by Allen Steele
Jorge grinned as he teetered back and forth on his feet. The kid’s plastered, Sawyer thought. In the morning, he’ll probably regret this. Again, he found himself wondering why Jorge had said so little about what had happened on Earth. He didn’t know for certain, but he had a distinct feeling that there was another reason, besides his grandmother’s death, that he’d put away so much ale at the cantina. Maybe it had something to do with Inez’s decision to stay with her father…?
“Why not?” Jorge shrugged. “Far as I’m concerned, I’m just carrying on a family tradition.”
“Defying authority.” Sawyer chuckled as he marched up the steps. “Your grandfather would be proud.” Jorge gave him a sharp look; although he didn’t respond, Sawyer realized that he’d hit a nerve with that remark.
The front door opened with a soft creak, and Sawyer felt around until he located the light switch. The museum was much the way he’d last seen it only a couple of weeks ago, only this time the display tables had been moved aside to make room for an ornately carved blackwood casket that rested upon a low pedestal. The casket lid was shut, and it had been draped with the Federation flag, with two more flags hangings from posts at each end of the pedestal. A red carpet had been laid down the center of the floor; gilded ropes separated the casket from the rest of the room. As a final touch, Wendy Gunther’s official presidential portrait had been placed on an easel behind the casket.
“Oh, god,” Jon muttered. “She always hated that picture.” He paused, then added, “In fact, she would’ve hated all of this.”
“Well, let’s see that she doesn’t have to endure it any longer,” Sawyer said. “Call Susan and Tomas, tell them we’re ready.”
Turning away from the casket, Jon pulled a phone from his pocket. He’d already spoken with his wife, calling her from the cantina to tell her of the plan. By then, Sawyer figured, Susan and Tomas would have returned home to fetch the lorry she and Jon still owned from the days they’d operated a wilderness trekking company and had used the vehicle to transport canoes and kayaks.
As Jon talked to Susan, Sawyer pulled out his own phone. He had friends in the Corps who owed him a favor or two; time to call in his markers. He had little doubt that he could have a Corps gyro fueled and ready to fly from the aerodrome within the hour, no questions asked. There would be hell to pay later, of course, but…
Looking around, he realized that Jorge was no longer beside them. The young man had walked across the room; his back turned to Sawyer, he was gazing at one of the display cases. And quietly chuckling to himself.
Curious, Sawyer delayed making the call. He strolled over to Jorge, and saw what the lieutenant was studying. Within the glass sarcophagus was the cat-skin kayak that his grandparents had used to explore the Great Equatorial River, long before he was born.
“What’s so funny?” Sawyer asked.
Jorge looked at him, and Sawyer saw that his cheeks were wet with tears. Yet there was a smile on his face, and there was no sadness in his eyes.
“I just…” Still grinning, Jorge reached up to wipe away the tears. “I just thought of something.” He nodded to the kayak. “If we’re going to send my grandmother away, she might as well go in style.”
For a moment, Sawyer didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he understood, and laughed out loud.
It was still dark when a Corps gyro landed on a sandy beach on New Florida’s southern coast. There were no settlements on this part of the island, just above the equator, a few miles west of Miller Creek. So no one observed the aircraft as it touched down a few dozen yards from the Great Equatorial River, or saw the figures who emerged from its rear cargo compartment.
Jorge took a moment to look around. Bear was beginning to set upon the western horizon, its silver rings touching the dark expanse of the river. To the east, the first light of the new day had tinted the sky with hues of red and orange. The tide would be receding soon, but he still had a few minutes in which to savor the predawn morning.
“This is where your grandmother said good-bye to your grandfather.” Susan had come up behind him; she, too, was looking out at the river. “They’d eventually see each other again, of course, but all the same, it was the moment in their lives when they parted from each other.” She paused. “You picked a good place to do this.”
Jorge nodded as he turned to look back at the gyro. He’d sobered up over the last few hours, but there wasn’t much that he felt like saying. Instead, he watched as his father and Sawyer unloaded his grandparents’ kayak from the gyro. They carried it to the river’s edge and put it down, its bow in the shallows and its stern on the sand.
“I sort of thought it was appropriate,” he said at last. “Besides, no one ever comes down here. No one will know.” Then he smiled. “You were here, too, weren’t you?”
“I suppose you could say that. I just hadn’t made my grand entrance yet.” Susan absently nudged a piece of driftwood with her foot, then bent down to pick it up. “C’mon, let’s build a fire. It’ll help keep us warm…and we’ll need it for the rest, too.”
By then, Tomas had come over from the gyro, along with its pilot. As the four of them began gathering dry wood that had washed up on the beach, Jonathan and Sawyer went about erecting the kayak mast and raising its sail. Before long, a small heap of driftwood lay upon the shore; Sawyer found a firestarter in the gyro, and he used it to set the stack ablaze.
The six of them—Jorge, his parents, Sawyer, Tomas, and the Corps lieutenant whom Sawyer had sworn to secrecy—stood around the bonfire, quietly passing a jug of bearshine as they watched Bear go down. The sky was still full of stars, but it wouldn’t be long before the sun would make its appearance. They finished the jug, then Jonathan dropped it on the ground next to the fire.
“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
They walked together back to the gyro, and as Susan, Sawyer, Tomas, and the pilot stood on both sides of its cargo hatch, Jorge and his father climbed into the aircraft. Wendy’s body was no longer in the casket; it wasn’t needed, so they’d left it behind, instead using the flag that had been draped over it as her funeral shroud. Carefully, with Jonathan nestling her head and shoulders within his hands and Jorge carrying her feet, they lifted Wendy from the floor of the aircraft and gently unloaded her from the gyro. Once she was out of the aircraft, the others came forward and, placing their hands beneath her, helped Jorge and Jonathan carry the body to the beach.
No one spoke as they laid Wendy within the kayak, making sure that she was in the center of the small boat, with her head toward the bow and her feet to the stern. They stepped back from the boat and stood silently for a few minutes. On the way there, they’d agreed that no speeches would be made. Wendy wouldn’t have wanted any last words; the presence of her family and friends was sufficient testimonial.
After a little while, Susan turned away from them. Walking over to the bonfire, she bent down and pulled a burning branch from the embers. Bringing it back to the kayak, she started to lower it…then she hesitated and turned to Jorge.
“Here,” she whispered, offering the branch to him. “You should be the one.”
Jorge hesitated. He looked at his father; Jonathan quietly nodded, as did Tomas and Sawyer. So he took the branch from his mother and, stepping closer to the kayak, let its flame touch the edge of the flag near Wendy’s feet.
The flag caught fire at once. Jorge dropped the branch into the water, then he and his parents bent down and pushed the kayak into the water. The morning breeze caught the sail, billowed it outward; as the fire reached for Wendy’s body, the kayak floated out into the Great Equatorial River.
Jorge silently watched as the small boat moved away from the shore, the body it carried becoming a funeral pyre upon the water. Her remains would soon become one with the Great Equatorial River, flowing forever around the world, a minute-yet-significant contribution to its long seasonal cycle of life, death, and rebirth. In this way, Wendy Gunther would become Coyote.
Tiny sparks rose from the kayak, carried upward by the breeze to meet with the fading stars. Looking up at them, Jorge sought out a small point of light. There it was, low on the horizon, just below Vega. He couldn’t see Earth, but he knew that it was there.
He found himself smiling. He, too, had come home.
Somewhere out in the marshes, a boid cried out, a chilling cry against the darkness that soon became quiet. As Wendy’s ashes were lifted into the morning sky, a new day came to Coyote.
Earth Events:
JULY 5, 2070—URSS Alabama departs from Earth for 47 Ursae Majoris and Coyote.
APRIL-DECEMBER 2096—United Republic of America falls. Treaty of Havana cedes control of North America to the Western Hemisphere Union.
JUNE 16, 2256—WHSS Seeking Glorious Destiny Among the Stars for Greater Good of Social Collectivism leaves Earth for Coyote.
JANUARY 4, 2258—WHSS Traveling Forth to Spread Social Collectivism to New Frontiers leaves Earth for Coyote.
DECEMBER 10, 2258—WHSS Long Journey to the Galaxy in the Spirit of Social Collectivism leaves Earth for Coyote.
AUGUST 23, 2259—WHSS Magnificent Voyage to the Stars in Search of Social Collectivism leaves Earth for Coyote.
MARCH 4, 2260—WHSS Spirit of Social Collectivism Carried to the Stars leaves Earth for Coyote.
AUGUST 2270-JULY 2279—The Savant Genocide; 35,000 on Earth killed; mass extermination of Savants, with the survivors fleeing the inner solar system.
APRIL 2288—First sighting of Spindrift by telescope array on the lunar farside.
JUNE 1, 2288—EASS Galileo leaves Earth for rendezvous with Spindrift; contact lost with Earth soon thereafter.
JANUARY 2291—EASS Galileo reaches Spindrift. First contact.
SEPTEMBER 18, 2291—EASS Columbus leaves for Coyote.
FEBRUARY 1, 2344—CFSS Robert E. Lee returns to Earth, transporting survivors of the Galileo expedition.
APRIL-JULY 2352—Collapse of Western Hemisphere Union; mass exodus of refugees from Earth, halted by destruction of Starbridge Coyote.
Coyote Events:
AUGUST 5, 2300—URSS Alabama arrives at 47 Ursae Majoris system.
SEPTEMBER 7, 2300 / URIEL 47, C.Y. 01—Colonists arrive on Coyote; later known as “First Landing Day.”
URIEL 52, C.Y. 02—First child born on Coyote: Susan Gunther Montero.
GABRIEL 18, C.Y. 03—WHSS Glorious Destiny arrives. Original colonists flee Liberty; Western Hemisphere Union occupation of Coyote begins.
AMBRIEL 32, C.Y. 03—WHSS New Frontiers arrives.
HAMALIEL 2, C.Y. 04—WHSS Long Journey arrives.
BARCHIEL 6, C.Y. 05—WHSS Magnificent Voyage arrives.
BARBIEL 30, C.Y. 05—Thompson’s Ferry Massacre; beginning of the Revolution.
GABRIEL 75, C.Y. 06—WHSS Spirit arrives.
ASMODEL 5, C.Y. 06—Liberty retaken by colonial rebels, Union forces evicted from Coyote; later known as “Liberation Day.”
HAMALIEL C.Y. 13—EASS Columbus arrives; construction of starbridge begins.
NOVEMBER 2340 / HANAEL C.Y. 13—Columbus shuttle EAS Isabella returns to Earth via Starbridge Coyote; United Nations recognition of Coyote Federation.
MURIEL 45, C.Y. 15—Galileo shuttle EAS Maria Celeste returns to Coyote via alien starbridge.
ASMODEL 54, C.Y. 16—Hjadd cultural ambassador arrives on Coyote.
HAMALIEL 25, C.Y. 16—CFS Pride of Cucamonga departs for Rho Coronae Borealis via hjadd starbridge.
HAMALIEL 1, C.Y. 17—Exploratory Expedition departs Bridgeton for first circumnavigation of the Great Equatorial River.
URIEL 2, C.Y. 17—Destruction of the CFSS Robert E. Lee and Starbridge Coyote; later known as “Black Anael.”
GABRIEL 10, C.Y. 23—Arrival of WHS The Heroism of Che Guevara through rebuilt Starbridge Coyote.
The author wishes to thank his editor, Ginjer Buchanan, and his agent, Martha Millard, for their continuing support for his work. The Coyote series, including the spin-off novels set in the same universe, is now ten years old; none of these books could have been written or published without their encouragement.
I’d also like to thank Rob Caswell, Patrick O’Conner, Ron Miller, Horace “Ace” Marchant, and Bob and Sara Schwager for their aid and advice during the writing of this novel.
Sources consulted for this book include The World Without Us, by Alan Weisman (St. Martin’s Press, 2007); Boston Architecture, edited by Donald Freeman (MIT Press, 1970); and “Goat House Lighthouse” by Jeff Bonney, published in The Salt Book, edited by Pamela Wood (Anchor Press/ Doubleday, 1977). The polar cows and medusas described in Part One were inspired by the ceramic Little Monsters sculptures of artist Holly Fox and are used with her permission; the originals can be seen at http://mmmmonsters.blogspot.com. I’d also like to commend Boston Harbor Tours for their guided excursion of Boston’s inner harbor and the Charles River, which played a key role in the research for this novel.
And finally, last but never least, my greatest appreciation goes to my wife, Linda, for keeping me sane during this long expedition to 47 Ursae Majoris.
August 2008-March 2009
Whately, Massachusetts
ALLEN STEELE was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and received his BA in Communications from New England College and a master’s degree in journalism from the University of Missouri. Before turning to science fiction, he worked as a staff writer for newspapers in Tennessee, Missouri, and Massachusetts, as well as Washington DC. He is a two-time winner of the Hugo Award in the novella category. He lives with his wife, Linda, in Whately, Massachusetts. Visit his website at www.allensteele.com.