Alien: Covenant - Origins - The Official Movie Prequel

XVI

They met the following day at one of the two remaining bookshops on Charing Cross Road. “Books” being those grand old antiques that had been printed on the sheaves of dead trees. The famous sloping street had once been home to a double row of wonderful retail establishments. Those shops that were left were as much artifacts as the objects they sold.

Live booksellers continued to cater to a growing number of wealthy aficionados who focused their money and interest on a product that was no longer available to the general public. Not because there wasn’t a larger market for such books, but because the paper they had been printed on had grown too expensive. Or too rare.

Lopé hoped that his latest and final recruit would appreciate his choice of a place to meet. He wasn’t a big reader himself, but he enjoyed tradition, and hoped she would approve of the sentiment. In a little while they were due to take their leave of Earth forever. Where better to do so than in the vicinity of a wonderful callback to the planet’s past.

Having connected, they moved to a drink shop two doors down. Clad in civilian attire, Rosenthal seemed to make a barefaced effort to look demure. It didn’t quite work. Not that someone of a different bent wouldn’t have found her attractive—it wasn’t in Lopé’s nature to judge such things. Still, despite the liberal use of cosmetics and clothing, the effort couldn’t quite overcome the underlying toughness evident in her physique and posture.

Still, they were going to be working together for—well, for the rest of their lives—so he made an effort to respond appropriately as she slid onto the seat on the other side of the small table.

“You look nice, Rosenthal.”

She looked back at him. “Not ‘Private’ Rosenthal?”

“Not until we’re on board ship, no.”

Reaching up, she ran a hand through her hair. “Took one of my last long showers. Such a simple pleasure, but one of my favorites. I expect showers will be timed from now on. Going to miss that.”

“The Covenant’s resources might surprise you.” He nodded to his right, toward the frosted glass wall. “What did you think of the shop?”

She followed his glance. “The real bookstore?” She nodded affirmatively. “My people have always had a thing for books of all kinds. The love is passed down even as the books themselves disappear. No room in crew belongings for more than a couple of volumes, and those mostly for the nostalgia value.”

Lopé looked thoughtful. “Never was a book man, really. Didn’t have the urge after plowing through hundreds of manuals. Read those so I’d know how to make the best use of equipment. This, for example.” He held up his military-grade comm unit.

Adjusting his seat so that he slid as close to her as possible, he activated the device. The imagery it generated appeared only on the screen. Had he left it set on “projection,” it would have meant that anyone in the drink shop would have been able to view the contents.

They immediately recognized the interior of the Weyland-Yutani tower lobby. Neither said anything as the escape of the red-haired woman and the subsequent attempt on the sergeant’s life was replayed from several angles, as recorded by different security monitors.

He smoothly manipulated the device’s controls. Once again the incident was replayed, but this time instead of tracking him, the focus was on the face of the redhead. Following that, the images from the multiple pickups were combined to generate a three-dimensional portrait of the woman that could be viewed from any angle. Rosenthal sat back and looked at him.

“Very impressive. What now? I suppose you entered that composite into the general population database?”

“When you work security,” he said, “you learn never to accept the first thing you see. Or the second. Human vision is a wonderful thing, but it isn’t perfect. It can be deceived. Easy to miss something that’s right in front of you.” Once again he adjusted the controls on the comm unit.

The image on the screen rotated and zoomed, until it focused on a small area on the back of the woman’s neck. Rosenthal leaned toward it, searching, and finally frowned.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

By way of explanation, Lopé zoomed the image in closer. Rosenthal squinted. There was a tiny, almost imperceptible ripple at the base of the neck.

“I see something, but I’m not sure what it is. Surgical scar?”

“Good guess—but no. She’s wearing a whole-head Venetian collagen wrap. Almost perfect.” He indicated the image on the screen. “Except for where it was snipped off after being installed.”

Rosenthal examined the image anew, then eyed the sergeant with new respect. “I know what that is. I’ve just never seen one utilized outside of an entertainment venue.”

“One reason for that is because they’re damned expensive,” Lopé informed her. “Way too costly for the average citizen, but not for an operative being underwritten by, say, the Jutou Combine.”

“What made you suspect it?” Rosenthal asked him.

“First you run the kind of database search you mentioned. When you don’t find anything, you assume your subject doesn’t want to be found. That suggests the use of a disguise of some kind. Fake noses and wigs were supplanted by more sophisticated prosthetics a long time ago, so you look for something that’s current. A good wrap is virtually invisible, unless you know what to look for and where to look.” His expression twisted. “If she’d done a full body wrap, I never would have found the snip point. I guess she and whoever she’s working with—or for—didn’t think a full body wrap would be necessary just to get her through one interview.”

She indicated the screen again. “Why do I think that’s not commercially available software?”

He looked at her approvingly. “Good observation. It’s military-grade kit. As chief of Security on a colony ship, I have access to some stuff the general public doesn’t even know exists.” The last was spoken without a smidgen of swagger, he realized after he’d said it.

Rosenthal nodded thoughtfully. “So we know what she doesn’t look like. What now?”

Lopé worked the comm unit. “You want to know what someone looks like under a wrap, you do a peel. You just need the relevant software.” Having entered the necessary request, he turned the device slightly toward her.

As Rosenthal watched, the image on the screen changed. From the top of the head, change worked its way downward until the wrap had been electronically removed to reveal the authentic visage beneath. The screen revealed a mildly attractive woman whose true appearance indicated she was younger than the peel had suggested. Short hair covered the back half of her head and a motile tattoo of a prancing horse the front, unveiled due to the damage a tattoo did to the skin. Her eyes had gone from blue to brown and her nose was now noticeably smaller and rounder than it had been in the initial composite. The rest of her face revealed a plethora of smaller, additional differences.

“So now you’ve got her,” Rosenthal said.

“Not necessarily,” Lopé replied. She looked surprised, and wary.

“Know the first thing you do after running a wrap peel?” Lopé asked her. Rosenthal shook her head. “You run a second one. That’s one way professionals can throw off searchers. Do a wrap on top of a wrap. A lot of seekers will assume there’s just one wrap, and use the resultant image to run their search. In this case, however, there was just the single wrap. So whoever’s behind this is sophisticated and knowledgeable, but not that sophisticated and knowledgeable. It’s encouraging.”

“So that’s the face of the real applicant?”

He nodded. “Once I was certain every square centimeter of the final composite was genuine, and that there were no secondary or partial wraps, I ran it through the citizen database again.” He touched a control. A series of images appeared on the screen, accompanied by scrollable information. Rosenthal studied it. When she spoke again, there was surprise in her voice.

“A schoolteacher? I wouldn’t have guessed—”

The sergeant interrupted her. “That’s the idea. That anyone trying to track down a false applicant for a security position would never think her true identity would be something so mundane. Only, maybe not so mundane.” Yet again he manipulated the comm unit. Once more Rosenthal scrutinized the latest information.

“I’ll be damned,” she said. “She moonlights as an ecdysiast. Curiouser and curiouser, cried Alice.” When Lopé eyed her blankly she explained. “It’s a reference from one of those books you never have time to read.”

“The address is in Covent Garden,” he muttered, refusing to let her bait him.

“Easy walking distance. That why you wanted to meet here?”

He nodded. “That, and the chance to add some memories of old Earth before leaving.” He checked the time. “Our multi-talented Ms. Hazelton doesn’t start her second job until twenty-one hundred. Can I buy you lunch?”

She played at hesitating. “If I can buy you supper,” she finally said. “Strangely enough, I’ve recently been awarded a substantial signing bonus thanks to being hired for a new job, and I don’t have much time in which to spend it.”

“Okay, but it’ll have to be an early supper,” he countered. “Never a good idea to try a takedown on a full stomach.”