Alien: Covenant - The Official Movie Novelization Read online

  We’re all just backups to computers, anyway, she told herself.

  It could have been done remotely, she knew, checking to ensure that each piece of machinery remained fixed in place. But it wouldn’t have provided the same personal satisfaction. And as she knew as well as Walter did, that having something to do physically as well as mentally kept her from thinking about…

  “It wasn’t even my idea,” she told the synthetic as he effortlessly kept pace with her. “At first I thought it was silly. A waste of time we probably wouldn’t even have, since as crew we’d first have to help the colonists get settled in. But Jacob had this dream of building us a cabin on a new world. One just like those built by the old pioneers on parts of Earth. Only with modern climate control and appliances and other contemporary conveniences.

  “Log cabins were found on every continent with trees, he’d tell me. One of mankind’s first structures not made of stone or earth, and according to the pictures he showed me they look pretty much the same no matter which culture built them. A real part of human history.” Bending, she double-checked a wheel clamp the size of a small vehicle. It helped to hold in place a giant, bladed excavator. Still locked down tight.

  “So that’s what he wanted to do,” she continued. “Both for his own enjoyment and as kind of an homage to early ‘colonists.’ A cabin next to a lake. Real romantic. It didn’t even matter to him if the lake was natural or artificial, but there’s a huge one in the zone chosen for initial terraforming on Origae-6.” Walking around the front of the excavator, she checked the clamp enfolding the lower portion of the massive front wheel on the opposite side. “Secure.”

  “Secure,” Walter confirmed, performing his own quick check. They moved on to the next massive vehicle in line. “I do not entirely understand. We are carrying ample prefabricated housing for the crew, as well as for the colonists. There are plans for future modifications and additional, more permanent structures, as well as the means to erect them once suitable raw materials are found.” He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Yet Jacob wanted to build a log cabin?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “A real cabin, made of real wood. Constructed entirely according to historical precedents. So in ship’s stores, along with all the prefab materials you just mentioned, in our private container there’s all these saws and axes, and metal nails.”

  Walter turned thoughtful. “Metal ‘nails.’ Truly a historical reference. What if there are no trees, as we know them, on Origae-6?”

  She let out a single, small chuckle. “Jacob said he’d use a plastic pre-former to make them and then have them sprayed and textured to look like the real thing. I always assumed he knew what he was doing and how to go about it. Me, I don’t have the slightest idea how to build a log cabin.”

  She paused, her voice trailing away. Looking up from the pipe extruder he was inspecting, Walter turned his light on her. Saw the sadness creep into her eyes as she let her gaze rove over the enormous, silent equipment that would be used to build the colony. With a slight wave of her hand she encompassed the extruder and the rest of the machinery that was locked down in front of them.

  “All of this, the best gear Earth can provide, to help us make our new life. For the rest of the crew, it makes sense. And of course for the colonists. But for myself, now I find myself wondering—why bother?”

  “You have no choice.”

  Frowning, she looked over at him. “You mean because I signed a contract to take part and contribute, as a member of the crew?”

  “No. Because you promised to build a cabin on a lake.”

  She felt a sudden tightness in her throat. “That was Jacob’s promise. Jacob promised to build the cabin.”

  Walter peered back at her, his expression open, his tone compassionate. “All crew were assigned to the Covenant in pairs. All human crew.” He corrected himself without the slightest hint of resentment. “The ship’s crew functions in pairs. As teams. If one half of the team becomes unable to carry out their duties, then the other…”

  “Is obligated to take over and handle those duties in addition to their own,” she finished for him. “I’m not sure building a cabin by a lake on Origae-6 qualifies, but I appreciate the sentiment. Who knows? Maybe when we get there and I have a chance to breathe unrecycled air again and eat something besides rehydrated food, I’ll take the time to educate myself in the art of cabin building. Maybe—just maybe—I’ll do it.”

  “You will do it.”

  Reaching over, she patted him on the arm. It felt exactly like real flesh, as it was intended to feel. “You’re a good friend, Walter. And if you tell me that’s ‘part of your programming,’ I’m going to slap you.”

  It was a testament to the skill with which that programming had been devised that he did not say anything else.

  * * *

  There was no one on the bridge except Mother, and she wasn’t visible. Mother was the bridge. On the Covenant she was everywhere and nowhere, immaterial yet always available to carry out a command or answer a query.

  The questions that were dogging Oram as he wandered onto the instrument-filled room could not be answered by the ship’s computer. If asked, she would of course try to answer. Sometimes he was tempted to voice his concerns just to see what kind of replies might be electronically forthcoming. He never did. First, because they might make sense, and second, because they might contradict his own.

  The lightweight blanket wrapped around his shoulders was as unnecessary on the bridge as it was in his cabin. Though the temperature and humidity in individual cabins was widely adjustable, most of the crew were content with whatever Mother deemed appropriate for their particular ages, physiologies, and predesignated personal preferences. Sleeping on a starship was a private matter—one of the few—and Mother rarely interrupted with suggestions.

  A blanket, or for that matter bed linens of any kind, were an extravagance, but they were a small one, and had been deemed important for the crew’s psychological health. So if someone slept better under sheets, or a comforter, or a blanket, or a faux wool sheepskin, if it was determined that this would enhance efficiency and preserve sanity, the company was willing to provide it.

  His old-fashioned print Bible was tucked under one arm, as much a comfort as Mother’s capable presence. In his other hand, metal worry beads click-clicked rhythmically against one another. He could have requested medication to sate his anxiety. He much preferred the worry beads. Unlike drugs, they were familiar and non-invasive. An argument might have been made as to whether or not they were equally habit-forming.

  Shrouded like a pilgrim, he wandered absently through the bridge, glancing periodically at one console or set of readouts after another. In the absence of any human crew, all was calm and everything in working order. He knew it would be; otherwise Mother would have alerted him. Still, he was brought to a halt by a readout on one panel. It indicated that there was activity in the main disposal bay. Curious, he activated the relevant visual feed.

  A projection emerged from the console, bright and colorful in front of him. As he looked on in silence, his quiet disapproval grew. Not because of the activity that was taking place, but because of what it implied.

  * * *

  Daniels stood beside Walter in the disposal bay, their attention on a monitor. The screen showed a pod-like coffin that had been moved into the facility’s outer lock. The coffin-pod was rigged and ready to go—out into the vacuum.

  It was utterly quiet in the bay, until Walter finally broke the silence. “Would you like me to say something? I’m programmed with multiple funerary services in a variety of denominations. I am also equipped to improvise, based on my personal knowledge of the deceased.”

  “No, thanks,” Daniels mumbled. Silence resumed, briefly.

  “If you don’t need or wish a funeral service,” Walter continued, “may I ask why you wanted me to accompany you?”

  She looked over at him. “As you pointed out when we were inspecting the terraforming bay, t
he crew is made up of couples. That was the whole point of—” She broke off. “I thought you might know something about being alone. I didn’t expect you to speak to it, exactly, I—I don’t know what I was expecting. I do know that I didn’t want to have to do this by myself.”

  Digesting this, Walter felt touched, in his way. From a programming standpoint, the situation was... complicated.

  He was not necessarily relieved when the access door slid open to admit Tennessee and Faris, but he was pleased. Unsure whether just his presence was sufficient to mitigate Daniels’ aloneness, he knew that the arrival of two of her friends was more likely to do so. Just as he knew that the addition of the bottle of whiskey and the four shot glasses Tennessee was carrying was likely to further ameliorate her mood.

  Tennessee managed to envelop her in one of his bear hugs without dropping either the bottle or any of the glasses.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he said softly. “How you holdin’ up?” He released her, then glanced over at his wife.

  Daniels smiled up at him. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Thanks for coming. Both of you.”

  Holding up the bottle, Tennessee favored it with an appreciative glance. “His favorite. Man with taste.” Exhibiting remarkable dexterity for one so large, he juggled bottle and glasses while pouring for all of them. “Straight up. ‘No ice, no water, no chase, no shit.’ That’s what he always said.” He eyed the remaining figure standing nearby. “Walter?”

  “When in Rome.” Extending a hand, the synthetic took a glass. While the liquor would do nothing for him from a physiological standpoint, it was the gesture of camaraderie that was important.

  “Amen, brother.” Faris acknowledged him by briefly raising her own glass. “That’s what I call proper programming.”

  Following ceremonial sips, both to appraise the bottle’s contents and to loosen the atmosphere, Tennessee offered a more formal toast.

  “To all the good people, gone too soon. Remember them.”

  The response from those around him sounded in unison. “Remember them.”

  More consumption followed the toast. Daniels drained her glass quickly, then turned to Walter. He said everything he could with his eyes, knowing that any additional words would be superfluous and inadequate. Or worse, wrong.

  Finally Faris asked gently, “Want me to do it?”

  “No. Thanks.” Daniels stepped forward. “My place.” Favoring the coffin with one final look, she reached out and pressed a button. Aural pickups conveyed the singular whoosh as air fled the disposal lock. It accompanied as well as propelled the coffin.

  An external vid showed the pod shooting away from the Covenant. Very, very small against the overwhelming blackboard of the cosmos, it was swallowed up by the dark immensity almost immediately after being ejected. Together with her friends Daniels watched as it, along with the bright future she had envisioned, vanished into the void.

  * * *

  From his position on the bridge a silent Oram took it all in, from the solemn first moments to the improving mood engendered by the alcohol. He was not pleased. There had been no attempt to involve him in the funeral, brief as it was, nor even to inform him about it. Technically, no regulations had been broken, but it was bad form. As captain, he ought to have been told in advance and his permission, or at least his concurrence, ought to have been sought.

  Instead, they had gone ahead without him. Nothing had been concealed, exactly. What had taken place and the manner in which it had been carried out was more in the nature of avoidance.

  He had only been captain a short time and by accident. If the rest of the crew didn’t respect him enough to apprise him of a funeral, it suggested that he was going to have a hard time running the ship. Mulling over possible ways to improve the situation, he found little inspiration.

  The worry beads clicked a little faster in his hand.

  In the silence of the bridge they sounded preternaturally loud, but not so loud as to override the voice that now spoke behind him. Familiar though it was, he was still surprised to hear it.

  “Come to bed, Christopher.” Clad in a one-piece suit of lightweight material that would not do for work, but was perfectly suitable for an occasional stroll, his wife admonished him gently.

  “How long have you been standing there, Karine?”

  She yawned and smiled. “Long enough.”

  Instead of looking at her, he nodded toward the projection. “Then you see what’s going on there? You saw how she disobeyed my orders?”

  “You mean she buried her husband? And without asking your permission? Tch. Shame on her.” When he continued to evade her stare, she came forward until he could not avoid her eyes without deliberately ignoring her.

  “When we get to Origae-6,” she reminded him, “these people aren’t going to be your crew anymore. Once the Covenant is decommissioned so that everyone can participate in developing the colony, they and we will revert to being colonists, just like everyone who’s currently in hypersleep. They won’t be under your command. They’re going to be your neighbors. Remember that. Because they certainly will.

  “So tread softly. Once the colony is up and functioning, you’re going to need them a lot more than they’re going to need you.” She searched his face. “So pissing them off now for some perceived slight or minor infraction of the rules probably isn’t the best way to proceed. Okay?”

  His reluctant shrug was barely more perceptible than his reply.

  “Yeah.”

  She made perfect sense, of course. Karine always did. He hated that, but he loved her.

  She touched his face affectionately, then dropped her hand and held it out toward him with the palm facing upward. He didn’t need to ask what she wanted—they had been down this path many times before. With a resigned sigh, he handed her the worry beads. As she folded her fingers around them she leaned forward to bestow a kiss on his cheek, then turned.

  “Coming?” she asked. “You need your sleep, Christopher. It will make you a more responsive captain. And it always makes you a better person.”

  “There’s one more thing I have to do. You go along, Karine. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  She waited until he had shut down the visuals from the disposal lock, then gave an approving, satisfied nod, turned, and left. He lingered until she was gone. Then he composed himself, knelt, and began to pray.

  There in the middle of the high-tech bridge, surrounded by a rainbow of bright telltales and the occasional whispering readout, he closed his eyes and steepled his fingers. A casual onlooker would have said there was no one to notice the gesture.

  Oram would have disagreed.

  * * *

  Daniels was drunk. She knew it, didn’t care, but did not revel in the condition. What she had hoped to obtain from the excess of alcoholic consumption wasn’t nirvana but anesthetization. Despite her strenuous efforts in that direction, she had not succeeded.

  She was dazed but still capable of feeling.

  Dammit, she thought through the liquor-induced fog. Why am I still conscious? Is there no justice in this universe?

  The antique music player was currently emitting the dulcet vocalizations of Nat King Cole singing “Unforgettable.” A favorite tune of Jacob’s, and one they enjoyed listening to in quiet, intimate moments. It was quiet enough, she mused, but there could be no intimacy. You needed two to be intimate.

  Two to tango, two to travel, two to… to…

  Despite her wishes, her vision was clearing. She had removed his clothes from the closet, along with everything else that had been his and not theirs. Socks, a crude shell necklace she had made for him, shirts, pants, boots.

  Knick-knacks, paddy-wacks, give a girl a break…

  She’d had no problem laying claim to the remnants of the whiskey in the bottle Tennessee had provided. Momentarily fortified by the additional dose of liquid backbone, she commenced tying the assorted attire into neat bundles. It was only when she had finished dealing with the last of
the clothes that she felt able to move on to the more personal items.

  The aged still photographs shared space on the floor with more contemporaneous examples of the visual reproductive process. Having spread them out in a semicircle she knelt among them, studying the mosaic they formed of her previous life. Occasionally she would touch a hard copy or run a fingertip through a projection, sampling the images both by sight and through physical contact. She didn’t look at any of them more than once, drinking in each image for one last time before moving on to the next.

  One especially favorite projector tab stared back at her. She considered avoiding it, but it just sat there, demanding activation. So she thumbed the unit and sat back to watch the resulting imagery it contained. Imagery she knew all too well.

  Backed by the vast jagged sweep of the Grand Teton mountains that cut into the pure blue sky like one of his beloved antique wood saws, Jacob stood looking back at her. Smiling, always smiling.

  “Hey, when are you getting here? I miss you!” Half-turning, he gestured at the rugged range looming behind him. “Look at those mountains. I know, I know, I said I wouldn’t climb without you, but—come on, look at that! I can feel the granite under my fingers from here. Get your ass up here or I can’t promise…”

  Reaching out, she froze the image. Though the audio continued, her sobs drowned out the words. She knew them by heart anyway.

  * * *

  When she could not cry anymore, with her eyes aching and throbbing, she forced herself to pack everything away. Pictures, clothes, climbing gear, everything. It was all ready for storage, along with her dreams. All that was left was the small memory box she kept on the dresser. It held little things, silly things, fragments of a life already lived. Items that would be meaningless to anyone except her.