Alien: Covenant - Origins - The Official Movie Prequel

VII

If someone set out to build an utterly innocuous-looking human, they couldn’t do better than the man driving the repair van. Just under medium height and slightly overweight, he was dressed in company worker overalls, boots, and cap with appropriate identifying insignia, all of which were sorely in need of cleaning.

Having recently gobbled down a quick meal, he smelled distinctively of synthetic tuna bento. The dark stain on the right side of his shirt pocket was a mixture of overcola and green tea. He was chewing something indistinguishable that could have been anything from bubblegum to khat.

Taller but equally filled-out, his partner rode silently in the van’s passenger seat, oblivious to everything except the typically salacious manga being projected half a meter in front of his eyes. A single blink was sufficient to turn the page, while a blink of the left eye gave the signal to animate.

Around the van, the towers of Tokyo blazed in the darkness of early evening. They defied the night, any glimpse of the moon, potential earthquakes, and a population that—save for the rich—could no longer afford to live there. Special dispensation allowed critical personnel to sleep and all but live in their offices. At the base of each tower flared a visual cacophony of shops, restaurants, full-immersion pachinko parlors, tattoo studios, coffee houses, shoot-up stalls, and atmos lounges where one could pay to inhale everything from flavored air to straight oxygen.

The driver and his passenger stoutly ignored all such temptations as their automated vehicle made a left turn, entered a private service alley, and slowed to a stop. As security scanners mounted on opposite walls played over the van, an armed human emerged from a guardhouse and approached the driver’s side of the vehicle. Polite formalities were exchanged as he gave the interior of the van a cursory visual inspection that lasted only a couple of minutes.

Had the van contained anything suspicious, it never would have been allowed entrance into the alley in the first place. The human inspection was just a follow-up.

The driver complained, mildly, at both the delay and having to work at night. His companion never looked away from his manga projection. After a final exchange with the driver, the guard tapped the van’s open windowsill and stepped back. In front of the vehicle, a barrier not unlike a modern portcullis rose to allow admittance.

Upon entering the covered multi-level garage, the driver assumed manual control, taking it from his vehicle’s AI. He brought the van to a halt in an empty parking spot beside one of the gigantic columns that supported the hundred-and-one-story building.

Like many of the structure’s supporting columns, the one beside which he had halted was hollow. Some columns carried utilities up or down. A few, like the one beside the van, housed service lifts. The main access was through the heavily monitored building. Secondary access was via a locked external service door. Like every other entrance to the building, the metal portal was monitored around the clock.

Exiting on opposite sides of the van, the driver and his no longer laconic partner quickly went to work. The first thing they did was erect and activate a high-tech mirrormask in front of each of the two security pickups mounted above the column’s service door. While these would display the normal view of the garage, including any passing traffic, they would not show the parked van.

Having installed and checked the two screens, driver and companion set to work on the access door. They didn’t try to override the entry code. Any effort to do so would set off alarms at the building’s security station. Instead, they deftly removed the hinges from one side and swung both doors—still locked together—away from the wall, just far enough to admit one person at a time.

Still hidden from detection by the pair of mirrormasks, a trio of figures crawled out from beneath the van via a screened and camouflaged false floor. Unlike the driver and his associate, the newcomers didn’t wear worker’s overalls. Clad from head to foot in light-absorbing black, they carried an assortment of devices that had nothing to do with electrical repair.

Once they had slipped through the gap, the driver and his helper shoved the heavy unhinged barrier back in place, took down the mirrormask screens, and set to work replacing several perfectly functional electrical outlets that lined a nearby wall.

The three black-clad figures who had entered the column found themselves standing at the edge of an elevator shaft that ran through the core of the pillar. They unfolded the largest of the devices they had brought with them. Two of them positioned a portable graphene lift over the gaping shaft, then the third snapped a self-powered loop over one of the main elevator cables. All three then stepped onto the unfolded sheet of graphene, taking care to balance themselves, since the platform was only attached to a single cable. The elevator’s actual cab remained parked below and, according to their research, would stay there until the morning rush of saririmen and women.

A small but powerful electric motor attached to the cable loop hummed to life beneath the fingers of one of the unauthorized visitors, and the three of them began to rise. Since nothing related to the actual elevator had been activated, it would appear to be out of service. The folding portable lift wasn’t fast, but its relatively slow pace did not trouble its riders.

The gradual ascent gave them time to unlimber, and prepare a variety of weapons.

Outside the tallest tower of the Yutani complex, the lights of Greater Tokyo lit up the night sky as far as the eye could see, as steady as the sararimen who toiled within. Off to the northeast, a rainbow of colors marked the frenzy of the Asakusa entertainment district.

The tower’s precise height had been carefully calculated by its builders. It was exactly one floor and seven meters taller than the Weyland Tower at The Docks in London. Had Peter Weyland lived, and had Weyland Industries taken over Yutani, it was entirely possible that a couple of floors would have been added to the top of the Greater London location.

Even giants of industry could be petty.

As it was, the Yutani Corporation had emerged the victor. The complex’s prime location beside the Sumida River was more significant than the height of any of its buildings. In Greater Tokyo’s rarified real estate market, such a site proclaimed corporate wealth and success far more meaningfully than a building’s height.

With the top three floors of the central structure reserved for climate-control equipment and a nest of communications electronics, the most important corporate offices were located on the ninety-seventh floor. There, flanked by a glass wall that provided an unobstructed view of the great city on one side and a second inner wall that bordered a wide hallway, an emergency meeting of the Weyland-Yutani corporate hierarchy was in progress. Due to the lateness of the hour there was no one else on the floor except automated cleaning devices and several bored bodyguards, so the inner wall was not opaqued.

Though the meeting had been called at short notice, all eight of the suehirogari were present, seated around a long table of exquisitely polished Hinoki cypress. Neatly set out on the table were carafes of glacial water from Siberia, small bottles of Yamazuki 24 whiskey, and appropriate glassware. Three Weyland representatives sat on one side, while four from Yutani on the other. Presiding at the head of the table was the president and chief executive officer of the combined company, Hideo Yutani.

He was not happy.

Yutani opened the proceedings by looking sharply at the two men and one woman representing the British side of the company. In deference to their presence, the lateness of the hour, and the general confusion, he addressed them in English that would have impressed any graduate of Eton.

“You all have had sufficient time to process the report from our representatives to the Covenant. On the way here you will have followed up with the news of the incident in London. Clearly there were failures of security. I would like an explanation.

“Now.”

The resultant silence indicated that the head of Weyland-Yutani expected a response. Although all present at the table were executives commanding huge salaries, every imaginable kind of executive perk, access to private aircraft, and much more, at that moment the seven of them looked like so many schoolchildren caught having forgotten their homework.

“Well,” he said. “Anyone?”

The daughter of the company’s president spoke up. Now in her thirties, Jenny Yutani had inherited her father’s drive, intelligence, and—some said—his temperament. She was also quite beautiful, whereas he was not. An intriguing mix of genes, she could stand up to her father where others would hesitate.

“What troubles me is the subtlety of it all,” she said.

The silence broken, one of the British executives felt compelled to comment. It was a woman, albeit unrelated to the CEO and older than his daughter. Time had changed Japan.

“What is subtle about an assassination attempt?” she countered, looking around at her fellow executives. “London was clearly an attempt to take out the head of Security for the ship and the colony.”

“Then why go through the charade of luring the sergeant out of the interviewer’s office?” asked one of the Japanese executives. “Why not kill him there and depart quietly? Why involve a second interloper in an assassination attempt on the main floor of the building, in full view of a hundred witnesses as well as the armed security personnel stationed at the main entrance?” The shortest person present, Takeshi needed a booster to sit properly at the table. While small in stature, it was generally considered that fully half of his body mass was brain.

The smartly dressed executive on his right concurred. “Plainly, the effort to kill the sergeant was secondary.”

“To what?” asked the woman from London.

The exec was ready with a reply. “To get the red-haired woman hired as a member of the Covenant security team. To get her on board.” He paused for effect. “Presumably so that she could then wreak far more havoc, once safely on the ship.”

Jenny Yutani nodded in agreement. Though heir to one of the most spectacular jewelry collections in Japan, she wore only a pair of austere—though very expensive—earrings. Flash was considered inappropriate at a board meeting, especially one that had been convened to discuss an emergency.

“First we have the incident on board the ship,” she said. “The avowed goal of the protagonist? To halt the departure of the Covenant. Next we have the noisy intrusion in London. Its purpose?” She nodded toward the executive who had suggested the explanation. “To get someone else aboard the ship, since her predecessor’s efforts had met with failure. Had this…” She consulted her multiunit. “Meryem Tadik succeeded in boarding, what would she have done with her unwarranted access?” She paused for effect. “Almost certainly to follow in the footsteps of her deceased predecessor. In other words, to find a means of sabotaging the Covenant in order to prevent it from departing on its mission.”

Another of the Brits readily agreed with the assessment. “It makes sense.” He looked around the table. “Someone—or more likely, some organization—does not want the Covenant mission to succeed. Does not want the colony on Origae-6 to be established. Whoever it is has people who are willing to go to any lengths, including sacrificing themselves, to achieve that goal.” Then he hesitated. “But who? And why?”

One of the other Yutani executives had taken a sip of the expensive whiskey from a glass he had half-filled with the golden liquid. Careful not to mar the wood, he put it down on the table and voiced a single word. Or rather, spat it out. Politely, but with sufficient emphasis as to leave no doubt as to how he felt.

“Jutou.”

Of all the companies that had sought to take over Weyland Corporation following the disappearance of Peter Weyland, none had given Yutani more trouble or made a stronger effort than the giant Chinese combine. Enormous sums had been bid back and forth, promises had been made under other tables besides the one fashioned of kinoki cypress. Careers had been put on the line, individuals had been compromised, and a great deal of the corporate equivalent of blood had been left on the floor.

In the end, Hideo Yutani and his company had triumphed. The takeover was complete, a done deal. This was understood and had been reluctantly accepted by all the other failed corporate bidders.

Except the men and women running Jutou.

They continued to probe and prod, raising issues wherever possible, challenging the legality of the merger, striving to compromise individual personnel, seeking to undermine the takeover in every way possible. Their position was well-known. They would not go quietly about their own business. There was too much at stake: Peter Weyland’s scientific legacy, his property. Factories. Irreplaceable human resources. Control of the human colonization of space.

The David patents.

Weyland-Yutani now had all that. Jutou Combine still wanted it. As their company history showed, when sufficient assets were at stake, the Chinese giant could be relentless. It could be persuasive. It would do whatever was necessary to achieve its goals.

The third Brit spoke up. “Certainly likely Jutou is a reasonable explanation, but would they really go so far as to resort to corporate sabotage? Even assassination.”

“Mr. Davies, I fear you are naïve.”

Hideo Yutani addressed the speaker. The comment stung no less for having been delivered softly. The executive named Davies seemed to shrink into his chair. The company president turned his attention to the rest of the board.

“Myself, I would put nothing beyond the people who run Jutou. I know that from having had to deal with them long before these recent incidents. As yet, we have no proof they are responsible. It would be premature, not to mention potentially libelous, to confront them with direct accusations. Before we can contemplate challenging them openly, we need more than supposition.”

“A confession from one of their operatives would be a good first step,” said the Yutani executive.

“Indeed.” Yutani folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Unfortunately, we find ourselves short of candidates, since two are dead, and another successfully vanished onto the streets of London. We have no witnesses and no proof that Jutou is responsible for anything.” He leaned back in his chair and exhaled deeply. “We have only our suspicions.”

Having finished his shot glass of whiskey, the executive who had spoken earlier moved to refill it. As Hideo Yutani turned in his direction, the man froze, his hand halfway to the decanter. The frustrated company president waved irritably in his direction.

“Go ahead and indulge yourself, Shiro. Maybe the whiskey will inspire a suggestion or two. It seems as if we are not going anywhere sober.”

It was an invitation to drink, not to get drunk. Shiro could read between the lines as clearly as any of them. Two other executives helped themselves to the sturdy tipple as well. Their companions limited their imbibing to water. Eventually the British woman broke the silence.

“Assuming Jutou is behind this, what do they gain by stopping the departure of the Covenant?”

“I think the answer to the question is obvious,” Jenny Yutani said. “The longer they can keep the Covenant from departing, either by damaging the ship itself, compromising its personnel, or somehow compelling us to refrain from allowing it to leave, the more Weyland-Yutani’s competence will be called into question. With so many lives at stake—indeed, the future of the human colonization of space—more and more questions will be asked, and public opinion will begin to harden against us. Eventually, the legitimacy of our takeover will come into question.”

She looked around the table.

“It would be nice if this was simply a matter of company business,” she continued, “but the media would harp on issues like ‘the fate of mankind’ and ‘the lives of innocents.’ It is hard to fight intangibles. While we are forced to struggle with such issues, Jutou will work behind the scenes, with the help of various governments, to undermine the status of the merger.

“If the company breaks up, if the merger is undone, Jutou will certainly be there to pick up the pieces.”

Davies spoke up again. “Nothing can break the union of Weyland and Yutani,” he said, agitation clear in his tone. “Not other companies, not individuals, not even governments. Nothing!” As he spoke, he raised his voice.

Narrowing his gaze, Hideo Yutani looked over at him.

“Mr. Davies, all of us have great confidence in the soundness of our union, and in our corporate future. Your enthusiasm is to be commended, but it is misplaced in this setting. I need answers, not reinforcement.” His smile was encouraging but cold. “You look tired. A little fresh water to the face might both revive and calm you.”

Davies paled. It was almost a dismissal. Rising, he made his way around the table and moved toward the boardroom portal. As transparent as the wall into which it was set, the doorway opened at his approach. No one looked at him as he left. As the portal closed behind him, the discussion in the boardroom resumed—without him.

Steadying himself, he headed for the corporate washroom, located some distance away. On the way he happened to glance at another transparent wall that separated a large greeting area from the rest of the offices on the floor. At this hour of the night there were no secretaries there, no official greeters. There were only the company bodyguards who had accompanied several of the executives, including the boss and his daughter.

Davies halted, confused.

The bodyguards were very busy.

Three figures clad entirely in black were engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the four security personnel. Everything he could see seemed to be taking place in slow-motion: the disarming of the bodyguards, the use of edged weapons, the splattering of blood on the outer wall. Too engaged to look in his direction, neither the bodyguards nor their assailants noticed the stunned, staring executive.

Davies turned and ran. Fumbling with his comm unit, Davies called to alert downstairs Security. It seemed like it took hours for them to answer. He hissed an alarm into the comm, afraid to speak too loudly. Finally bursting back into the boardroom, he ignored his colleagues’ startled looks and the expression of silent outrage on the face of Hideo Yutani.

“We’re under attack! Our people are fighting with—I don’t know who they’re fighting with!”

One of his colleagues rose abruptly. “That’s impossible! No one can reach this floor without alerting Security.”

Davies whirled on him. “Tell that to the intruders with bloody swords. You go tell them that their presence here is impossible.” He looked to Yutani. “I’ve already notified Security Central. They should be on their way. Meanwhile, I think we should really consider using whatever emergency escape route might be available.”

“We would have to get to the roof.” He remained calm, though his expression said differently. “If these intruders are already in the outer office, our path to the lifts is blocked.” He looked around at the board members. “We will have to wait here and hope that our people prevail.”

“If th-they d-don’t?” a male member of the Weyland contingent stammered.

“One crisis at a time, Mr. Beckman.” Yutani reached for his own bottle of Yamazuki. “Meanwhile, I suggest we all follow the lead of Arioki-san and fortify ourselves as best as we can.” Half filling his glass, he used it to salute the other Englishman. “I applaud your quick thinking in alerting Security, Mr. Davies. With luck, our people will keep the intruders confined to the hallway until building security arrives.” He smiled encouragingly at the others. “That should not take long.”