Coyote Frontier

by Allen Steele

  The back door creaked open. Probably Tillie, taking out the garbage to the compost heap.

  The long sprint up the mountain. Branches lashing against her face, cold and fatigue sucking what little strength is still left in her small body. Fear. An overwhelming sense that she’s about to die, and the dark hope that it’ll happen soon so that it’ll be over and done and she can go to Heaven.

  But death is not her destination. Instead, she suddenly finds herself at the bottom of a vast grey cliff, an enormous escarpment in which dozens of holes have been bored. Figures prance around her, tugging at her hair, her clothes, pushing her toward an opening at ground level. She has to duck her head to go inside…

  Yes. There’s something there. Concentrating, she screwed her eyes shut even tighter, struggling to recall.

  A labyrinth of tunnels, a maze within the rock, seemingly without end, the only light coming through windows and chimneys. The odor of mildew and rot. Brief glimpses of tiny burrows. Miniature axes no larger than her hand, little beds of woven grass, a dwarf-size fireplace in which coals smolder. A female cowering within a room, staring at her with oversized eyes, her infant suckling at her breast. And now, an upward climb, scrambling up wooden ladders, relentlessly prodded and pushed until she enters a narrow shaft through which sunlight gleams down…

  Something tugged at her memory.

  Climbing the shaft, the frail wooden ladder bending beneath her weight, desperate to reach the light far above. Yet now, from somewhere far away, she can hear her mother’s voice, desperately calling her name…

  A small, warm hand touched her foot. Susan opened her eyes, and found a chirreep crouched beside her on the bed.

  Startled, she immediately jerked away from the small creature. Almost as surprised, it snatched away its hand and drew back from her. Yet it didn’t leap off the bed, as she expected, but instead regarded her with its enormous black eyes, more curious than frightened.

  The chirreep was only a couple of feet tall, scrawny yet muscular, almost like an oversized spider monkey. It was covered head-to-toe with coarse black fur, save for a thick silver mane around its neck and chest, yet it wasn’t quite naked; it wore a small loincloth, and a small piece of quartz hung from around its neck on a length of woven grass. Earlier observations by other researchers indicated that such jewelry was worn by tribal leaders, but no one could be sure.

  Susan held her breath, fought to remain calm. It had been many years since she’d been this close to a chirreep. Indeed, this was the first time she’d ever known one to enter a human dwelling, although she remembered Tillie mentioning something about keeping a lamp burning in the mess tent to keep them from stealing things. This one must be particularly brave to come in through the back door while the lights were on. Not to mention extraordinarily quiet; it had managed to climb up on the bed without her noticing.

  Laughter from outside the kitchen, as someone in the dining room presumably told someone else a funny story. The chirreep darted a nervous look in that direction, and it tensed on its hind legs, ready to spring away. Why had it come here? If it meant to steal something, then why make its presence known to her?

  “Chirreep,” she said quietly. It was the only word of their language she or anyone else knew; no harm in using it now. “Chirreep,” she said again, and pointed to her visitor.

  The chirreep returned its attention to her. “Chirreep-sha katoom,” it rasped softly. “Kreepha-shee shon-shee koot.” It advanced cautiously toward Susan, until it was close enough for her to pick up the rank odor of its pelt, then it reached beneath its loincloth.

  Another burst of laughter, then footsteps just outside the kitchen. “You’re going to have to do better than that!” Tillie said loudly, then she swept aside the flap. “Lord, these men, they’re going to…oh my God!”

  The chirreep was already off the bed. Pausing only long enough to drop something in Susan’s lap, it dove headfirst from the top bunk, grabbing a skillet hanging from the ceiling rafter, and using it to swing across the room. Tillie barely had time to snatch a pot from the oven and hurl it after the creature before the chirreep lunged through the back door. The pot missed it by several feet, and black bean soup sprayed in all directions.

  What happened next was a blur. Tillie shrieking, throwing more cookware at the open door. Loggers charging into the kitchen, demanding to know what was going on. Scattered gunshots outside the tent, while men and women yelled at one another. Uncle Lars managed to get Tillie to calm down and tell him what she’d seen, then he asked Susan for her side of the story. Still sitting cross-legged on the bed, Susan pretended innocence; she’d seen the treecrawler, too, but not until she’d woken up to find it trying to steal her pad. No, it hadn’t taken anything. No, it hadn’t bitten her. Yes, she was fine, and, no, she didn’t want to spend the night in his tent. She caught a glimpse of Hawk, standing just outside the kitchen. There was a sly grin on his face, and for a second she thought he winked at her. Then his father ushered everyone out of the tent; they needed to double the watch tonight and keep a sharp eye on the corral and the flume. Where there was one of these little bastards, there had to be more.

  Once everyone was gone, Susan helped Tillie clean up the mess. The cook was a wreck, and it took a couple of shots of bearshine before she was calm enough to climb into bed, yet even then she insisted on putting a paring knife beneath her pillow. So it wasn’t until much later, when the camp had finally settled down and Tillie was snoring away in the bunk beneath her, that Susan dared to retrieve the object the chirreep had tossed to her, which she’d hastily shoved beneath the blankets of her bed.

  A scrap of paper, human-made, wrapped around a small rock. Upon it was scrawled a short message:

  TOMORROW, SAME PLACE/TIME. NO PHONE, NO GUNS—CAMERA OK. BRING GIFTS—THEY LIKE FOOD (VEGGIES) AND FLASHLIGHTS. COME ALONE. TELL NO ONE.—J.

  P.S.—MY FRIEND’S NAME IS KATOOM (I THINK). PLEASE TREAT HIM WELL.

  Susan reread the note several times, her mouth open with astonishment. It wasn’t until she was sure that Tillie was asleep that she dared speak aloud the thoughts in her mind.

  “I’ll be damned,” she whispered. “He’s learned how to communicate with them.”

  Slipping away from camp the following morning was easier than expected. After she set the table for breakfast, Susan pretended to have trouble getting a fire started in the dining room stove. When Tillie came out to help her, Susan went back into the kitchen and stole a few carrots and potatoes, tucking them into her pack along with her camera and a spare flashlight. She then waited until the work crew showed up, and while Tillie was bringing out the coffee and biscuits, she made her exit through the back door, being careful to sneak around behind the tents so as not to be seen. No one spotted her, and by the time first light was breaking upon the mountains she was heading up the trail to the logging site.

  The morning was cold, the sky overcast with grey clouds that foretold of rain later in the day. Susan was glad that she’d worn her jacket and cap. She had little trouble retracing her steps from the day before; all she had to do was follow the log flume back to the dam in order to locate the path Hawk had shown her. She was well ahead of time, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury of taking it easy. Someone would eventually notice her absence, and although she’d taken the precaution of destroying the note Parson had sent her, there was always the chance that Hawk might figure out where she’d gone.

  She felt bad about not taking the boy into her confidence. He’d proven himself to be a reliable guide, and he’d demonstrated a certain willingness, however reluctant, to open his mind to the possibility that the chirreep were more than mere animals. Yet the fact that he’d packed a gun without telling her made him less than completely trustworthy, and Parson had specifically stated that she was to come alone and not tell anyone where she was going. And although she was wary about venturing up the mountain on her own, she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to discover something new about the chirreep.


  By midmorning, she’d returned to the cliffs, and was mildly surprised to find Jonathan Parson waiting for her almost exactly where they’d met yesterday. He sat on top of the boulder, as if he hadn’t gone anywhere since she’d last seen him.

  “Good morning,” he said, chewing on a piece of lamb jerky. “Glad to see my letter got through.”

  Susan bent over to clasp her knees and catch her breath. “You mean…you mean your little friend…didn’t tell you?”

  Parson considered the question as he took a drink from a catskin flask. “Who do you think I am? Tarzan, lord of the chirreep?” He caught her baffled expression, shook his head. “Sorry. Obscure literary reference. Look, it took a couple of hours just to make him understand that I wanted him to deliver that note to you, and he ate the first two before I got it across to him. So I’d appreciate a little—”

  “Thank you.” Susan sat down on the ground, then took off her pack and pulled out her canteen. “My apologies. It’s just that…well, I’ve got a thousand questions to ask you.”

  “No doubt.” Parson capped his flask, then slid down the rock until he was standing in front of her. “I have a few of my own. Did you bring treats for my friends?” She pulled some carrots from her pack and showed them to him. “Good. They’ll like those. And you’re not carrying a gun, and you didn’t tell anyone?” She shook her head. “And you’re sincere about wanting to learn more about them? This isn’t about finding a way to exterminate them?”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I’m a scientist,” she said evenly. “I’ve been studying them all my life. I don’t know what I can say or do that would convince you that I mean them no harm.”

  Parson said nothing for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I believe you,” he said at last. “About not wanting to harm them, I mean. And so does my teacher. I spoke with him last night, and he told me that he’s aware of you, if only by reputation.”

  “Your teacher? Who’s that?”

  “Later. Right now, I’d like to put a little more distance between us and the camp.” Parson stepped away from the boulder. “Think you’re ready for some more climbing? It gets pretty rough after this.”

  Susan gazed at the bluffs towering above them. “We’re going up there, aren’t we? That’s where we’ll find the entrance to their dwellings.” She glanced at him again. “A cave of some sort, leading into the mountain. Right?”

  Parson stared at her. “How did you know this?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s made contact with the chirreep.” Standing up, she placed her pack once more upon her shoulders. “Take me there.”

  Leaving the trail behind, they made their way uphill through the woods. Once they reached the base of the cliff, Parson led Susan to the north, picking their way across heaps of broken talus that had sheered away from the granite wall, season after season of relentless erosion. The escarpment rose above them like a time-lost fortress, spotted with lichen and spongy moss; their footfalls echoed quietly off the trees below, resounding against the stones of years.

  “This is where it gets tricky,” Parson said at last, pausing to rest his back against the opening of a crevice. Looking up, Susan saw that it formed a narrow crack leading up to the top of the bluffs. “Think you can handle it?”

  Susan stepped back to examine it more closely. A vertical ascent of nearly forty feet, yet there were plenty of handholds, along with chimneys where she could wedge her back and legs against the wall. “Sure. Just gimme a second to rest.”

  “Hoped you’d say that.” He uncapped his flask, took a sip, and then passed it to her. “Ever heard of Manny Castro?”

  The unexpected question caught her off guard. He’d been the Savant who’d come to Coyote aboard Glorious Destiny, the first Western Hemisphere Union starship to reach the 47 Ursae Majoris system; her mother had met him way back then. Later, once the Union took control of Liberty, Castro had been the colony’s lieutenant governor, serving under the Matriarch Luisa Hernandez. He’d been captured during the battle of Thompson’s Ferry and thrown into the West Channel, only to reemerge once the Revolution was over; a short time later, he’d accompanied Uncle Lars and Aunt Marie during their forced exile, yet had disappeared again not long after Clarksburg had been founded. A figure of near-mythic proportions, much like Zoltan Shirow. Children liked to frighten each other with stories about the evil savant who would creep into their homes and steal them away if they weren’t good.

  “Of course,” she said. “Why?”

  “You asked who my teacher is. Now I’m telling you.”

  She stared at him. “Manuel Castro? C’mon…”

  “I find it difficult to believe myself. Back on Earth, savants…” He stopped himself. “A long story. Let’s just say, they’re not very popular. Nonetheless, I’ve become…shall we say, associated with him…and he’s been something of a teacher to me. We live on the other side of the mountain, and I’ve assisted him with his research. Which coincides quite a bit with your own.”

  “You’ve been studying the chirreep,” she said, and he nodded. “And you’ve learned to communicate with them?”

  “After a fashion.” He took the flask back from her, took a drink himself. “For instance, my friend Katoom…I’m not sure whether that’s his name or his position within the tribe, but nonetheless that’s what he calls himself. But his people call themselves the chirreep-sha, and to them we’re kreepha-shee, which we think means ‘aliens.’ We’ve been trying to understand their language, but it’s been one word at a time, and only after we’ve established peaceful relations with them.”

  “I’m impressed you’ve gotten that far. The university has been studying them for years.”

  “Yes, well, you didn’t have a savant living up here. That’s all Manny’s done the last three years…observe the chirreep-sha, gain their trust, take notes. After he took me on as his student, I’ve been doing much of the legwork, so to speak. Lately we’ve made an interesting discovery.” He gestured to the mountainside below them. “That’s what I was doing when I…”

  Parson suddenly stopped, as if he’d heard something. Susan was about to ask him what was wrong, but he quickly raised a hand, motioning for her to be quiet. A moment passed, then he signaled her to follow him deeper into the crevice. Together, they moved out of sight, and there they waited for several long minutes, remaining still and not saying a word to each other.

  The sound of talus sliding underfoot, then a shadow fell across the slope. A figure stepped into view, only a few yards away. For a second, it seemed as if he might pass by without spotting them, but then he turned to peer into the crevice, and they saw who it was.

  “Good morning, Master Thompson,” Parson said. “Out for a stroll?”

  Caught by surprise, Hawk slipped on the broken rock, nearly falling over before he caught himself. “I didn’t know…I thought…”

  “Oh, come now. If you’ve come this far, then you must have been tailing us for quite some time.” Parson stepped out of the crevice. “You’re quite the woodsman, though, I’ll give you that. Being able to track her all the way from camp, I mean.”

  Susan paled. “Jonathan, I didn’t know he was—”

  “I don’t think you did.” He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the teenager. “You realize, of course, that you’re not welcome here. If she’d wanted you to come along—”

  “She would’ve told me…I know, I know.” Hawk looked embarrassed. “But it wasn’t hard to figure out where she’d gone. All I had to do was catch up. And when I saw you head up here…”

  “You followed us to see where we’d go.” Parson was visibly impressed. “Quite the stalker, you are. You’d have made a good spy. Well, now, off you go.”

  “Jon, wait a minute.” Susan stepped out from behind him, confronted Hawk. “If you go back now, what are you going to do? Tell your father what you’ve seen?”

  Hawk hesitated, then shook his head. “I only wanted to find out where you’re
headed. You hired me to be your guide, remember?”

  “Uh-huh. And if I told you that we’re going to find the chirreep, could you promise to keep this to yourself?”

  “Oh, no, hold on just a moment.” Parson held up a hand. “When I said that I wanted you to come alone, I meant it. No guns, no satphone.”

  “Not carrying ’em.” Hawk pulled off his pack, extended it to Parson. “Look inside. My canteen, a map, and a flashlight. Go ahead, see for yourself.” He gazed at Susan again. “And if you want me to make a promise, then I will. Nothing I see here gets back to my dad. Or the company, or anyone else. I promise.”

  Unwilling to trust him at his word, Parson opened Hawk’s pack and rummaged through it. “Well…we could use the extra flashlight, at least.” Then he looked at Susan again. “But if you bring him along, there’s a chance the chirreep might not accept us. Two’s company…”

  “And three’s a crowd.” Susan considered her predicament. Until now, Hawk had done nothing to earn her distrust except carry a gun; she should have anticipated that he’d follow her, considering that she’d slipped away from camp without any explanation. Indeed, she had less reason to trust Parson, a relative stranger, than her own cousin. And hadn’t she wanted to impress upon him the fact that the chirreep were more than simians? “Well…we’ll just have to take that chance, won’t we?”

  Parson didn’t reply for a moment, but a look of disgust crossed his face. “Right,” he said finally. “Very well…but I can’t promise you how this is going to turn out.” He thrust the pack back into Hawk’s hands. “And you…do what I say and keep your mouth shut, and we’ll get along just fine. Understand?”

  “Sure. Whatever.” Hawk shouldered his pack once more, then peered up at the crevice. “So…I guess we’re about to climb this thing?”