by Allen Steele
The sky was clear again the following morning, with a light but steady breeze from the west. The one benefit of the storm was that it raised the water level by a few inches; Pacino dropped the plumb-line from the bow, counted the knots, and announced that it was fourteen feet to the bottom. Smooth, swift water, with little chance of them running aground. The river still hadn’t been named, though, so Carlos extended the privilege to Jonas; he thought about it for a moment, then quietly suggested that it be called Ellen Creek, in honor of his late daughter.
Once they got under way, they made good time. Now that the storm was over, they could see that the landscape had changed. Although it was still desert, it was even more chaotic than before, with steep buttes on either side of them separated by twisting canyons; now and then they spotted sharp pinnacles rising high above the sands, around which swoops soared upon thermal updrafts. At one point, they observed a sandstone arch, forty feet tall and nearly twice as long, joining two mesas as a natural bridge. Strange and beautiful country, silent save for the lonesome wind that moaned through the canyons, the eerie cries of the birds; no one said anything, but simply stood on the deck and watched as it rolled past, like a scene from a weird dream.
Early in the afternoon, a few miles after the creek made a bend to the south, once again they saw a slender tendril of smoke, this time to the west. Another chirreep village, but farther away. They briefly discussed going ashore to look at it, but decided that it probably lay several miles from Ellen Creek, and so instead Carlos marked its approximate location on the map for future reference. Secretly, he was relieved that no one had insisted upon visiting it; he was in no mood to have a repeat of what had happened a couple of days ago.
They pitched their tents that night on a riverbank. Although it was the first time in two days that they were able to enjoy a cooked meal and a night on dry land, the atmosphere was oddly subdued. Even when Barry brought out his guitar and played a few songs by firelight, it did little to break the somber mood. No one wanted to talk. It was as if Ellen Creek haunted everyone’s private thoughts.
The next morning, while the others were loading the gear aboard the Orion, Carlos and Barry met together in the cabin to study the map. They were approaching the confluence of another creek, a minor tributary that flowed down from northwest and, after briefly merging with Ellen Creek for a short distance, would branch off again to the southeast. If Orion continued traveling due south, though, Ellen Creek would carry it straight to the island’s southern coast.
“The current’s strong,” Barry said, “and we’ve got the wind at our back. At this rate, we may be able to reach the coast by the end of the day.” He looked up from the map. “Unless, of course, you want to spend another night here.”
Carlos considered the question. It had already been decided that, once the journey was over, he and his guests would fly back to Liberty aboard a gyro while Barry, Will, and Jud would sail back along the Great Equatorial River to New Florida. Yet, despite the fact that they’d run into some bad weather, they were slightly ahead of schedule; there was more than enough food to last them for a couple more days on the island, and they hadn’t even exhausted the reserves of wine that had been stocked aboard.
He was tempted to stay longer. Once back in Liberty, he had only his duties as president to look forward to: paperwork, committee meetings, reports from one department chief or another. At best, a courtesy visit to a greenhouse farm, or a brief inspection of the silos to make sure that enough corn had been put away to feed the livestock through the long winter ahead. Yet here, at least for a few days, he’d been able to recall his youth. True, perhaps now he traveled in greater comfort, without any of the risks he’d faced when he was seventeen, but still…
Something crashed on the deck outside. Gazing through the cabin’s open door, he saw that Pacino had dropped the crate containing the cookware. Pots and pans lay scattered across the mid-deck, yet instead of picking them up, Pacino had turned to swear at Jonas, who apparently had bumped into him on the gangway. The older man glared back at him, then said something that Carlos didn’t catch but which only made Pacino even angrier. They were on the verge of yelling into each other’s face when Jud stepped between them.
“No,” Carlos said quietly. “Perhaps we ought to head home.” He looked at Barry. “These people have had enough. Two more days out here, and they’ll be ready to kill each other.”
Barry nodded, yet there was a sad look in his eyes. “Well, we tried. But they don’t get it, do they?”
Carlos sighed. He was almost ready to agree when he glanced through the door again. Sitting on a barrel near the bow, ignoring the quarrel behind her, Ana Tereshkova gazed at the river. Her hands were folded together in her lap, and the morning breeze caught her hair and pulled it back from her brow, and in that instant Carlos realized that she was seeing the same thing that everyone who’d fallen in love with this world had ever seen.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe they do.” He tapped his finger on the map. “Take your time. No need to rush.”
By midday, they reached the new creek, and this time Pacino was allowed to christen it. In keeping with tradition, he gave it a woman’s name: Bettina Creek, after his mother. Yet it was narrower than either the Valentina or the Ellen, and after a couple of miles it branched off once more, flowing to the southeast. Leaving Bettina Creek behind, they continued following Ellen Creek as it meandered south.
Although the creek was now much wider and a bit more shallow, the terrain had gradually become less interesting. Gone were the mesas and pinnacles farther north; now there were only low hills and shallow gulleys, windswept and barren, like ancient floodplains. Swoops followed the keelboat for a time, and Carlos noted that they were now the broad-winged subspecies that nested in the Meridian Archipelago southeast of the island. Another indication that they were approaching the coast.
Barry checked the compass bearings against the map and confirmed this; they’d reach the coast shortly before sundown. By then, however, it would be too late in the day for a gyro to pick them up; the expedition would have to spend one more night on the island. No one complained, although it didn’t seem as if anyone was pleased by the news. It had been a long trip; everyone aboard was ready for a hot bath and a bed that wasn’t on bare ground.
Late that afternoon, Carlos was sitting alone in the bow, watching Uma as it began to sink to the west. The sun had been out all day, and the heat made everyone lazy and sluggish. Will had taken over the rudder for Barry while he dozed on the upper deck; Jud was minding the sails, but Pacino and Jonas were napping in the cabin. So he was mildly surprised when Tereshkova suddenly appeared at his side.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
“Not at all.” He moved to one side, making room on the sail cabinet for her to sit down. “Thought you were catching a few winks yourself.”
“I was, but…” She left it unfinished as she took a seat next to him. “Such a pretty sunset. Thought I’d come up and enjoy it with you.”
It was beautiful: a pale orange disk, painting the western sky in hues of magenta and gold, with the moons of Dog and Eagle already appearing as bright stars above the eastern horizon. For a long while they were quiet, content with simply watching twilight settle in, until abruptly Tereshkova spoke up.
“I envy you,” she said softly.
That startled him. “Why?”
“To be able to have all this.” She cocked her head toward the river. “An entire world, all to yourself. Fresh air, clean water. No war, no crime, no poverty.”
“It hasn’t always been this way,” Carlos reminded her. “During the Union occupation…”
“That’s in the past. Now you and your people…” She shrugged. “You have paradise. Or at least as close to paradise as anyone back on Earth could possibly imagine.”
Carlos frowned. “Is it really that bad back there?”
Tereshkova said nothing for a moment. She glanced over her shoulder, as i
f to make sure that they were still alone, then she leaned forward, resting her elbows upon her knees and clasping her hands together.
“Listen to me.” Her voice had become very quiet, almost a whisper. “There’s something you need to know…something I shouldn’t be telling you, but that you should hear.”
Carlos felt a chill that didn’t come from the afternoon breeze. He leaned forward, mimicking her posture. Another glance behind her, then Ana went on. “There’s forces back home…very powerful forces, including my own government…who’ll want this world for their own, once they learn what’s here. After the starbridge is finished, it’ll be only a matter of time before they’ll come here to claim it.”
“They won’t get it,” Carlos murmured. “We fought the Union and won. If we have to, we’ll fight the European Alliance, too.”
“I’m sure you will.” Then she shook her head. “But you have no idea how terrible things have become. And once they discover what’s here, nothing will stop them.”
He opened his mouth to object, but then she reached out to clasp his hand. “Please, just hear me out,” she went on. “This may be my last chance to talk to you in private. Whatever I can do to help you, I promise you that I will. If you need an ally, you’ve got it in me. This I swear to you.”
Carlos didn’t know what to say. One look at her dark eyes, and he knew that she was sincere. It occurred to him that this was the reason why Tereshkova had insisted upon making this trip; she’d wanted to see Coyote for herself, perhaps to make up her own mind how she’d cast her allegiance. One person on her crew had already gone native: Jonathan Parson, who’d jumped ship almost as soon as they arrived, never to be seen again. Now it appeared as if she was considering doing the same, in her own way.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He hesitated. “Mr. Pacino…does he—?”
“Support this?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve tried to discuss this with him…we were once much closer than we are now…but he sees his first duty as being to the European Alliance.” She hesitated.
“Don’t let him know. He could make life very difficult for me, once we return home, and it could jeopardize anything that we may do.”
“I understand. This is just between you and me.”
“Thank you.” Again, a long pause as Tereshkova gazed at the river. It was very wide now; the land was nearly flat, and the air held the faint scent of salt. It wouldn’t be long before they came within sight of the Great Equatorial River. “There’s one more thing you should know,” she went on, her voice even lower than before. “The Galileo…the Columbus’s sister ship, remember?”
“The one that went to the Kuiper Belt, sure. What about it?”
She hesitated. “It never returned.”
Carlos stared at her. “But you said—”
“There’s nothing there, yes, that’s true. But that’s not the real reason why it went there. They…”
Behind them, the cabin door opened. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Pacino come out. “Am I missing something?” he asked, stifling a yawn behind his hand.
Releasing Carlos’s hand, Tereshkova sat up straight. “Only a gorgeous sunset,” she said, her voice once again without subterfuge. “Please, join us. It’s worth seeing.”
“Hmm…yes, maybe I will.” There was a faint suspicion in the first officer’s eyes as he stepped around the mast. Carlos wondered how much he’d overheard, if anything. “It is rather pretty, isn’t it?”
“Makes the day worth living.” Then she looked at Carlos and smiled. “There, you see? Just as I was saying…we’re not alone.”
And in that brief instant, she gave him a wink, as if to hint at a secret still left unshared.
One last night on Barren Isle, on a narrow beach where Ellen Creek emptied into the Great Equatorial River. So far as Carlos could tell, they weren’t far from a place where he’d made camp many years ago. If so, though, time and tide had long since erased all indications of his earlier visit; once more, he was on an alien shore, without so much as footprint or a piece of charred wood to show the presence of humankind.
They tied up the Orion II just offshore, then pitched their tents on the beach. There was plenty of driftwood for Jud to gather to build a fire; Will barbecued a chicken and pan-roasted potatoes above the coals. They had dinner while Bear came into view above the black expanse of the river, and after they finished Barry pulled out his guitar again. No earnest dialogues about the nature of intelligent life in the universe this evening; tomorrow morning, the gyro would come to pick up Carlos and the Columbus crew, and the rest would sail home, so tonight they celebrated the end of a long journey. No one was sober as they danced barefoot on the sand to the tunes of old songs from Earth, Ana taking turns with each of the men, while sparks rose from the fire to meet the stars far above.
The night finally wore down, and one by one everyone lurched away to their tents, until suddenly Carlos found himself alone on the beach, standing at the edge of the waterline. He was drunk, more drunk than he’d been in many years, a half-empty bottle of wine in his right hand. The fire waned low, little more than a smoky collection of embers; the surf washed up around his bare feet, massaging his toes, and he’d forgotten why or how he’d wandered out here, yet it no longer seemed to matter.
Tilting his head back, he stared up into space. The galaxy filled the sky, billions of tiny lights, a river in the sky…and somewhere out there, an island called Earth. So small, so insignificant: invisible from Coyote, undetectable for the slightest of gravitational perturbations it caused upon a wan and distant star. So far away, and yet, very soon now, all too close.
Carlos took another swig of wine, found that the taste had gone sour. On sudden impulse, he hurled the bottle into the river, heard it splash somewhere on the black waters. Cursing himself for his thoughtlessness, he turned to head for his tent…
Then he stopped. At the edge of the beach, from within the tall grass just outside the campsite, tiny eyes that reflected the glow of the dying fire peered at him from the darkness. They watched him for a few moments, as if studying him with curiosity, but when he stepped closer they vanished into the night.
Ana was right. They were not alone.
Book 6
A patriot must be ready to defend his country against his government.
—EDWARD ABBEY,
A Voice Crying in the Wilderness
Part 5
EMISSARY TO EARTH
(from the memoirs of Wendy Gunther)
Winter was upon the world, the morning we left for Earth. Although it was the sixth week of Hanael, late autumn by the LeMarean calendar, a light snow had fallen on Liberty the night before. No more than half an inch, but nonetheless a sign that the season was changing. Little did we know that the weather wasn’t the only thing that would soon be different.
The sky was overcast, and a cold wind from the north clutched at my cape as I shut the front door of my house. As Carlos and Chris waited for me in the shag-wagon that would carry us to Shuttlefield, I paused to look back at home for what seemed to be the last time. The three of us had only been teenagers when our parents had brought us to Coyote; now we were a middle-aged couple and a family friend, although by Gregorian reckoning we were nearly three hundred years old. Very soon, we’d be back on the planet of our birth; I knew that we’d eventually return to Coyote, but at that moment it didn’t seem that way. I remembered that I’d left Carlos’s and my bed unmade, and for an instant I had an impulse to go back inside and tidy up a bit so that Susan wouldn’t be stuck with that chore, yet I knew that I was just looking for an excuse to delay our departure a little while longer. The ship was ready to leave, and it wouldn’t do to keep Captain Tereshkova waiting for very much longer.
So I tried not to let Carlos see the tears in my eyes as I loaded my bags into the back of the wagon, then I climbed aboard and silently took his hand. Chris shook the reins and clucked his tongue, and the wheels creaked softly as the shag lurched forward. Ironi
c. We’d left Earth aboard a starship; our journey back would begin with a wagon ride.
The Isabella rested on the landing field just outside Shuttlefield, a gull-winged spacecraft smaller than the shuttles that had carried us down from the Alabama all those many years ago. Cold hydrogen fumes drifted down from its engine vents and drifted around the legs of its landing gear. There were several dozen people waiting for us: friends, family members, members of the Colonial Council, along with curious townspeople who’d come out to watch us leave. Carlos had tried to keep our departure as low-profile as possible, but there was no denying the fact that this was a historic event.
Still, we kept the formalities to a minimum. Carlos took a minute to shake hands with Frederic LaRoux; as soon as we left the ground, he’d assume the position of President Pro Temp, and lead the council until our return. Chris did the same with Juanita Morales, who’d serve as Chief Proctor during his absence. I didn’t have any official duties that needed to be filled, but Kuniko Okada gave me a hug, told me that she’d try to care of my patients; that was worth a laugh, since she’d taught me everything that I knew about being a doctor.
And then there was Barry Dreyfus and his partner Will, and Chris’s mother Sissy and her second husband Ben, and Bernie and Vonda Cayle. Dana Monroe had come in from Leeport; she’d been the Alabama’s chief engineer, and after that, Captain Lee’s partner, so her unexpected presence added a certain gravitas to the occasion. My sister-in-law Marie had brought her children Rain and Hawk all the way from Clarksburg; notable in his absence was her husband Lars, who’d apparently decided to remain in Great Dakota. We spoke nothing of this, though; Lars was not a favorite member of the family.