Coyote Frontier Page 8

  “Uh-huh.” Susan looked at the others. “Am I the only one here who thinks this might be a bad idea? Do we really want to have a fleet of starships coming through the swiftgate and parking themselves on our front doorstep?”

  No one said anything. Carlos found himself gazing at the boid skull that hung from the wall above the fireplace. As a young man, he’d killed that boid while making a solo journey down the Great Equatorial River. Susan hadn’t yet been born, but just as his hegira had been the pivotal moment of his life, her earliest memories were those of the years when the Alabama colonists had lived in a tree house village, her father gone for long periods of time to wage a guerilla war against the Union. She was almost thirty-one now, but her life had been shaped by the revolution. She knew nothing of Earth except distrust for anyone who came from there.

  “No one wants to have the Union on our backs again,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I’m the last guy to want to fight another war. But if this technology exists, sooner or later someone’s going to use it. At least now, we have a choice…do we control it, or do we let it control us?”

  Susan stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Hush, dear. Listen to your father.” Henry exhaled pale blue smoke. “Go on, son.”

  “What I’m trying to say is, we’ve got a chance to turn this to our advantage.” Carlos moved away from the mantle, took a seat next to Susan. “Look, what’s one of the biggest problems we have now? Or, to put it another way, what’s the root cause of a lot of our problems?”

  “Weardown,” Susan said.

  “Right. Everything we brought with us from Earth is wearing down. Comps, solar cells, engines, guns, even hand tools…they’re getting used up. The last time anything new was brought here was almost seven years ago. That’s by our calendar. Call it twenty-one by Gregorian reckoning…”

  “And when they’ve worn out, we’ve replaced them.”

  “No. All we’ve done is make substitutes, or learned how to get along without. That’s easy when you have to…oh, say, replace an axe-handle. But just yesterday I had to tell your Aunt Marie that we probably couldn’t build more wind turbines because we didn’t have any generators to spare. And you saw what happened in the conference room when we switched on the comp. I thought it was going to fry out on us.”

  “It’s worse than that.” Wendy leaned forward in her chair. “Kuniko told me yesterday that the clinic is running low on antibiotics. We had a good stockpile left when the Union left, but they’re almost used up. In another year or so, we’ll be down to using herbal medicines almost exclusively. I don’t want to be the doctor who has to treat a case of ring disease with nothing more than ball plant extract and an ice pack.”

  “So what are you saying? We give up our independence just to get a lot of stuff?” Susan looked at Carlos askance. “Me good injun. Want lots of wampum from white man. Trade lousy island for some trinkets…”

  “What’ve you been letting this kid read lately?” Henry leaned forward to knock out his pipe in the fireplace. “Haven’t heard that since I was…”

  “Got it from a history disk.” Susan ignored him. “Papa, you know what I’m talking about. If we let them build a starbridge, then we’ll have ships coming through by the hundreds, even thousands. They’ll—”

  “It’s not quite as easy as that.” Henry put the pipe back in his pocket. “The starbridges consume a lot of energy. It’ll take a while for them to recharge between each passage. Not only that, but the wormhole is only so large. Even if we receive only a few ships every year or so…” He shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll see much more difference than when we received five Union ships in a two-year stretch.”

  “But each of those ships carried a thousand immigrants,” Wendy said, “and none of them ready to be colonists. I don’t want to go back to where we were when Shuttlefield was a squatter camp. That was horrible.”

  “So we negotiate with them. Reach some sort of agreement.” Carlos reached for the bottle of wine. “Look, from what we’ve been told, the EA isn’t the same as the Union. They’re offering trade…raw material in exchange for advanced technology. Earth’s resources have been used up, and they’re reaching the limits of what they can get from the Moon and Mars. With the starbridges, it will actually be easier for them to transport material from Coyote than it is from within the solar system…their solar system, I mean. And in trade, we get—”

  “All the things we need here,” Susan said. “New comps, and drugs, and machines that haven’t been worn out. All right, I get that part. But what if…?”

  The dogs heard the visitors before anyone else. One moment, Zack and Jake were quietly dozing next to the fireplace; the next, they scrambled to their feet, growling and barking as they rushed across the room. Carlos barely had time to turn around before there was a knock on the door.

  “What in the world?” Wendy asked.

  “I have no idea.” Shushing the dogs, Carlos stood up, walked over to the front door and opened it. Within the pale glow of the fish-oil lamp, he saw Chris standing on the front porch. And just behind him, Anastasia Tereshkova.

  “Good evening. What brings you out so late?” Then he glanced at Tereshkova. “No problems, I hope.”

  “I hope not,” Chris said, “but Captain Tereshkova—”

  Before he could go on, Tereshkova stepped forward. In the cool of the evening, she was wearing the wool poncho she’d been given as a gift by one of the merchants in town. Until now, her face had worn a constant smile, yet now her expression conveyed concern, even a trace of suspicion.

  “Mr. President,” she said, “one of my people is missing.”

  “I don’t…” Taken off guard by her abrupt formality, Carlos shook his head. “Pardon me, Captain, but—”

  “Jonathan Parson, my second officer. He was supposed to have dinner with us at the inn. When he didn’t show up, we checked his room—”

  “His stuff’s gone,” Chris said, interrupting her. “I looked around after she called me, but it’s like he wasn’t even there. The blanket’s missing, and so’s some things from the bathroom. Soap, a towel, the toothbrush and razor the innkeeper gave him.” He hesitated. “We thought he might have come over here.”

  “No, no.” Carlos opened the door a little wider, holding back the dogs while letting everyone look inside. “Haven’t seen him since late this afternoon.” He turned his attention to Tereshkova. “You know, he might have only gone for a walk. Wanted to get some fresh air…”

  “I thought that, too, but…” Tereshkova hesitated. “We looked around for him, and when we went back to the inn, we found that Dr. Whittaker had disappeared as well.”

  SHUTTLEFIELD / HAMALIEL 70 / 2013

  Although more than an hour had passed since the sun went down, Jonas was surprised by how well he could see after dark. Bear had risen to the east, and he was astonished not only by how large it was—many times the size of the Moon back on Earth, like a child’s balloon held at arm’s length—but also by how much light it cast. Once his eyes became night-adapted, there was no need to carry a lamp.

  More than a few times after he left the inn, Jonas paused to take in the strange beauty of Bear’s rings, the soft blue pattern of its cloud bands. He told himself that he’d gone out to search for Parson, yet the fact of the matter was that he’d used it as an excuse to take a walk. The tour he’d been given this afternoon had been interesting, but more than a few times he’d wanted to get away from everyone, to see this place without having the president or his wife explaining everything to him. In hindsight, he realized that he should have left a note, or at least told someone at the inn where he was going. Yet the temptation to explore alone was too great. He’d crossed forty-six light-years to reach this world; he was entitled to a little time by himself.

  His steps had taken him from the Liberty town center down the gravel road leading to Shuttlefield. He was about halfway between the two settlements, surrounded by low marshland cultivated wi
th tall stalks of bamboo, when he was startled by a high-pitched shriek, carried to him from the distance by the cool evening breeze. It sounded like an animal being slaughtered, and when he heard it he felt an atavistic chill. That would be a boid, one of the giant, flightless avians that killed Jorge and Rita Montero only a couple of days after they’d reached Coyote, and later killed Jim Levin during an ill-advised hunting expedition. Carlos had told him that the creatures seldom ventured close to the colonies anymore—they’d apparently learned to keep their distance from human habitats—but nonetheless Jonas quickened his pace, and didn’t relax again until he’d reached the warm lights of Shuttlefield.

  A few residents were out and about, strolling the dirt streets that meandered between wood-frame cottages, yet no one paid much attention to him. A craftsman in Liberty had gifted him with a shagswool poncho; wearing it over his jumpsuit, Jonas figured that he passed for a local. Enjoying the anonymity, he smiled to himself. In time, perhaps he’d have a little house somewhere on this or that street, perhaps with a small garden out back. Maybe a job teaching physics at the university. Caroline would like this, and Ellen could…

  No. His wife and daughter were forever lost to him; he had to remember this. They would never see this world, never enjoy the wonder of watching a ringed planet as it rose above bamboo fields on a cool midsummer night.

  God, forgive me, he thought. I never intended to trade my life for theirs.

  Alone in his melancholy, he found himself approaching the landing field where the Isabella had touched down. The skiff was no longer surrounded by curious townspeople, yet he was surprised to see light glowing within its cockpit. Intrigued, he walked closer, and now he saw that the ramp had been lowered from the ship’s belly. He was certain that Parson had shut it after they’d left.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Is anyone there?”

  For an instant, he thought he spotted movement inside the cockpit. Then the lights winked out, and now he became wary. Someone had managed to enter the Isabella. A looter, perhaps, searching for whatever he or she could steal. Jonas remembered the firearms stowed away in the locker, along with the emergency supplies: spare clothes, rations, flashlights, even a small tent. If there was a black market here, they’d probably fetch a high price.

  He shouldn’t have gone out by himself. He should have found a Proctor, brought him along. Yet there was no one in sight, and even if he ran back to the nearest house, who would he ask for help? And if Captain Tereshkova found that he’d allowed a thief to escape…

  “Who’s there?” he shouted, his legs shaking as he inched closer to the ramp. “You’re not supposed to be there. I’ll…”

  Footfalls from the open hatch, then a figure appeared within the shadows. “Dr. Whittaker? Is that you?”

  Parson. Jonas let out his breath. “Damn it, man, don’t do that to me. I thought someone was breaking in.”

  A wry laugh, then the heavy clunk of boots descending the ladder. “Right you are. Only difference is, I used the remote to get in.”

  As Parson came down the ramp, Jonas saw that he carried a backpack in his right hand, and slung over his left shoulder was a carbine. A wool poncho covered his EA jumpsuit, and he wore the wide-brimmed catskin hat he’d bartered from a shopkeeper. Indeed, Jonas had been embarrassed by how much wheeling-and-dealing the second officer had done during the tour; it was as if he’d used his notoriety to bargain as many items as he could away from the locals.

  “Had to come back here to pinch a few items,” Parson said, as if this explained everything. “I’m sure no one will mind. Well, perhaps they will, but…”

  “What are you talking about?” Jonas stared at him. “You know the captain’s been looking for you? She even went to find the police.”

  “Proctors, you mean. Did she really?” Parson set down his pack, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small unit. A soft beep as he pressed it, then the ramp began to rise, folding itself against the underside of the hull. “Better hurry then. If you found me, then it’s only a matter of time before they do, too.”

  “What are you doing?” Jonas couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “You’re not…you don’t mean you’re…?”

  “A fine old naval tradition.” Parson handed the remote to him. “Sailor reaches paradise, decides he likes the scenery, so he grabs whatever he can and jumps ship. Worked for Mr. Christian when he reached Fiji, so why not for me?”

  He pulled the carbine off his shoulder. For a second Jonas thought he was going to level it at him, but instead Parson laid it down on the ground, then picked up the pack and pulled it across his shoulders. “Once I’m gone, I’m sure you’ll run off to find the captain, tell her what you know. However, I’d appreciate it if you took your time. Give me a few minutes head start. As it stands, I figure I’ve only got a fifty-fifty chance of getting away.”

  Jonas hesitated. “I’ll walk instead of run if you’ll tell me why.”

  “I just did.” Then he chuckled. “All right then. Truth of the matter is that I’ve planned to do this all along. Even before we left Earth…hell, even before I enlisted. I’ve put a lot of thought into this, and now’s my best shot. If I delay longer, there’s going to be more of our people on the ground, and once that happens they might be able to stop me. But for now it’s just you and the captain, so—”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  Parson was bending down to pick up the rifle. He sighed, then straightened up again. “All right, I’ll tell you. For as long as I’ve been alive, I’ve wanted to find a place I could call my own. I don’t mean a house in the country, nothing like that…I mean true wilderness, a place where no one has ever been. But that sort of place doesn’t exist anymore, at least not where we came from. But here…”

  He stopped, gazed off into the night. “It’s all out there, Whittaker. A whole world for the taking. All I have to do is go walkabout, as they say, and sooner or later I’ll find it.”

  “You’re…” Jonas shook his head. “Man, you’re out of your mind. There’s no way you can survive out there on your own.”

  “Umm…yes, well…” Parson bent down again, picked up the carbine. “If I was truly mad, you know, I’d shoot you where you stand.” Jonas involuntarily took a step back, but Parson laughed again. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’ve got nothing against you…at least, nothing personal. But once those starbridges you devised are built, it’s only a matter of time before this place is swarming with people. So if I’m going to find my own private Fiji, the sooner I get started, the better. Before the cruise ships and real estate developers start moving in.”

  Parson pulled the rifle across his shoulder, then took a little hop to settle the weight of the pack upon his back. “Best be off now. Give the captain my best regards. No offense, but I resign my commission.”

  And then, without so much as a farewell, Jonathan Parson turned and strode off into the night. He walked fast, but he didn’t run, and although he headed in the general direction of Shuttlefield, Jonas had little doubt that this wasn’t his destination.

  “Good luck,” he said softly. “I envy you.”

  The same words Dr. Kendrick had said to him, all those many years ago. Now he knew what she’d meant by that.

  EAS ISABELLA / HAMALIEL 71 / 1449

  “Mr. President? We’re on final approach.”

  Carlos reluctantly turned his attention away from the starboard side window. It had been many years since he had last seen Coyote from space; indeed, the only time he’d been above the atmosphere was when he was still only a boy, riding down to the new world with his parents and sister aboard the Plymouth. Although he’d seen countless high-resolution satellite photos of the planet’s surface, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look down upon his home from three hundred nautical miles.

  “Thank you, Captain.” He paused, then added, “You know, I really wish you’d call me Carlos.”

  “Of course. My apologies.” Yet Tereshkova didn’t
smile as she said this, nor did she look away from the controls. Perhaps she was preoccupied with flying the skiff—with the mysterious disappearance of her second officer, she’d been forced to pilot the craft herself—but nonetheless her attitude toward him had become colder since the events of last night.

  He glanced back at Wendy, strapped into the passenger seat behind Tereshkova. She caught his eye, quietly shook her head; no words were exchanged, yet she knew what he meant. Although it wasn’t their fault, the fact remained that Parson had vanished while he’d been their guest, and for this Tereshkova held them responsible.

  The skiff shuddered slightly as Tereshkova fired maneuvering rockets; Carlos looked back in time to see the limb of the planet swing away as the skiff rolled to port. His stomach clutched at him, and once again he was sincerely glad that he’d taken his wife’s advice not to eat breakfast this morning. But once the stars stopped moving, he saw a single enormous object among them.

  “Is that it?” An unnecessary question, yet he blurted it out without thinking.

  “Yes, it is.” A tinge of pride in Tereshkova’s voice, and the smile that briefly crossed her face held no hint of patronization. “Perhaps not as large as the Alabama, of course, but…”

  “She’s a beauty.” And, indeed, from a little more than a mile away, the Columbus was awesome to behold. Over 400 feet in length, it was a long, narrow cylinder, segmented here and there by various modules, gradually tapering back to the fusion engine at its stern. Just behind the drum-like crew module at its bow was the giant ring of its diametric drive, a wheel-shaped torus 130 feet in diameter, joined to the axis by three spokes. As Tereshkova said, the ship was smaller than the Alabama, yet its design was far more elegant; Carlos couldn’t help but gaze at it in wonder.