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.