Alan Foster: Alien: Covenant - Origins: The Official Movie Prequel

“Thanks.” Rosenthal fell into step alongside the ship’s supercargo. “I brought as much as I was allowed.”

Daniels nodded understandingly. “Seemingly insignificant things will mean a great deal more once we’re down and starting to build the colony. That’s what the psych panel says, anyway.” She was silent for a moment as they walked, then added, “Official communication says that everything has settled down on the surface, and that we have nothing more to worry about. You were part of that ‘settling,’ I understand.”

Rosenthal nodded tersely. “There was a group of anti-colonization fanatics. They were dedicated, well-organized, and had resources. They’ve been dealt with and yes, I was part of that. A small part. It wasn’t planned.” She shrugged. “One minute I was applying for the last position on the Covenant security team, and things just happened. Quickly.”

Daniels’ interest was piqued. “Once we’re outbound you’ll have to tell me all about it.”

The private looked uncertain. “Don’t know if I can. Don’t know what’s restricted information, and what’s not.”

Daniels smiled again. “I don’t think anyone will come after you if you let something slip. If you prefer, you can wait until we come out of jump for our first maintenance and recharge stop. We’ll have plenty of time to talk. Nothing really happens during maintenance and recharge stops.”

With each step the two women took down the corridor, conversation grew more relaxed, more familiar. Rosenthal quickly found that she liked Daniels. On a journey covering dozens of light-years, likeability was important, even if most of that time was spent unconscious.

“It’s always hot in Ouarzazate.” So went the refrain. There was more to the ditty, a lot of it obscene and in multiple languages, but neither shuttle pilot was in the mood for recitation.

At least it was comfortable in the crew and maintenance staging area, where the two pilots relaxed with cold drinks and hot videos. Outside, the temperature frequently topped fifty degrees c. Not uncommon in this northeastern corner of the Sahara, on the backside of the towering Atlas mountains.

North of the Ouarzazate spaceport, millions of solar collectors marched in neat, martial rows, stretching practically to the southern shore of the Mediterranean, providing power to lights, vehicles, public transport, every kind of electronics, and most importantly, air filters used from ancient Italy and Spain all the way to the pollution-choked central portion of the continent. Visible from space, they constituted one of many such installations on the planet. Even so, they weren’t enough to cleanly power a burgeoning population whose hunger for energy was never sated.

It was less than an hour to boarding when the pair of pilots were joined by two colleagues. The new arrivals looked awake and refreshed, as if they had managed to commute all the way from the service dorm to the staging area without once stepping foot out into the climate.

“Patrick Jord,” the newcomer announced as he gestured to his companion. “Ilse Spaarder. We’re your relief.”

Frowning, the nearest pilot roused his slender frame from where he had been lounging on a couch. “Haven’t heard anything about a relief team,” Sanchez peered over at his partner. Kirpathi looked equally dubious.

Jord exchanged a bemused look with his companion, then pulled his comm unit, fiddled with the controls, and held it out. Sanchez studied it, then drew his own device and instructed it to receive. Following the near instantaneous exchange of data he studied the result, looked confused, then turned once more to his associate.

“Kirpathi, can you confirm this?”

There followed another sharing of information between devices while the newcomers waited patiently. Finally, the first pilot eyed the newcomers apologetically.

“Everything looks good,” he said. “I just wish we’d been told earlier. Could’ve stayed in Fez.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “You won’t mind if we check with Central Control?”

The female pilot shrugged. “Go right ahead. Always good to double-check security.”

Nodding, the pilot worked his comm unit. A moment later he muttered something unintelligible and turned to his colleague. “It’s legitimate.”

“Why?” the other man asked. “We’re all set to go. It doesn’t make sense to do a substitution this close to liftoff.”

“Hey,” Jord declared, “if you guys want to disregard the directive, Ilse and I will be happy to stay here. The pool at the dorm is refreshed and—”

“No, no,” Kirpathi said hastily. “You two take her up. I’m sure you’ve seen the manifest. Standard supply run. You been to Station Nine before?”

“Several times.” His counterpart smiled reassuringly. “Ilse’s been up there even more than me. I usually work out of Barlee or Turpan.”

“All right then.” As Kirpathi rose from where he had been resting, the first pilot was already heading for the door. “Only checkout remaining is the final. We’ve run all the prelims. Engines, life support, everything’s good. Straight cargo run, no passengers.”

“We know,” Jord replied. “You guys have a good rest. Get in some nap time for us, and don’t let the camels pee in the pool.”

“We’re outta here.” It was a toss-up as to which pilot would be first to the security door.

Left alone in the service lounge, the two new pilots didn’t linger. Instead of relaxing like their now departed counterparts, they made their way toward the waiting vessel. Passing several electronic checkpoints and one manned security station, they arrived at the parked transport. Just as the pilots they had replaced had told them, it was fully loaded with supplies for Station Nine.

Boarding the shuttle itself, they identified themselves to the craft’s internal AI and settled into their respective seats. They then proceeded to run through the final preflight checklist one item at a time. When they were ready to launch they informed port control. Immediate clearance was given.

All six engines fired simultaneously, and the heavily laden craft lifted off. Within minutes it was higher than nearby snow-capped Mount Toubkal. Moments later it passed through the upper stratosphere. Feathering the ship’s thrust, the two pilots made several adjustments to its preprogrammed trajectory. They worked in silence, without even sharing a glance. They were utterly focused on their mission.

It didn’t include delivering supplies to Station Nine.

Daniels was busy in the main cargo hold when the alert came through on her comm unit. It was a secure transmission intended only for active members of the crew. She made a face at it, then spoke to the two men who were standing nearby awaiting her next orders.

“Carry on without me.” She pointed down an aisle between two rows of enormous terraforming machines. “We’re almost done with these anyway. Run a final check of inventory and make sure everything’s secure. I should be back shortly.”

Their assurances followed in her wake as she turned and strode rapidly toward the hold’s exit. The alert had been urgent, calling every key crewmember to the Covenant ’s bridge. No reason was given.

Probably a snap drill , she told herself. Mother was always pulling stuff like that, to ensure not only that the crew knew their business, but that they didn’t have a chance to get lazy. Daniels told herself she’d be back working the hold in just a few minutes, finalizing the day’s portion of the manifest. She didn’t stress over the loss of time. The Covenant wasn’t going anywhere until she, Jacob, Oram, and Karine all signed off.