Alien: Covenant - The Official Movie Novelization

by Alan Dean Foster

  Opening the box, she tenderly fingered the contents one by one: a class ring, a strip of old-time solido photos of the two of them, a button she had salvaged from the ridiculous suit he had worn to a costume ball celebrating the fashions of the mid-twenty-first century, a couple of old metal nails he had lovingly salvaged from a collapsed miner’s shack in backcountry Wyoming.

  Taking one of the nails, she found a piece of string— even string had a place on a starship, she reflected—and tied one end just under the head of the nail. He’d had his old shell necklace, now she had the nail. She put the makeshift piece of jewelry around her neck. The sliver of old iron was cold against her chest.

  The fingers of one hand closed tightly around it as she shut her eyes.

  V

  Relativity notwithstanding, time seems to pass the same both outside and inside a starship. So it was on the Covenant, where work to repair the damage to the wafer-thin energy collectors proceeded with care and deliberation.

  The bridge was alive with activity now, with a full complement of crew busy at their respective stations. Attentive though they were to the work at hand, Ricks, Upworth, Walter, and Faris were able to communicate without looking up from what they were doing.

  Some of their energy and attention was devoted to monitoring activity outside the ship. Much of that was currently focused on Tennessee. Unlike with some of the other crew when they performed extra-vehicular activity, it wasn’t necessary to check his personal health monitors in order to assess his physical or mental condition. His frequent whistling was reassurance enough that he was feeling fine.

  Oram entered the bridge just as Tennessee was out finishing repairs to one of the last damaged transmission arrays. As if on cue, lights, readouts, projections, and holos that had been operating on backup power suddenly brightened. Others that had been completely powered down sprang back to life. The relief among those present was visible on their faces and in their elated comments.

  A grinning Upworth addressed the nearest comm. “Well done, Tee. We’re full live down here and on first check, everything appears to be back online.” She looked around the bridge. “I haven’t seen this much life up here since we left Sol, and you’re missing all of it. Come back in.”

  “So noted,” Tennessee replied. “Don’t leave without me now.”

  Seated at her station nearby, Faris didn’t hesitate as she glanced over at the younger woman. “Please, leave without him. He’s always in his own orbit anyway, so he should be just fine out here by himself.”

  Upworth’s grin widened as she shook her head. “Can’t do that. Abandonment, even for patently justifiable purposes, is against regs. They’d dock my pay.”

  “What d’you care?” Faris shot back. “You’ll never get back to Earth to collect it.”

  “Goes to a favorite charity.” Upworth checked Tennessee’s progress, and was gratified to see that his suit’s functions were as healthy as those of its occupant. “All right then, maybe they’d dock my housing allowance for Origae-6. Besides, we need him on board. He helps alleviate our boredom.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” a smiling Faris argued.

  They broke off the banter as Daniels entered, plainly a little the worse for wear. Breathing the optimized recycled atmosphere on a starship did nothing to alleviate the headache from a hangover.

  Oram smiled a greeting, but his expression was tight. “Welcome back. Not feeling your best this morning?” He would have said more, but his wife’s words still echoed in his ears.

  She barely glanced at him. It was evident from his attitude if not his tone that he knew about the funeral. And about the drinking.

  Screw you... Captain, she thought. Her head throbbed too much for her to reach for wit, even if her sarcasm was internalized. Ignoring the surreptitious stares cast her way, she moved silently to her station.

  * * *

  Outside, the repair team was finishing up. Ankor made a final check of the conduit readouts inside the mast on which he had been working. Satisfied that everything was operating properly, he closed the service door, turned, and with a light touch on the relevant suit control boosted himself toward the waiting airlock.

  “All tight here. Heading back inside, Tee. Good work.”

  “Hey,” the big man replied, “all my work is invariably first class.”

  Having finished the necessary renovations to the collector panel and its extension arm, Tennessee prepared to head back to the ship from his position near the terminus of one of the masts.

  A quick check of the displays inside his helmet indicated that all the relevant systems were operating normally once more. That meant that though it would still take the usual interminable period of time to do so, they could once again make contact via the established relay system that led, like a string of electronic beads, all the way back to a now very distant Earth.

  While the Covenant was completely self-contained, as was necessary for any colony ship, that thin thread of contact with home remained important as a link to the planet they called home. As they journeyed onward and the ship continued to automatically drop off a relay unit to extend the system at each recharge stop, it also meant that once they were established on Origae-6, those back on Earth would be able to learn that the colony had successfully established itself at the chosen destination.

  Activating his suit propulsors, he pivoted back toward the bulk of the Covenant. One thing about doing EVA outside a colony ship, he told himself. You couldn’t lose track of your home base, because there was absolutely no other possible destination within a light year. He let Ankor know he was okay.

  “So noted,” his colleague replied. “See you inside.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Tennessee told him. “Please have a cold one ready for the weary traveler.”

  “You got it, buddy.” That was Upworth’s voice, not Ankor. “I’ll join you in that cold one.”

  “Thank you very much. Maybe get two ready. I’m on my way.”

  “Y’know,” Upworth murmured over the closed channel, “if we could save as much high-energy alcohol as you consume, we could probably power the ship’s systems for an extra cycle.”

  “Wouldn’t work,” he told her. “I’d need more booze to service the ship for the extra cycle. Diminishing returns.” He prepared to start back, aiming for the airlock.

  Everything went dead.

  Audio was silent. Not even a hiss. The helmet heads-up and all readouts and displays blanked. He found himself floating in darkness save for the distant gleam of stars and the lights of the ship. Instrumentation wasn’t needed to tell him that his heart rate and respiration had taken a sudden jump. He knew life support was functioning for the simple reason that he was still alive.

  What the hell?

  He was reaching for a safety reset control when a white face suddenly flashed past him on the inside of his helmet. It was brief, unrecognizable, and accompanied by a distinctive and decidedly unsettling high-pitched screech.

  Instinctively, he flinched. Both sight and sound lasted only a second or so, then they were gone. As he drifted, the only sounds were that of his heart beating and his hard breathing. He addressed his suit’s pickup, forgetting that like the rest of his suit’s instrumentation, the audio wasn’t working properly.

  “What the…? Did you guys just see that? Something just went…”

  * * *

  He continued talking. On the Covenant’s bridge they heard his voice, but it was weak and distorted. A concerned Faris leaned toward Upworth’s station.

  “What did he say? I swear I heard him say something.”

  “Dunno.” Upworth’s fingers were moving over her console, seeking to clarify, trying to enhance. “‘Saw something,’ I think.”

  “Tennessee,” Faris said more loudly, “you reading me?”

  * * *

  He was not.

  What he was doing was recoiling a second time as the ghastly pale visage reappeared, more sharply defined this ti
me. Still distorted, it stretched and flexed like ectoplasm. Human, inhuman—the pale countenance changed so rapidly he couldn’t pick out individual features.

  And there was the screeching. As unintelligible as the face was unidentifiable, the sound scraped against his eardrums. Almost, he thought he could make out words, or at least syllables. Almost, he could sense a struggle for articulation, the sounds balanced on a knife-edge between coherence and madness.

  Both image and audio lasted slightly longer this time before vanishing as completely as before.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “What was that?” He tried the comm again. “I’m coming in.”

  * * *

  So many wires and filaments led from the helmet on the diagnostic table that the headgear from Tennessee’s suit resembled a fungoid alien growth. Projections, holos, and basic monitors flashed information according to their analytic programming. All of it came together in a single mega-readout projection that hovered above the table.

  The crew gathered around it, some of them concentrating on the summation visual while others glanced repeatedly at individual readouts. Since there was a possibility that Tennessee’s experience involved Security, Sergeant Lopé had joined them.

  Though communications had gone down during Tennessee’s EVA, his suit’s backup systems automatically recorded everything. The crew watched as the malleable white visage, silent for the moment, appeared in the holo. It remained unresolved despite computer efforts at enhancement, yet it was clearly the face of... something. It twisted forward, back, forward, back. No one had any idea of what the visual represented.

  Ricks was the first to offer a theory. “It’s most likely a lost, rogue transmission.” He looked over at Tennessee. “Your suit must have picked it up because you were working so far out, past the ship’s internal communication buffers. That’s why we didn’t get it in here. It’s incredibly weak.”

  “Rogue transmission,” Lopé echoed. “From where?”

  Nobody answered him. Nobody could, and after repeated viewings of the recording, no one on the bridge was sure they wanted to know.

  Oram voiced a request. “Mother, can we hear the accompanying audio?”

  Head forward, head back. Forward, back, now accompanied by the incomprehensible screeching. Some of it was almost intelligible, Daniels thought. Like everyone else, she strained to make sense of what they were hearing. It was half sensible, half demented, she told herself.

  Ricks reconsidered. “Likely not a full transmission, or it’d be sharper. Gotta be an echo. Probably came in and hung around in buffer storage while we were being hit by the flare. That could’ve messed it up right there. Some instrumentation took a lot of damage. This byte isn’t the only thing that got scrambled.”

  Upworth disagreed. “No, I don’t think it’s an echo. It’s a straightforward sending.” She indicated her console. “It’s in the logs, too. Every forty-six seconds, ever since we dropped out of jump to recharge.” She frowned at a readout. “I don’t know why it didn’t show itself before now, or why it popped out on Tennessee’s internal suit readouts instead of in here.”

  Ricks sounded vindicated. “Echo. Never know where or when one will show itself. Ship rides out a flare, standard transmission progressions go out the window.”

  There was an undertone of remembrance in Oram’s response. “It’s like…” he murmured, “I remember.” Aware that everyone was staring at him, he explained in a more normal voice. “I was raised Pentecostal.”

  Lopé made a face. “What’s that? Some kind of special child-rearing crèche?”

  The captain did not smile. “Religious denomination. Real old-time fire and brimstone.” He indicated the holo. “During the meetings you’d hear stuff like that. It’s called ‘speaking in tongues.’ Words sound familiar, but they’re just off enough so that they don’t quite make sense. Not to outsiders, anyway. If you were in the congregation it all sounded just fine. So I’m thinking one possibility. It might not do a thing, but…” He raised his voice slightly.

  “Mother. Slow the signal. Search for discrete word patterns within the transmission. Discard anything that doesn’t fit. Excerpt and compile. And reverse it.”

  “Working,” the ship responded. “Please stand by.”

  “God’s language inverted.” Oram was speaking as much to himself as to anyone on the bridge. “The language of lies. The Devil’s Tongue.”

  Faris acknowledged her husband’s comments with a thin smile. “That’s comforting.”

  Upworth eyed him curiously. “What would make you think that, Captain?”

  Oram’s attention came back to her from the distant place where it had been loitering. “Familiarity. An old game called ‘Sounds Like…’ Could be completely wrong here, but worth a try. No harm.” He smiled slightly. “When I said ‘familiarity,’ I meant on a linguistic basis, not an intimate one.”

  Upworth pushed out her lower lip. “We would never think anything like that of you, Captain,” she observed dourly.

  Oram raised an eyebrow, but looked vaguely pleased.

  “I’ve reoriented and compiled the transmission, Captain Oram,” the ship declared. “I have included everything I was able to extract and render intelligible. I have taken only the necessary liberties to ensure general comprehensibility.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He waved a hand absently. “Put it on general audio.”

  In place of the unfathomable screeching they now heard a voice. The rhythms were odd, the speech pattern obscure, but it was decidedly human. As were the words. They were not what anyone could have expected.

  “…teardrops in my… the place I belong…”

  It wasn’t much. Not a speech, not a plea, but understandable. Everyone was stunned.

  A human. Out this far.

  Of all those present, only Walter didn’t wear a look of amazement. Seated at his console, he maintained his usual stolid expression as he did his job. It was the kind of focus that allowed him to answer the as yet unspoken question that had leaped to the forefront of everyone else’s mind.

  “There’s spatial data, too.”

  “How much?” Oram inquired quickly.

  The synthetic did not hesitate. “Enough. More than enough, actually. Mother, please track the signal to its source. Compile and display.”

  “Working. Please stand by.”

  A navigation holo appeared over the bridge’s central table-console. Walter manipulated its size, colors, and content, his eyes darting from console and readouts to the holo as he drew in ancillary data and connected points.

  The result was—unexpected.

  The holo flickered, twisted, and went out. In its place arose a flurry of blue pixels that expanded beyond the nav profile boundaries to momentarily fill the room. In the center of the first holo an image began to take shape. Its outlines were indistinct, forming and reforming, crackling with weakness as the ship’s computer fought to hold it together.

  “…to the place I… All my memories gathered round…”

  The rest was inaudible. Then the image seemed to settle down, collapsing into a more discernible shape. There was no longer any mistaking the visual. It was a woman, depicted life-size. As the crew looked on in amazement it began to drift around the bridge, wafting through solid objects, less perceptible than a ghost. A ghost with a lament, its lyrics barely understandable.

  “…the radio reminds me of my home far away, and drivin’ down the road I get a feelin’ I should have been home yesterday, yesterday…”

  His head inclined toward the floating figure, Tennessee strained to hear, to make sense of the faint chanting that almost was singing. The words from another time, another place, hung in the still air of the bridge like an aural specter. As he remembered, as the lyrics and tune came back to him, he began to hum along.

  “…country roads, take me home, to the place I belong. West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home, country roads…”

  The ethereal, wandering image abruptly lock
ed up. It hung among them for an instant longer before scattering in a silent burst of evaporating pixels.

  Eyes turned from the place where the figure had last hovered to the man who had been humming in concert with the ancient words.

  “‘Take Me Home, Country Roads.’” Noting that more detail was wanting, Tennessee added, “First recorded by the great John Denver, mid-twentieth-century singer, songwriter, and environmental activist.”

  “What’s an ‘environmental activist’?” Upworth wanted to know.

  “Someone who agitates to preserve the environment,” Tennessee replied, looking over at her. When she eyed him blankly, he added, “They’ve been pretty much extinct for some time now. Like their rationale.”

  Lopé shook his head. “You gotta be kidding.”

  Tennessee frowned at the sergeant, his voice solemn. “I never kid about John Denver.”

  It was Mother who interrupted the history lesson. “Source of the transmission located.”

  “Visuals, please,” Oram directed the ship.

  The holo star chart that appeared was the most detailed the computer could generate for the outlying sector in which they found themselves floating. Without having to be prompted, Mother zoomed in, to center on a single blurry star. It had no name, no designation. Even in a time when high-powered telescopes floated in orbit between the Earth and the moon there were still places, still stellar objects, that could not be clearly distinguished.

  “Empty” space was full of dust, gravitational distortions, and other astronomical events that often obscured direct observation of distant phenomena. Such was the case with the uncharted star whose location Mother was able to resolve only because of the ship’s current position in the cosmos.

  The visuals were unremarkable. “Details,” Oram said.

  “Signal originates in sector 105, right ascension forty-seven point six and declination of twenty-four point three relative to our current location. Full coordinates being relayed and recorded now.”