Alien: Covenant - Origins - The Official Movie Prequel

XX

The sun was silver on the rippling waters of the Solent, a welcome change from the gloom that pervaded not only the swollen cities of Britain, but much of its once pristine countryside, as well.

The threatening overcast was absent along certain sections of coastline where sufficient ocean breezes continued to hold it at bay—though for how much longer not even the best meteorologists could say. Official government predictions were less widely believed ever since lethal pollution had forced the abandonment of much of Paris outside the domed city center.

Looking like a group of office workers out for a lunchtime stroll, the half-dozen members of the council blended in seamlessly with the families, students, and day trippers on Calshot Beach. Though composed of shingle and not sand, it was still a popular place to catch the sun and watch the comings and goings of enormous trading vessels as they made their way between the three major local ports.

It was also a good place to have a group conversation without fear of being monitored. The combination of wind, wave, and animated crowd conversation would make picking up dialogue difficult even for the most sensitive surveillance equipment. In the distance, the refuge that was the Isle of Wight beckoned, though only for those who could afford a home within its expensive and comparatively unpolluted environment.

It didn’t draw the envy or the attention of the council members. Nor did the passing cargo vessels and smaller recreational craft. They ignored the giggling children playing tag with the tide, the overweight but relaxed couples basting in the rare unobstructed sunshine, the occasional pair of lovers lost in each other’s eyes and oblivious to the degraded world around them.

Oblivion of any kind was denied to the council. Sun, sea, and sky notwithstanding, depression threatened to consume them. Every attempt to prevent the departure of the colony ship Covenant had failed. Their hopes of removing Yutani himself from the equation had crumbled when it was learned that he was friends with the head of the very same Neoyakuza organization they had hired to kill him. Instead of fulfilling the contract, Tatsuya Himura had gone straight to the corporate leader to warn him of the intended hit.

Duncan Fields wasn’t with the council. The Prophet could not abide wide open spaces such as that presented by the open sea. Such expansive vistas forced him to contemplate the sky. Contemplating the sky inevitably forced him to consider the void that lay beyond. Considering the void led to more frequent relapses of his nightmarish visions. He much preferred the dark, enclosed spaces of the farm, with its ready access to sleep aids and painkillers.

“We’re running out of time,” the diminutive Yukiko declared to her companions. The shingle beach reminded her of the gravel-lined shorelines of her own home in eastern Hokkaido.

The man lumbering along beside her masochistically walked the beach in his bare feet, his shoes held in his left hand. Occasionally he winced as he encountered a sharper-edged stone. He said he welcomed the pain. It helped him to focus.

“What more can we do?” When he shrugged, the flesh of his shoulders continued to ripple slightly after the gesture had concluded, like water into which a pebble had been tossed. “Yutani’s daughter is now better protected than the Queen. The old man has surrounded himself with a small army. Given the heightened security at the three spaceports supplying material and personnel to the Covenant, we’ll never get someone on board.”

“We might as well try to take control of a missile base.” The younger man pacing him slipped on the shingle and cursed softly. He eyed his companions. “I know—I’ve put out feelers. That is something that’s not going to happen.”

“It wouldn’t matter.” The other, older woman was licking a frozen lolly. “Taking control of a facility is one thing. Programming and coordinating a weapons system would require expertise our people are unlikely to have.” A distant blast made her flinch, but it was only the horn of a passing freighter. The great sails on its six masts were in the process of automatically furling.

“We have to find another approach.” The man who spoke had traded his usual tailored suit for lightweight slacks, sandals, and a shirt spun from tropical silk. He would have seemed perfectly at home at an expensive beach resort in the Chagos, discussing stock options and tax shelters while holding a slender glass full of ice and rum topped with a tiny paper brolly. He stepped with precision over the shingle while pondering various approaches to murder.

Like the others, he could think of nothing that would work. The effort to involve the Neoyakuza had appeared promising, only to have come to naught beneath the reality of old man Yutani’s seemingly infinite allies.

It was the seriously overweight member of the council who paused, bringing the group to a halt. Raising his free hand, he used it to shade his eyes against the glare off the water. For all his bulk he had an agile mind, one that worked ceaselessly on behalf of the Prophet and the cause.

“I think we’re going about this the wrong way.”

“How do you mean, Pavel?” Millicent, the larger of the two female members of the council, took a last bite of a creamsicle that was melting as rapidly as their hopes.

Lowering his shading hand he looked down at her, then at the others. “Consider that, initially, each of us was a skeptic, until through the sharing of the visions of the Prophet Duncan we were converted.” He paused a moment. “Instead of trying frontal assaults on Weyland-Yutani we need to attack it from within.” The notion prompted some animated conversation, and before long a decidedly different strategy began to emerge.

“It’s impossible,” Pierre said firmly. “The company has its entire reputation staked on the successful departure of a colony mission. Billions are at stake.” He sniffed. “Even if we could get inside we wouldn’t have enough time to stop the ship’s departure.

“Not,” the overlarge Slav countered, “if we can penetrate the company deeply enough.”

Yukiko laughed bitterly. “You’re talking about somehow sabotaging the Covenant’s departure from within the company itself. Might as well try to sabotage a country from within.”

“Why not?” Pavel shot back. “It’s been done before.”

The elegantly dressed gentleman, whose title was baron but whose interests lay in saving mankind from itself, had been deep in thought, considering the organization’s rapidly shrinking options.

“I know it seems unlikely, but Pavel may be on to something,” he said. “If you can’t cut off the head of a snake, you have to attack the body. No company is impenetrable. If we have to penetrate Weyland-Yutani to keep the colonization mission from proceeding, then that’s what we’ll have to do. Somehow. Even if it costs some lives.” He eyed them evenly. “Even if it costs some of ours.”

As the most technically proficient among them, the youthful Pierre was first to voice the obvious question.

“How would we hack the departure?” he said. “We can’t do any real damage if we can’t get inside.”

The corners of the Baron’s thin, immaculately trimmed mustache rose slightly. “Pierre, that falls on you.”

The Frenchman made a face. “You ask a lot.”

The Baron shrugged. “You know as well as any of us what is at stake. What humanity faces if we fail.”

“It’s still a wonder to me that so few believe.” The matronly woman carefully slipped the scoured lolly stick into a pocket.

Pavel grunted. “Show them the truth, and they think the Prophet is mad. It is better in my country. We have a history of accepting prophets.”

The Frenchman began to nod to himself. “It can be done. It will be difficult—and if it fails it could leave a trail leading to all of us—but it can be done. We will only have one chance. After that…?” He gave an eloquent shrug.

“After that, if the attempt fails,” Yukiko observed, “those of us who escape will try to regroup. We will keep striving until the Covenant mission is cancelled.” She paused. “As for it costing our lives, well, we have long since committed them to the cause.”

“It will work.” The English baron spoke smoothly and with confidence. “All that’s necessary is to get inside the company. Once in, we can do… whatever is necessary.”

“Whatever is necessary,” Yukiko repeated as they turned and headed back toward their separate modes of transportation. She didn’t object to the decision that had been reached. The council had always operated on consensus. Being Japanese, she particularly appreciated that.

Besides which, they were running out of options.

And out of time.

Yutani kept a fresh towel around his neck as he rode one of the two private elevators up to the second floor of his three-story residence. The gym on the first floor was now empty, his kendo instructor having gathered his equipment and departed. The strenuous workout always left the CEO feeling physically depleted but mentally alert. Having showered in the gym facilities, he was looking forward to a relaxed evening. For a moment he considered importing a courtesan to entertain him for the night, but he realized he was too tired.

Not young enough anymore to follow kendo with a woman, he told himself ruefully. No matter. Having earlier reviewed the last of the day’s business reports, he could now indulge in some news and perhaps the sports report before retiring for the evening. Following the dictates of the American Buckminster Fuller, he had trained himself to need only three or four hours sleep a night.

Software maintenance, he knew, was at least as important as the occasional hardware repair.

As he settled himself on the couch facing the blank wall that doubled as a projector, the autobar delivered a glass filled with ice, sparkling water, and taperaba extract. The cushioning adjusted optimally to his height and weight. Murmured commands brought the wall to life so that it seemed to disappear, replaced by a succession of images and music. In moments the images changed and the music was replaced by a pair of earnest newscasters. As they spoke, the imagery accompanying their reports moved around. Sometimes they hovered in front of the casters, sometimes behind, according to the requirements of each story.

He watched a report on the modest tsunami that had struck the coast of Chile earlier that day. Though rushing water appeared to lap around his feet, the entertainment system’s epidermal sensorium was muted, so he didn’t feel the waves. There seemed to be little damage from the tsunami or the earthquake that had spawned it. That was good—Weyland-Yutani had interests in Valparaiso.

The watery imagery disappeared. Simultaneously, the pair of newscasters were replaced by half a dozen figures seated in a row behind a long table. They wore identical clothing. They spoke in identical voices. They smiled identical smiles.

Yutani frowned slightly, but gave no other reaction.

“Are we in?” one of them asked his neighbor. They all appeared to be male. The digital masking was very well done.

“Easy enough to find out.” A second figure turned to address an unseen pickup. “Hideo Yutani, can you hear me?”

“Not only can I hear you,” he replied as he used hand gestures to activate some of the special equipment built into the wall system, “but I can see you quite well.”

“And we can see you.” A third member of the group leaned forward. “Well enough to tell that you are probably initiating search and record instrumentation. You’ll find it a waste of time. Our location is as well masked as our identities. We cannot hurt you through a simple two-way communication, so please pay attention to what we have to say. Breaking the privacy coding of your home entertainment system required some effort. It would only waste time if you execute an emergency termination, and we have to do it all over again.”

Nevertheless, he set the relevant instrumentation to trace and record anyway. Despite what the speaker declared, some useful information might be gleaned. Only one group with whom he’d had recent dealings had demonstrated this level of ability to penetrate corporate and personal security.

“Are you part of, or working for, the Jutou Combine?”

He was rewarded with six identical surprised reactions. In its way, that was answer enough. Another speaker confirmed it.

“We have nothing to do with any corporation. We are the followers of the Prophet. We are the Earthsavers.”

If the solemnity with which this revelation was delivered was supposed to impress Yutani, it failed.

“Never heard of you.”

“That is by design,” another of the six declared. “However, one day all will know us.”

“I’m sure that will be the case,” Yutani agreed. “Public trials and the consequent imprisonment of anti-social terrorists tend to be popular in the media.”

“We are not anti-social.” The tone of the speaker who replied suggested that Yutani had gotten under his actual skin. “We are entirely pro-people. That is why we strive, on behalf of the Prophet, to do what is necessary for the future of all mankind.”

Yutani nodded mechanically. He considered calling in his bodyguards to serve as witnesses, but decided against it. There was nothing they could add to the exchange, and their appearance might cause those who had interrupted his evening to break off the conversation. He needed to keep them talking. Silence was rarely informative.

“A most noble sentiment,” he said evenly. “The rallying cry of every group of fanatics since the beginning of time.”

“We are not fanatics,” another speaker insisted. “We are devoted to the truth.”

“You won’t persuade with semantics,” Yutani shot back. “You are the ones who tried to sabotage the Covenant. Who tried to abduct my daughter. You tried to infiltrate the mission’s security team, and when that failed, one of you did his best to assassinate the ship’s chief of security.” His tone turned sharply sarcastic. “But I suppose that would be acceptable, as long as you’re not fanatics.”

The first speaker replied. “If applying labels makes you feel better, then have at it. Our purpose is no less than the survival of the human species.”

Yutani blinked. “And what makes you think you can pull off the salvation of our species?”

“No,” another of the six put in. “Survival.”

Absurd as it all seemed, Yutani couldn’t keep himself from responding.

“From what?”

“OH-TEE-BEE-DE,” they chorused. That all six of the speakers looked exactly alike made the chant all the more unsettling. A bemused Yutani frowned.

“Excuse me? Is this a game?” he asked, irritation edging his voice. “An elaborate—albeit mildly impressive—amusement?”

“It is no game, Hideo Yutani.” The fourth speaker replied with exaggerated solemnity. Or more likely, from his point of view, he wasn’t exaggerating. “Oh-tee-bee-dee… Out There Be Demons. Through his visions, the Prophet has shown us that the galaxy is filled with many hostile, bloodthirsty lifeforms who, if they were to find their way to Earth, would seek to exterminate its dominant intelligent lifeform. Us.”

Then the “Prophet” mentioned in the reports was a “he.” Yutani felt a small surge of satisfaction. That was something, anyway. Every clue was to be welcomed.

“I see,” Yutani replied. “So you are not merely fanatics, but insane fanatics.”

“We are not fanatics.” Again the speaker rose to the bait. Yutani responded without hesitation.

“Are any of you astrophysicists, or specialists in xenobiology? No, I think not. Yet you are saboteurs, kidnappers, murderers, and you suffer from a communal delusion. The longer this continues, the more I feel I’m wasting my time—but you’ve piqued my interest. Tell me how you know about these inimical lifeforms, when our exploration craft and finest scientists haven’t found the slightest proof that any such creatures exist?”

“We know,” another speaker declared with conviction, “because the Prophet tells us so.”

“Ah.” Yutani took a sip of his cold drink. “The Prophet. Based on what you’ve already said, I should have expected a detailed, rigorously scientific explanation like that.”

“We expect mockery and do not fear it. Those who are heir to the truth are untroubled by cynicism.” The first speaker shifted in his seat behind the table. His repositioning was not matched by similar physical adjustments on the part of his companions.

So, Yutani thought, the digital masking isn’t perfect. The longer such masking went on, the more likely it was to break down. Recording might yet prove useful.

The individual seated beside the speaker spoke up. “The Prophet’s visions are detailed—”

“Detailed enough to frighten you, certainly,” Yutani observed, cutting him off. “Doubtlessly detailed enough to persuade you to contribute financial ‘support.’”

“Our support for the Prophet is minimal,” the speaker replied. “We provide only the basics, the essentials. He does not attempt to raise money, if that’s what you are implying. In fact, he loathes the visions and would give anything if they would stop.”

Well, Yutani thought, that was an unexpected response. If it was true.

“Pity I can’t share his ‘visions.’” He gave a casual wave. “Who knows? They might convince me to cancel the mission. That is what you want, isn’t it? To prevent the Covenant from departing. To keep humans from settling among the stars.”

“That is what we want,” two of the speakers agreed simultaneously.

“We cannot show you the Prophet’s visions,” another said.

Yutani let out a sharp grunt. “Why am I not surprised.”

“What we can do,” the speaker continued, “is share with you the visuals our creative personnel have been able to generate. Ones that represent our best interpretations of his visions.”

“Go ahead,” he told them airily. “Impress me. Persuade me. It’s only an enterprise costing billions of dollars. I’m sure your prophet’s imagery will convince me to abandon it without question.”

One of the speakers nodded, and made a gesture off to the side. Once again, the motions didn’t remain unified. Their masking continued to break down. If he could just keep them talking a while longer, he might learn something truly useful.

Abruptly the six disappeared.

Nightmares replaced them.

The images that appeared—one after another in measured procession—were relatively photorealistic. For all that they remained comparatively indistinct, but there were enough details to create a visceral response. Yutani felt himself tense up, and he clenched his jaw.

Having been raised to be familiar with contemporary horror, as well as traditional kaidan, he was not easily unsettled. Nevertheless the parade of ghastly depictions that now filled the space between the couch and the wall was like nothing he had seen or read. It was impossible to tell whether or not the victims of the carnage were human—was this a prediction of the future, of the hell that awaited mankind? As they threatened to press against him, he shrank back against the cushions.

Clearly the images were the work of master digital artists, and the raw emotions they conveyed were beyond anything Yutani had ever experienced. They played out in swirls of viscera and reformulations of grisly violence, until he finally croaked out a plea.

“All right, that’s enough… that’s enough!” He was sweating profusely, and was certain his virtual intruders could see it.

The images vanished, to be replaced once again by the row of six indistinguishable figures. One leaned slightly forward. “Do not feel ashamed by your reaction,” he said. “Ours were much the same. Realize also that each of us—at one time or another—has been witness to the Prophet in the throes of these visions.” The speaker shook his head slowly. “No reproduction, no matter how skilled the artist, can compare to the terror of such moments.”

Yutani quickly downed the last of his cold drink and immediately directed the autobar to prepare another. He drank half of it down before replying.

“Very impressive,” he said. “Yet what makes you so certain these visions, as experienced by your Prophet, represent…” he looked upward briefly and waved a hand, “creatures that live out there? Dangers lurking in space or on other worlds? I don’t mean to minimize the power of your images, but couldn’t they be ordinary nightmares? Perfectly explicable bad dreams?”

Another of the six spoke up. “In his waking hours, the Prophet has been very specific as to their origin and location.”

Yutani frowned. “You’re not going to tell me that he can provide stellar coordinates for the source of his visions?”

For the first time since they had interrupted his nightly viewing, several of the six seemed uncertain. It was left to one of their number—an individual who was not indecisive—to respond.

“He has no such acumen, does the Prophet. He can only indicate the night sky and repeat ‘out there be demons.’ So great is his waking terror that he fears to go outside even in the light of a full moon, lest he be compelled to look at the stars.” The speaker’s voice grew more deliberate. “His insights are to be believed. They must be believed! Colonies will attract attention—dangerous attention that will lead demons of unknown strength and abilities back to Earth. We do not exaggerate when we insist that the very fate of mankind itself is at stake.” Apparently aware that his voice was rising, the speaker calmed himself.

“It is a risk we cannot take,” he continued. “If we are so inclined, if mankind has the will, we can repair the damage we have done to this planet. There is no need for us to expose ourselves—unready and unprepared as we are—to the monstrous threats that lurk beyond our system. It is unquestionable. The Covenant cannot be allowed to depart.”

Another speaker took up the refrain. “We did not choose this path,” he said. “Since becoming aware, a number of us have tried—individually and together—to convince others of the dangers that lie in pushing beyond the confines of our world. No one listened to us. No one paid us the slightest attention. We were treated as less than nothing. It was that indifference that forced us to join together, and take to the shadows,” he continued. “We have tried several times now to halt the mission. Several times we have failed.

“We realize that we are taking a risk in talking to you directly, but it was decided that with time running out, the only way for the mission to be interdicted was for the head of Weyland-Yutani to understand what drives us.”

Still another of the six spoke up. “Now you have seen the evidence,” he said in a pleading tone. “Now you may understand. We have pledged our minds, our bodies, our fortunes, and our souls to protecting the Earth and its people. We ask only that you consider what we have shown you, and then decide. As a highly successful and intelligent entrepreneur—one who has proved his own abilities over and over again—we believe now that you have been shown the truth, you will respond accordingly.

“Your decision will decide the fate of our planet,” he concluded.

Yutani nodded, using a bar towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.

“You have given me much to think about,” he said, striving to keep his voice even. “I had no idea…” He went silent for a moment as he pressed the towel to his mouth. Removing it, he spoke with sudden resolve.

“Despite what you may believe, I cannot unilaterally cancel the Covenant mission. My competency would immediately be called into question. But I can delay its departure. In the interim, I can speak with key individuals in certain departments. Working together, I think we can come up with a plausible rationale, and put an end to any future endeavors, as well.” His jaw tightened. “Yes, I think it can be done. Not in one day, not in two, but before the ship is scheduled to depart—yes.”

To his surprise, the six identically masked speakers remained calm. The response from the individual on the far left was quietly appreciative.

“We are greatly relieved,” he said. “We intend no affront, but you of course understand that we will continue to monitor the Covenant project, to assure ourselves that you are a man of your word.”

“Of course.” Yutani hurriedly downed the rest of his drink. His hand was shaking. “Were I in your position, I would do no less. It is the only sensible thing to do.”

“Then we will leave you to the remainder of your late evening,” another speaker declared. “To reflect on what we have told you, what you have seen, and all that has been discussed.”

Yutani nodded vigorously. “Should you contact me again, for whatever reason, I promise you that from now on I will respond immediately, and without hesitation. Do not hesitate.”

The space between the wall projector and his couch went vacant. A moment of silence passed, then the broadcast he had been watching returned as if nothing had happened.

He did indeed respond as the last speaker had suggested, sitting and pondering everything he had seen. Of one thing he was convinced. Based on everything he had heard and seen, an immediate and significant response was required. He began to react, swiftly and with conviction.

The first thing he did was put down the towel he had held to his mouth—not to stifle a gasp of horror, but to hide the laughter he had fought hard to suppress. Next he checked to make certain that everything he had seen and heard had been properly recorded. Following that he turned off the heater, built into the couch, which had induced so much perspiration over the course of the exchange.

He made a note to fire the person in charge of his electronic security.

Then he called London. He had no doubt that the city was home to a wide array of psychiatric specialists. What he needed was someone who dealt with psychotic disorders. He would need to put one or more of them on the Weyland-Yutani payroll.