Coyote Page 8

  “I know, I know.” Wendy takes the bag from him, shoves it into the locker. “We were told all that during briefing.” She removes the jumpsuit from the locker, then moves aside to let someone else from the Helms pass by. All around them, the hab deck is filled with mingled voices, the sounds of lockers opening and shutting.

  “Sorry. Should have known better.” Now there’s an uncomfortable silence between them. Father and daughter have never been very close; the years they’ve spent apart have built an invisible wall between them. Yet Wendy knows he’s expecting a hug, so she surrenders to the inevitable and wraps her arms around him. He responds with an embrace that almost feels like love. She waits it out, and after a moment he reluctantly lets her go. “So how…I mean, how was the flight up?”

  Terrifying. “It was okay,” she says. “I got sick once, but I got over it.” She glances down at the lower bunk; it’s narrow and has only a thin pad for a mattress, but at least it has a privacy curtain and what looks like a comp terminal set into the wall next to the pillow. “So that’s where I’m staying?”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m up here.” He pats the upper bunk. “Sorry it’s so small, but…”

  “I’ve seen worse. The girl’s dorm at Schaefly is a lot tighter than…” Seeing the expression on his face, Wendy lets it drop. “Anyway, it’s not bad.”

  “Yeah, well…at least we got you out of there.” Her father forces a smile. “Hey, I told you I’d come back for you, didn’t I? And now we’re here…on our way to 47 Uma.”

  “Uh-huh. On our way.” And, gee, Dad, it only took eight years for you to spring me from that hellhole. And what were you doing when I was washing dishes and fending off rapists? Trying to convince someone in the URS that you weren’t just some loser who’d put his own kid in a government youth hostel? “Thanks. I appreciate you getting me here.”

  He looks away, unable to meet her gaze. “Well, I tried to, but…” He shakes his head. “We can work this out later. Point is, you’re here, and that’s all that counts.” Another moment of silence, then he starts to turn away. “C’mon. I’ll show you a place to change, then we’ll go down the wardroom. You can watch the rest of the prelaunch operations from there. I’ve still got some work to do in my section.”

  “Okay.” She pushes off from the locker; following his example, she reaches up to grasp a ceiling rail. “Is the countdown still on time? I mean…y’know, are there going to be any delays?”

  “No. I don’t see any reason why there would be any. Why do you ask?”

  She shrugs. “I just figured that, with those URS soldiers aboard, there might be some…”

  “The…what soldiers?” He stops suddenly, turns to stare at her. “There’s URS aboard?”

  “Uh-huh. Five soldiers in the EVA deck. They were waiting for us when we got off, like they were checking everyone out.” She peers at him. “You mean you didn’t…?”

  But her father is already ignoring her. Turning his back to her, he taps the wand of his headset, cups a hand over his ear, murmurs something. He listens, murmurs something else she can’t hear, then pushes off and begins heading toward the nearest ladder. “Stay here!” he shouts back over his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere!”

  And now, once again, Wendy’s alone. She watches as he vanishes from sight. Once again her father has left her, just like the many times he’s left her before.

  “Sure, Dad,” she says quietly. “Whatever you say.”

  MERRITT ISLAND 7.5.70 / T-11.10.52

  Fifty years ago, Pad 11 was Shuttle Launch Complex 39-B, the point of departure for NASA’s first-generation space shuttles. The enormous launch tower and service structure, however, have long since been dismantled to make room for single-stage orbital transports, which require none of the old hardware. Virtually the only things remaining from the former site are the high chain-link security fence that encircles the base of the mound and the broad concrete road leading across the surrounding marshlands to the pad.

  The URSS George Wallace rests on its tricycle landing gear, tended to by a half dozen pad technicians who now wait near the gangway lowered from beneath the spaceplane’s fuselage. Wisps of supercooled hydrogen drift from the blowoff vents of the transport’s nuclear indigenous fuel engines, curl upward around the raked edges of its twin vertical stabilizers. The pad crew watches as the maxvee, escorted by a pair of security HVs, passes through the fence gate and glides to the top of the mound.

  The max comes to a halt, and two workers open the rear hatch and pull down the ramp. Captain Lee is the first to emerge; peering through his helmet, he takes a moment to gaze at the Wallace, then he turns to salute the pad crew gathered nearby. They grin and break into applause; he stands aside and watches as the colonization team disembarks from the maxvee and marches toward the shuttle.

  Most of the passengers have already trooped up the gangway when Lee notices a couple of pad workers looking away from the spacecraft. He turns to see a black coupe gliding down the service road from the distant launch control center. The security officers walk over to meet the car as it moves through the gate and up the hill. It comes to a halt next to the maxvee, then its doors slide open.

  Lee feels a twinge of unease when he sees the Prefect who shepherded the D.I.s from southern Georgia; there’s no reason why he should be here now. When Roland Shaw climbs out of the car, something clutches at the back of Lee’s throat; despite the heat of the day, the DIS is wearing his uniform grey overcoat and cap. Yet Lee’s unprepared for the woman in the hooded travel cape who gets out of the back of the coupe. For a few moments he doesn’t recognize her, then she comes closer and lowers her hood, and he finds himself gazing upon the face of the last person he ever expected to see again: Elise Rochelle Lee.

  Lee’s still staring at Elise as Shaw and the Prefect approach him. “Captain Lee,” Shaw says quietly, “my apologies, but there’s a matter of utmost importance we need to discuss with you.”

  “I…I don’t understand.” Lee’s mouth is dry. “Is there a problem?”

  A grim smile appears on his former wife’s face, yet Elise remains quiet, her hands clasped together within her cape. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid there is,” the Prefect replies. “We have to speak with you immediately.”

  The security officers step closer, their hands never far from their holstered sidearms. Confused, the pad techs hover nearby, murmuring to one another. The last handful of men and women boarding the Wallace watch from the bottom of gangway; Lee can’t see their faces, but he knows that they must be frightened. “Yes, of course. By all means. What is it that you want?”

  Elise opens her mouth as if to say something, but she’s cut off by Shaw. “Perhaps we should do this in private.” He gestures to the max. “In there?”

  Lee nods within his helmet, and the Prefect turns to lead them up the ramp into the back of the vehicle, signaling for the two security officers to shut the hatch behind them. Once they’re alone, Shaw looks at Lee. “Would you take off your helmet, sir? I think we’ve minimized the risk of contamination, and it would make this conversation easier.”

  Lee reluctantly removes his helmet. His hair is soaked with sweat; he pushes it with his gloved hand as he steps back, trying to keep the others at arm’s distance. “If this is supposed to be a last-minute send-off, your timing is…”

  “Sorry, Captain, but it’s a little more serious than that.” Shaw glances at Elise. “Your wife…”

  “Former wife,” Elise interrupts. “For the record, we’re married in name only.”

  “We’re not on the record, but I’ll try to remember that.” Shaw’s eyes never leave Lee’s. “Ms. Lee has alerted the ISA to a…well, certain improper actions on your part. She claims she’s found a letter…”

  “You know the one I’m talking about, don’t you?” Elise indicts him with her gaze. “The letter you left in your desk, the one that I wasn’t supposed to find until after the Alabama launched…”

  “The one I addressed to you and yo
ur father, yes.” Lee slowly lets out his breath. “My mistake. I thought you’d wait until I was gone before you decrypted the password to see what I might have left behind.” He can’t help but to smile. “No bank codes, sorry. I left everything to charity.”

  Her face darkens. “After all my father’s done for you…”

  “The senator did nothing for me. It was all for himself. Maybe for the Republic, too, but that’s almost as low.” Despite his fear, Lee gives her a defiant smile. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t give a damn about the Republic or your father.”

  Elise’s eyes widen. A confession is the last thing she expected. Indeed, Lee is shocked by his own words. Yet if they’ve read the letter, they already know everything; denying it would be pointless. Shaw steps a little closer, his right hand moving to the front of his coat. “Then you admit you’re involved in a plot to hijack the Alabama, that you’re planning to smuggle D.I.s aboard…?”

  “Absolutely. Everything in my letter, it’s all true.” Lee barely glances at Shaw. “In fact, they’re already aboard the shuttle.” Although he speaks to the DIS, he continues to stare straight at Elise. “And so you’ll know, I’m not just involved in this…it’s my plan, has been from the very beginning.”

  Elise’s mouth falls open; she recoils as if he’s slapped her. “How…? When did…?”

  “From the moment I was selected as mission commander.” Lee savors her horror, even as from the corner of his eye he sees Roland Shaw slowly draw a stunner from within his coat. “Perhaps even before then. Maybe I got the idea even while I was in the Academy and saw what was being done to Project Starflight. Or maybe it was while we were married, and I got to watch from close range while your father and his cronies ruined the country. In any case, I’ve had a long time to learn to hate the Republic…and you, too, for that matter.”

  Elise can’t speak. Lee isn’t surprised; for the first time, at least in his memory, someone close to her has uttered seditious thoughts about the government. Now he knows for certain that she never suspected what he was planning, even during the years that they shared the same bed. More evidence to the fact that their marriage was a sham. “But I have to thank you for one thing,” he continues. “Your father’s connections enabled me to establish a few of my own. Through him, I met some people without whom none of this would have been possible.”

  Then he looks at Shaw. “Are we all set?”

  “Yes, Captain, we are.” The Director of Internal Security nods his head. “Just one last detail…”

  Elise turns to stare at Shaw. “What…?”

  Shaw squeezes the trigger. There’s a soft thufft of compressed air, then Elise collapses as the charged dart strikes her. She almost falls against the side of the van, but the Prefect grabs her by the shoulders, gently lowers the unconscious woman onto a bench.

  Lee lets out his breath. “Bad luck,” he says quietly. On one hand, he’s glad Shaw used a nonlethal weapon; as much as he despises this woman, he has no desire to see her dead. On the other hand, she knows too much. “What are you going to do with her?”

  “We can keep her down for a couple of hours, at least.” Shaw tucks the stunner back in his shoulder holster. “By the time she wakes up, she’ll be in Valdosta, awaiting trial on sedition charges. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to make ’em stick, father or no father. But we’ve still got a problem…”

  “Let me guess. She told someone else at ISA.”

  “Uh-uh…fortunately she called me first. I heard from her just after our briefing, and by then she was already flying down here. She wanted to confront you personally, and I told her to keep it to herself.” Shaw glances warily at the closed hatch of the van. “But some of your people were arrested earlier this morning, apparently while trying to make it to the rendezvous point. One of them cracked under interrogation, and my people tipped off Highgate, and now there’s a Service squad on your ship, checking everyone who comes aboard. Sorry, Robert, but I didn’t learn about it until right after I got the call from your wife…”

  “Please don’t call her my wife.” Lee picks up his helmet, juggles it in his hands. “And you can’t order the squad to leave without raising suspicions, right?” Shaw shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll deal with it somehow. At least cover for us until we lift off.”

  “That I can do.” Shaw looks at the Prefect. “Ms. Lee is under arrest. Keep her sedated and don’t let anyone see her when she wakes up. I’ll deal with this later.” Then he takes Lee by the arm, leads him toward the hatch. “You’ve just had a long, tearful farewell visit with your loving wife, and now you and I are going to walk out there…”

  Security officers and pad workers silently watch as the commanding officer of the Alabama and the Director of Internal Security emerge from the back of the max and quickly walk across the launchpad to the Wallace. The colonists have already boarded the shuttle; now only the captain needs to walk up the gangway.

  One of the pad workers has a camera. He uses it to catch a final snapshot of the two men as they formally salute each other at the bottom of the shuttle gangway. Many years later, historians will study this picture and wonder what final words were exchanged by the two greatest traitors the United Republic of America has ever known.

  “Good luck, Captain,” Shaw says quietly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Lee holds the salute. “And good luck to you, too.”

  Shaw nods ever so slightly. “We’ll both need it.”

  URSS ALABAMA 7.5.70 / T-11.00.00

  Jorge winces as an awesome roar rips through the passenger compartment, accompanied by a prolonged shudder that seems to go straight to the roots of his teeth. Scowling against the overpowering sound and vibration, he can barely hear Marie’s frightened scream above the engines, but he clamps his hand over his daughter’s.

  “It’s okay,” he murmurs even though he knows she can’t hear him. “It’s all right…It’s okay…everything’s going to be all right…”

  No windows back here in the passenger compartment, only two long rows of narrow acceleration couches; his only view is past the shoulders of the passengers seated in front of him, through the latticed bubble window of the forward cockpit. Jorge catches a final glimpse of flat Floridian landscape falling away, then cloudless sky fills the window, more blue and clear than any sky he’s ever seen before.

  The deck tilts backward, pushing him farther into the foam padding of his couch. Jorge turns his head, gazes at his family strapped into the seats next to him. Rita’s eyes are closed tight, and Marie’s face is screwed up in mortal terror, but Carlos wears a huge grin; all his fears have vanished, and now he relishes every moment. Jorge feels a surge of paternal pride. His son…

  Then the main engines howl into life, and Jorge has only a moment to turn his head forward again before his body is slammed back. Weight descends upon his body; his lungs fight for every breath he takes. Marie isn’t screaming anymore, but the nails of her small hand dig into his palm. He wants to say something to her, but he can’t. The g force is incredible. Henry, you bastard, you lied…

  The sky turns dark purple, starts fading to black.

  URSS WALLACE 7.5.70 / T-10.47.12

  “Incoming OCN from the Wallace, sir. Captain Lee.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gillis, I’ll take it here.” Shapiro rotates the command chair seat away from the status board, taps his headset. “Wallace, this is Alabama, do you copy?”

  “We copy, Alabama.” Lee’s voice comes clearly over the orbital communications network, the satellite system that permits spacecraft to radio one another without having to use ground-based systems. “Sorry for the delay, Tom. The ride up was a little bumpy, but we cleared the pad without any difficulties. LEO achieved and we’re headed for Highgate rendezvous, ETA 1430.”

  Shapiro closes his eyes in relief. Good. Lee spoke of himself in the plural, which means he’s managed to get everyone aboard the Wallace. The line about having a bumpy ride up, though, i
s a signal that not everything went well. “Sorry to hear that you picked up some chop, sir. Maybe I can narrow your ETA if you’ll feed me your numbers on the GI.”

  “We copy, Alabama. Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Stand by, Wallace.” Shapiro unbuckles the seat harness, pushes himself across the deck to the com station. Several other members of the bridge crew are gathered in the semicircular compartment, but not all of them are involved; he has to be careful what he says and does. Les Gillis punches up the OCN graphic interface; glancing over his shoulder at Shapiro, the com officer briefly holds up three fingers, then lowers one. Shapiro nods, then taps his headset again. “Captain, we’re patching the GI into OCN-3. I hope this isn’t too much trouble.”

  A brief pause. “Roger that, Alabama,” Lee says. “No problem.”

  Shapiro and Gillis trade a knowing look: Lee understands the double talk. Although they’re using OCN-3 to exchange data regarding orbital coordinates, at the same time they’d be patched into OCN-2, a seldom-used extra-low-frequency band they’ve established for covert print-only communications. Although flight controllers in Houston may be monitoring OCN-3, they won’t be looking for ELF transmissions carried over OCN-2. Or at least so the conspirators hope.

  Leslie taps at his keyboard, and the small flatscreen in front of him splits in half. The top half depicts a global map of Earth’s surface, with the curved ground tracks of Highgate and the Wallace projected above it. The shuttle is halfway into its first orbit, now passing through the night terminator somewhere above the Indian Ocean; meanwhile Highgate, in a higher orbit, is coming up on the northern California coast. Numbers to the right of the map display the exact coordinates of both spacecraft. All very routine. The bottom half of the screen, though, displays a decrypted ELF message from the Wallace:

  ISA CAUGHT 5 HERE—1 TALKED—GSC SECURITY ALERT