatively indistinct, but there were enough details to create a visceral response. Yutani felt himself tense up, and he clenched his jaw.

  Having been raised to be familiar with contemporary horror, as well as traditional kaidan, he was not easily unsettled. Nevertheless the parade of ghastly depictions that now filled the space between the couch and the wall was like nothing he had seen or read. It was impossible to tell whether or not the victims of the carnage were human—was this a prediction of the future, of the hell that awaited mankind? As they threatened to press against him, he shrank back against the cushions.

  Clearly the images were the work of master digital artists, and the raw emotions they conveyed were beyond anything Yutani had ever experienced. They played out in swirls of viscera and reformulations of grisly violence, until he finally croaked out a plea.

  “All right, that’s enough… that’s enough!” He was sweating profusely, and was certain his virtual intruders could see it.

  The images vanished, to be replaced once again by the row of six indistinguishable figures. One leaned slightly forward. “Do not feel ashamed by your reaction,” he said. “Ours were much the same. Realize also that each of us—at one time or another—has been witness to the Prophet in the throes of these visions.” The speaker shook his head slowly. “No reproduction, no matter how skilled the artist, can compare to the terror of such moments.”

  Yutani quickly downed the last of his cold drink and immediately directed the autobar to prepare another. He drank half of it down before replying.

  “Very impressive,” he said. “Yet what makes you so certain these visions, as experienced by your Prophet, represent…” he looked upward briefly and waved a hand, “creatures that live out there? Dangers lurking in space or on other worlds? I don’t mean to minimize the power of your imag
es, but couldn’t they be ordinary nightmares? Perfectly explicable bad dreams?”

  Another of the six spoke up. “In his waking hours, the Prophet has been very specific as to their origin and location.”

  Yutani frowned. “You’re not going to tell me that he can provide stellar coordinates for the source of his visions?”

  For the first time since they had interrupted his nightly viewing, several of the six seemed uncertain. It was left to one of their number—an individual who was not indecisive—to respond.

  “He has no such acumen, does the Prophet. He can only indicate the night sky and repeat ‘out there be demons.’ So great is his waking terror that he fears to go outside even in the light of a full moon, lest he be compelled to look at the stars.” The speaker’s voice grew more deliberate. “His insights are to be believed. They must be believed! Colonies will attract attention—dangerous attention that will lead demons of unknown strength and abilities back to Earth. We do not exaggerate when we insist that the very fate of mankind itself is at stake.” Apparently aware that his voice was rising, the speaker calmed himself.

  “It is a risk we cannot take,” he continued. “If we are so inclined, if mankind has the will, we can repair the damage we have done to this planet. There is no need for us to expose ourselves—unready and unprepared as we are—to the monstrous threats that lurk beyond our system. It is unquestionable. The Covenant cannot be allowed to depart.”

  Another speaker took up the refrain. “We did not choose this path,” he said. “Since becoming aware, a number of us have tried—individually and together—to convince others of the dangers that lie in pushing beyond the confines of our world. No one listened to us. No one paid us the slightest attention. We were treated as less than nothing. It was that indifference that forced us to join together, and take to the shadows,” he continued. “We have tried several times now to halt the mission. Several times we have failed.

  “We realize that we are taking a risk in talking to you directly, but it was decided that with time running out, the only way for the mission to be interdicted was for the head of Weyland-Yutani to understand what drives us.”

  Still another of the six spoke up. “Now you have seen the evidence,” he said in a pleading tone. “Now you may understand. We have pledged our minds, our bodies, our fortunes, and our souls to protecting the Earth and its people. We ask only that you consider what we have shown you, and then decide. As a highly successful and intelligent entrepreneur—one who has proved his own abilities over and over again—we believe now that you have been shown the truth, you will respond accordingly.

  “Your decision will decide the fate of our planet,” he concluded.

  Yutani nodded, using a bar towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.

  “You have given me much to think about,” he said, striving to keep his voice even. “I had no idea…” He went silent for a moment as he pressed the towel to his mouth. Removing it, he spoke with sudden resolve.

  “Despite what you may believe, I cannot unilaterally cancel the Covenant mission. My competency would immediately be called into question. But I can delay its departure. In the interim, I can speak with key individuals in certain departments. Working together, I think we can come up with a plausible rationale, and put an end to any future endeavors, as well.” His jaw tightened. “Yes, I think it can be done. Not in one day, not in two, but before the ship is scheduled to depart—yes.”

  To his surprise, the six identically masked speakers remained calm. The response from the individual on the far left was quietly appreciative.

  “We are greatly relieved,” he said. “We intend no affront, but you of course understand that we will continue to monitor the Covenant project, to assure ourselves that you are a man of your word.”

  “Of course.” Yutani hurriedly downed the rest of his drink. His hand was shaking. “Were I in your position, I would do no less. It is the only sensible thing to do.”

  “Then we will leave you to the remainder of your late evening,” another speaker declared. “To reflect on what we have told you, what you have seen, and all that has been discussed.”

  Yutani nodded vigorously. “Should you contact me again, for whatever reason, I promise you that from now on I will respond immediately, and without hesitation. Do not hesitate.”

  The space between the wall projector and his couch went vacant. A moment of silence passed, then the broadcast he had been watching returned as if nothing had happened.

  He did indeed respond as the last speaker had suggested, sitting and pondering everything he had seen. Of one thing he was convinced. Based on everything he had heard and seen, an immediate and significant response was required. He began to react, swiftly and with conviction.

  The first thing he did was put down the towel he had held to his mouth—not to stifle a gasp of horror, but to hide the laughter he had fought hard to suppress. Next he checked to make certain that everything he had seen and heard had been properly recorded. Following that he turned off the heater, built into the couch, which had induced so much perspiration over the course of the exchange.

  He made a note to fire the person in charge of his electronic security.

  Then he called London. He had no doubt that the city was home to a wide array of psychiatric specialists. What he needed was someone who dealt with psychotic disorders. He would need to put one or more of them on the Weyland-Yutani payroll.

  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.”

&
nbsp; 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.”