“Surface security says that Weyland-Yutani’s operatives are making progress in identifying and running down the people who were behind our would-be saboteur. They’re convinced it’s the same people who tried to have Jenny Yutani abducted, and who took a few shots at Sergeant Lopé.”
She frowned. “I thought the Yutani kidnapping was scarenews.”
He shook his head. “Nope. There really was an attempt. Security central thinks all three incidents may be linked together. I didn’t get a lot of details. The company is playing this very close to the besuto.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Be bad publicity for the mission if word gets out.” She looked up at him. “Speaking of security, when do we get our chief back? And that new recruit, Rosenberg?”
“Rosenthal,” her husband corrected her.
Daniels gave an irritable shrug. “A rose by any other name. I’m sure she’s competent, or Lopé wouldn’t have picked her to fill the final slot in ship security. If the company is so worried about our status up here, why do they keep delaying his return?”
“Apparently,” Jacob told her, “our good sergeant is somehow involved in the effort to identify and locate those behind these assorted attempts. Surface is reluctant to let him go until that situation is resolved.”
She nodded. “Which means they expect it to be resolved before our scheduled departure date. That’s encouraging, anyway. Still, I’ll feel better when every element of the crew is at full strength.”
Reaching out, he let the back of his right hand slide across her cheek. “Always worried about the manifest, even when it involves people and not material. If you don’t find a way to relax you’re going to have a nervous breakdown before we leave orbit.”
Grabbing his hand, she gave it a quick kiss before letting it go. “Nice of you to worry. Me, I’ll relax when I’m in deepsleep.”
He chuckled. “No you won’t. You’ll toss and turn and moan for your comm unit so you can run a check on your own comatose status.”
She smiled back. “I still wish they made deepsleep pods for two.”
He shook his head sadly. “Too many mechanical hookups. Besides, you know what they say. You go to sleep and when you’re awakened years later, it’s as if no time has passed at all.” Reaching up, he rubbed at his chin with one hand. “Even your beard stops growing. Metabolic narcosis.”
“Speak for yourself.” She looked over a shoulder. “Got people waiting for me to sign-off on another hunk of junk. See you later, in lace.”
He wanted to take her in his arms, but he had work to do, too. The remark about lace in space was a reference to a nightgown she had worn a year ago, on a South Pacific cruise provided and paid for by the company. She’d reluctantly left the garment behind. It was admittedly not regulation.
Turning, he left, heading for the bridge. He had his own tasks to accomplish. As he walked and acknowledged other members of the busy preparation team, he found himself considering what he had told his wife. The Covenant was as secure as it could be made. According to everything he had been told, ground security had been tightened as much as was possible. There was nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Even so, he concurred with his wife.
While Sergeant Hallet was entirely competent, Jacob knew he would feel better when Lopé was back on board.
The cows did not look up from their grazing as two autovans trundled down the winding dirt road in their direction. The one bull in their midst gave a single, desultory snort before returning to his own cropping. The ancient stone fence that separated the undulating fields from the unimpressive roadway prevented him from objecting to the vehicles’ arrival in any meaningful way.
Flying high above the silent vans, a small flock of barn swallows struggled northward. One of their number, unable to cope with the pollution it had picked up nearer to the city, fell out of the sky to land dead by the wayside. Its companions did not pause or look back.
Parking outside the farm complex’s main building, the two automated vans idled silently as their passengers disembarked. More melanin-deprived than their colleagues, a couple of them exhibited mild but unmistakable sunburn on their foreheads and cheeks, the consequence of several days spent wandering up and down a southern beach. A pair of basic service bots arrived to take charge of the minimal luggage.
Once inside the complex the group dispersed temporarily to bathrooms and private quarters. An hour later they gathered once more in the central meeting room. Pavel was the first to speak.
“We have all had some time to think. What is the consensus?”
In the same tone she would have employed as a member of a weekly sewing circle, the matronly member of the council replied without hesitation. “I think he lied. I think he lied from the time the first image was shown to him. I think he lied from his fake sweat to his false promises.”
The youngest of the group nodded in ready agreement. “Where I come from, we would say he was stalling. With undeniable skill, but still stalling.”
Around the council of six it went. Someone suggested asking the Prophet for his opinion, but since Fields hadn’t been present during the intercession broadcast there was likely little he could add to whatever consensus they reached.
In any event, the final determination was unanimous. Hideo Yutani had lied about believing them, and was doubtless at this very moment exhorting his security forces to strive harder than ever to locate the source of the broadcast.
“Then what,” the Baron murmured, “are we to do? That we have not already tried?”
Again, the youngest member of the group spoke up. “I despise liars,” he said angrily. “Taking someone out is simpler than trying to take them alive.” He eyed his colleagues.
“We have people who might be able to do that,” Yukiko commented, “but while personally gratifying, it would not accomplish our goal, which is to halt the departure of the Covenant. Giant corporations such as Weyland-Yutani do not stop dead in their tracks, even if their chief executive does so. Propelled by their own momentum, company activities would continue. If something unfortunate happened to Hideo Yutani, I could see a monster like Weyland-Yutani scheduling his funeral for the same day as the Covenant’s departure.” Her distaste was evident. “For the publicity and sympathy it would bring. His death would only contribute a monument and a martyr to the project.”
The younger man looked properly chastened. “I withdraw my suggestion.” He regarded his colleagues. “Are there any others?”
“Given the greatly heightened state of security at Weyland-Yutani,” the Baron said, “it is unlikely that an opportunity remains to abduct anyone of importance, either to the family or to the company itself. While our reach is long, our resources are finite. The Covenant is scheduled to depart within a few short weeks, and we are running out of time.”
“Then what do you suggest?” The youngest council member looked over at his senior. Cupping a brandy snifter easily in his left hand, the Baron gestured with the other.
“I most sincerely regret to say that I have none.”
“We cannot give up.” In concert with his voice, Pavel’s cheeks shook. “We cannot abandon the words of the Prophet.” He scrutinized his associates. “We all know what that would mean for the future of the species.”
“I’d gladly give my own life to the cause,” the matron declared solemnly, “but I’m not one for futile gestures. Immolating myself in Leicester Square would garner us a lot of publicity, but wouldn’t accomplish a thing.”