by Allen Steele
47 Ursae Majoris-B, the superjovian locally known as Bear. And nearby, illuminated by the sunlight reflected from its outer atmosphere, its inner system of satellites. Dog was the closest, shepherding the rings. Hawk was a little farther out; Eagle was on the other side of the planet, so I couldn’t see it. Yet in the far distance, little more than a small green orb, lay the fourth and most significant of Bear’s companions.
Coyote.
Something moist touched the corners of my eyes. I tried to tell myself that they weren’t tears, but when I blinked and rubbed at my eyelids, tiny bubbles rose from my face. Yeah, okay, so I’m a big wuss at heart. Perhaps tears were appropriate at that moment, though, just as they’d been for the first person who’d laid eyes upon the new world.
I was there. After all that I’d gone through, all that I’d sacrificed…I was there.
The ship’s bell rang four times, signaling the reactivation of the Millis-Clement field. I grasped the brass rail above the porthole and tucked the toes of my boots within the foot restraint. A minute later, there was a brief sensation of falling as weight returned, then my feet gently settled against the carpeted floor. I released the bar but remained by the window.
If my identity had been discovered, as I suspected, then it wouldn’t be long before I knew for sure.
I was right. A few minutes later, there was knock at the door.
VIII
My first impulse was to open it. But that’s something Jules Truffaut would’ve done. Geoffrey Carr, on the other hand, was a spoiled young turk with little zero-g experience; I had to pretend to be him, if only for a little while longer.
“Just a sec!” Pushing myself back to my seat, I buckled the lap strap, then took hold of the shoulder straps and gave them a quick twist and pull that tangled them together around my chest. A few loud obscenities for good effect, then I called out again. “Come on in!”
The door slid open, and I wasn’t surprised to see the chief petty officer who’d visited me earlier. “Thank heavens you’re here!” I exclaimed, making a show of fighting with the straps. “Why these damn things couldn’t have been designed better, I have no idea. Could you please…?”
He coldly regarded me for a moment, then silently nodded to someone in the passageway. Another crewman appeared; my heart sank when I saw that it was the same one whom I’d befriended on Highgate a few weeks earlier. He gazed at me, and I watched as his expression changed from astonishment to anger.
“That’s him, Mr. Heflin,” he said quietly. “Same guy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Marcuse. If you’ll wait outside, please.” Mr. Heflin stepped into the cabin. “I think you know how to release your harness, Mr. Guthrie. Please don’t embarrass yourself by pretending you don’t.”
I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear this. Not that I wasn’t dismayed that I’d been caught—I knew that was coming—but that Mr. Heflin had addressed me by my alias. My other alias, that is. This meant that no one had yet matched Lucius Guthrie’s biometric profile to that of Jules Truffaut…and that meant there was hope for me yet.
“Certainly. Of course.” I deftly unsnarled the shoulder harness, then unbuckled the lap strap. “Yes?” I asked, looking back at him again. “May I help you?”
“Commodore wants to see you.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I could have made a fuss about this—I’d purchased a ticket, after all, so I was technically a first-class passenger—but I had little doubt that the chief petty officer could’ve called in a couple more crewmen and had me frog-marched to the bridge. And just then, I wanted to show that I was willing to cooperate. So I stood up and left the cabin without protest. The steward stood in her alcove, her face set in prim disapproval; past her, I caught a glimpse of second-class passengers craning their necks to see what the commotion was all about. Mr. Marcuse had the sullen expression of someone who’d been betrayed; I gave him an apologetic shrug, but he just looked away. I felt sorry for him; it would be a long time before he’d trust anyone during shore leave again.
I was heading down the passageway, with Mr. Heflin behind me and a warrant officer waiting at the hatch, when I spotted another passenger standing in the open door of his cabin. A short, middle-aged man, with a shaved scalp and sharp eyes. He studied me as I walked past, and I was about to dismiss him as another curious bystander when he favored me with a sly wink. Almost as if he knew something that I didn’t.
This was the wrong place and time to strike up a conversation, though, and the warrant officer wasn’t interested in letting me make new friends. An unnecessary shove against my shoulder, and I ducked my head slightly to exit the hatch leading from the first-class section. Now I was back in the utilitarian confines of the rest of the ship. Mr. Heflin slammed the hatch shut behind us, then the warrant officer beckoned toward an access shaft. As I began to climb the stairs, I noticed that they went downward as well, leading to Deck One.
A useful bit of knowledge. I tried to keep it in mind.
IX
The bridge was located on Deck Three, within the superstructure that rose above the ship’s bow. Although I’d seen photos of the command center during UA intelligence briefings, nonetheless I was surprised by just how small it actually was. A narrow compartment, with major flight stations on either side of a long aisle: very tight, without an inch of wasted space. Nothing like those of the Western Hemisphere Union starships that once journeyed to Coyote at sublight speeds…but then again, the Union Astronautica weren’t building them anymore, were they?
The captain’s chair was located at the opposite end of the bridge, overlooking a split-level subdeck where the helm and navigation stations were located. Commodore Tereshkova was waiting for me; when she stood up, I almost had an urge to ask for an autograph. Or even a date. Sure, she was almost old enough to be my mother, but no command-rank officer in the Union Astronautica ever wore a uniform so well.
Then she turned glacial eyes upon me, and my sophomoric fantasies were forgotten. “Is this our stowaway, Mr. Heflin?”
Before he could respond, I cleared my throat. “Pardon me, but…”
“When I want to hear from you, I’ll let you know.” She looked at her chief petty officer. “Mr. Heflin?”
“Yes, ma’am. Cabin 4, first-class section, just where the passenger manifest said he would be.” He paused. “He came quietly, without any resistance.”
“And you have no idea how he got aboard?”
“No, ma’am. When Ms. Fawcett double-checked the manifest, she discovered that his ticket hadn’t been scanned at the gangway. It was processed at the gate, but not…”
“Let me save you a little time,” I said. “I slipped aboard through the cargo airlock, right after I ejected from the pod I was driving. If you send a man down to check, he’ll find my suit in the ready room. Second locker from the left, if I—”
“We already know you’re a longshoreman.” Perturbed by the interruption, Tereshkova glared at me. “That we learned when we matched your biometric profile against Highgate’s employment records. In fact, we had you pegged as a stowaway even before we went through the starbridge.” She returned to Mr. Heflin. “Have someone go down to Airlock Five and see if he’s telling the truth.”
The chief petty officer nodded, then touched his headset mike and murmured something. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, “but if you knew I was a stowaway, then…?”
“It took some time.” A faint smile. “Your steward became suspicious after she noticed that there were no carry-on bags in your cabin. This was, of course, after she found you wandering around the passenger section. She checked the cargo records, and when she discovered that you hadn’t checked any baggage, she alerted the chief petty officer. The two of them accessed the passenger database, and that’s when they realized that you weren’t the same person who’d checked in at Highgate. So Mr. Heflin pulled up the IDs of everyone who works at the station, and when your face came up, he put it on the crew data scree
ns. Mr. Marcuse recognized you as someone he’d met while on shore leave, and that was when Mr. Heflin decided to pay you a visit.”
“But by then,” I said, “the ship was already on final approach to the starbridge. Too late to turn back then, right?” She blinked but said nothing. “Well, at least I got that far…”
“Too far, so far as I’m concerned. We’ll have to review our security procedures.” Tereshkova sighed, then resumed her seat. “Good work, Mr. Heflin,” she said as she picked up a datapad. “Please extend my compliments to Ms. Fawcett and Mr. Marcuse as well. Now, if you’ll summon the warrant officer back to the bridge, I think Mr. Guthrie would like to see his new quarters.”
“And you don’t want to know why I’d go through so much trouble?” I tried to remain calm, even as I heard Heflin mutter something else into his headset. “After all, I purchased a ticket. That means I’m not a…”
“Without bona fide ID or a valid visa, you’re whatever I say you are.” Tereshkova was quickly losing interest in me. So far as she was concerned, I was little more than a nuisance. “Hope you enjoyed our first-class accommodations. I regret to say that the brig isn’t nearly as comfortable.”
“My name isn’t Lucius Guthrie.” Straightening my shoulders, I stood at attention. “I’m Ensign First Class Jules Truffaut, formerly of the Union Astronautica, Western Hemisphere Union. I hereby request political asylum from the Coyote Federation.”
Tereshkova’s gaze rose from her pad, and the navigator and helmsman darted curious glances at me from over their shoulders. I couldn’t see Mr. Heflin, but I could feel his presence as he took a step closer. All at once, the bridge had gone silent, save for the random boops and beeps of the instrument panels.
“Come again?” Heflin asked.
I didn’t look back at him. “As I said, sir…my name is Jules Truffaut, and I’m a former ensign in the Union Astronautica. My reason for being aboard your ship is that I wish to defect from the Western Hemisphere Union to the…”
“Is this true?” Tereshkova’s eyes bored into my own. “If you’re lying, so help me, I’ll put you out the nearest airlock.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can prove it.” Raising my right hand as slowly as possible, I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket, pulled out my papers. “Copies of my birth certificate, citizen’s ID, Union Astronautica service record…all here, Commodore.” I handed them to her, and went on. “If you check my…excuse me, Lucius Guthrie’s…biometric profile against whatever recent intelligence you have on the Union Astronautica, you’ll find that it matches that of Jules Truffaut, who was expelled from the corps a little more than eleven months ago.” An ironic smile came to me before I could stop myself. “I prefer to think of it as a forced resignation. Didn’t have much choice.”
“Uh-huh.” Tereshkova unfolded my papers, gave them a brief inspection. “And what led you to make that decision, Mr. Guthrie?”
“Not Guthrie, ma’am…Jules Truffaut, as I told you.” I hesitated. “It’s a long story. I would prefer not to get into details just now.”
“I’m sure you would.” She studied me with cool skepticism, her hands refolding my papers. “Of course, you realize that your allegation will take some time to investigate. Until then, we’ll have to hold you in custody.”
“Aboard ship?”
“Of course.” A shrug that was almost patronizing. “It’s an extraordinary…well, an unusual…claim you’ve made, and naturally we will have to look into it further. So until then…”
“So you’re not willing to take me to Coyote.” A chill ran down my back. “Commodore, please…”
“I’m sure my government would be willing to consider a petition for amnesty pending a thorough investigation. Until then, you’re a stowaway and will be treated as such.” She glanced at her chief petty officer. “If you will…”
Mr. Heflin grasped my arm. Looking around, I saw that the warrant officer had returned, his right hand resting upon a stunner holstered in his belt. No doubt about it, my next stop was the brig.
There was nothing more to be said. I turned to meekly allow myself to be taken below.
X
So there it was. I’d managed to cover the bases, but when I tried to steal home, the catcher tagged me before I could cross the plate. No sympathy from the ump. It was off to the showers for the rookie.
As Mr. Heflin and the warrant officer escorted me from the bridge, I contemplated my prospects. They didn’t look promising. These two men would take me below and lock me in the brig, and there I’d remain for the next couple of weeks, until the Lee made the trip back through hyperspace to Earth. If I was lucky, my cell would have a porthole…well, no, maybe that wouldn’t be so lucky after all. Because the most that I’d see of Coyote would be the distant view of a place that I’d never visit.
I had little doubt of what would happen next. Once we returned to Highgate, the Western Hemisphere Union would be informed that a stowaway had been caught aboard a Coyote Federation starship, and that this person claimed to be a former Union Astronautica officer. A Patriarch would quickly verify this, and make a formal claim of extradition. Under the articles of the UN treaty the Coyote Federation had signed with the WHU, there would be no way for this to be legally contested, because although I’d been nabbed aboard a Coyote vessel, I hadn’t yet set foot upon Coyote itself.
That small fact made all the difference in the world. The Coyote Federation was considered to be a sovereign nation, true, but one can only defect to another country if you’re already there. And although the Lee was under the flag of the Coyote Federation, it wasn’t Coyote soil. At least not for someone who wasn’t a citizen.
Nor had I given anyone aboard good and sufficient reason to break an international treaty. Like it or not, I was little more than an illegal immigrant who’d managed to con my way aboard the Lee, my former rank as a UA officer notwithstanding. If I’d been carrying top-secret documents, the situation might have been different; Tereshkova might have been willing to go to bat for me. But I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a sunny smile, and neither of them cut much ice with her. Nor could I blame her. She had rules by which she had to play, and I was just some schmuck lucky enough to get to third base on a bunt.
But this was just the end of an inning. The game wasn’t over yet.
We left the bridge and started down the ladder to the lower decks, Mr. Heflin in front of me and the warrant officer bringing up the rear. The steps were narrow; Heflin had his right hand on the railing, and I was willing to bet that the warrant officer was doing the same. And both of them were relaxed. After all, I’d been a perfect gentleman about this whole thing, giving no one any trouble at all.
I waited until we were about three steps from Deck Two, then I quickened my pace just a little bit. Not enough to alarm the warrant officer, but enough to put me within range of Mr. Heflin. Hearing me come closer, he started to turn to see what I was doing…and then I gripped the rail with my right hand and shoved my right foot against the ankle of his left foot.
Heflin tripped and sprawled forward, falling the rest of the way down the ladder. He hadn’t yet hit the deck when, still holding the rail tight with my right hand, I threw my left elbow back as hard as I could.
Just as I hoped, I caught the warrant officer square in the chest. He grunted and doubled over, and I twisted around, grabbed hold of his collar, and slammed him against the railing hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. Gasping for air, he started to fall against me. I let him go and jumped forward, landing on the deck next to Heflin.
By then, the chief petty officer realized what was happening. Raising himself on one elbow, he started to make a grab for me. I hated to do it—he seemed like a pretty decent chap, really—but I kicked him in the head, and down he went.
The warrant officer was beginning to recover. Still on the ladder, he clutched the rail as he sought to regain his feet. I snatched the stunner from his holster before he could get to it, though, and there w
as the awful look of someone who’d just screwed up when I shot him with his own weapon. He tumbled the rest of the way down the steps, landing almost on top of Heflin.
Hearing a gasp behind me, I looked around to see Ms. Fawcett standing in the hatch leading to the passenger section. For some reason, I didn’t have the heart to shoot her even though she posed a threat to my getaway.
“Thanks for the drinks,” I said, and then I dove down the ladder to Deck One.
Just as I figured, the lifeboat bays were located directly beneath the passenger section, where they would be easily accessible in case of an emergency. The hatches were on either side of a narrow passageway, tilted downward at a forty-five-degree angle. I was halfway to the nearest one when someone—Ms. Fawcett, no doubt—hit the panic button.
Red lights along the ceiling began to flash as a loud barrruuggah-barrruuggah came over the speakers. A crewman darted through a hatch at the opposite end of the corridor. He saw me, and his mouth dropped open, but by then I’d grabbed the panel above the lifeboat hatch, wrenched it open, tossed it aside, and found the lock-lever within. A quick yank to the left, and the hatch opened with a hiss of escaping pressure. I jumped into the boat, then turned around and shut the hatch behind me.
No time for the niceties of strapping myself down or making sure that all systems were active. Any second now, either Ms. Fawcett or the crewman who’d seen me would be telling the bridge that their stowaway had made his way to the lifeboats. If I was going to make a clean escape, I’d have to do it before someone in the command center locked them down.
Hauling myself over to the control panel, I jabbed the red JET. button with my thumb, then grabbed a ceiling rail and held on for dear life. A loud whoosh of escaping pressure, the hollow clang of clamps being released, the solid thump of pyros being ignited. Through the round window of the hatch, I saw the cone-shaped cowling of the lifeboat port fall away amid a fine spray of crystallized oxygen and small debris.
A moment later, I caught a last glimpse of the lower hull of the Robert E. Lee. Then I began to fall to Coyote.