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 ou
t 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.
XXII
“You should make your way back to the Covenant, old chum. I can expedite your transit.”
Lopé sat across the room from Bevridge and ignored the percussive, dirty rain that was rattling against the window of the security chief’s office. The city had never been truly pristine, not even in Roman times. Now living on Earth had become like living in a garbage pail, starting out clean until it gradually filled up. Soon the stains and the smell would become impossible to ignore, or remove. The problem with the planet was that humanity was running out of places to park its refuse. Some managed to get used to living with it.
Having been granted the option, he had chosen to leave it all behind. But not yet. There was business to take care of first. Personal business. That it coincided with company business made things simpler.
“They tried to kill me,” he asserted. “These fanatics.”
“Maybe you should’ve hired their applicant instead of Rosenthal.” When Lopé didn’t smile, Bevridge looked away. “All right, that was a bad attempt at lightening the atmosphere.”
“Hard to lighten the atmosphere,” the sergeant replied softly, “when assassination is the subject.”
“I have an entire team ready to go,” Bevridge told him. “We’ve mobilized
a good chunk of our local Weyland-Yutani company security. We’ll take care of this exactly according to the CEO’s orders—quietly and with as little fuss as possible.” Leaning over his desk, he gazed evenly at the nearer of his two visitors. “We don’t need you, old boy.”
“I’m aware of that,” Lopé admitted, “but I need you. I need to be a part of this, even if I just go along as an observer. Rosenthal wants in, too.”
Bevridge sat back and sighed. “It’s true that we’re going to the country, but this isn’t a picnic outing, what? These people are likely have weapons. They probably have access to explosives. It’s very possible there may be a firefight.”
“I’m counting on it.” A thin smile lit the sergeant’s face, teeth appearing through his beard.
Up to that point, Rosenthal had sat silently in a corner of the office. Now she addressed the security chief.
“What I don’t understand is why it’s so important to Yutani to keep this quiet.” Using her fingers, she ticked off the relevant points. “First these crazies threaten to sabotage the Covenant. Then they try to kidnap his daughter. They try to slip another of their people onto the ship and when that fails…” She gestured at Lopé. “They make an effort to kill the sergeant here.” She shook her head. “What does it matter if their takedown goes wide spectrum? If anything, I’d think the story would get the company some sympathy. After all, there’s widespread support for the whole colonization program.”
Bevridge listened politely before replying. “That’s why you’re a security team private, I’m a security team administrator, and Hideo Yutani is head of one of the planet’s largest companies, old gal. From every bit of intelligence we’ve been able to garner, these ‘Earthsavers’ are a quasi-religious group. They have a designated ‘prophet.’” He eyed each of them in turn. “We here may think of them as dangerous nuts—”
“They are dangerous nuts,” Lopé put in.
Bevridge stayed patient. “But others will hear the words ‘prophet’ and ‘religious.’ If there’s a real skirmish and some people die, there are addled but important individuals who will raise some unpleasant questions. Before you know it, Weyland-Yutani will be accused of exterminating some harmless flock of deluded but innocent pastoralists.”
Alien: Covenant 2 Page 20
