Alien: Covenant - The Official Movie Novelization

III

It went away in an instant, like a delicate flower caught in the wind of a thunderstorm. The room in the unnamed city, the log cabin, the bed, the coffee, the husband—all vanished in a flash, as if none had ever been.

Daniels found herself jerked awake, fully alert and being thrown from side to side within the hypersleep pod. As awareness dawned a fresh jolt sent her flying upward to slam against the clear, curved lid. When she dropped back down, her nose was bloody from the impact. Her first thought was that she might have suffered a concussion. Dazed, her training took over in the absence of coherent thought.

The fingers of her right hand, still half numb from the after-effects of hypersleep, machine-gunned the pod’s internal keypad. Dream-visions of warmth, taste, and love were replaced by the cool white rigidity of the sleep bay, its hard surfaces and intense illumination visible through the canopy. Woozy from months spent in hypersleep, as well as from the abrupt awakening, she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Of reality.

Some of the other pods were already open. A couple were empty, but the majority still held their occupants. Like her, her colleagues were struggling for mental and physical equilibrium. Unlike her, several were suffering from some of the stronger side effects of hasty revivification. Much cursing accompanied a wide assortment of puking, sweating, and shaking.

Ideally, emergency revival from hypersleep wasn’t supposed to produce those kinds of consequences. But then, she told herself, emergency revival wasn’t supposed to happen, period.

Lights flashed around her and from several wall-mounted panels, sparks erupting in satanic electronic celebration. There was also smoke. Smoke in a spaceship was a bad sign indeed. At the moment, the scrubbers in the circulation system were barely keeping up with it. Alarms assailed her ears.

It wasn’t how she was supposed to arise from hypersleep. There should have been coffee. There should have been food. To make matters worse, the fragmenting wreck of the wonderful soothing dream continued to linger in her mind until…

Someone was slapping her. That definitely wasn’t part of the dream. It didn’t bother her that it was part of the reality, because it helped to clear her head in a way the excess of visual and audible alarms did not.

“Daniels—Daniels, we—can you hear me? It’s Oram! Christopher Oram!” His tone was intense and no-nonsense, as befitted someone already fully revived. Though still clad in his soft white sleep suit, he was plainly in better shape than she was, only sweating slightly and not visibly ill. In contrast to his slender frame his voice, like his grip, was strong, and he plainly had no time to coddle her or anyone else.

“Wake up! Daniels! Wake up! I’ve got no time for this. I need you—I need everybody—now! We’ve sustained some serious damage and…” He looked to where another recent revivee was stumbling toward them. “Tennessee—give me a hand over here. I’ve got to see to the others!” Leaving the still unsteady Daniels to the newcomer, Oram hurried toward another pod that was opening.

“Come on, darlin’.” An old friend and colleague, Tennessee helped to ease her out of the pod and steady her. “Jacob’s in trouble.” Big, powerful, with his head of thick black curls and facial hair that usually looked more hacked than trimmed, he resembled someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley behind a bar instead of a fully qualified colony ship pilot. When appropriately stimulated, or agitated, he could sound like the former, too. In his sleep suit, he looked like a giant, albeit suddenly intense, teddy bear. He leaned toward her, his voice strong.

“Jacob needs us.”

It was the final jolt she needed to snap her fully awake. Whirling, she looked toward the pod beside hers. Jacob’s. Unlike nearly all the others in the crew chamber, it had not opened. Her husband lay motionless within, still locked in the Morphean grip of hypersleep. He was smiling, which was normal. Swirling vapor began to accumulate beneath the transparent lid, masking their view of the sleeper. That was most definitely not normal. Worse still, she knew what it signaled, and what would happen if—

“GET IT OPEN!”

When repeated efforts to engage the pod’s external controls produced no response, Tennessee moved to the manual override. Wrenching, pulling, leaning with all his weight on the levers did nothing—they wouldn’t budge. Seeing what was happening, Oram returned and began trying everything he could think of to get some kind of response from the pod’s instrumentation.

Nothing worked. The only result was an increase in the amount and a thickening of the vapor within, abruptly accompanied by an intensifying shower of sparks and crackling sounds from the base of the hypersleep unit where it was attached to the deck.

Within, Jacob’s visage twitched in a semblance of rising awareness as the pod’s programming struggled to respond to Oram’s increasingly frantic external instructions. Trapped between catastrophic mechanical failure and insufficient response time, Daniels’ inert husband could do nothing to shape his own fate.

“Stand back! Get out of the way!”

Sergeant Lopé joined them. With his beard tending to gray, he had the mien of a kindly grandfather: a kindly grandfather who could easily dismember any trio of assailants. As the experienced leader of the military complement assigned to assist the ship’s crew, the lean professional soldier couldn’t match the technical skills of those who were fighting to save Jacob. In lieu of technical knowledge, he brought more primitive but equally useful abilities to the effort.

He grabbed a mechanical clamp they anachronistically called the “jaws of life.” Jamming the device into the pod’s inoperative release mechanism, he quickly and efficiently settled it into position.

“Lock it in on your side!” he yelled to Tennessee.

Working together, the two men finally succeeded in attaching the rescue tool to the pod. Every latch had to be tight, the vacuum seal complete. A partial success was no success at all. Under the device’s prodding the pod would open completely, or it wouldn’t open at all.

Leaning in, the two men applied brute strength to the apparatus. It wouldn’t matter if they broke the pod. Empty spares were on board should they need one. Teeth clenched, muscles bulging, they were joined by Daniels, who added her desperate strength to theirs.

Nothing happened.

Inside the pod, an explosion. Compared to the cacophony of other sounds throughout the hypersleep bay, it wasn’t loud, but it was significant enough to cause both men to draw back reflexively. On the other side of the clear plastic lid there was a sudden increase in vapor and for the first time… fire. Uttering a primal whine, a hysterical Daniels threw herself onto the pod, clawing desperately at the ineffective rescue device.

Within, her husband’s eyes suddenly snapped open as he finally began to awaken. Through the vapor and the intensifying flames, there was recognition. His gaze locked on hers. It lasted only for an instant. Just like his smile. Both were his last.

Daniels continued to scream, and the inside of the pod was engulfed in flames as if someone had tossed a torch onto a pile of combustible material. Though initially resistant to fire, when the interior finally caught it burned hot and fast. Everything ignited—bed, support tubing, instruments… Jacob.

Fire suppression technology was common throughout the hypersleep bay, but not so much within individual pods. Because they were designed to open easily and immediately, via the activation of failsafe devices if necessary. At worst, they could be opened by a specialized rescue device like the one Lopé and Tennessee had used. The one that had failed to perform its intended function.

It took all of Tennessee’s considerable strength to pull her off the pod and away from the internalized inferno. Still sealed tight, still unopenable, the pod kept the blaze contained.

Desperate to provide what comfort he could, Tennessee could only wrap his arms around Daniels and hold her, letting her sob uncontrollably against him. Their efforts defeated, Oram and Lopé could do nothing but look on. Neither Oram’s skill nor the sergeant’s strength had been sufficient to get the recalcitrant pod open.

With a little more time, Oram thought…

Time. There hadn’t been enough to save a life. Now he had to act swiftly to ensure the survival of others. Thousands of others. He spotted the heavily bearded, thick-lipped, solidly built Cole and the slender, youthful Ledward, a pair of privates who had revived alongside Lopé, and designated them to deal with Jacob’s remains. Then he headed purposefully for the ship’s nursery with the sergeant in tow.

The scene that greeted him was shocking, made bearable only by the knowledge that it could have been worse.

A segment of hypersleep pods had broken free from their brackets and fallen to the floor. Despite their tough construction some had cracked, fatally exposing their unwary occupants to incomplete revivification. Others had been spilled from pods whose lids had completely and prematurely snapped open. They were just as dead. Sparks continued to flare as revived crew members fought to suppress their source and shut off power to pods that no longer served any purpose.

Two more revived privates worked their way through the damage, searching for less damaged pods and sleepers who might have survived the disaster. Oram recognized the ever-earnest Rosenthal, whose physical attractiveness belied her stolid professionalism, and the equally young but blonde Ankor. Leaving his side, Lopé moved to supervise their efforts.

His gaze shifting away from the disaster, Oram saw Karine checking the embryo containment units. Acknowledging the arrival of her husband with a quick glance, her straight, dark blonde hair gleaming against her dark skin, she stayed where she was, doing her job. Assuring the viability of the embryos was far more important to her than anything else. Her concern and interests lay with the ship’s bio, not its tech.

She had her job, he had his.

At the moment, he knew she did not envy him.

Leaving the hypersleep bay to the attention of Lopé and his team, Oram and Karine paused outside the entrance to the brightly lit bridge.

This was a moment he had not sought. It did not matter that he had trained for it, and possessed the skills to do it. He would have given a great deal to be sleeping in his pod, awaiting a final and far more salubrious awakening at their intended destination. Choices in life, however, are all too often not made by us, but for us. Jacob was…

Karine put a hand on his arm. “They’re your crew now. They need a leader. It’s not an option. You knew that when we signed on for this.” She offered a gentle, reassuring smile. “You’ll do fine, Chris. You’ve always done fine.” With that she left him and entered the bridge. Just one more crew member joining the others. But of course she wasn’t just one more crew member. Not to him.

She was right, of course. She usually was. Even if he had a preference, he’d signed a contract. He took a moment to prepare himself, and then followed her.

The navigation console in the center of the room was something of an anachronism. So were the other consoles that lined the far side of the bridge. On a colonization starship, communication was instantly available to anyone who was awake and aware. All that was needed was to speak loudly enough for Mother to hear. Thus the bridge seemed like a throwback to a time when contact between individuals could only be conducted in person, face to face.

However, those who studied, built, and designed such vessels knew better. The longer the journey, the more important interpersonal interaction became. Conversing via handhelds or the omnipresent ship’s system was fast and efficient, but it did nothing for the human psyche. In the vast impersonal emptiness of interstellar space, proximity to a smile, a smell, a sweat, kept humanness real and alive. The mental health of the crew was as important as the physical health of the ship.

So there were the consoles, and seats bolted to the floor, and in the course of work everyone was compelled to look at, listen to, and occasionally make physical contact. The better to confirm that your neighbor was flesh and blood, and not a holo projection kicked out of the ship’s files. Or a bad hypersleep dream.

He took his seat. Most of the key crew members were there. In pairs, of course—except for Walter. Only couples crewed a colonization ship. Couples ensured efficiency and attention to detail. Not to mention sanity.

Oram wasn’t yet officially captain, yet he had already relinquished his former position as the head of Life Sciences, turning it over to his wife. Forced into command by tragedy and circumstance, he found himself uncomfortable in the new role. Without the presence of Karine to offer support and guidance, he felt he might very well have abdicated the responsibility, contract or no contract.

But she was here, seated beside him, quiet and confident, quirky and imaginative where he was uncertain. Sometimes his awkwardness was taken for arrogance by other members of the crew. He couldn’t help that. It was who he was. He might let down the others, but he could not do so to her.

Tennessee didn’t sit in his seat, or for that matter anywhere else, so much as lounge there on the bridge. Oram envied the big, easygoing pilot his ability to relax. What others might regard as insouciance, Oram knew as a characteristic of someone at ease with themselves and the universe. A useful quality to have, and never more so than right now. No matter what the circumstances, he could rely on the pilot to carry out orders efficiently and without question.

If not for Tennessee’s friendship and emotional strength, poor Daniels would likely already be in sick bay.

Faris was as easygoing as her spouse. A country girl who preferred not to identify the country, she was also an even better pilot, a subject over which the pair argued frequently without resorting to anger. Their spirited and occasionally salacious marital banter enlivened every episode of the crew’s wakefulness.

Prior to departure from Earth orbit, their sometimes-barbed back-and-forth had been a matter of concern among the Administration, until it was realized that the occasional jibe exchanged between husband and wife was always delivered with warmth and not enmity.

Upworth and Ricks were by far the youngest couple at the table. Their youth didn’t mitigate their skills, however, which encompassed navigation and communications. Upworth in particular was quick to take offense at any implication that she was unqualified for her position, perhaps because between her wide eyes, full mouth, and diminutive stature, she looked even younger than she was. Tennessee had once called her a “high explosive disguised as a Kewpie doll,” and she’d been forced to look up the meaning of Kewpie doll via the ship’s library.

If she had a fault, it was a tendency to improvise solutions to problems for which instructions already existed. As for the far more intense Ricks, he was quieter, competent, and much more inclined to go by the book whenever a situation arose. He served as the carbon rod to Upworth’s occasional runaway reactor.

Where the unforeseen was concerned, Oram himself was more likely to follow procedure before resorting to extemporization. So, for that matter, was his wife. In that regard he felt closer to Ricks. Still, Upworth’s occasional tendency to go off the rails notwithstanding, he had only respect for any newly married couple who decided to forgo their time on Earth in favor of signing up for colonization.

Lopé also preferred to stand rather than sit. As head of Covenant security, and eventually security for the colony, he was old-school military. He outranked his less imposing but younger and equally professional life partner and co-administrator Sergeant Hallet by only a single chevron.

Hallet was the last to arrive, apologetic and slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, sir,” he told Oram as he took up a position next to Lopé. His partner ring flashed in the overhead light, a perfect match to the one worn by the sergeant.

Oram waved off the apology. This was no time to stand on protocol. Clearing his throat a couple of times, he eyed each of them in turn before speaking, his tone somber.

“There’s no other way of stating this than to say it. We’ve suffered a terrible tragedy. Both in the loss of crew and the loss of colonists. And I—am your new captain.” His voice tightened. “I didn’t ask for it, I don’t want it, but that’s the way it is. I’ll do my best to live up to Jacob’s fine example.” Aware they were all staring at him expectantly, he fumbled for more words. Running bioscans on sleeping life-forms was infinitely easier than speaking to live ones, he reflected dourly. Searching for brilliance, he found only platitudes.

They would have to do.

“He will be sorely missed,” Oram continued. “We have much work to do. Thank you in advance for your support.”

There. He had done his duty in regards to dealing with the emotional needs of the moment. From the looks on the faces around him, his words had been satisfactory if not inspirational. Much relieved, now he could get down to business.

“Considering that what hit us essentially came out of nowhere, we’re in better shape than we might have been. Currently structural integrity is holding at ninety-three percent, although we still have a number of secondary systems offline. We lost forty-seven colonists and sixteen second-generation embryos, and as you know, one crew member. An additional sixty-two pods incurred damage, all of which is salvageable.”

“‘Salvageable’?” Upworth’s sarcasm could not be repressed for long.

He pursed his lips. “‘Repairable,’ if you prefer. The important point being, no one else was lost.” That was the issue with hypersleep pods, he knew. They functioned, or they failed. There was no middle ground, either for the technology or the sleeper. Though he’d heard rumors that in unique cases it might be otherwise, and the results weren’t pretty. Successfully repairing a damaged pod with the sleeper still in it was a steep hill to climb.

There was no “otherwise” on the Covenant. Not while he was in charge.

“So what was it? What happened?” Tennessee deftly shifted the subject. “Let me guess. Mother was in the cybernetic can, and while she was distracted dumping excess bytes, we ran into something?” Rosenthal and Cole smiled slightly, but nobody laughed.

Glad to return to technical matters, Oram let Walter explain.

“The ship was broadsided by a highly charged shockwave whose initial proximity was blocked from our long-range sensors by the dense presence of other particulate and radiant matter in our immediate spatial vicinity,” the synthetic said. “That is why it was not detected until it was right on top of us, so to speak. It struck before the collectors could be furled, and we absorbed the full brunt of it. If we had…”

Irritated by a sudden thought, Oram interrupted him.

“Why weren’t you monitoring? Between you and Mother isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“That,” Walter conceded, “and many other things. I can offer no excuses, only explanations. All monitoring systems were online and fully operational. I was attendant at all times, as usual. However, there is no precedent or procedure for detecting or coping with charged particle flares whose presence is masked by similar obstructive fields. It was assumed that in deep space, the coincidence of occurrence would be too small to be of concern.” He paused. “Plainly, that is not the case. Or to put it in less technical terms, we have been unlucky.”

“Walter’s right.” Ever understanding, Faris sided with the synthetic. “It was bad luck. Even the best pilots have been known to encounter bad luck.” She smiled at Walter. “Even the best synthetics.”

Oram refused to accept it.

“No, no. I don’t believe in luck, good or bad,” he said. “Deep space is the last place to rely on ‘luck.’ I’d rather we were more prepared and capable, than ‘lucky.’”

His wife shrugged and crossed her arms, eying her husband. “I’m sure the designers of the Covenant took that into account when installing and calibrating her systems.”

“Placing blame, if it can be called that, won’t do us a bit of good.” As usual, Tennessee could be relied upon to bring a discussion back on an even keel.

Seeing that further admonitions would gain nothing, Oram decided to accept the explanation—unsatisfactory as it was—and move on. He could discuss the matter further with Walter at a later time, after other important decisions had been made and acted upon. Discuss it, and prepare a report on the incident for relay back to Earth.

“We’ve got, what—eight more recharge cycles to go before we arrive at Origae-6?” he said. “So let’s get to it. The torn collector sections need to be repaired or replaced, and so does the damage to the ship. Everything critical needs to be fixed before we can make the next jump.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. He sensed they were, once again, waiting on him to say something else. Something more. But what? Karine tried to signal him with her expression, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand what she was hinting at.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was Walter who elucidated what everyone except Oram was thinking.

“Shall we schedule the funeral services, sir?” he asked. “For the dead?”

So that was it? While part of him understood… and even sympathized, it was the officious, businesslike part of him that was in control.

“Let’s deal with the necessary repairs first,” he replied, and then he added, “I hold as much respect as the rest of you for the departed, but I have more concern for the living.”

While Security was nominally under the captain’s command, it operated with a degree of independence denied to operations staff. As such, Lopé was never hesitant to speak up. His tone was somber.

“We just lost forty-seven colonists and our captain. We need to acknowledge that.”

Flustered by the sergeant’s protest, Oram turned to his wife. This time there was no attempt at non-verbal communication.

“He’s right, Christopher.”

Oram was not persuaded. “And if we don’t make repairs quickly, we could lose all the colonists.” He scanned the room. “Perspective, ladies and gentlemen. The greatest good for the greatest number, and no milling about.”

The joke was lost on the others, leaving him feeling even more ill at ease.

“We should do something for Captain Branson, at least.”

The fact that the remonstration, mild as it was, came from the usually supportive Tennessee only induced Oram to harden his position. Either he established authority now, or he would find himself and his decisions subject to continual questioning for the rest of the voyage. Maybe it wasn’t the right time or the appropriate issue on which to be assertive, but circumstances had chosen him—and not vice versa.

“No. This is not a debate. The decision has been made. I see no reason why there needs to be any further discussion.”

His wife looked down at the floor, embarrassed for him. At the same time she had to know that the worst thing she could do to undermine his new command would be to side with the crew. So she stayed silent.

It wasn’t the most uncomfortable moment Daniels could have chosen to finally join them, but it was close. No one said anything, which was the best approach. Business now, grieving and consolation later.

She looked damaged and on edge as she looked from face to face, taking a seat next to a conspicuously empty chair. When she addressed the others, however, her voice was firm.

“The terraforming equipment module is stable,” she said, “although the, um, connecting struts took some damage. Can’t tell for certain without an EVA inspection.”

“I can handle that remotely,” Walter assured her. “If anything was critical, Mother would have told us by now.”

She nodded. “I still need to check the clamp lockdowns for the heavy machinery and the vehicles. I’m not worried about the small stuff. If some of it got knocked around, we’ll just reposition it. Bay monitors don’t show any damage, but I want to be certain. We were rocked pretty good.”

“I can also help with that if you like,” Walter told her. “Mother will inform me if my attention is required elsewhere.”

She glanced over at the synthetic. “Thanks.”

Oram queried him. “How long before we can make our next jump, Walter?”

“I should have a better idea within hours, as Mother is still compiling final damage reports. We must remain here until recharge is complete. Fixing the damaged collectors will of course speed our departure. Assuming the most significant issues can be addressed swiftly, I would say that a few days would be sufficient to allow us to get underway again.

“Once all vital repairs have been completed,” he continued, “we should make an effort to vacate this sector, in case there may be subsequent flares that prove as undetectable as the one that just struck us. Secondary repairs can be made in the course of the journey.”

“I agree.” Oram eyed each of them in turn. “We can complete minor repairs the next time we come out of jump to recharge. Let’s go to work.” They had a plan of action. Oram absorbed it the way others might down a pill to relieve constipation. “Dismissed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wry Tennessee silently mouth, “Dismissed?” He decided to let it ride as they dispersed to their stations and tasks.

Daniels started to rise to follow the others.

“Danny?” Oram murmured softly. “A word before you go.”

She sat back down in her seat as the last of her colleagues filed off of the bridge. Leaning toward her across the table and lowering his voice, Oram spoke earnestly. He was trying, in his maladroit fashion, to be comforting.

“I know there’s nothing I can possibly say—but I am so sorry. He was a genuine leader and a fine man. Jacob and I didn’t always see eye to eye, as you know. Even when we disagreed on some technicality, though, I always respected his decision. When his reasoning differed from mine, it was always elegantly presented. In the end he always managed to get people to come around to his way of thinking, and he did it without shouting or having to pull rank. It was an honor to serve under him.”

She struggled to muster a smile. “I appreciate that, Chris. I know Jacob would’ve, too.”

His tone changed. “You should take a few days off,” he said firmly.

“I’d rather keep busy.” The smile, what there was of one, faded instantly.

“That wasn’t a request.” He tried to keep his voice level, lest his new tone contradict his earlier compassion.

She stared back at him. Ordinarily she would have been more vocal, he knew, more defiant in her response, but right then she did not have it in her. Noting her expression, he felt moved to explain further.

“I’m responsible for the mission now,” he reminded her, “and for the lives and well-being of everyone on board, be they operational crew or sleeping colonists. I didn’t anticipate being put in this position, and I need everyone’s help. That means I need everyone functioning at their best, including you.” He essayed a smile of his own. “When we don’t want to take a break is usually when we need one the most. Take a couple of days. Cry it out, okay?”

She gaped at him.

“‘Cry it out?’ Here’s an idea, Chris—Captain. Maybe it will prove ‘helpful.’ How about I mourn the loss of my husband in my own way? I don’t think I’ll be contradicting any formal guidelines in the general crew manual… sir.” Rising from her seat, she turned sharply and walked quickly from the bridge in the wake of her crewmates.

Oram watched her go, realizing he hadn’t handled that as well as he could have. “New to this…” He had confessed as much. Not that it had made any difference. A little while ago he had been a member of the crew. Now, with the death of Jacob Branson, an unavoidable gulf had opened between him and his shipmates. There was nothing to be done about it. That was the way of command.

He was going to need Karine’s advice more than ever.

Removing a pair of metal worry beads from a pocket, he absently began to roll them together in one hand, listening as they clicked. He couldn’t let such episodes as the encounter with Daniels distract him from his new duties. Everything from now on depended on focus, focus, focus. That meant staying calm and analyzing in depth every situation, be it human-to-human interaction or a report from engineering. Despite his new position and responsibilities, he very much wanted to remain friends with his crewmates.

Only time would tell if he would be able to manage it.

Emerging from a service lock, Tennessee and Ankor moved away from the massive arc of the Covenant. In the blackness of interstellar space their bright yellow EVA suits, laden with gear, and their oversize heavy-duty helmets gave them the appearance of giant cyclopean beetles.

External antennae would have cemented the similarity, but as a safety measure everything—including multiple informational readouts—was built into the suit or its headgear. The suits’ rounded shapes meant they could bump up against the ship or any other solid object without fear of dislodging or snapping off something critical.

Tennessee lined up a course that would take him to the tip of one collector extension, while Ankor headed for the mast core. Each man had his own predetermined tasks. Unless an unforeseen problem arose, there was no need for them to operate in tandem. They knew their jobs. Toiling separately would see the necessary work go twice as fast.

Around them was arrayed the firmament: an endless sweep of stars and nebulae, glorious and overpowering in its beauty. Rendering it all the more awe-inspiring was the knowledge that for them, what they were viewing effectively had no end. The galactic magnificence proceeded almost infinitely in every direction, the view unmarred by the adjacent presence of a planet or moon.

Magnificence, and a cold indifferent emptiness that was held at bay only by their suits. They could marvel and fear at the same time. Concentrating on the work at hand always helped to prevent distraction, though Tennessee couldn’t keep from voicing his reaction.

“Damn. Y’all should see this view.”

Upworth’s voice, crisp and familiar, sounded on his suit’s speakers. “We can’t see anything until you get the external camera array fixed. It wouldn’t be the same anyway. Contemplating it via projection is a long way from actually being out there.”

“Projection, smojection—why don’t you look out the damn window, hon?” With that, Tennessee continued suit-to-suit. “Ankor, let’s get the power back on so those poor folks canned up inside can take in the sights. I’m gonna give up on trying to describe it.” He paused briefly to check one of the brightly glowing readouts inside his helmet and near his chin. “Let me know when you’re in position.”

Efficient as ever, his colleague was already there. “I’m in position. Maybe because I’m not goofing off, enjoying the view. Let’s get to work.”

Grinning to himself, Tennessee used a power trimmer to cut away a damaged portion of one collector panel, then gave it a tug. While the diaphanous material was infinitely greater in expanse than the tiny figure of the spacesuited human, it also weighed comparatively less. His single pull was enough to send the torn section he had just excised drifting off, away from the rest of the panel and the Covenant.

Unspooling some thread-like cable behind him, he fired the propellant unit on his suit and, accelerating rapidly, headed for the far end of the mast. It took a while to cross the now collector-less gulf. Reaching the end of the damaged section, he secured the cable-thread and signaled to Ankor.

Receiving the directive, the other man commenced to draw the repaired collector taut.

A good start, Tennessee told himself. Now swing about, rotate the cosmos around your head, try not to get dizzy, and repeat. Operating as a single unit, both men moved methodically toward another damaged portion of the collector.