Alien: Covenant 2

by Alan Dean Foster

  Jacob didn’t care about rank or money. A new world lay out there, waiting for the arrival of the Covenant and its compliment of sleeping colonists. He would be in charge of the colony on Origae-6. Far more than numbers in a bank account, he would have preferred to receive still more in the way of supplies. This despite his wife’s assurance that the colony would start off as well-equipped as contemporary technology could provide. As far as he was concerned, the Covenant could never have enough in the way of provisions.

  One thing continued to nag at him.

  Answers. They lacked answers. According to a quick search performed by Mother, the failed saboteur had made no attempt to hide his identity. Eric Sasaki, single, age 33, Yutani employee for twelve years. Service technician second class. Two minor work demerits, otherwise a clean record. Properly utilized his accumulated vacation time. Eighty percent positive credit for sick leave not taken. Nothing distinguished about his term of employment. All told, a better-than-average work record if nothing exceptional.

  Why then would an apparently steady, trustworthy, run-of-the-mill employee suddenly turn against the only company for which he had ever worked, to the point of trying to violently stop its most ambitious project? One that promised benefits, not just for Weyland-Yutani, but for all of humankind?

  They were missing something. Neither he nor his wife, however, had the time to spend parsing possible motives. As Kajsa declared, the sabotage attempt could have been a one-off by a single individual, disgruntled or holding a grudge for unknown reasons. And since Sasaki had committed suicide, they wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask him.

  None of which kept Hallet from doubling down on shipboard security. It was encouraging that the terrorist hadn’t been able to bring a functioning weapon on board, and had been forced to resort to subterfuge instead. That he had been able to access terraforming explosives was considerably less reassuring. Thus, the sergeant had ordered permanent electronic monitors installed wherever they stored any cargo that could be similarly employed in a hostile manner.

  While doing so, he wished vocally for his superior’s return.

  “Well, we’re off.” Mithun shook Daniels’ hand, then Jacob’s. “After what happened, the company and I are more confident than ever of the colony’s success, knowing that it is in your capable hands.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Jacob replied professionally. “When the majority of people you’re responsible for are asleep, administration is pretty straightforward.”

  “You diminish yourself.” The rep looked over at Daniels. “Both of you.”

  “I’d still like to know why this Sasaki person made his attempt.” Daniels tended to hold onto problems longer than her husband. “I know it won’t mean anything once we cut Neptune’s orbit, but I’d still like to know.” Her tone was grim. “In order to use the explosives, he had to have done some research, or undergone training outside his area of expertise.” She eyed her husband. “This wasn’t something done on the spur of the moment.”

  “I promise you,” Mithun told her, “that once his motive or motives have been established, the explanation will be conveyed to you via transmission. You will have it prior to entering deepsleep, or you can review it at your leisure during a recharge session.” He hesitated, frowning. “Certainly, there were Weyland employees who were unhappy that the company was taken over by Hideo Yutani. Perhaps the roots lie there.”

  “You’d have to be pretty ‘unhappy’ to go to the length of physically sabotaging a colony ship, just to keep it from carrying out its mission.” Jacob found the theory more than a little suspect. “Yutani employees, as part of Weyland-Yutani, have every bit as much riding on the success of missions like the Covenant’s.”

  Daniels nodded in agreement. Behind them, the lights momentarily dimmed and then brightened. Electrical techs testing the system.

  “After the takeover, Hideo Yutani paid tribute to everybody at Weyland,” she said, “by naming the company Weyland-Yutani. It could just as easily have gone the other way around.”

  Kajsa peered down at her. “I’m sure honoring Peter Weyland and his efforts entered into choosing the final name, but Hideo Yutani is nothing if not the ultimate capitalist,” she said. “Being a Japanese industrialist, he’s much more interested in maintaining a low profile. Peter Weyland, on the other hand, was a name known to nearly everyone on the planet. More importantly, he was a brand in a personal way that Yutani never has been. To Mr. Yutani, exploitation of a family name does not constitute honor.”

  Mithun eyed her uncomfortably. “You wouldn’t say that at a corporate meeting.”

  “No,” she replied readily, “but I would in private, and I’d say it to Yutani’s face. Politely, of course. I don’t think he would be offended by the appraisal. In fact, I think he’d appreciate it.”

  Mithun grunted. “Better you than me.” Abruptly a soft but insistent chiming sounded from his comm unit. He glanced at it briefly, then looked back at his hosts.

  “In addition to the bonuses and promotions, I’m going to recommend a company commendation for the both of you, as well as for your Sergeant Hallet and his security personnel.”

  Jacob shrugged. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s all right.” Kajsa eyed the husband-and-wife team. “For my part, I’m going to file a reprimand, because an unauthorized tech was able to access dangerous terraforming supplies, thereby threatening the ship and the entire mission.” She smiled pleasantly. “So the commendation and the reprimand will effectively cancel each other out, and in the cumulative report nothing will have changed.”

  “Then why bother with it at all?” Daniels made no attempt to hide her irritation. “Now look, it wasn’t our fault that this Sasaki managed to—”

  Her husband cut her off. “It doesn’t matter who was responsible. What matters is that the attempt failed. Hallet and, when he returns, Lopé, will go over every meter of the ship to ensure that it’s clear and clean before we activate the drive.” Resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder, he squeezed gently. “As captain, I’m responsible for everything that transpires on the Covenant—good or bad.”

  “An attitude that explains why you are the captain.” Mithun’s comm chimed again, insistently this time. He turned to his colleague. “We have to go. We don’t want to miss the shuttle.”

  Kajsa nodded and reached out. Jacob shook her hand. Daniels did likewise, albeit with some reluctance. She and her husband watched until both company representatives had disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

  “Nice enough pair,” Jacob concluded aloud. “For company reps.”

  His wife nodded. “Friendly but soulless.”

  “Since when was a soul a requirement to climb the corporate ladder within Weyland?” He smiled at her. “Or Weyland-Yutani. No, all that matters are results. Anything related to a soul, or ethics, or morality, can be massaged or simply abandoned.”

  She sighed heavily. “I’m going to miss Earth. But I’m not going to miss a lot of what it has become.”

  “Just the usual course of evolution,” he replied. “Or devolution.” He turned toward a port that looked away from the nearby planet and out into space. “That’s one of the main reasons the company had no difficulty getting people to sign up. Plenty of those on the ground are looking for a fresh start.”

  She nodded understandingly. “Just like me and thee.” She turned to go. “I need to supervise a detailed check on the main cargo bay. Make sure nothing was overlooked.”

  He put out a hand to restrain her.

  “Hallet knows his business,” he said. “Let him and his team do their job.” When she started to object, he put a finger to her lips. “I know that cargo bay is your territory, and the terraforming gear is your baby, but you can’t do everything. If you head back there and, uh… participate, Hallet will feel as if we don’t have full confidence in him and his people. Don’t you have something else to attend to?”

  She had to grin. “Yeah. Just ‘one o
r two’… thousand. You’re right.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “You know, if this Sasaki just wanted to put a halt to the mission, he could have placed the explosives and simply set them off. Why expose himself the way he did? So that the bay could be cleared? Just so he could broadcast whatever crazy speech he had planned?” She looked up at him. “His actions imply that he wanted to stop the Covenant from leaving, but without hurting anybody.”

  Jacob considered. “So then, a compassionate fanatic? Kill the mission, but not the people? He never said that.”

  “No, but his actions said it.” She looked uneasy. “It still doesn’t make sense that he was working alone. If nothing else, somebody had to show him how to set the charges.”

  “Not necessarily.” Jacob shook his head. “He was a trained tech, and could have learned all he needed to know from searching the available literature.”

  “If only I could’ve kept him locked in the lock.” A buzz sounded from her own comm unit. She recognized the source—one of the cargo techs, probably wanting her to resolve a storage conflict. Professionalism kicked in, overriding her unsatisfied curiosity. “Need to go.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll leave Hallet alone, I promise.”

  “As will I. If there are any lingering concerns, he can discuss them with Lopé when the sergeant returns. Me, I need to get with Oram and Karine to make sure that last batch of colonists is settling safely into deepsleep.” He grinned. “One thing about commanding a colony ship: once we’re under way, I’ll never have to worry about complaints from the passengers.”

  They went separate ways, he to the bridge and Daniels heading for the cargo bay that had been the recent scene of a potentially crippling confrontation.

  She knew Jacob was right. Hallet and his team would be methodically checking the area for any explosives they might have missed on the initial sweep. The sergeant didn’t need her looking over his shoulder. Besides, the incident had already put her behind in her own work.

  But even as she moved to resume her schedule, she found herself wishing she could have had time enough to ask the enigmatic Mr. Sasaki one or two very penetrating questions.

  V

  For decades no one had known how many people actually lived in Greater London. So many migrants had poured in from other parts of the planet that the overwhelmed Census Bureau eventually gave up. As a result, for the past forty years the population had been estimated, instead of counted.

  Even that much would have been impossible without the aid of scanning drones, but as with the human counters, the drones missed the troglodytes who eked out an existence in the tube tunnels, and the scavengers who ate, slept, and screwed in the corridors of the increasingly interconnected buildings. Save for the infiltration and proliferation of advanced technology, inner London was coming more and more to resemble ancient Kowloon’s walled city as its buildings pressed together above roadways and historical landmarks.

  Despite the passage and enforcement of progressively stricter anti-pollution laws, there was only so much the authorities could do. As a result, when winter took hold, melting snow and rain combined to produce a dirty slush that made walking itself hazardous. The Thames Barrier still managed—barely—to hold back the floods and intruding ice floes. Spring was tolerable, and autumn was threatening.

  Then there was summer.

  Summer drove anyone who could afford to leave out of the city. The millions unable to do so were forced to endure a choking, cloaking layer of heat-simmered particulates that could make breathing not just dangerous, but potentially lethal. Compared to the contemporary atmosphere, the original London “fogs” would have seemed like a breath of fresh air.

  The authorities and scientists blamed it all on the melting Greenland ice sheet that drove the Gulf Stream southeast and away from the British Isles. This played havoc with traditional weather patterns in northern Europe from Dublin to Denmark and beyond. There was nothing that could be done except suffer through until fall, or leave the planet behind entirely.

  For Sergeant Lopé, taking a break and watching a vid stream, the weather was one of many things that motivated him in his life’s choices. Though head of ship’s security and only incidentally a colonist, Lopé was among those bidding a relieved farewell to the Earth. Once on Origae-6, he would become chief of planetary security with his partner Hallet as second-in-command. He would hold an important position in the incipient planetary government.

  Not that he gave a rat’s ass about status. He was looking forward to spending the rest of his life breathing air without having to wear a mask, drinking water that wasn’t processed through filters and treated with chemicals, and walking for hours at a time without being bumped and crowded and cursed by hundreds, thousands of his stinking fellow humans.

  As far as he was concerned, the launch couldn’t come soon enough.

  His own personal departure would come only when the ship’s security detail was at full strength. That goal was within sight. He only needed to sign one more recruit. Then he and the final conscript could depart—separately or in tandem—for the ship. With luck, that would be the final time he would be required to set foot in the broken cradle of mankind.

  It should have been easy. Certainly he had thought so when the company had started vetting applicants. But while there were plenty of qualified contenders for many of the colonial positions, security was such a sensitive area, and the company proved exceptionally picky when it came to hiring. Hundreds of eligible aspirants had been winnowed down from several thousand, and at the end he would be allowed to select only one.

  Almost done, though, he told himself. One more slot to be filled, one more application to be approved. Then he could take the fast train north to the Wash shuttleport. He didn’t even need a reservation. As the Covenant’s chief of security he could claim any seat on any Weyland-Yutani shuttle heading for orbit.

  The room where he was conducting interviews was located on the fourth floor of an 80-story-tall company subsidiary tower. The office was small, relatively soundproof, and there were no exterior windows. A mid-level executive would have been mortified to have been assigned such a confined space. Lopé didn’t give a shit. He was used to life in the field, familiar with the rough camp life of a soldier. Anything resembling a luxury would have been wasted on him.

  His whole adult life had been about the job, which in turn meant that it had been all about surviving. That in the course of his career he had lost nothing more permanent than a back tooth—and that not from combat—was a greater testament to his martial skills than any brace of shiny medals. He had been knocked down, wounded, had bones broken, and owned a plethora of hidden scars—but physically as well as mentally, he was intact. Properties much to be valued in the settling of a new colony.

  For someone who seemed to have as much testosterone as blood in his veins, he got along exceptionally well with people. It was this combination of battlefield expertise and empathy that had landed him the chief’s position. It was why he was interviewing the applicants for the final security team slot, instead of some mannered executive or steroid-driven officer. He’d decided to forego any uniform for the interviews, as well. Casual clothes generally put people at ease.

  The final interview process would have been familiar to anyone occupying a similar position from a hundred years earlier. Every applicant waiting in the outer office had already passed the requisite written and physical testing. Each had undergone preliminary and intermediate questioning by a virtual interrogator.

  All that was left for them was to convince a single gruff-but-polite ex-soldier that they were best suited to spend years in deepsleep, then settle and police a new world that would be cut off from their homes, their families, their pasts, and all other human beings save their fellow sleepers.

  Of necessity and by design, the security team was small. In a pinch the rest of the crew could help out, all of them having been trained in the fundamentals. But if a difficult situation arose, it would be up to the
official security team to deal with it. Which meant that any decisions involving ship or colony security would land first, last, and always, upon his shoulders and his alone.

  It was that knowledge that induced him—despite his dislike of the city—to take his time interviewing the final candidates for the last open position. Ultimately a commander was only as successful as his troops in the field. When that field lay many light-years away, there would be no opportunity to send home a recalcitrant subordinate, and discipline was something they would have to live with forever.

  Given the consequences, it behooved him to take his time and be careful who he chose to serve under him.

  Having satisfied every requirement—including the interview with Lopé—Privates Ledward, Ankor, and Cole were busy aboard the Covenant, carrying out their duties under Sergeant Hallet. They would continue to do so until soon after their departure from Earth orbit. At that point the security team and the crew would take their place in deepsleep alongside the colonists.

  He looked forward to joining them. For anyone who was physically, mentally, and emotionally prepared for it, deepsleep was a welcome respite from anything resembling real work.

  “Earn while you doze,” one Weyland wag had put it. Except it would be your relatives, friends, and any other designated beneficiaries who spent your paycheck.

  Grunting softly, he switched off the vid stream he had been watching and smoothed a beard that sported highlights of gray. Allowed to take breaks between interviews in order to refresh himself, he didn’t hesitate to do so at every opportunity. He couldn’t delay forever, though, nor did he really want to. He knew he was going to have to settle on someone soon.