Alien: Covenant - Origins - The Official Movie Prequel

XVIII

“You found the woman?”

Bevridge looked over at Lopé and his subordinate. To their left stood the antiquated Houses of Parliament, barely visible through the morning smog and gunk that hung over the city. Once open to vehicular traffic, the bridge on which the three of them now stood had long ago been converted to a pedestrian thoroughfare. It was a popular place for Londoners to catch some comparatively fresh air, as the movement of the water below tended to stir the clinging atmosphere. The trade-off was that one had to endure the occasional stink that ascended from the polluted Thames itself.

Boats and small watercraft still plied the waterway, but vantage points on land were fewer since the early roadways that had once paralleled the river had been overcome by the ever-rising barriers necessary to keep the ocean from inundating the city during high tides. Like everyone else on the bridge, the security officers that patrolled its length were dressed in civilian attire. Afraid that even his well-screened office might no longer be safe from the attention of the fanatics trying to halt the Covenant mission, the security chief had suggested they meet on the open expanse.

With the three of them surrounded by a moving, shifting mob of locals and tourists, it would be difficult even for a directional pickup to isolate their voices, especially since they conducted the conversation while facing the river.

“We did,” Lopé replied. His eyes burned slightly from the effects of whatever chemical effluvia was presently rising from below. He longed for the untrammeled sterility of the space vessel, and the presumed pristine orb that was Origae-6. “Her name was Glynis Hazelton. Schoolteacher, crew applicant, part-time stripper, full-time fanatic.”

Bevridge was impressed. “How the hell did you track her down?”

Lopé’s attention was drawn to an interesting houseboat that was part sailing craft, part hydrofoil. “Being Covenant chief of security, I have access to the world personnel database. Let’s just say, there are assets that aren’t commonly available to private corporations or even municipal police forces.” Beside him, a studious Rosenthal said nothing.

Bevridge let out a grunt and glanced behind them. Not that he expected to see anyone, but in an age of sophisticated surveillance, there remained no substitute for a good pair of eyes. As near as he could tell, they were not being watched.

“Okay, old man. So you found her,” he said. “What else did you find, besides her identity.”

Lopé nodded. Even with the stench, it was nice to be out on the bridge in the early morning, leaning on the stonework and gazing out at the old river. Nearby, the permanent holo of Big Ben chimed the hour, the original clock having been destroyed in a terrorist attack more than half a century ago.

“What she told us goes a way toward confirming what I’ve thought all along—that whoever is behind everything from the attempt to sabotage the Covenant’s cargo bay is trying to make us think it’s an internal problem. Or at worst, corporate warfare.”

Bevridge pursed his lips. “I recall from the woman’s application and interview attempt that she held valid Yutani identification.”

“Checked that myself.” Lopé nudged a chipped piece of stone off the top of the railing and watched as it tumbled into the murky water below. The stonework, like the rest of London, was crumbling. “Old credentials modified for her use. The original holder died a few years ago.”

“Did she ever mention the Jutou Combine?”

“No. Never mentioned any specific organization. She did go on, briefly, about an unnamed ‘prophet.’”

Bevridge frowned. “So then, not Jutou?”

“Not necessarily,” the sergeant replied. “Still can’t rule out them having a hand in all this. I was hoping you might be able to help fill in some of the gaps.”

“She didn’t give a name?” Bevridge pressed. “Just ‘prophet’?”

Rosenthal spoke up. “She said that if ‘we went out there,’ by which she referred to the Covenant mission, that we were all going to die. Or rather, that’s what her prophet told her. She also said that while she couldn’t stop the ship’s departure, presumably ‘others may.’”

Bevridge nodded pensively. “Because there have been multiple attempts, we already know we’re dealing with a group. Whether it involves Jutou, another company we haven’t yet identified, or a different type of organization, we just don’t know.” He looked unhappy. “‘Others may,’” he repeated, echoing Rosenthal. “That’s not good. We have to stamp out this interference as soon as possible.”

Seeing that Lopé was still looking at him he added, “I’ve never heard of anyone—any corporate officer, any founder, any current employee, of the Jutou Combine—referred to as a prophet.”

“Yuyan jia,” Lopé responded, not worrying about tones as he pronounced the words.

“What’s that, old chum?” Bevridge’s brows drew together.

“I checked. There’s nobody by that name, or even close, in those Jutou records that are accessible.” When Bevridge continued to eye him blankly, the sergeant added, “Yuyan jia is Mandarin for ‘prophet.’ I thought maybe someone traceable at the combine might have taken that name, but I couldn’t find anyone. Or anything.”

“I wish I could requisition you for my staff here.” Bevridge spoke admiringly.

The sergeant shook his head, once. “Sorry. I’m strictly a field guy. Looking forward to an atmosphere that’s not only breathable, but that smells good.” He turned to Rosenthal. “Got it? We’re looking for a real prophet, not somebody named prophet.” She nodded. He turned back to Bevridge.

“Any thoughts?” he asked. “Any local or international religious groups who might have the wherewithal and the clout to try and pull off capers like these?”

“I’ll put some people and equipment on it right now, old boy.” Bevridge was as good as his word. Pulling out his comm unit, he gave a succession of taps and set the necessary research in motion. “As you say, it could still be Jutou who’s behind all this. Or a group operating under the cover of Jutou.”

Lopé’s reply was ambivalent. “Can’t discount it, don’t lean toward it.”

Bevridge’s gaze narrowed as he regarded the sergeant. “Is there anything in particular that might cause you to lean that way?”

The sergeant shrugged. Another interesting boat came downstream in their direction. Several people were busy on the front deck. He scrutinized them for weapons, but saw nothing. Yet there always was something that might slip past. Like a stripper’s boots, for example.

“The level of fanaticism this group has displayed,” he said in reply to Bevridge’s question. “The dedication to whatever wacko cause they’ve rallied around. Sabotage I can rationalize. Blowing oneself out an airlock I can’t. You don’t drown yourself in a river as some kind of perverse penance. You don’t rig your boots to explode.”

Bevridge’s lips tightened. “I follow you, old man. Nobody likes to be interrogated, but they tend to resort to lawyers. Not, as you described to me, self-immolation.”

“It’s not only that,” Rosenthal added. “She wasn’t just performing sepukku—she was trying to take us with her. Oh, and before she lit herself up, she murmured something. It was the last thing she said. A short phrase, almost a chant. ‘Oh-tee-bee-dee.’”

The security chief’s expression twisted. “Means nothing to me. I’ll make sure it’s researched.” For the first time he smiled at her. “Ms. Rosenthal, isn’t it?” She nodded. “I’m told you are responsible for the good sergeant still being with us. That deserves recognition.”

“I’ve already banked the signing bonus for my relatives.” Rosenthal turned to join Lopé in contemplating the river. “If the company wants to add to it, I won’t object.”

Bevridge made another entry into his comm unit, then looked back at them. “I have a feeling the Covenant is in good hands, with you two assigned to Security.”

“And the others,” Lopé put in. “There are others already up on the ship.”

“Keeping a steady eye out for any further sabotage attempts, I’m sure. All good people, thoroughly vetted.” Bevridge nodded absently as he pocketed his device. “You needn’t trouble yourselves any further, sergeant—I’ll let you know the instant we have a lead. You and Private Rosenthal are cleared to go up to the Covenant and remain there until it departs. You didn’t sign on for this kind of work, and it’s not incumbent on you to pursue it any longer.”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to stay Earthside and keep on it as much as I can.” Lopé stepped away from the stone balustrade. “While I’m in as much of a hurry as any colonist or crew member to leave Earth and get the mission going, I’d still like to store up as many memories of the place as possible. The good ones for nostalgia’s sake, and the bad ones to remind me why I’m leaving in the first place.”

“As you wish.” Bevridge sounded pleased. “Glad you still want to participate.”

“My job is Covenant security,” Lopé replied simply. “That holds whether I’m on the ship or on the ground. I know one thing, though—when I do return to the ship, I’ll be a lot more relaxed if these extremists have been found out, rounded up, and sent off somewhere nice, quiet, and secure, where their minds and motivations can be repaired.”

“That holds true for both of us.” Smiling, Bevridge leaned back to regard the woman standing beside the sergeant. “In case it hasn’t already been said formally, Private Rosenthal—welcome to Weyland-Yutani and the Covenant colonization mission.”

She nodded once and returned her attention to the river. Her blasé reaction to Bevridge’s pronouncement only served as further confirmation of Lopé’s choice. No matter what the mission, the less chatty his backup, the more effective they tended to be.

Later, having parted from both Bevridge and Rosenthal, Lopé took to wandering the streets of the city. As he strolled, he noted and committed to memory everything from the flowing lights of the Victoria Station tower complex to a weathered plaque marking the site of the first public drinking fountain in Britain.

He was enjoying a quick lunch of the British national dish, curry, when his comm unit signaled an incoming call. The tenor of the tune indicated that it was personal enough for him to set his take-out down on the bench where he was sitting and take a moment to answer.

It was a small perk but one that was highly valued by those on the Covenant. All members of the crew had free round-the-clock comm access to anywhere on Earth, for any length of time. Besides being good publicity for Weyland-Yutani, emphasizing the company’s empathy for its employees, it also had a practical side—there was no point in charging for calls when any overdue bills had zero chance of being collected.

So Lopé accepted the incoming communication without hesitation, knowing that neither he nor Hallet had to watch the number of minutes. The voice on the other end came through with remarkable clarity, a testament to modern communications technology. Lopé had experienced more distortion in local calls made to other parts of Greater London.

“Lopé here,” he murmured at the unit’s pickup.

“Don’t be so damn formal, Dan.” Hallet’s tone was relaxed, as usual. “You workin’?”

The sergeant looked around. No one in the surging crowd representing people from all over the planet was paying him the least attention. If anyone was following him, they were damned good at their job.

“I’ll be working until I’m in deepsleep. How are things with you?”

“Up in the air.” It was a cheap joke, often repeated by those on the Covenant. “It’s been quiet ever since our angry employee went pffft. What’s new downstairs?”

“There have been a number of interesting developments.” Lopé chose his words carefully. Though his comm unit was as secure as Weyland-Yutani could make it, he had learned through long experience to assume that no communication could be completely secured. It was better that way. Where electronic interaction was concerned, paranoia was your friend.

“I can’t go into detail right now,” he continued. “Everything is dirt-bound, anyway. Nothing directly involving the ship. With luck, the problem will be taken care of before departure. If it isn’t, well, any lingering troubles will have to be handled without my input. Between you and me, I get the feeling there are folks down here who’ll be disappointed to see me go. I’ve validated my hire, anyway. You sure you’re okay?”

“Normal as normal can be up here, but busy. Mostly running security checks on the final deliveries. Oram and Karine are supervising the placing of the last batches of colonists into deepsleep. Even so, I wish you’d get your butt back up here, man. Why not just let the people do their jobs?”

The sergeant took a deep breath. “I could go for that, but I feel obligated to do what I can to help for as long as I’m down here.”

“You have other obligations besides to the company,” Hallet quietly reminded him.

“I won’t be dealing with this much longer. Promise.” He tried to sound reassuring. “Being part of Covenant security, and not ground-based, I can bring some different insights to the process. Besides, what’s happening here directly impacts the safety of the mission, and so it’s my responsibility.” He paused, then added, “We’re gonna be in deepsleep for a long time. I don’t want to have any bad dreams because I left the situation here unresolved.”

Hallet’s sigh came through clearly from the other end.

“If you think it’s that important, then I suppose you ought to see it through,” he said. “I wish it were otherwise, but I understand.”

The call concluded with a few familiar pleasantries. Disconnect was mutual. Still, the chat left Lopé with mixed emotions. He was happy, as always, to have heard from Hallet. At the same time, he’d meant what he said about wanting—about needing—to see the threat dealt with before he would feel comfortable returning to the ship.

It only made him angrier at whoever was behind the attempt to prevent the Covenant’s departure. The enmity felt personal now, and not just because there had been two attempts on his life.