Alien: Covenant - The Official Movie Novelization

by Alan Dean Foster

  But much, much bigger.

  Walter joined her, scrutinizing silently, making notes and taking readings without the aid of external instrumentation. He offered no comment, nor did she solicit any. As usual, if he had anything of consequence to offer, he wouldn’t need to be prodded to voice it.

  Oram regarded their dank surroundings with an increasing look of unease. Reaching into a pocket, he withdrew his worry beads and began to roll them between his fingers. The sharp click-click proved even more unnerving than the silence they interrupted.

  * * *

  Still lingering behind them, Hallet thought better of his actions. As long as he had been a member of the Covenant’s security team, there hadn’t been a time when it had been wise to ignore Lopé’s instructions. Tempting as it was to see himself credited with an important finding, maybe in this case it was better to leave such probing to those with more experience.

  After all, he would still get credit for pointing it out to the scientists when they traced their path back through this chamber. So he took a step backward, away from the small rotund object he had been examining. As he did so his foot inadvertently brushed against another one that was half buried in the mold behind him.

  It dissolved into a cloud of motes.

  Rising, they swiftly coalesced into a microscopic form that would have been difficult to see even in bright sunlight. In the darkness, it was essentially invisible. Hallet’s beam might have been strong enough, but it was turned the other way as he prepared to catch up to the rest of the team.

  The mote-shape hovered for a long moment near his head, as if in contemplation. As if studying. Then it darted forward abruptly, slipping into one nostril. An ovipositor-like tube formed. A function engaged, not quite imperceptible.

  Unconcerned, Hallet rubbed the side of his nose.

  A figure returned to meet him. It was Lopé, and his concern quickly switched to irritation.

  “Hey, Tom, keep up!” he barked. “Do I need to put you on a leash?”

  “Yeah, sure. Sorry, Sarge. I was just looking around.”

  “We’re all ‘looking around.’ That’s why we’re here instead of back on the ship. Let’s just make sure we keep in sight of each other while we look around, okay?” He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial, comradely tone. “The brains tend to wander off on their own. I don’t need one of my own people doing the same. Especially you, Tom.”

  No more was said. They hurried to rejoin the others.

  * * *

  The next chamber they entered was enormous. Unlike those through which they had come, this one had a rounded, dome-like ceiling supported by curving walls. The walls themselves showed no signs of joints, welds, seams, or internal support of any kind. A gently sloping ramp led to a huge platform that rose from the exact center of the floor.

  It fronted a console that curved around an impressive device that might equally have been a weapon, a telescope, or some kind of instrument whose purpose was not immediately apparent. There was a chair, and as they approached it, their footsteps clicking on the ramp, they saw that it was unoccupied.

  Spaced equidistantly around the chamber they found four huge pods. Closed and covered with deeply inscribed indecipherable writing, they appeared to grow out of the floor of the platform. It was much too soon to tell if they were analogs to the hypersleep shells like those on the Covenant, or intended for some other purpose, yet their similarity was near enough to give Daniels chills. One obvious difference was size. They dwarfed those on board the mother ship. She wished fervently she could read the script on their sides.

  * * *

  As Rosenthal played her light over the artifacts, Oram mounted the central console to investigate the sweep of inactive instrumentation. There were no buttons, switches, monitors, or any other recognizable controls. Only multiple imbedded hemispheres of varying sizes hinted at a means of activation. Though he was careful to touch nothing, his caution was misplaced. The engineering behind the console had not relied on anything as primitive as actual physical contact.

  Oram’s hand passed over a matte inlay and…

  A holo appeared, flashing to life exactly where Rosenthal was standing. Startled, she jumped clear, allowing the image to fully reveal itself. Though blurry and indistinct, it was clearly a human woman. The imagery was accompanied by audio. Audio that was by now as familiar as it was mystifying… and disturbing.

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

  As he strained to parse the lyrics, Oram couldn’t keep from sensing the underlying sadness in what ought to be a positive tone.

  “Listen to her voice,” he murmured as the song reverberated around the vast bowl of the chamber. “So much regret. And distress.”

  “Fucking distressed me.” Seriously unsettled by the eerie tonalities, Rosenthal didn’t care if she stepped on the captain’s rhetorical toes. “What the hell was she doing out here? How the hell did she even get here, on an alien ship, crashed on an alien world? Poor thing.” She hefted her heavy F90 rifle, a companion to the ones carried by Cole and Ledward. “Not liking this one bit, Captain.”

  Oram didn’t respond. He stared at the holo, fascinated as it shifted position inside the chamber. As they watched, the figure looked over its shoulder, silent for a long moment. As much as he was able to tell, the image looked nervous—or scared. Then the singing resumed, as ethereal as its insubstantial vocalist.

  “If I were stuck here,” Rosenthal added under her breath, “I’d want to go home, too. Even to West Virginia, wherever it is. Or was.”

  Unable to repress his curiosity any further, Oram approached the figure. It ignored him and continued its mournful lament. Until he swept his hand through it, at which point it shut off completely, sound as well as visual.

  Having had enough of ghosts, Rosenthal had shifted her attention to the enormous slanted chair in the center of the room. Climbing into it, she played her light around the interior of what appeared to be additional instrumentation. As Oram had discovered, it was as dark and dead as the rest of the ship. Nothing reacted to the light from her beam, the movement of her limbs, or even contact with her hand. Everything she touched was as cold as the water that dripped and ran through the vessel’s disturbingly organic corridors.

  “God,” she muttered, remembering the suits in the corridor and comparing them to the size of the console. “They were giants.”

  “Maybe not.” Always hard to impress, Lopé used his light to study the exterior of the seat-console. “Maybe they were normal-sized, and we’re a race of midgets.”

  Oram’s expression twisted. “I’m afraid I don’t believe in giants.”

  Hanging from a chain around Rosenthal’s neck was an ancient symbol—a Star of David. Reaching into her shirt she pulled it out, brought it to her lips, and kissed it. Metal though it was, it was less cold than her surroundings.

  “I do,” she said simply.

  * * *

  Not far from the chamber and off a side passage, Daniels and Walter encountered a number of smaller alcoves. Most held objects smooth, twisted, and generally incomprehensible. Both human and synthetic were shocked when they peered into one that had been turned into a semblance of living quarters—for a human.

  Walter moved on to inspect another alcove further down, but Daniels lingered. As she shined her beam inside, it was a glint of gold that caught her eye and drew her attention. The last thing she expected to see on the alien vessel was a crucifix, but that’s exactly what it was, gold and straightforward, hanging by its chain from a bent piece of conduit.

  She beckoned to Walter.

  “Over here. I’ve got something.” Wary as always, she waited for him to join her so they could enter together.

  The alcove had been made into the equivalent of a ship’s cabin. There was some furniture, plainly hand-made, a bed, and a desk with a chair. Atmospheric moisture had taken its toll on any of the contents that
were organic in origin. Although it could use a polish, the gold crucifix and chain looked as new as the day they had been forged.

  The same couldn’t be said for the moldy pile of bound paper lying on the desk. How and where the paper had been acquired, Daniels could not imagine. Perhaps, she mused, it had been manufactured on site. There was certainly plenty of wood available from which to make pulp.

  She couldn’t remember ever seeing bound paper anywhere outside of a museum. Yet here it was, in as unlikely a place as could be envisioned. Sadly, much of it had been rotted by the constant moisture, and the contents rendered illegible. But the front still retained recognizable, embossed letters.

  “Dr. Elizabeth… Shaw.” Daniels said it aloud.

  Nearby, Walter spotted a transparent block. His light picked out an image of two smiling people, floating within it.

  “Is that her?”

  Walking over, Daniels picked up the block and studied the contents. Frozen in time, space, and the transparent material, a man and a woman stared back at her.

  “Seeing that it’s in here, in this place, close to a journal with her name on it, it seems likely,” she answered, “but I don’t know.”

  While she continued to examine the image block, Walter played his light into other corners of the alcove-cabin. There were clothes, neatly folded, with some of them decaying like the paper journal, only not as rapidly. Personal items. A smattering of small artifacts, likely gathered from the distant reaches of the ship. A helmet.

  Walter went stock still as his light caught the logo on the spherical piece of protective gear. Since the helmet wasn’t made of paper, fabric, or any other material subject to normal weathering, the writing on it was still perfectly clear.

  WEYLAND INDUSTRIES

  “Do you remember the Prometheus?” he asked.

  Daniels turned away from the desk and back to him. “The ship that disappeared… yes. It was major news for a while. Then people forgot about it, just like they inevitably forget about everything.”

  “Precisely,” he concurred. “That was ten years ago. The mission was funded by Weyland Industries.”

  She stared at him. “So?”

  “Look at this.” Picking up the helmet, he brought it close enough for her to see the logo. “If memory serves, Dr. Elizabeth Shaw was chief science officer of the Prometheus.”

  Daniels was as stunned as the synthetic had been when his gaze had first picked out the logo on the helmet.

  “Crazy.” She shook her head in amazement. “That explains all this.” With the sweep of a hand she took in the alcove and its contents. “But not how she ended up here.” Turning, she peered into the recesses of the makeshift habitat. “There’s no body. There have to be some remains somewhere.”

  “Of course,” Walter agreed readily. “Remains. Somewhere.”

  X

  While less than inviting, the weather was nothing if not consistent. Afternoon looked the same as morning— overcast, gray, with occasional light mist and fog. Local fauna continued to be conspicuous by its absence.

  Karine continued gathering, packaging, and labeling her specimens. Ledward continued…

  She saw him standing and swaying. His gaze was unfocused, his balance decidedly questionable. Uncharacteristically, he failed to respond when she called to him.

  Setting aside her work, she walked quickly over to him.

  “Ledward, you don’t look… right.” She moved closer. “Stay there.”

  The hasty medical check she performed was done without instruments, but it was enough to tell her he was ill. His eyes had gone colorless, and the rest of him didn’t look much better. Waxen skin, bright lips—if she didn’t know better, she would have said he had gone from healthy to anemic in the space of a few minutes. The speed at which the symptoms had overtaken him was shocking.

  Also, she knew that individuals prone to anemia and other, often hereditary conditions were not accepted for colonization—much less into ship security.

  He staggered and she took a step back. His breathing was hoarse and uneven. “I have to…” He stopped, started anew, as if the act of forming simple words was becoming difficult. “I have to sit. I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…”

  Nearly collapsing, he sat down hard, indifferent to where he landed. He was scared and making no effort to hide it. In the dark as to what was happening to him and unable to hazard a diagnosis without suitable equipment, Karine could only stand nearby and watch.

  “I can’t… breathe.” The private thumped his chest. “Can’t breathe…”

  A tiny droplet of blood appeared, leaking from one tear duct. Espying it, Karine struggled to hide her alarm. That kind of reaction on her part was the last thing he needed. Without knowing what was wrong with him she couldn’t begin to prescribe a possible remedy.

  She—they—needed help, and fast.

  “You sit,” she ordered him. “Get your breath. Try breathing slowly—don’t panic. As soon as you get your wind and feel up to it, we’re going back to the lander. I’ll pack up. The specimens can stay here.” She indicated the silent beauty of their surroundings. “There’s nothing here to bother them, and I can come back for them later.” He nodded understanding and she moved away, quietly addressing her suit comm as she did so.

  “Captain Oram, come in. We have—” She stopped, considered the effect a full description of Ledward’s condition might have on the others, and resumed speaking with a more moderated explanation. “We’re going back to the lander. Repeat. Private Ledward and I are returning to the lander. There’s something wrong with him.” Switching quickly to a suit-to-suit channel, she contacted the landing craft.

  “Faris,” she said, “Ledward and I are on our way back. Prep the medbay.”

  * * *

  Standing in shallow water that now threatened to overtop the upper rim of her boots, Faris frowned as she digested the communication.

  “Will do, Karine,” she responded. “What’s going on?”

  “Just do it!” the scientist said. Anxiety was plain in her voice, though it didn’t sound like panic.

  Straightening from where she had been working under the bend of the hull, the pilot stared toward the distant, forest-draped mountainside. It had begun to drizzle, a fact which did nothing to improve her mood, but it was lost in her concern for the obvious worry in the other woman’s voice.

  * * *

  Though Karine was reluctant to make physical contact with the increasingly incapacitated Ledward, she had no choice. Without her assistance he would not have been able to stand. Given the visibly deteriorating state of his eyes, she wondered how he could even see where he was going, yet he managed to stumble around and step over obstacles in their path. Time enough later to find out how he was managing it, she told herself.

  Treat the condition first, then investigate it.

  He coughed, hard. Half-expecting to see blood, she was surprised when there wasn’t any. No condition sprang to mind that corresponded with whatever was wrong with him. Even as she helped him along, her mind raced as she tried to determine the cause of his distress.

  * * *

  Daniels and Walter were the last to emerge from the wreck. As soon as they rejoined the others, each of them performed a quick check of his or her neighbor’s gear. Finding everybody’s equipment in working order, and no member of the team any the worse for their exploration of the relic’s interior, Oram ordered them downhill and back the way they had come.

  Between the cool, damp air and the fact that they were now traveling downslope, they made far better time than they had in the course of the ascent.

  Daniels moved up alongside the captain.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  He shook his head, annoyed and worried at the same time. “Something with Ledward. I don’t know. Karine indicated that he’s not doing well.”

  She frowned. “He shouldn’t be sick. He wasn’t when we left the Covenant. Couldn’t be. No diseases to catch on board.”
She gestured at their surroundings. “Air reads clear of pathogens. Walter was positive. Bacteria and germ-wise, this atmosphere is as sterile as it looks.”

  “Maybe something Ledward was already carrying got shifted around during our descent. That drop was enough to upset anybody’s insides. We’ll know soon enough.” He paused a moment. “Karine would never interrupt her research unless it was something serious.”

  They hadn’t covered much distance when Hallet stumbled. At his side immediately, Lopé eyed his partner with concern. The other man was drenched with sweat.

  “Tom…?”

  Hallet offered him a wan smile. “Sorry, sorry. Need some air is all.” He grimaced. “Feeling a bit queasy.”

  Without being asked, Lopé took the other man’s carbine and slung it over his free shoulder. As they hurried to catch up to the others it was clear that despite his denials, Hallet wasn’t well.

  * * *

  As they reached and entered the wheat field, it became clear to an increasingly alarmed Karine that Ledward’s struggle to stay upright was failing rapidly. The private could barely walk now, let alone run. Ignoring his feeble objections, she took his pack, slipped one of his arms across her back, and half carried, half urged him forward.

  * * *

  Despite the continuing weak connection with the Covenant, Faris felt it incumbent on her to inform those on board the ship of what was happening, even as she finished readying the lander’s medbay to receive an apparently ill patient. She was back on the surface-to-orbit channel as soon as she re-entered the craft’s bridge.

  “Covenant, this is Faris. Karine is returning to the lander early. Private Ledward is experiencing—some kind of episode. No idea what. Karine didn’t give any details.”

  To her relief, Tennessee responded immediately, though it took several tries for his reply to be understood.

  “What kind… of ‘episode’?”

  “No idea,” Faris told him. “She just said there’s something wrong with him, and to get the medbay ready. That’s what I’m doing.”