Coyote Frontier

by Allen Steele

  Sir Ian suggested a compromise. If the WHU was allowed to establish a colony, then its citizens should also be given the opportunity to relocate freely to colonies if they chose to do so, or even start their own noncollectivist settlements somewhere else. And if the Union colony abided by those terms, and didn’t undertake any hostile actions against their neighbors, then the Union colony would be allowed to join the Coyote Federation as a nonvoting member of the Colonial Council.

  Patriarch Amado hesitated upon hearing this; so did Carlos and I. The WHU was looking for another toehold upon Coyote, and we weren’t wild about them getting it. But the EA controlled the starbridges; they were anticipating the revenue they’d make from passage fees, and denying the Union would cut deep into their estimated profits. And just as much as these two coalitions wanted to exploit the resources of a new world, we also needed what they had to offer. They were desperate, yes…but then, so were we.

  So we accepted the compromise.

  In hindsight, I can’t say whether we were wrong or right. All sides had something to gain; likewise, all sides also had something to lose. There’s no perfect black or white when it comes to something like this, and even the shades of grey are hard to distinguish. In the years to come, historians would debate the outcome of what happened in the Mediation Room that morning, and they’d come to different conclusions. All I can say is that Carlos and I did the best we could, and leave it to future generations to determine the wisdom, or the error, of our actions.

  When we were done, the Secretary-General told us that he’d present the draft of our agreement to both the General Assembly and the Security Council. We could expect further debate, of course, yet he was confident that this was an equitable solution. He passed his notes to his aide, who left the room while we were still bowing to one another. The delegates had already convened in the hall, so Sadat made haste in departing; Sir Ian made a point of shaking Carlos’s hand, then he left as well.

  That left us alone, for the moment, with Patriarch Amado. He dismissed his aide, and Carlos reciprocated by nodding Chris to the door. Now there were only the three of us.

  “Mr. President…” Amado began.

  “So pleased to hear you say that,” Carlos replied. “Sounds better this way, doesn’t it?”

  Amado shrugged. “Perhaps it does, now that we’ve settled our differences. And I certainly hope that you’ll no longer consider me your enemy.”

  “I never did. But friendship is something else we’ll have to work out.”

  “Of course.” Amado turned to pick up his notes. Then, as if a new thought occurred to him, he looked back at us again. “It’s been suggested to me, by a mutual friend…Señor Goldstein, whom I believe you’ve met…that you might like to pay a visit to the Union before you return to your world. Perhaps to see your old country?”

  “We’d be delighted, Patriarch.”

  “Very well.” Amado smiled. “I’ll have my people make the arrangements.” A short bow. “Good morning, then. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  He walked out of the room, and Carlos let out his breath once he was gone. “What do you think?” he whispered. “Friend or foe?”

  “Do you have to ask?” I suppressed a shudder. “This is Morgan’s plan. Let’s see where it takes us.”

  Soon we would know. Five days later, a private aerocruiser belonging to Janus Ltd., Goldstein’s corporation, touched down in Grosvenor Square. We departed London with little fanfare; Sir Ian and Dieter came to see us off, but other than a few journalists and a handful of embassy staff members, few people watched as Carlos, Chris, and I boarded the aircraft. Its VTOL jets swiveled downward, and a few seconds later it lifted off from the landing pad.

  By then we’d concluded most of our business on Earth. Acting on behalf of the European Alliance, Sir Ian had introduced a formal U.N. resolution, officially recognizing the Coyote Federation as an independent entity; once the Western Hemisphere Union withdrew its objections, several nonaligned countries signed on as cosponsors, and even the Pacific Coalition had given its tacit approval. Although the General Assembly had yet to vote upon it, Dieter was certain that it would pass. In the meantime, Carlos had conducted trade negotiations with several countries. The compromise we’d worked out several days earlier with the WHU had demonstrated that Coyote was serious about doing business with Earth; now it seemed as if everyone was lined up at the door, wanting a piece of the action.

  We were exhausted. When Carlos and I hadn’t been wrangling out the details of trade agreements, either one or both of us had conducted press conferences or granted interviews to individual reporters. And when we weren’t doing that, we’d fulfilled promises to attend state dinners held in our honor at various embassies and consulates. By then we’d come to know most of the U.N. diplomatic corps on a first-name basis, along with a good part of London high society. Once our bodies had reacclimated to higher gravity, we didn’t need to use canes to walk anymore; so many of our newfound friends had gifted us with clothes, we had a wardrobe of the latest fashions to choose from whenever we dressed to go out. Indeed, we’d become in demand as guests; everyone wanted to meet the President and First Lady of the Coyote Federation, and hear our stories of a world where strange creatures haunted its mountains and rivers.

  After a while, though, the novelty started to wear thin, and when it did, I began to notice just how jaded this society had become. Although the embassy area surrounding Hyde Park and Buckingham Palace remained gentrified, sometimes our ride took us north of Mayfair and Bayswater or south of Belgravia and Knightsbridge, and then we’d find ourselves traveling through parts of the city where the buildings were noticeably decrepit. Few lights shone in the windows at night; armored vehicles were stationed at every block, with police officers standing watch, while shabby figures huddled in doorways or against the boarded-up storefronts. Every now and then, while I made small talk with the lords and ladies, I’d glance through a window to see the flickering glow of trash can fires, or spot the searchlight of a gyro flying low over a darkened neighborhood not far away. Yet none of that seemed to penetrate the conscience of the wealthy and privileged; shielded from the unpleasant realities of the world, they nibbled canapés and chatted about their country homes in the highlands, and made the occasional joke about a kitchen servant finding a rat the size of a beagle in the pantry.

  So when Patriarch Amado extended a formal invitation for us to visit Atlanta, Carlos and I were all too ready to accept. We’d done as much as we could in London, at least for now, and we were hungry for a change of scenery. Dieter was reluctant to see us go, but he realized that we had to pay a visit to the Union, if only for the sake of fostering good relations. He offered to supply us with a security team, but after some consideration Carlos decided that it might send the wrong signal if we showed up in America with European bodyguards. Like it or not, we had to show that we were willing to trust the WHU just as much as the EA. Besides, Carlos, Chris, and I had all once been Americans; if we couldn’t safely visit our native soil, then where on Earth could we go?

  Nonetheless, shortly before we left the embassy, Dieter gave Chris a small satphone. It had been preprogrammed with an emergency prefix; all he had to do was enter 010 and the star key, then touch the SEND key. No verbal message was necessary; so long as the unit was kept active, someone would be able track the source of our transmission, and help would be on the way. Chris thanked him and put it in his coat pocket.

  Morgan Goldstein’s aerocruiser was a flying wing, with a ninety-foot wingspan and hydrogen-fuel turbofan engines mounted on either side of its fuselage. Its main cabin was even more luxurious than the one aboard the Von Braun; plush white carpets, swivel-mounted armchair seats, private cabins in the aft section, and a well-stocked bar. Morgan was waiting for us when we arrived; a steward offered us drinks while Mike Kennedy made sure that our luggage was safely loaded aboard, and a few minutes later the aerocruiser took off. A last glimpse of London and the inundated coas
t of southern England, and then we were airborne above the Atlantic.

  “I hope you don’t mind that we take the slow way home,” Morgan said, “but I wanted us to have a chance to talk. A suborbital could have made the trip more quickly, but…” An offhand shrug. “Besides, I like to show off my toys. This one’s an antique. Less than a hundred were manufactured before the company went under.”

  “Very nice. Nice indeed.” Carlos jiggled the ice in the single-malt scotch he’d been given. He’d been drinking a little more often than usual these last few days; he’d never gotten drunk, at least so far as I could tell, but during all the dinner parties and receptions we’d attended he’d developed a taste for liquor more refined than the sourgrass ale and waterfruit wine he’d drink back home. I’d tried to chalk it up to pressure, but still it worried me. “So what do you want to discuss?”

  “Nothing in particular.” Turning his seat around, Morgan stretched out his legs, then used his toes to pry off his black felt moccasins. “It’s just that this is first time we’ve had a chance to talk about stuff when we don’t have to worry about who else might be listening.” He glanced at his bodyguard. “Mike, the recorders are turned off, right?”

  “We’re clean, chief.” Kennedy slid open a panel on the armrest of his seat, then turned around to let Chris take a look. “See?”

  “We’ll take your word for it,” I said. “So what is it that you want to know?”

  “The question is, what do you want to know?” Morgan massaged his toes against the carpet. “The way I see it, for the last week or so, you’ve been the ones on the spot…and, as I’ve said before, you handled the situation quite well. But I imagine there’re things you’d like to know that no one has told you. So since you don’t have to worry about anyone listening in, why don’t you ask me?”

  None of us said anything for a few moments. Carlos looked at me, and I looked at Chris, and Chris looked back at both of us. Morgan crossed his legs, patiently waiting for one of us to speak. “You like the scotch?” he asked, casually raising his glass to peer at it. “Hard to come by these days. I have it made for me in Edinburgh, but—”

  “Whose side are you on?” Carlos asked. “The Union or the Alliance?”

  “Neither. I’m on my side. I have substantial business interests in both the Union and the Alliance. That’s why I maintain a dual citizenship in both the EA and the WHU, and have legal residences in both North America and Europe.” He smiled. “In fact, we’re going to pay a quick visit to my New England estate on the way to Atlanta. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “So you’re playing both ends against the middle,” I said.

  Morgan shook his head. “Not really, no. I take care that nothing I do hurts either the Union or the Alliance. That’s one reason why I’ve cultivated contacts with the diplomatic community…getting invited to that reception last week, for instance, required little more than a couple of phone calls. But in the end, I’m looking out primarily for my own interests.”

  “So what’s your interest in Coyote?” Chris asked. “You want to add us to your empire?”

  Morgan grinned as he swiveled his chair to face him. “You know, Mr. Levin, you’re very much like your friend Mike.” He nodded toward Kennedy, who sat quietly nearby. “People think that because he’s my bodyguard and doesn’t say much, he’s all muscle and no brain. But still waters run deep, as the saying goes—”

  “You haven’t answered the question.”

  “Mike, he’s being rude. Break his legs.” Kennedy hesitated, then started to rise. Chris’s right hand drifted toward his jacket. “I’m kidding,” Morgan added, and both he and Chris relaxed once more. “No, I’m not planning to ‘add you to my empire,’ as you put it. Certainly, I’d like to have my company be involved with whatever trade agreements you make, but that’s not my principal goal.”

  “What is it, then?” Carlos asked.

  Morgan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he gazed out the window next to his seat as he absently gnawed at a fingernail. “You’ve seen how bad things have become here,” he said after a moment. “The planet is on the verge of environmental collapse…no, not even on the verge. It’s already reached that point. Every scientist with whom I’ve spoken agrees that Earth is dying, slowly and by degrees. Within another generation or two, glaciers will cover most of northern Europe, and in the meantime North America is frying. Much of the Southern Hemisphere is already uninhabitable…what hasn’t been flooded has turned into desert…and over half of the world’s wildlife has become extinct.”

  He looked back at us again. “I don’t intend to join them. I want to immigrate to Coyote.”

  Carlos shrugged. “That shouldn’t be difficult. We’ve worked out immigration protocols for—”

  “Yes, yes, of course you have.” Morgan waved an impatient hand. “But do you really think I’m going to live in a log cabin and eat…what is it you call it?…creek crab stew for lunch?” He chuckled, shook his head. “Mr. President, I’ve become accustomed to certain comforts and privileges, and I’m not prepared to surrender them lightly. I want…well, concessions…to be made on my behalf.”

  “Concessions.” Carlos raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing much, really. Just some real estate I can call my own, and the ability to do with it as I please. Perhaps a small island off the coast of Midland or Great Dakota. Minimal interference from the Colonial Council…I won’t do anything to harm you, if you won’t do anything to harm me.”

  “That’s quite a bit to ask for.”

  “Not really. Only privacy. In return, you’ll have my company’s resources at your disposal. Janus quite diversified, with subsidiaries in many different areas. Shipping is our primary interest, but we’re also involved in communications, construction, electronics, medicine…they’re all yours for the asking, or at least at below-market prices. All I want is—”

  “Privacy.” Carlos glanced at me. We’d been prepared to deal with the Union’s form of social collectivism, and over the last week we’d negotiated agreements with dozens of different countries. Yet this was something new: a billionaire capitalist who had everything we wanted, and was willing to exchange them for a private stake. Maybe this was the going price for forty acres and a mule. I didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or just throw up.

  “Your offer is interesting,” Carlos said, putting on a straight face. “Give us time to think about it.”

  “Of course. No rush.” Again, Morgan favored us with his most charming smile. “When we land, though, I’ll show you a gift that may help to persuade you.”

  “You said that before. What’s—?”

  “Shh.” He raised a finger to his lips, gave us a broad wink. “A good gift is always a surprise. Be patient.” The smug smile remained on his face as he glanced at his watch, then he shifted in his seat. “Almost time for my midday nap. Are there any more questions?”

  “Just one,” I said. “It has nothing to do with anything we’ve just discussed, but it’s something I’ve wondered about ever since we got here. And since you say you have contacts with the Alliance government…”

  “Ask.”

  “When we arrived at Highgate, we saw a new Alliance cruiser, the Francis Drake.” Morgan nodded, and I went on. “We were told that it was a merchanteer, specifically built to carry freight and passengers through hyperspace, but I noticed that it had torpedo tubes. When I brought this up to Dieter Vogel, he said that they’d been installed to protect the ship.”

  “Of course, yes.”

  “But against whom? Union spacecraft? That makes sense if they’re preparing for war…but despite a lot of chest-beating, I’ve seen nothing to suggest that the WHU and the EA are ready to start shooting at each other. And even if they were, for a ship designed for interstellar travel to be armed—”

  “What happened to the Galileo?” Carlos interrupted. I glanced at him, and he raised a hand, hushing me. “It has to do with that, doesn’t it? The Galileo was t
he first EA starship, and it disappeared when it went to the Kuiper Belt. The Columbus was the second, but it wasn’t armed…”

  “Because it didn’t travel through a starbridge.” Morgan cupped a hand against his face, hiding his expression. “You’re on the right track. Go on.”

  “Now they’ve built the Drake, and it is. Armed, I mean.” Carlos hesitated, then looked at me. “Ana told me about the Galileo, but she swore me to secrecy. I’m sorry, honey, but…”

  “Never mind.” This wasn’t the first time Carlos had kept a secret from me; he’d also remained quiet about the chirreep until Susan had been abducted by them. That had happened many years ago, and it made me angry that he’d hide something from me again, but for the moment all I wanted was a straight answer. “Let’s have it, Mr. Goldstein. Tell us what happened to the Galileo.”

  Morgan rose from his chair. “What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” he said quietly, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced down the aisle between our seats. “In fact, it’s classified information, known only by a handful of government and military officials within the Alliance. As I said before, though, I’ve managed to cultivate friends in high places, and every now and then something slips through the cracks that gets to me.” He stopped to regard us with solemn eyes. “So I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourselves. No one must know what I’m about to tell you.”

  “We understand,” Carlos said. “Go on, please.”

  “The first starbridge was experimental…KX-1, built by the ESA in the Kuiper Belt in 2288. Once Jonas Whittaker was revived, the EA encouraged him to revive his research into hyperspace travel, with the express purpose of developing a means of sending ships to 47 Ursae Majoris faster than the Union. By then, the necessary breakthroughs had become possible, and so it didn’t take his team very long to devise a means of creating artificial wormholes. So an unmanned vessel utilizing diametric drive was launched to the outermost solar system, and once it arrived, robots aboard assembled KX-1 as a prototype starbridge.”