by Allen Steele
“That’s where they broke the log flume,” Susan said. “They did this even though we tried to chase them away.” She glanced at Hawk. “Do you see? We began to destroy their forest, so they acted to protect what they considered theirs.”
Hawk turned to stare at the chirreep gathered behind them. They’d become quiet now, silently observing the humans they’d allowed into their hideaway. “They want us to see this, don’t they?” he said quietly. “They’re not afraid of us anymore, and they want us to know that.”
“Oh, they’re still frightened of us, all right.” Parson shook his head. “And that’s what you should be worried about.”
Susan didn’t respond; she was busy taking photographs, praying that her camera was sensitive enough to record the images in the weak glow of their flashlights. “This changes everything, you know,” she murmured. “Nothing’s going to be the same again.”
“Uh-huh.” Parson gently tapped her arm. “And you should be worried about that, too.”
Uncle Lars was drunk, as usual, yet he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t understand what was being shown to him. With a glass of bearshine resting on his camp desk, he peered at the images downloaded into his battered comp from Susan’s camera. He examined them one at a time, not saying anything while Susan patiently explained the pictographs to him; on occasion he clicked back to study one or two of them again, but otherwise he remained quiet as his niece told him what she’d seen. When she was done, he picked up his glass, knocked back the shot of bearshine, hissed between his teeth, and delivered his verdict.
“Yeah? So?”
“Do you know what this means?” Susan fought to stay calm. “They’re intelligent creatures. They make tools, gather food, practice art…”
“Yup. Those are some pretty pictures, all right. Imagine the people at your school are gonna be real interested to see ’em.” He shrugged. “Don’t mean crap to me.”
Susan regard him with disbelief, then turned to gaze at Hawk. He was sitting on a cot behind them, still reluctant to speak. Night had fallen by the time they’d returned to camp; although they had missed dinner, Tillie grilled some cheese sandwiches for them, which they’d eaten before going over to Lars’s tent. Susan had asked Hawk to come with her, yet he’d apparently decided to let his cousin do the talking. Now he simply looked away, as if this had suddenly become none of his business.
“It should,” she went on. “You saw for yourself…the reason why the chirreep are causing you trouble is that you’ve invaded their territory. At first, they just went in hiding. It’s even possible they might have stayed away if you’d carried out your logging operations somewhere else. But then you came farther into the mountains, and at some point they decided that you posed a threat. And so they took to knocking down the flume—”
“And I’m supposed to do what? Go ’way, leave ’em alone?” Lars shook his head. “Besides, weren’t you supposed to tell me how to get rid of ’em?”
“That’s never what I agreed to do. I came up here to study them and recommend what steps you should take based upon my findings. Now I’m telling you—”
“Fine. You’ve told me.” He burped, his breath even more sour than it’d been before, then he leaned closer to her. “Now, c’mon,” he said, laying an affectionate hand upon her knee, “you gotta see this my way.”
Susan felt her face grow warm. “I’ve seen it your way,” she said, unapologetically pushing his hand off her leg. “You’re destroying their habitat.”
“Maybe so.” Rebuffed, her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “But my business here is the family business, and the family business is what keeps all these people employed. So far as I’m concerned, this is my mountain, and that gives me the right to do whatever I want.”
This was getting her nowhere. Not that she’d ever really believed that she could appeal to his better nature; so far as she could tell, he had none. “All right,” she said as she stood up, “then I’ll take it up with the rest of the family. Aunt Marie may see things a bit differently, and so will Molly, once they find out what you’re doing up here. And if they don’t—”
“Who are you going to tell? Your father?” Lars smirked at her. “Go right ahead. Tell everyone. Show ’em your pictures.” He reached for the half-empty jug of bearshine next to his desk. “By the time they make up their mind, I’ll have taken care of this little problem myself.”
“What are you saying?”
“What d’ya think I’m saying?” Lars leisurely poured himself another drink. “These drawings…you found them in a cave somewhere on the mountain. Well now, all I have to do is take a few of my men back up there. Hunt ’em down, smoke ’em out, shoot ’em down…problem solved.”
“You won’t be able to do that. You don’t know where they are.” Indeed, she’d been careful not to reveal the whereabouts of the dwellings, other than to vaguely say that she’d found them somewhere on Mt. Shapiro. Nor had she told him about Jonathan Parson, or how he’d led her to the chirreep. “If you think I’m going to—”
“Girl, you think I need you anymore?” Lars looked past her. “He’s going to show me…aren’t you, boy?”
Susan looked at Hawk, sitting in silence upon the cot, his hands clasped together between his knees. He gazed at the floor, not looking up at her, and it was then she realized she might have made a fatal error. He’d sworn to both her and Parson that he wouldn’t tell his father anything about what he’d seen, yet his loyalty was not to her, but to his family. If he decided that one was greater than the other…
“Hawk…” she said softly.
“Now you just mind your own business.” Uncle Lars regarded his son with smug satisfaction. “Where are they at? Tell me, and I’ll make sure you get cut in for a nice bonus.”
“Really? Wow, that’s generous of you.” He took a deep breath, then shrugged. “Sorry…don’t remember.”
For a moment, Lars stared at him. Then he put down his glass and slowly rose to his feet. “Don’t try my patience,” he said, his voice filled with quiet malevolence. “You either know or you don’t…and you’re not stupid enough not to know.”
“‘Not stupid enough not to know.’” A smile ticked at the corners of his mouth. “Now there’s something guaranteed to make me feel pretty good about—”
“Boy, you’re rubbing me the wrong way.” Lars pushed past Susan, advanced upon his son. “Are you going to tell me, or aren’t you?”
Hawk slowly raised his face to stare his father straight in the eyes. Even though Lars blocked her way, she could tell that the boy was trembling. “No,” he said at last. “I’m not going to.”
Lars’s right hand came up, slapped his son across the face. The blow was hard enough to knock the boy off the cot; Hawk sprawled across the wooden floor. Susan tried to scream, but the only sound to come from her throat was a tight gasp; shoving Uncle Lars aside, she rushed to Hawk’s side.
“Okay…I’m okay.” Raising himself up on one elbow, Hawk lifted a hand to his nose. It came away streaked with blood; more seeped down his lip and into his mouth. He spat it out, then looked up at his father. “Is that…that your best shot?”
Lars stood over them, his fists clenched at his sides. He seemed to shake with rage, and for a moment Susan thought he’d launch another attack. But then he saw something in his son’s eyes—contempt, fearlessness, perhaps even pity—and it was as if all the anger had been sucked out of him, for he simply staggered back.
“G’wan,” he mumbled as he lurched back to his desk and slumped down in the chair. “Get outta here, both of you.”
Hawk started to say something, but then reconsidered. Instead, he let Susan help him to his feet. Holding a hand against his swollen nose, he shuffled out of the tent. Several loggers, attracted by the commotion, stared at them as they walked away, yet no one spoke to them.
“Is it broken?” Susan stopped to examine his face in the glow of a lantern. “I have a first-aid kit in my bag. Let me—”
“It
’s okay. Nothing worse than he’s done before.” Hawk snuffled a bit, then spat a clot of bloody saliva onto the ground. “Forgot the old man could hit so hard.”
There was something here she hadn’t heard before, but now was not the time to ask. “You were very brave,” she said softly, brushing his hair aside to gently kiss his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah, well…” He took a deep breath. “Tillie will put me up tonight. Tomorrow I’ll find you a ride back into town.” A wan smile. “Maybe I’ll go with you. Think I have a shot at getting into the university?”
“You might.” Susan took her cousin’s hand, led him toward the mess tent. “In fact, I think your education has just begun.”
Parson was waiting for them by the back door. He’d left them just outside camp, and now he was sitting on the woodpile behind the mess tent. “I heard,” he said quietly, standing up as they approached. “Apologies for eavesdropping, but I wanted to know what he’d say.” He looked at Hawk. “I’m sorry it came to this, but if it means anything—”
“Don’t worry about it. Had to be done.” Hawk glanced behind them; no one was observing them, yet he seemed anxious. “Look, it’s not safe for you to be hanging around. Either of you. When my dad gets like this—”
“You’re right. We should leave.” Parson nodded in the direction of the woods. “There’s a way to get from here to Manny’s farm. It’s just around the other side of the mountain. If we start out now, we can be there by morning, and I think he’d like to meet both of you.”
“Are you sure?” Although she was no longer comfortable with the idea of remaining overnight in the logging camp—she shivered at the memory of the way Uncle Lars had touched her that last time—the notion of traveling by night made her equally as nervous. “What if we get lost?”
“Trust me…we won’t.” Parson smiled at her. “We’ve got friends out here, remember?”
Susan peered into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything, yet she had the distinct feeling that they were being watched, by eyes that became accustomed to nights in the Black Mountains long before humankind had come to this world. Until today, she’d thought of them as alien, but now she realized that it was she herself who was the outsider. If Parson was right, though, then she’d made friends with a force of nature; if she protected it, then no harm would come to her.
“All right. I’ll get my bag.” She took a step toward the door, then something occurred to her. “You know,” she added, stopping to turn back to him, “there’s one more thing. I didn’t notice it until just a few minutes ago, when I looked at the cave drawings again. They showed pictures of the chirreep knocking down the flume…but I didn’t see any of them trying to destroy the dam. Why do you think that is?”
Again, a smile stole across Parson’s face. “As I said, we’ve got friends,” he said quietly. “Now let’s get out of here. We’ve got a world to save.”
Part 4
A DIALOGUE CONCERNING THE
TWO CHIEF WORLD SYSTEMS
The clatter of distant rotors woke him from his siesta. Carlos Montero sat up from his resting place against the mast of the Orion II, shaded his eyes with his hand; a gyro was flying in from across the Midland Channel, a silver dragonfly against the pale blue sky. Standing up, he watched as the aircraft made its descent; it circled the beach once at low altitude, the pilot searching for a place to set down, and Carlos pointed toward an area that he and Barry had cleared of scrub brush. Propwash rippled the canvas awning above the keelboat’s upper deck as it came in for touchdown; the men on the shore turned away from the sand kicked up by the rotors, then the gyro was on the ground.
Carlos walked across the gangway to the beach. The gyro’s blades were gliding to a halt when its rear hatch slid open; Anastasia Tereshkova climbed out, her long legs unsteady as her boots touched ground once more, and she unnecessarily ducked her head as she darted out from beneath the rotors. Carlos smiled to himself; Tereshkova might be the commanding officer of the EASS Columbus, but when it came to being a passenger, it was obvious that she was a nervous flier. Or maybe it was the age of the aircraft itself that disturbed her; he had to admit, these old Union Guard gyros didn’t offer the smoothest of rides any longer.
“Welcome,” he said. “Hope you had a good flight.”
Tereshkova gave him a dour look. “As well as I should expect,” she replied. “The trip was longer than I thought it would be.”
Carlos nodded; Midland looked small on a map, but it was actually a couple of thousand miles across. “Takes a while to get here from Liberty. At least you picked good weather.”
“Pretty much so, yes.” She turned to gaze at the beach surrounding them. Her hair had grown out in the past three months, and now she swept it back from her face. “Still, I don’t understand why we couldn’t have used my skiff to come here. It would have taken much less time. An hour, perhaps less.”
“As I said, this is a protected area. We try to disturb it as little as possible.” Carlos gestured to the gyro. “That’s as far as we let any sort of aircraft come. Even then, I had to pull some strings to get you here. Otherwise, you would’ve had to take the long way…on the boat with the rest of us.”
Tereshkova gave a distant nod; it was plain that she didn’t quite appreciate the special privilege she was being afforded. They’d left Liberty that morning, flying east across Midland, but after a brief stop in Defiance to take on more fuel, there was nothing but wilderness. Carlos had to wonder what she’d thought when she’d gazed down upon the highlands of the Gillis Range, the vast forests of the Pioneer Valley, the ash-covered steppes of Mt. Bonestell. There was nothing like this on the Moon or Mars; indeed, from what he’d been told, there was little like this even on Earth anymore.
Behind her, two more passengers had disembarked from the gyro. Gabriel Pacino, the Columbus’s first officer, helped the pilot unload the bags; unlike his captain, he appeared unruffled by the flight. Neither did Jonas Whittaker, despite his years; indeed, he seemed fascinated by his surroundings. Indeed, from the moment he’d first set foot on Coyote almost three months ago, Whittaker took an inordinate amount of pleasure in every new experience he had. Not that he blamed him, Carlos mused; after all, if he’d collectively spent almost three hundred years in biostasis, as Jonas had, he, too, would probably treat every moment alive as a blessing.
“You haven’t set up the tents yet.” Raising a hand against the midday sun, Tereshkova looked around. “Aren’t we going to make camp here?”
“Nope. We’re going straight onto the boat.” Carlos pointed to the south; about a quarter mile up the shore lay the mouth of the broad creek that led into the island’s interior. “We’ve got six, maybe seven hours of daylight left. Way I see it, we can get a couple dozen miles downriver before we have to stop for the night. So why waste time here?”
Tereshkova didn’t reply, yet she gazed back at the gyro, as if regretting her request to visit Barren Isle. Once again, Carlos wondered why she’d asked to be shown this part of the world. Only a handful of people had come here since humans had arrived on Coyote; in fact, this was the first time he himself had returned to the island since he’d discovered it…how long ago? Eleven years, by the LeMarean calendar; a little more than thirty-three years by Gregorian reckoning. Last time he was here, he’d been a teenager. And now…
“We could camp here tonight,” Tereshkova said. “Perhaps explore the coast for a day or so.”
“Uh-uh.” Carlos roused himself from his reverie. “There’s probably more interesting places than this once we get inland.”
“But if you’ve never explored this part of the island…”
“You can’t learn anything from sticking close to the coast. You have to go into the interior if you want to find anything new. And that’s the point of us coming here, isn’t it?”
Tereshkova glared at him, and once again he had to remind himself that she was a starship captain, and therefore used to having her way. Nonetheless, this wasn�
��t her expedition; Carlos was in charge, both in his official role as president of Coyote Federation and, less formally, as leader of this expedition. The sooner she learned to accept this, the better.
Be tactful, Wendy had warned him just before he left. You’ve got to think like a diplomat. Easy for her to say; she was accustomed to being a politician, while this was a job he’d taken only with great reluctance. Yet he stared back at her, refusing to be intimidated, and after a moment she finally nodded. “If you say so,” she murmured.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Carlos turned away, walked back to the gyro. Pacino had unloaded the rest of the bags, and the pilot was eager to leave; he had a long flight back to New Florida ahead of him, not counting another landing in Defiance to refuel. Carlos thanked him, then the pilot climbed back into the cockpit. The gyro’s engines coughed, then its props gradually spun to life and the aircraft slowly lifted off, heading west toward the distant coast of Midland.
Once they carried their bags aboard the keelboat, Carlos introduced the passengers to her crew. Barry Dreyfus, the Orion’s captain, one of Carlos’s oldest friends and another original colonist. Will Gentry, the first mate, also Barry’s partner; once again, Carlos found that he still had trouble thinking of them as a couple, even though it’d been many years since Barry had finally revealed his sexual orientation to his family and friends. And Jud Tinsley, once the executive officer of the Alabama, now content to spend his golden years sailing aboard whatever boat needed a crewman; although he’d grown old and grey, he still had the energy of a man half his age, and when Barry had told him that an expedition was being made to Barren Isle, Jud had practically begged to come along.
So here they were: three original colonists and a Union immigrant, escorting three new arrivals—one of whom would have been aboard the Alabama, too, were it not for bad luck—on a trip into the frontier. Carlos couldn’t help but reflect upon the irony of the situation as he watched the Columbus officers stow away their belongings and Orion crew pull up the anchor and unfurl the sails. Captain Tereshkova had wanted to see more of Coyote, and he’d wanted to revisit a place that had made a profound impact upon him in his youth. And so here they were. Coincidence, perhaps, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if something else lay beneath the surface.