by Allen Steele
“Pardon me, folks.” From the top of the ladder, the skiff’s pilot called down to them. “Sorry to have to rush you, but I’m afraid we’re on a schedule here. If you’ll please…”
“Certainly. By all means.” Carlos turned toward Wendy again. “See you in a couple of weeks,” he said quietly. “Then I’ll sleep with you for a month.”
“Better bring home some oysters, if you plan to do that.” A sly wink, then she became serious again. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.” A final embrace, a last kiss, and he let her go. The chaaz’maha did the same for Melissa; he gently stroked the fine hair on Inez’s tiny head, then he turned to follow his uncle up the ladder.
A few minutes later, the skiff was airborne. With the pilot and copilot at the controls, it slowly rose upon its vertical thrusters until it cleared the field. Then its prow tilted upward, its main engines fired, and Carlos felt himself pushed back into his seat.
They were on their way to Earth.
David Laird found the Reverend Alberto Cosenza just where the deacon said he would be, in a small cafe across the street from the inn where Cosenza had been staying. Why they couldn’t have met in Cosenza’s room, he didn’t know. Perhaps Cosenza was afraid that he’d miss his ride to the spaceport. Or maybe he just wanted to see the world one last time.
In any case, Laird paused in the doorway to pull the bill of his cap a bit lower over his face. Cosenza was sitting alone at a table beside the window; outside, the street was busy with midmorning traffic, the good people of New Brighton going about their daily affairs. Laird decided that it probably wouldn’t matter if the two of them were seen together; no one in the cafe seemed to be paying attention to them.
“Good morning.” Cosenza looked up as Laird approached. “Care for some coffee?” He tapped a fingernail against the small clay pot on the table. “I had the waiter bring an extra cup, just in case you…”
“No thanks.” Laird didn’t intend to stay any longer than necessary. Sitting down next to Cosenza, he placed the suitcase he’d brought with him between them, making sure that it was upright. “I’m sure you’re anxious to be on your way, so…”
“My cab won’t be here for another few minutes.” Cosenza appeared calm, yet Laird couldn’t help but notice that his hand trembled slightly when he picked up his coffee. “I’ve been enjoying the view,” he added, nodding toward the window. “What a lovely town this is. So many beautiful people. Seems a shame to…”
His voice trailed off, and he sighed. “Well. Such as it is.” His gaze flickered toward the suitcase; oversized, its outer shell constructed of titanium alloy, it was the same one that he’d brought with him from Earth last year. “You’ve done as I’ve asked?”
Laird pulled his chair closer to the table. From the corner of his eye, he checked the room. Only a couple of other tables were occupied, and those were far enough away from their own that he felt safe that they wouldn’t be overheard; the waiter was at the serving counter, chatting up a pretty cook.
“All taken care of,” he murmured. “Took a while to get the stuff I needed, but…”
“I don’t need to know the details. Only that it’ll work.” Cosenza shifted around in his chair so that he was able to pick up the suitcase by its handle. He grunted with the exertion. “Rather heavy, don’t you think?”
“Can’t be helped. There’s a lot packed in there.” Laird pointed to its lockplate. “It’s been deactivated, of course, but as soon as you enter your thumbprint, it’ll be sealed. No one but you will be able to open it.”
Cosenza raised an eyebrow. “And if someone asks me to…?”
“They won’t.” Laird shook his head. “I asked around, and it’s the same procedure as when you came here, only in reverse. No customs inspections for outbound passengers. After you check it at the spaceport, it’ll be put into a freight container along with everyone else’s luggage and taken straight out to the shuttle. Once the shuttle docks with the Lee, the container will be transferred to the cargo bay…”
“That’s not something that will concern me. What about the detonator?”
Another glance around the room, then Laird reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the datapad he’d bought in a secondhand electronics shop. Along with the suitcase, he’d spent the last couple of weeks working on it in the secrecy of his tiny apartment. The hard part hadn’t been gathering the necessary materials—ammonium nitrate, aluminum powder, even the chemical components of trinitrotoluene; all had been available from local agriculture or construction-supply stores, where he’d paid cash for them, no questions asked—but assembling everything without becoming so nervous that he’d touch off his control bracelet. But he’d built things like it before, and he knew how to remain calm. The trick was pretending that it was just a toy…
“This is it,” he said, flipping open the pad’s cover. “Works like any other except that it now holds a high-frequency transmitter, effective range of three hundred yards. Don’t worry, it’ll send through bulkheads.”
Cosenza took the pad from him “And the trigger itself…?”
“Second function key on the menu bar.” Careful not to touch the pad himself, Laird pointed to its tiny screen. “Push it once, and it’s armed. Push it twice…”
“I see.” Cosenza weighed the pad in his palm. “And the timer? How does that work?”
“Third function key. A clock will come up once you’ve armed the mechanism. All you have to do is set it for however long you want, then push the ENTER button to start the countdown.” He paused. “Of course, if you decide to change your mind, all you have to do is close the pad. It’ll turn off, and everything will reset to neutral position.”
“Nice to know, but…” Cosenza let out his breath as he placed the pad on the table. “I sincerely doubt it.”
“Well…all right, then.” Laird pushed back his chair, prepared to stand up. The less time he spent with the Dominionist preacher, the better. It wasn’t just for fear of being linked to what Cosenza intended to do. It was also that, in the years that Laird had been a member of Living Earth, he’d learned how to recognize a fanatic when he saw one. And Alberto Cosenza was as driven as they come.
“Yes. I think our business is concluded.” Cosenza regarded him with unblinking eyes, and it seemed for a moment as if a certain sadness had come over him. “I know our motives aren’t the same, David”—Laird hissed at the sound of his name, but the deacon didn’t appear to notice—“but, all the same, I hope that you’ll pray for me.”
Laird stopped halfway out of his seat. From their first meeting outside the jail, he’d pretended to be a devout Dominionist, even going so far as to take communion with the clergyman. He thought his performance had been convincing, but it seemed that Cosenza had seen through him from the very beginning.
“I will,” he said. It was a lie, of course, but it was the only way he could respond.
Cosenza nodded. “Thank you. And may the Lord…”
Laird didn’t want to hear the rest. He hurried out of the cafe, hoping that no one there had seen him. But it wasn’t until he was several blocks away that his heart stopped pounding.
“I can’t believe you let me sleep late.” Sitting beside him in the back of the rickshaw cab, Lynn glared at Sawyer. “If this is your way of trying to keep me here…”
“It’s not! I swear!” Sawyer was trying not to laugh, but it was impossible to keep the grin off his face. “If I’d wanted to do that, I would have…”
He stopped, not knowing how to complete that sentence. Ordered more wine at dinner last night? Failed to set the alarm on his pad? While it was true that they’d been roaring drunk when the two of them had returned to her room, the latter had never occurred to him, or at least not as something he’d do deliberately. In any case, Lynn was positively livid when she woke up to discover that she had little more than an hour to get to the spaceport before her shuttle lifted off. And she was holding him to blame.
“You would’v
e what?” Lynn clasped her shoulder bag closer to her chest as the rickshaw’s left wheel hit a pothole, then she leaned forward in her seat. “Do you think you can go any faster?” she called out to the driver. “I’ll throw in another five if you can get me there sooner.”
The driver didn’t say anything, but her muscular legs pumped a bit harder as she stood up on the pedals. The rickshaw bounced again as it found another pothole; they’d left the town behind, and now were traveling down the unpaved dirt road leading to the spaceport, weaving in and out between the seemingly endless procession of newly arrived immigrants making their way into the refugee camp. It was hard to look at them.
“Look, you’re going to get there on time. Don’t worry about it.” Sawyer glanced over his shoulder to make sure her suitcase was still tied down. “I’m sorry, but it’s not—”
A sudden boom from somewhere far above. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of a pair of contrails. An incoming shuttle, bringing in another boatload of refugees. When was it ever going to end…?
“When is what ever going to end?” Lynn peered at him, and Sawyer suddenly realized that he’d spoken aloud.
“I dunno.” He shrugged, reluctant to say more. “All these people, I guess.”
“Yeah, well…can’t blame them, you know.” She gazed at the vast collection of shacks, tents, and sheds that sprawled around them. “You’re lucky,” she added, and there was no mistaking the edge in her voice. “You came here years ago, by your own choice. These people…most of them have left behind everything they had. And they’re just the ones fortunate enough to be able to afford to.”
“I know, I know…sorry.” Sawyer let out his breath. He didn’t want their time together to end this way. In fact, he didn’t want it to end, period, but least of all with a one-night stand in a hotel room, followed the next morning by an argument.
When Lynn had called to tell him that she was leaving for Earth, he’d caught an airship from Liberty. He hadn’t seen her since the ExEx, and his only intention had been to say good-bye, or at least bon voyage. But one thing led to another; one too many bottles of waterfruit wine, and they’d wound up in bed together, doing what they’d meant to do but couldn’t when they were on the LeMare. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he’d missed her. And now that she was going home, he knew that he’d miss her even more.
“So…” He hesitated, reluctant to ask again the same question he’d asked last night over dinner. “Do you think you’re coming back?”
Lynn didn’t respond, but instead stared straight ahead. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I’ve been here longer than I thought I would be. It’s been quite an experience, but there’s not much reason for me to stay. At least not after I write about Carlos’s trip…”
“You’re not curious about the chaaz’maha?” He gave her a sidelong look. “I thought you were interested in him.”
“Oh, I am. I’ve filed at least a dozen stories about him. I wish I could have gotten an interview, but…” She shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s sufficient cause for my editors to let me come back here.” A wry grin. “Besides, you’ve seen one messiah, you’ve seen ’em all…even if that’s not what he claims to be.”
“We’ve got a newspaper…”
“The Liberty Post?” The grin became a grimace. “That rag isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Hell, I can’t believe you people even use paper.”
“No shortage of wood pulp here. And it recycles just fine.”
“Yes, well…look, I’m a writer. Pretty good one, too, if I say so myself. Working for Pan, I’ve got a global readership of nearly 500 million, plus a possible book contract once I rewrite the series. If I move here, I’d be covering…” She shrugged. “I dunno. Town council meetings, Farmer Brown losing all his pigs to ring disease…sort of a step down, if y’know what I mean.”
“Maybe. At least you’d be alive.”
Again, Lynn fell silent. “I can’t believe…I won’t believe…that the situation will get to that point,” she said after a moment. “I know times are tough back home, but sooner or later they’re going to get better. And I don’t want to be one of the guys who jumps ship when it needs every able-bodied seaman it can get in order to stay afloat.”
“But…”
“I’m going back, Sawyer. Case closed.” She seemed to regret the harshness of her words, because she took his hand. “Look, I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. If things really do get bad, I’ll grab the first ship back here I can, job or no job. You can live with that, can’t you?”
He reluctantly nodded, then put his arm around her and pulled her close. The spaceport was in sight; it was impossible to ignore the refugees lined up outside. “If you do, you won’t have to go through all that,” he said softly. “You’ve got a place to stay.”
Her smile reappeared. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a proposal.”
Sawyer didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but grin. Perhaps it was…
The rickshaw came to a stop in front of the entrance, and the driver got off her bike to unfasten Lynn’s bag from the back. Sawyer pulled out a money roll and peeled off ten colonials; the driver tucked them in her pocket, then waited while he followed Lynn to the door. “You don’t have to see me off,” she said. “In fact, I’d just as soon you didn’t. Let’s just say good-bye right here, okay?”
She didn’t want to be sentimental, nor could he blame her. Nonetheless, he took her in his arms one last time. Their kiss lasted longer than he expected, but not as long as he wanted. “Come back soon,” he whispered in her ear, and she nodded without saying whether she would or not. Then she picked up her luggage and, with a parting glance and a smile over her shoulder, walked through the door into the terminal.
As Sawyer climbed back aboard the rickshaw, he saw another cab pull up behind them. A Dominionist minister, sour-faced and dressed in black, sat in the rear; Sawyer guessed that he was another homeward-bound passenger, arriving to catch the shuttle to the Lee. Remembering that Lynn had interviewed a church deacon the day the chaaz’maha was released from jail, he wondered if it was the same person.
His own driver had just begun to pedal away when Sawyer noticed something peculiar. The minister insisted upon unloading his suitcase by himself, impatiently swatting the driver’s hands away from its handle. But when he picked it up, his shoulders visibly sagged beneath its weight.
Souvenirs, Sawyer decided. Either that, or perhaps even a Dominionist minister wasn’t above smuggling.
When Alberto Cosenza learned that Hawk Thompson had already departed from New Brighton, he almost canceled his reservation. He’d counted on being aboard the same shuttle as the false prophet; in fact, his entire plan depended upon it. But when he checked in at the spaceport, a casual inquiry to the ticket agent revealed the unexpected truth: Thompson, along with President Montero, had been aboard a private skiff that had lifted off over an hour earlier.
Cosenza cared little for the fact that the former Federation president was on the same flight. He had nothing against Montero, except, perhaps, that he was taking the heretic to Earth. Yet that alone was unforgivable. Sa’Tong was worse than sacrilegious; in its denial of the very existence of God, it was profoundly blasphemous. Cosenza had seen how its teachings had poisoned one mind already; Grey Rice was a lost soul, and the deacon was terrified by the notion that countless others back home might be swayed by this godless doctrine.
That simply could not be allowed to happen. The so-called chaaz’maha simply could not be allowed to set foot on Earth…even if Cosenza had to give up his own life, along with those of everyone aboard, to prevent it.
It was a regrettable sacrifice, but necessary.
And yet, as he rode the tram that carried him across the spaceport to the waiting shuttle, the deacon found himself forced to weigh his options. When he’d thought Thompson would be aboard the same spacecraft, the plan had been rather easy. Wait until the shuttle was about to lift off, then s
et the detonator’s timer for sixty seconds. That would prohibit him from chickening out at the last second, and would also ensure that the bomb would go off when the shuttle was high enough off the ground. Although his suitcase would be in the shuttle’s cargo hold, the explosion would doubtless destroy the spacecraft, and its altitude would preclude any survivors. With luck, the wreckage would have come down in the Great Equatorial River, where salvage would have been unlikely; no one would have seriously suspected that the cause was anything but the most unfortunate of accidents. An act of God.
But with Thompson no longer aboard the same shuttle…well, that changed everything, didn’t it? Cosenza absently gazed at the spacecraft closely parked together on the landing field. He could wait until the Lee reached Highgate, then retrieve his suitcase and try to get close enough to Thompson that the explosion would kill him…but there were too many risks involved. Thompson might disembark just the same way as he’d been brought aboard, his contact with other passengers minimized as much as possible. Or a customs inspector might open the suitcase when the false prophet was nowhere in sight; Cosenza would immediately be arrested, and Thompson would escape once and for all. Either way, the odds of success would be diminished as soon as the Lee reached the station.
That left only one alternative: set off the bomb aboard the starship itself. But even that option—with its added cost of the lives of the Lee’s crew—had its uncertainties. Cosenza regretted not letting Laird tell him how he’d constructed the bomb; he could only guess that it was comprised of some sort of material that would detonate once an electrical charge was introduced. Whatever it was, though, it was probably only powerful enough to mortally wound a relatively small spacecraft. But the Lee was a much larger ship, and the bomb would be in its cargo bay, away from the passenger compartments. The explosion would undoubtedly cripple the vessel, maybe even cause a temporary loss of control…but it wouldn’t destroy it.