Alien: Covenant 2

by Alan Dean Foster

  Lopé made a rude noise. “Given what they’ve tried already, I don’t see that label sticking.”

  “No,” Bevridge declared emphatically, “and neither do I, but the company doesn’t want to take the chance. So this operation is to be carried out as inconspicuously as possible. A little water here, a little soap there, and as few bullets as possible.”

  The sergeant nodded. “I can apply soap.” Nearby, Rosenthal nodded in agreement.

  Bevridge glanced briefly toward the ceiling. “I can see you’re not going to be sensible about this, old chap.”

  “If we were sensible,” Rosenthal told him evenly, “we wouldn’t be putting ourselves in deepsleep to be awakened at an unknown world with no prospect of coming home.”

  Bevridge wasn’t mollified. “Well, I wasn’t told to keep you away. If you insist on coming…”

  Lopé flicked a glance at Rosenthal. It was unnecessary. “We do.”

  “… then just try to keep out of the way.”

  Lopé nodded solemnly. “That’s me. I’m an expert at keeping out of the way.”

  “And I’ll be sure to follow the sergeant’s lead,” Rosenthal added politely.

  Then Lopé changed the subject to something he’d been wondering about for several days. “How did the company finally locate these cheerful anarchists, anyway?”

  “It seems that these self-proclaimed Earthsavers decided to try and persuade Hideo Yutani himself of the rightness of their cause.” Bevridge folded his hands on his desk. “They managed to hack the private communications system in his home, and spent some time making an earnest effort to convert him, based on their prophet’s nightmares.”

  Rosenthal was dubious. “All these attempts to stop the colonization mission, based on some whack job’s bad dreams?”

  Bevridge nodded. “Their organization is founded on them. Apparently more than a few people find them convincing. Believable enough to give their lives to their misguided cause.” He shrugged. “It’s been like that throughout history. Somebody charismatic or convincing enough comes along with a good story, and even folk who you’d think would know better abandon all reason in the service of something that on the face of it makes no sense.”

  “This prophet,” he continued, “who by the way has been identified as an ex-pharmacist from Lower Taunton…”

  “‘Ex-pharmacist.’” Rosenthal was smirking. “That explains a lot right there.”

  “Name of Duncan Fields, apparently has recurrent nightmares or visions in which he sees hordes of ravenous creatures just waiting ‘out there’ to encounter space-traversing humans so they can follow them back to Earth and ravage the planet.”

  “They’re too late.” The private was on a roll. “We’ve already done that ourselves.”

  “All of this information, including the location of their center of operations, was obtained when their exchange with Yutani was analyzed. There were half a dozen individuals who participated in the broadcast. All six have been identified. They masked themselves digitally for the exchange, of course, and utilized several proxy connections.

  “These Earthsavers are smart and they’re clever,” he said, “but they are neither the smartest nor the cleverest. The company has access to military-grade decryption and descrambling technology. Their visual masking was excellent. Our people were unable to resolve individual faces, but the aural masking—to which such people would understandably pay less attention—proved decipherable.

  “Once we had their real voices, we were able to match them across public recordings of everyone currently residing in the British Isles. We could have ranged further, but that turned out not to be necessary.” He sat back.

  “So we’ve been able to monitor several of their inter-organizational exchanges, and know where they are hiding. If you still insist on participating when we close them down, be downstairs in the restricted loading area tomorrow morning at six. I suggest you eat something before you arrive.” He offered a wan smile. “It’s a bit of a drive out to Hampshire, and we won’t be stopping for breakfast.”

  * * *

  Neither Lopé nor Rosenthal had trouble sleeping. Being able to get adequate rest prior to a potentially dangerous operation was part of their training. They awoke, ate, performed the necessary ablutions, and met at the rendezvous.

  Even Lopé was impressed by the preparations. A dozen fully armed transporters, artfully disguised as ordinary delivery trucks, were lined up on the lowermost level of the company storage building. As he and Rosenthal made their way across the floor, clusters of grim-faced Weyland-Yutani security personnel were boarding the vehicles. The sergeant quick-counted more than a hundred. Not knowing the strength of the organization they were going to face, and their efforts thus far seemed to indicate deep pockets. It was plain that Bevridge was taking no chances. A show of overwhelming force, Lopé knew, might stop a fight before it started.

  There were also several smaller vehicles. Espying Bevridge, the two members of the Covenant’s crew made their way over to him. As soon as the security chief saw them he stopped giving orders and greeted them solemnly.

  “You can ride with me.” Turning, he led the way toward what appeared to be an unremarkable family vehicle. Only someone with a trained eye would have noticed such non-domestic details as the shatterproof windows, puncture-proof tires, and half-centimeter of armor plating.

  They clambered in. Behind them, the whine of powerful electric motors began to whisper through the underground parking area. Lopé and Rosenthal sat in the middle row, with two armed members of the security team in the seats behind them.

  A subordinate sat behind the wheel. Once they were out of the inner city, the line of vehicles would go autonomous until they were a dozen or so kilometers from their destination. Then their drivers would resume manual control in case any awkward maneuvering was required.

  “What happens when we get there, wherever ‘there’ is?” Rosenthal asked.

  “Central Hampshire.” Bevridge looked back at his expectant passengers. “Farming country, don’t you know. Very pretty, traditional old-English landscape—what you can see of it when the north winds blow the pollution back toward London. Cover like that could be advantageous for the day’s activities.” He smiled with satisfaction. “These fanatics likely chose such a rural, comparatively isolated spot in order to keep from drawing the attention of outsiders. That helps us a great deal, since we also want to avoid drawing attention.”

  Lopé noted that only one of the trucks followed their car out of the garage. He expected as much. The others would follow in due course, at staged intervals to avoid attracting notice. They wouldn’t close formation until they were very near their destination. Care and caution were the watchwords of any such operation. Curiously, as they exited the garage, a dark blue car near the tail of the column abruptly veered away to vanish down an off-ramp. He thought about mentioning it to Bevridge, then decided against it. The security chief had the operation well in hand.

  The farther they drove from Greater London, the better the air became, and as Bevridge had suggested, there was a brisk northwesterly wind that helped to push everything toward the Channel. The result was decent visibility, if not the atmosphere of ancient, fabled transparency. Sealed within their vehicles, the dozens of security personnel enjoyed air conditioned by a series of heavy-duty filters and scrubbers.

  It wasn’t until the scattering of vehicles exited the M3.5 onto the A408 that they began to regroup. It was afternoon when they once again split up. Three trucks plus one command car embarked on a southerly route via a local road while three more and a car headed north. The remaining two cars—including the one with Lopé and Rosenthal, followed by half a dozen personnel-heavy trucks spaced well apart—continued west on the A408.

  From time to time Bevridge would check in with the rest. His group would confront the Earthsavers head-on at their redoubt, while the other two security teams would cover any retreat to the east, west, and north. By the time anyone at
the destination realized what was happening, they would be surrounded. Detailed satellite images showed only one access road leading onto and out of the property, but like any good tactician Bevridge was taking no chances. No one knew what kind of equipment the Earthsavers had access to. It might include off-road vehicles or two-wheeled machines.

  “What about aircraft?” Lopé asked.

  Bevridge looked back at him. “Our surveillance imagery is accurate down to individual milk cans. Nothing on the property resembles even a small hangar.” He smiled knowingly. “Those kinds of non-farming structures would attract too much attention from naturally curious rural folk. Ground-penetrating radar shows nothing subsurface, either. They might have individual flying gear on hand. If so, the drones can handle that.”

  Lopé nodded. He’d seen some of the drones being loaded. Palm-sized, a few hundred of them would be deployed as the team made its final approach. They would form a dark cloud above the Earthsavers’ property. Hundreds of cameras, sensors, and other detectors would combine their data to generate a composite picture of everything and anything within the compound. A wasp wouldn’t be able to get through without setting off an alarm.

  “Beautiful day.” Rosenthal gazed out through an armored window as they turned onto a winding country road. In one field of laboriously maintained verdure, several horses were cropping grass that had been genetically modified to withstand the intermittent pollution. One day the geneticists would run out of tricks and such fields would turn brown and barren. For now, the echo of old England still survived in a few places.

  Their driver, who had long since retaken control of the vehicle, slowed as a sign appeared above a wooden gate on their right. As he did so, Lopé thought to glance toward the end of the line of vehicles. The car that had left the column back in London had not reappeared. He shrugged. Likely it had nothing to do with the operation. His gaze turned to the nearby sign.

  ROSE HILL FARM

  “We’re here.” Bevridge was no longer smiling.

  Seated on the right side of the car, Lopé lowered the window and squinted to peer past the sign. “All I see is grass and a dirt road.”

  “The buildings are located up over that rise there.” The security chief pointed. Then he was addressing his comm unit, giving orders. Several moments later a humming sound grew audible, moving toward them. It faded but didn’t entirely disappear as the cloud of drones launched from the fourth truck in line. They formed a dark cloud that moved rapidly toward the low hill. Two similar clouds would be coming from two other directions, to merge with theirs.

  They sat in silence for a while, until Bevridge muttered an order to the driver. Their vehicle started toward the gate.

  “No reaction from the compound,” he informed his passengers. “They’ve chosen to ignore the drones. They can’t avoid seeing them.”

  “It’s likely,” Rosenthal opined, “that our appearance has surprised them, and they’re trying to decide what to do next.”

  Bevridge nodded. “We’ll give them a suggestion, what?”

  The gate had a pair of digital locks, and their electronic disrupter remotely decoded the relevant password. The barrier swung open, providing just enough clearance for the trucks behind them to squeeze through. Eschewing patience now, they accelerated up the road. The inhabitants of the farm might choose to ignore the cloud of drones that had appeared above them. They could hardly miss the two cars and half-dozen trucks rumbling up the access road toward the compound.

  As soon as they topped the low rise, the buildings of the complex came into view. In appearance they were unremarkable. There was nothing visible to persuade a casual visitor that he was looking at anything but a working country farm.

  Slowing, then coming to a complete stop, the driver waved at a couple of controls on the dash. The front and center of the cab immediately filled with neatly spaced heads-up displays. From their middle seats Lopé and Rosenthal had an excellent view of the multiple readouts as the driver singled out bright spots on one display.

  “Buried sensors here, here, and here,” he said, pointing. “Push conduits here and here.” He shoved a finger into one projection, distorting it slightly. “You can see clearly where the jumping mines are concealed. Our systems are already scrambling their internal controls.” He checked another readout. “Units two and three are engaged in similar pre-emptive procedures. In another minute or two everything that isn’t behind military grade shielding and relies on electronic controls in order to function will be shut down, right down to a toaster. As for the buried mines, they’ll be neutralized and we’ll be able to drive right over them.”

  “Right then—mines.” Bevridge studied the multiple readouts. “Unless there’s been a truly bad mistake and we’ve accidentally arrived at the home of a seriously anti-social farmer, I’m going to take their presence as conclusive, on-site confirmation that we have the right location.” He eyed the driver. “What else?”

  The man continued to study the numerous readouts. “Two mini-guns, left and right of this entry road, in flanking positions.” As he finished speaking, the automated weapons in question opened up. While Rosenthal flinched, Lopé didn’t twitch. Other than making a lot of noise, the slugs that struck all around them caused no more damage than a hail of ball bearings. Someone inside the complex must have seen as much, because the futile barrage soon stopped.

  “Interesting weapons system.” The driver indicated a smaller readout. “Hydraulic powered, which is why our e-smother didn’t shut them down.” He looked to his superior. “Response, sir?”

  Bevridge considered, then nodded toward one of two storage buildings visible on the property. In addition to these, there were two main structures that appeared to be the living quarters. One had a particularly broad roof. They were heavily shuttered.

  “There’s a barn over there, old man. The one with the long peaked roof. Instruct one-four and one-five say hello.”

  “Yes, sir.” The driver relayed the command.

  Pop-up launchers emerged from the roofs of the fourth and fifth trucks in the column and swiveled to face the building in question. The missiles they launched were small but powerful. In quick succession both struck the sides of the structure that Bevridge had singled out.

  The explosions were impressive. Lopé and Rosenthal felt the concussions inside the car. Large pieces of stone mixed with splintered matrix were thrown high into the air as the antique rock walls were shattered.

  The building itself, however, remained standing, doubtless due to the metaloceramic armor walls that were now clearly visible where the stone had been blasted away.

  Leaning forward, Bevridge pursed his lips as he studied the result.

  “Interesting architectural detail there. The owners’ cows must be particularly valuable.” Shifting in his seat he picked up a hand unit.

  “Attention inside the buildings!” he said. “This is Kyuka Bevridge speaking.” His magnified voice echoed loudly outside the sealed vehicle. “Your property has been subjected to a comprehensive electronic smother. You cannot fire any electronically controlled weapons. You cannot call out for reinforcements or to involve the local authorities. If you possess small arms, please note that you are vastly outgunned. This entire property is now subject to high-density drone surveillance. We do not want to hurt anyone, but you will be taken into custody and turned over to the Greater London municipal police for processing.” He paused to let what he had broadcast sink in before resuming.

  “In the interest of avoiding bloodshed I ask that you come out with hands raised and no weapons. Should you be considering another option, be aware that we have with us long-range detection equipment that can not only pinpoint the existence and location of suicide explosives, but set them off at a distance. Any misguided efforts at sacrifice will be useless. Please come out. Now.”

  Satisfied, he sat back to wait. Minutes passed with no indication of activity. Suddenly there was motion, and a line of goats appeared from behind one of th
e barns. Bevridge’s people were well-trained, however. The animals’ appearance didn’t inspire any unprovoked firing.

  The security chief turned to look back at Lopé. “What’s your opinion, old chap? Do we press on, or give them a bit more time to come to a decision?”

  “This is your show, Bevridge.”

  His superior nodded once. “So it is, but I value your experience.”

  The sergeant glanced at Rosenthal before responding. “My experience tells me that you can’t negotiate with fanatics. You’ve shut down their electronics. That’s good. They know we’re aware of their hydraulics, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have something equally nasty lying around waiting for unwanted visitors.” He looked over at Rosenthal. “Your opinion, Private?”

  Startled at being asked to comment, but looking pleased by the confidence the sergeant was showing in her, Rosenthal hesitated for a moment, then spoke up.

  “You warned them about using small arms,” she told Bevridge. “That doesn’t mean they’ll listen. They may dig in and try to defend themselves. There’s a wide range of weapons that don’t rely on electronic triggering. They might have pistols, they might have M90s. One crazy person can do a lot of damage with an M90.”

  Lopé looked on approvingly. “One crazy person can do damage with a blunderbuss, if they know how to load, aim, and fire it. The point is that it’s still not safe to enter.”

  “I’m afraid I have to concur.” Reluctantly, Bevridge gave orders to specialist members of the team waiting in the trucks.

  Figures began to emerge from behind the car, rushing forward. While some of them carried weapons, others were laden with gear that Lopé thought he recognized, but he couldn’t be sure.

  They looked on with interest as the assault team worked its way toward the two main structures, avoiding for now the barns. Anticipating armed resistance, the members of the Weyland-Yutani assault squad were arraigned in full military-grade armor and similar battle gear.