Coyote Destiny

by Allen Steele

  “Yes…” Then Jorge shook his head. “No, I don’t. When he arrived on Coyote, Sergio told us that he’d stolen the freighter himself and that no one else had helped him.”

  “Good.” Black grinned. “That was exactly what we wanted him to think. But the truth of the matter is that it had all been carefully arranged. Our agents located a decommissioned freighter in the lunar shipyard and made sure that it was in good operating condition, with a working biostasis cell, even that its fuel tanks were refilled…”

  “And then made sure Sergio would have no trouble stealing it,” Jorge finished. “So you manipulated him from the beginning.”

  “It wasn’t hard.” Black shrugged. “Sergio wasn’t very fond of Thompson. I don’t think he’d liked the man the moment he first laid eyes on him, when he rescued him from that lifeboat. Certainly, we lucked out by finding a former UA pilot with a starbridge key, but we didn’t need to motivate him. He did that himself. A little nudge in the right direction was all that was required.”

  Black laced his fingers together. “Once Sergio was on his way, we instructed our loyalists to remain on the lookout for anyone coming into Boston who didn’t look like they belonged here, and to alert the Provisional Army if and when they saw someone like that. We’ve also had people watching Port Logan for a couple of months now, figuring that it would be the most likely place a spacecraft might try to land.” Again, the self-satisfied smile. “All we had to do after that, really, was sit back and wait. It took a while, but we were patient. We knew someone would show up…eventually.”

  “Very cunning.” Inez slowly nodded. “I’ll have to give you that.” She paused. “I hope you’re planning to reward Sergio for his efforts. It’s the least you can do.”

  The smile flickered, and it seemed to Jorge that, for the first time since Black walked into the room, he didn’t have a ready answer. “He will be, yes,” he replied. “We haven’t seen him since…well, doesn’t matter. His role in this is done, and we have no use for him anymore. If he comes to us, that’s fine. If not…well, he has the gratitude of the United Republic of America.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that.” Jorge glanced up at the flag above his head. “Your people…the Provisional Army, I mean…they’re really trying to put this together again? No offense, but the URA has been dead and gone for…how long? Almost three hundred years?”

  Black’s expression darkened, and his hands fell to his sides. “The URA was America’s finest moment. When the Liberty Party was in control, our great nation enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity unlike any before or since. Now that the Western Hemisphere Union is gone, we’re returning to take back our country.”

  Oh, my god, Jorge thought. The man’s a fanatic. Not only that, but delusional as well. Like everyone else born and raised on Coyote, Jorge had learned in school about the events leading up to Captain Lee’s hijacking of the URSS Alabama. The Liberty Party had presided over one of the ugliest periods in American history, with nearly one-third of the population living in squalor and political dissidents being sent to government reeducation camps. Any peace and prosperity there might have been during that time had been enjoyed only by a few, and was enforced at the barrel of a gun. Apparently Black hadn’t realized that one of his prisoners had the same name as one of the key figures in the Alabama conspiracy; if he learned that Jorge was the great-grandson of a D.I., though…

  Jorge decided to change the subject, fast. “So I take it that the chaaz’maha…Thompson, I mean…represents a threat to your new order. Is that what the TC is?”

  Black raised an eyebrow. “Who told you about the TC? Vargas?”

  “No,” Inez said. “Sam’s son asked us if we belonged to it, when we met them at the dock. Does it stand for something?”

  “Terra Concorde…and that’s all I’m going to say about them.” Abruptly, Black stood up from his chair. “That’s enough. You’ve learned everything you need to know. Time for you to do a little favor for us.”

  He walked over to the door, banged a fist against it. The door opened, and Black said something to the guard standing outside. The door closed again, and Black stood beside it, saying nothing to either Jorge or Inez. A couple of minutes later, the door reopened, and another Provisional Army soldier walked in, carrying a folded metal tripod with a small vidcam mounted on it.

  “We intend to send a message to the chaaz’maha,” Black explained, as the soldier set up the tripod in front of the mattresses, “telling him that you’re here and that you’ll be given to him once he agrees to a meeting on our terms. That means, of course, that we need to supply proof that we actually have you in our custody. So I’d appreciate it if you’d state your names and say where you’re from.” He paused, then added, “And that’s all you’re going to say. If you make an attempt to pass any messages of your own…cryptic slogans, hand signals…I assure you that your stay here will be less comfortable.”

  Jorge suddenly realized why the crude URA flag had been hung from the wall behind them. It was to serve as a backdrop for the vid the chaaz’maha would see. He glanced at Inez, and she slowly nodded. “We understand,” he said. “Just one more thing…where are you planning to have this meeting of yours?”

  Black shook his head. “You don’t need to know that,” he replied. “Just do your part, and everything will work out fine.” He looked at the soldier. “Ready?”

  The other man nodded as he bent over the vidcam. He touched a stud on top, and a small red light glimmered next to its lens. “All right, now,” Black said. “Talk.”

  Jorge faced the lens. “I’m Jorge Montero, of the Coyote Federation Corps of Exploration.”

  Obeying Black’s order to say nothing else, he looked over at Inez. She remained quiet for a couple of seconds, just long enough to earn a scowl from Black, before she finally opened her mouth. “I’m…Inez,” she said slowly, looking straight at the vidcam. “I’m also from Coyote.”

  She fell silent again, continuing to stare at the lens until Black finally nodded. “That’ll do,” he said. He tapped the cam operator on the shoulder, and the other man shut off the unit. “Thank you,” Black went on, as the soldier refolded the tripod and carried it out of the room. “You’ll be brought food and water soon. If you need to relieve yourselves, all you have to do is knock on the door and someone will escort you to the facilities. Until then”—a shrug and a smile—“just rest and wait. This should not take long. And after that, you’ll be free to go.”

  Without another word, Black picked up the chair. Carrying it under his arm, he turned and walked out the door. It slammed shut behind him, leaving Jorge and Inez alone in the room.

  Inez let out her breath in a long, shuddering sigh, then raised her knees to her chest and closed her arms around them. “Don’t be frightened,” Jorge said. “I’m sure everything’s going to be all right.”

  Inez shook her head, not looking up at him. “No,” she said, so softly that he could barely hear her. “No, it’s not.”

  Seeing that she was trembling, he moved over to her mattress, draping his blanket around her shoulders. “We’ll get out of this,” he said, trying to comfort her. “They’re not going to…”

  “Everything he said was true,” she went on, “except one thing.” When she turned her face to him, Jorge saw tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “He was lying when he said that we’ll be let go. I could feel it. When my father comes to them, they’ll kill him…and then us, too.”

  Black did keep his word about their treatment, though. Shortly after he left, the same soldier who’d operated the vidcam brought them a couple of liters of water and two bowls of chicken broth. When Inez asked for more blankets, those were brought as well, although Jorge’s request to have their boots returned was ignored; apparently someone believed that depriving them of their footwear would interfere with any escape attempts. And at no time were they physically or verbally abused; it appeared that Black had instructed the guards to treat them as war prisoners, n
ot criminals.

  Yet without their watches or pads, they had almost no way of judging the passage of time. It was only when Jorge knocked on the door and told the guard that he needed to relieve himself that he had a clue as to when and where they were. Outside their room was a long, concrete-walled corridor; at one end was a stairwell, guarded by another soldier, and at the other end a narrow window at shoulder height. Sunlight streamed through its dusty panes, but Jorge’s guard didn’t let him get close enough to look out. Halfway down the corridor, past several closed doors, was a pair of restrooms, their doors marked with faded gender symbols; inside the men’s room were several urinals and toilets, each of them as dry and waterless as the sinks. The guard waited patiently while Jorge visited one of the stalls, then marched him back to his room. From the looks of things, Jorge determined that he and Inez were in the basement of an abandoned office building. Yet it could be anywhere in Boston; without access to the window, he had no idea exactly where they were. When Inez made the same trip a little while later, she learned no more than he had.

  Time passed slowly, marked only by another meal they were brought several hours later: again, chicken broth and water. The room gradually became colder; the wall vent supplied no heat, and the extra blankets did little to keep them warm. They pushed the mattresses together and huddled beside each other; Inez suggested pulling down the flag and using it as a bedspread, but Jorge immediately rejected this. Their captors would doubtless be offended, and he didn’t want to do anything that might put him and Inez further at risk.

  In whispered tones, they discussed trying to escape, yet none of the schemes they concocted seemed viable. Even if they were able to trick the guard into opening the door for both of them—unlikely, since he always checked to make sure that one of them was still on the other side of the room before opening the door more than a crack—there was nothing that could be used as a weapon except the lantern, which wasn’t heavy enough to serve as a bludgeon. When they were brought dinner, one person stood watch with gun in hand while the other delivered the meal. And even if they were able to overpower two armed men, they had no idea how many others were in the building. Besides, they’d also have to rescue McAlister; they didn’t know where he was, though, or even if he was in any condition to make a run for it.

  After a while, the topic of conversation shifted to what Black had told them about the Provisional Army of the United Republic of America. “You know,” Jorge murmured, “I’ve got a feeling that these people aren’t quite the force he made them out to be.”

  Inez nodded. She’d calmed down a little, but Jorge knew that she was still afraid; he could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him. He figured that, so long as he kept her talking, she wouldn’t slide into depression.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” she replied, keeping her voice low. They had no idea whether anyone was listening at the door or if the room was bugged, but they didn’t want to risk speaking out loud. “We didn’t see any of their flags on the streets, and there was no one wearing those armbands.” She paused. “But when we were in the alley, Sam said that no one would come to help us, so…”

  “That doesn’t mean much.” One of blankets they’d pulled up around them was falling off; he pulled it over their shoulders again and moved a little closer to her. “Maybe they’re sort of a street gang. Big enough to intimidate a neighborhood but not so much that they have any sort of real political power.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that, yes.” Inez considered the thought for a moment. “Did you see the look on Black’s face when you said that the URA has been gone for three hundred years? That really got under his skin…and I can tell you, he came close to losing his temper just then.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jorge sighed. “Any other time, I would’ve loved to give him a history lesson. Like about how Massachusetts belonged to the Commonwealth of New England, not the URA, and how the URA used bioweapons against Boston just before it collapsed.”

  A wan smile crossed Inez’s face. “I would have liked to see him respond to that.” The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “But people like him have an answer to everything, and it usually doesn’t have much to do with facts. Only their beliefs matter…and he really seems to believe that the world would be a better place if only they could bring back something that ceased to exist long before he was born.”

  “Maybe.” Jorge remembered something he’d once read. “A long time ago, here on Earth, there were groups of people who shared a hobby of re-creating historical times. They’d dress up in medieval clothes and fight with fake swords, or wear the uniforms of soldiers from past wars and stage mock battles. They did this just for fun, but now and then someone would take it too seriously and start wishing that they actually lived back then, and conveniently forget the more unpleasant aspects.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s how Black and his people got started. They became interested in the URA, then…well, one day they decided that they wanted to become the URA.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. It would explain a lot, if it were…” Inez suddenly yawned, cupping her mouth as she did so. “Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

  “It’s been a long day, yeah.” It occurred to Jorge that the last time either of them had slept was when they were on the Mercator. Although he had little idea of what time it was, it had been many hours since they’d been brought dinner. Probably the middle of the night, perhaps even later. “Want to get some sleep?”

  “Uh-huh.” Inez hesitated. “Should one of us stand watch, or…?”

  “I don’t think it matters.” Now that she’d mentioned it, Jorge realized that he was exhausted, too. “If anyone comes in, I’m sure we’ll both wake up.”

  “You’re probably right.” Inez lay back upon the mattresses, pulling the topmost blanket over herself. Jorge crawled on hands and knees to the lantern and switched it off, then he returned to the mattresses and curled up beside her, sharing body warmth as they’d learned during Corps winter survival training. She yawned again as he pulled the rest of the blankets around them, then mumbled, “G’night.”

  “G’night. Sleep well.” Jorge stayed awake for a minute or two longer, feeling her breath against the side of his neck, until his eyes closed of their own accord.

  He had no idea how long he slept, only that he was abruptly awakened by the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. Jerked out of a dreamless slumber, thinking that he was being attacked by one of the guards, he grabbed at the hand…and heard Inez yelp in surprise.

  “What…?” Letting go of her, Jorge realized that she was very close to him, her body touching his own. “I’m…sorry, I…”

  “Shh,” she whispered, her mouth near to his ear. “It’s okay.”

  He couldn’t see her, but he was aware of her hands upon him. Before he could say anything more, he felt her lips close upon his, soft and warm in the cold night. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered again, lifting her face away. “Just…please…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  There were a dozen reasons why it was wrong for them to do what she wanted, but also one that mattered more than the others: she was frightened, and desperate for solace in any way that she could find it. Or so Jorge thought as he reached for her. Inez had already taken off her tunic and trousers, and the front zipper of her unitard opened with only the slightest sound. Beneath it was her body, her skin deliciously warm, the muscles beneath it tense with desire. He gently stroked her left breast, feeling its nipple become erect beneath his fingers, as her hands found the fastenings of his clothes and impatiently yanked them apart.

  In the pitch darkness of the basement room, with the blankets keeping away the chill of night and an uncertain fate, their bodies came together, their hands and mouths exploring, searching, grasping. After a time, Inez gently pushed Jorge flat on his back, then straddled him between her sleek bare thighs. She sighed deeply as he entered her, and cried out ever so softly as, if only for a few seconds, they foun
d a place where there was no fear, no loneliness, no thoughts of death.

  And it was in that instant that Jorge remembered something that he’d tried to force from his mind: he loved her, and he always would.

  They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, having put on their clothes again once their lovemaking was over, when Jorge was awakened a second time. Not by Inez, though, but by the rapid succession of gunshots just outside the room.

  Inez’s head was tucked into the crook of his left arm. He didn’t need to rouse her, though, because she woke up on her own. “What…Jorge, did you hear…?”

  “Uh-huh.” He sat up, trying to listen harder. “But I…”

  The door banged open, and someone charged into the room. The corridor outside was dark, so he couldn’t see who it was, but in the next instant a flashlight beam found them. “Are you Jorge and Inez?” demanded the vague silhouette backlit by its glow.

  “Yes…yes, we are.” Squinting and confused, Jorge raised a hand against the sudden glare. “Who…?”

  “Never mind that now.” A young man’s voice, calm yet insistent. “Hustle. We’re getting you out of here.”

  Jorge and Inez glanced at each other, bewildered by what was happening. “C’mon, move!” the young man snapped, then his voice lowered slightly. “Shadow Three to Shadow Leader…I’ve found Coyote One and Two, both unhurt.”

  Throwing aside the blankets, Jorge staggered to his feet. He reached down to help Inez up from the mattress, but she was already out of bed. “Are you Terra Concorde?” she asked.

  Shadow Three, whoever he was, ignored the question. Instead, he reached down to the floor to snatch up the lantern. Switching it on, he revealed himself as a figure dressed in black, a mask hiding his face save for a thin slit for his eyes. He wore a wireless headset over the mask; a pair of night goggles dangled around his neck, and a dark grey carbine nestled in his arms.