Coyote

by Allen Steele

  “Good question.” Tom Shapiro looks from her to Lee. “I don’t remember anything like an early-warning system being written into the AI.” Across the table, Sharon nods in agreement. As the Alabama’s former senior navigator, she’s familiar with the AI’s major subroutines, particularly those controlling the navigation telescope. Nothing like that was programmed into the AI before Alabama left Earth.

  Lee drums his fingers on the table. He knew this question would eventually be raised: better now than later. “I’ve got something to show you,” he says at last. “Nobody here has seen it before now, so I’m going to have to ask that it not leave this room…or at least until we’re ready to divulge it to the rest of the colony. Understood?”

  Reluctant murmurs of assent. Lee picks up an Alabama operations manual he’s brought over from his office, opens it. From the back pocket of the three-ring binder, he produces two sheets of paper: brittle and yellow with age, with ragged tears down one side. Carefully unfolding them to reveal faded handscript, he hands them across the table to Tom.

  “You know what happened to Les Gillis, of course,” Lee says. “Awakened from biostasis three months after we left Earth, spent the next thirty-two years alone aboard the ship. Wrote fantasy stories to pass the time…”

  “The Chronicles of Prince Rupurt.” Wendy nods. “I’ve read it twice.”

  “Yes, well…” He takes a deep breath. “Before Les did that, he wrote something else…sort of an unofficial log entry, in the first ledger book he used for his stories. The time he spent aboard the Alabama wasn’t completely uneventful. Not too long after he woke up…”

  “Oh, my God.” Tom stares at the pages he’s been reading. “He spotted another ship.”

  “He saw a light…a moving star, as he describes it…from the wardroom window. He interpreted it as another starship passing the Alabama, heading in the opposite direction. He attempted to make contact but failed, then the ship vanished. Never saw it again.” Lee looks at Wendy. “I’ve read the Prince Rupurt story, too. I think that’s what gave him the idea. Whether it really was another ship, though, I have my doubts. At any rate, he noted the sighting in his ledger, just before he began work on his book.”

  “But that’s not in…” Wendy says, then Tom hands her the pages and she notices their tattered edges. “You tore these out of the ledger?”

  “Robert…why?” Tom looks bewildered. “Didn’t you trust us?”

  “Trust wasn’t the issue, believe me.” Lee clasps his hands together, gazes down at them. “Look, we’d come out of being in biostasis for 230 years, with 103 people aboard, half of whom weren’t trained for the mission, not to mention five URS soldiers who were on the verge of inciting mutiny. Our food and water reserves were low, and we didn’t know for certain whether Coyote was habitable. The last thing people needed to worry about was whether someone else was out there. I wanted everyone to stay focused upon survival, not watching the skies to see if aliens were about to land.

  “I was the first person to read Gillis’s ledgers. When I saw this, I ripped out the pages and hid them. But just to be on the safe side, shortly before I left Alabama I programmed the AI to track any incoming objects through the telescope and alert me if it spotted anything that might resemble an approaching ship.” Lee opens his hands, shrugs. “And that’s what it did…and so now you know. It wasn’t my intent to deceive anyone here. I just didn’t believe it was critical information.”

  All through this, he carefully avoids looking at Wendy. There’s more to the matter than this. Gillis left behind yet another note, one he destroyed long ago, lest she learn the truth about her father.

  “Not critical information?” Vonda regards him with disbelief. “Captain, I can’t believe you’d…”

  “Never mind that now,” Paul says, cutting her off. “What’s done is done. What matters is where this leaves us. Assuming that it’s an alien ship…”

  “I wouldn’t assume that,” Henry says. “In fact, I’d call it unlikely.”

  Paul gives him a curious look. “Sorry, I’m not following you.”

  “What I mean is, we’re jumping to the most far-fetched conclusion without considering the facts.” Henry points to the wallscreen. “Look, we already know this thing is coming straight here. That can’t be a coincidence. Yet why would aliens pick this one particular world…a moon of an ordinary gas giant orbiting an ordinary star…for a visit?”

  “Because they know we’re here.” Paul raises an eyebrow as if this is obvious fact.

  Henry shakes his head. “There’s no reason to believe that Coyote is inhabited. We haven’t transmitted any radio signals since we first got here, and then only briefly…a message which, even if intercepted, could be coming from anywhere in space. Alabama can’t be detected from interstellar distances, and even if you were in low orbit above Coyote, you couldn’t tell there was someone down here. You’ve seen the orbital photos…Liberty is virtually invisible.”

  “Maybe they’re searching for a place to establish a colony themselves,” Sharon says.

  “Perhaps…but what are the odds of two different races wanting to settle the same planet at the same time? The galaxy is vast…”

  “And habitable planets are rare,” Tom says. “That was established a long time ago.”

  “Established by whom? Us? We’d barely searched one small corner of space for only a couple of dozen years before we found Uma. That doesn’t mean…”

  “Gentlemen,” Lee interjects, “this is an interesting debate, but it’s getting us nowhere. However, Henry’s got a point. The idea that this ship may be extraterrestrial is an unlikely explanation. If we accept that, then it leaves us with only one other possibility…it’s coming from Earth.”

  Everyone shuffles in their seats. No one speaks, but Lee notices that their eyes reflexively shift to the flag that hangs against one wall. Red and white stripes, with a single white star against a blue field: the symbol of the United Republic of America. Presented to him by the mission launch supervisor at Merritt Island just before he left Earth, Lee has never permitted it to be raised above town; he put it in the Council room instead, as a silent reminder of the tyranny they left behind.

  “If that’s the case,” Vonda says quietly, “perhaps we should attempt to contact it. Let them know we’re here, where we are.”

  “And if it was launched by the Republic?” Tom asks. “Do you really want URS soldiers coming down on us?”

  “Oh, come on. We left…what, almost 234 Earth-years ago? I have a hard time believing the Republic lasted that long.”

  “Doesn’t matter whether it’s still around or not,” Tom says. “If it survived long enough to build another ship…a twin to the Alabama…then it could have been launched only four years after we took off. Which means it’d be arriving just about now.”

  “Then why use a fusion engine to decelerate?” Henry asks. “Alabama conserved fuel by using its magsail to brake itself. Why wouldn’t a sister ship do the same?” He holds up a hand before Tom can go on. “Besides, remember how long it took to build the Alabama? And how much? Ten years and a hundred billion, and the government wrecked the economy to do that. So how could they construct another ship just like it in such a short period of time?”

  “I don’t know the answers.” Tom’s beginning to look annoyed. “All I know is, I’d rather play possum until we know more.”

  Vonda opens her mouth to object, but Lee waves her off. “I tend to agree with Tom. We shouldn’t expose ourselves until we…”

  A soft knock against the door interrupts him. Lee looks around. “Come in.”

  The door opens; Dana steps in. “Sorry to intrude, but…” She hesitates. “Alabama’s just received a radio transmission…and it’s in English.”

  Everyone is on their feet within an instant. Lee barely manages to beat everyone else out of the meeting room; he leads them into his adjacent office, where they crowd into every available corner. Taking his seat at his desk, he waits until Dana
sits down in front of the comp, then motions for Paul to close the door behind them.

  “Okay,” he says, “show us what you’ve got.”

  “Well, first, there’s this.” Dana leans across him to pick up the keyboard. “About five minutes ago, Alabama detected a change in the comet’s…I mean, the ship’s…condition.”

  The screen changes. Now the exhaust plume has vanished, leaving behind only a bright orange spot against the black background of space. “They shut down the main engine,” Sharon says; she’s standing behind Lee, peering over his shoulder. “Probably don’t need it anymore, and they’d have to do so in order to transmit a radio signal.”

  “Makes sense,” Lee says. In the back of his mind, he realizes that anyone outside the grange will have noticed that the comet has suddenly disappeared. “Go on, Dana.”

  “I was still trying to figure out what happened when we received this…” She taps a command into the keypad. A tinny sound comes from the speaker; static courses through it until Dana cuts in digital filters and raises the volume. Now, in sharp and sudden clarity, a voice:

  “…if you are able…repeat, to URSS Alabama, this is WHSS Glorious Destiny. Please respond if you are able…repeat, to URSS Alabama, this is WHSS Glorious Destiny. Please respond if you are able…repeat, to URSS Alabama…”

  Over and over again, like a ’bot reiterating the same prerecorded alert. Indeed, the voice has a certain artificial quality. “That’s all I’ve received so far,” Dana says, looking over her shoulder at the others. “For what it’s worth, they’re signaling Alabama, not us.”

  “Guess that settles the argument,” Henry says quietly. “It’s from home.” Then he looks at the others. “Okay, so now what do we do?”

  “We play possum.” Lee glances at Tom; his former first officer gives him a slight nod. “We’ve found them before they found us. For the time being, we’re going to keep it that way. Total radio silence until we learn more about them.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Sharon asks.

  “What you always do when new neighbors move in.” Lee smiles. “Haul out the welcome wagon.”

  Liberty: Orifiel, Gabriel 17 / 0834

  Cold oxygen fumes drift upward from the Plymouth’s vents, made ghostly by the wan morning sun. For nearly four Earth-years, one of Alabama’s two shuttles has always been kept in flightworthy condition, a task made difficult by the fact that several Coyote months often went by before either of them flew. Despite Dana’s efforts to protect the craft from the weather, some of the spaceplanes’ more delicate components are wearing out, and lately it’s become necessary for them to share parts. The engineering team borrowed hardware from the Mayflower and worked overtime to install them aboard her sister ship, while the indigenous-fuel converters groaned constantly, sucking in air and filling the wing tanks with supercooled hydrogen for the nuclear engines.

  Seated in Plymouth’s narrow cockpit, running down the preflight checklist, Lee once again reflects upon just how ill prepared Alabama was for colonizing another world. The United Republic of America had splurged a hundred billion dollars to build a monument to itself, while giving little thought to the fact that the men, women, and children it sent out into interstellar space would have to build a self-sustaining colony. Two state-of-the-art SSTO shuttles with few spare parts to keep them operational for more than a few years. A large supply of pharmaceuticals, but no way to manufacture more once they ran low. All the tools needed to build shelters, and a ridiculously inadequate means of generating electrical power. There were Federal Space Agency scientists working on Project Starflight who’d considered such things, of course, but most of them were branded as dissident intellectuals and shipped off to reeducation camps, while Liberty Party politicians harrumphed about the “American frontier spirit.” He would have loved to see some of them here, chopping wood and planting crops; most of them probably wouldn’t have survived the first winter.

  No. Enough of that. Gazing through the cockpit window, Lee sees that a small crowd has gathered at the landing pad, watching the shuttle as it’s prepped for liftoff. No official announcement had yet been made, yet rumors are doubtless spreading through town. Sooner or later, the Council will have to tell the townspeople what they should know. It should have been done earlier, yet there simply hasn’t been enough time.

  “Skipper?” Jud Tinsley enters the cockpit. “We’ve got five suits aboard, and Ellery says there’s five more aboard Mayflower. If you want more, he can haul ’em out of storage, but he can’t guarantee what shape they’ll be in.”

  “Five will do,” Lee says. “Three for you, me, and Dana, and two for our passengers.” Jud gives him a curious look as he rests his arms against the back of the pilot’s seat. “I know we can take more, but I want to keep the team as small as possible. Less chance of…well, the fewer people directly involved, the better. Understood?”

  “Yeah, okay…I mean, yes, sir.” Like his other former officers, Jud has subconsciously slipped back into his old mind-set: no longer treating Lee like a mayor, but as his commanding officer. “So who else do you want aboard?”

  Lee’s been thinking about this. He himself will be mission commander; Jud’s the pilot, and Dana’s the flight engineer. But they’ll need two specialists. “Henry Johnson’s got a good handle on this. I’ve already spoken with him, and he’s willing to go. And we should take someone else from the Council, too…another civilian, just to even things out. I was thinking about Vonda…”

  “I’ve already asked her, and she refused.” Jud grins as Lee stares at him in surprise. “She says she throws up every time she rides in one of these things.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right.” The first time Vonda Cayle got spacesick, it was aboard the Mayflower—then christened the URSS George Wallace—when it lifted off from Merritt Island on its way up to the Alabama; the second time was when she was aboard this same craft, formerly the Jesse Helms, when it brought the colonists down to New Florida. These two incidents may have been separated by a quarter of a millennium and forty-six light-years, yet the last thing Lee wants now is to have an ill passenger aboard. “So who else do we have? We’re leaving Tom behind to…”

  “We’ve got a volunteer.” There’s a wry expression on Jud’s face. “But you may not want her.”

  “Oh, no…she’s not here, is she?”

  “Out back, waiting to see you.” Jud can barely conceal his grin. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s…”

  “Right.” Annoyed, Lee taps an instruction into a keypad, stopping the diagnostic test he’s been running, before he rises from the right-hand seat. “And, of course, you let her come aboard, even though I told you not to let anyone…”

  “What could I say?” Jud steps aside as Lee brushes past him. “She’s a Council member. If she wants to come aboard…”

  “Carry on,” Lee mutters as he ducks his head to leave the cockpit.

  Wendy’s in the passenger compartment, sitting on the arm of one of the acceleration couches, pad in her left hand. She nervously rises, but before she can speak, Lee raises a hand. “You’ve already asked once, and I’ve given you my answer. Give me one good reason why I should change my mind. And don’t say it’s because you’re on the Council…there are six other members who have more seniority than you do.”

  “I know. That’s the very reason why I should go.”

  Lee crosses his arms. “All right. I’m listening.”

  “This is an historic event, right? The second ship to arrive from Earth, possibly carrying colonists of its own…”

  “Or a squad of armed soldiers.”

  She looks at him askance. “C’mon, you can’t seriously believe that. It didn’t identify itself as belonging to the Republic, only as the WHSS Glorious Destiny…whatever WHSS means.” She shakes her head. “In any case, this is something that will take its place in the colony’s official history.”

  “What official history?”

  “The one I’ve been
writing.” She holds up her pad. “Ever since First Landing Day, I’ve been keeping a journal. Kuniko got me started on it, and I’ve been at it ever since. Everything’s here…”

  “Tom Shapiro’s the town secretary. He’s in charge of maintaining the colony log.”

  “But since you’re leaving him behind to take charge of the Council in your absence, he won’t be able to witness this mission, will he? Besides, have you actually read Tom’s log? It’s pretty dry…nothing but statistics. My journal is much better than that. And do I need to remind you that you yourself encouraged me to do this?”

  “I did indeed, but not as an official record.” Lee lets out his breath. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that the reason why you should go is that you’d serve as the…well, maybe not as secretary, but as an historian. You’d deliver an unbiased account of whatever happens up there…”

  “Not necessarily unbiased, but at least truthful.”

  “Don’t play semantics with me. When I say unbiased, I mean it.” She turns red, looks down at the deck. “And you’d enter your account in the log, signing your name to it as a member of the Town Council.” She nods. “That’s a good reason, I’ll grant you that…but it still sounds like an excuse you’ve worked up. Now be honest…why should I take along a young mother on a potentially hazardous mission?”

  “Because I want to go!” When she looks up at him again, Lee’s surprised to see tears at the corners of her eyes. “Mr. Mayor…Captain…I can’t explain why, but…but this is something I’ve just got to do. My father rescued me from a youth hostel when he got me signed aboard the Alabama as a colonist. If he hadn’t, I probably would have spent the rest of my life as a ward of the Republic. Probably washing clothes in a D.I. internment camp, if I was lucky. And then, after all that, almost as soon as we got here, he…”

  Wendy stops, rubs her eyes. He died, she meant to say, but she doesn’t know the half of it. Lee looks away, not wanting to meet her gaze. As she just said, there’s the unbiased account of what happened, and then there’s the truth…