Coyote - A Novel of Interstellar Exploration Part 32

Lee closes his eyes, lowers his head. He'd fallen out of love with Elise long before he decided to steal the Alabama, and just before he left Earth she had attempted to betray him to the ISA, only to be thwarted at the last minute by Roland Shaw, an act for which he eventually paid with his life. She had always been cold, yet he never would have believed her to be capable of such evil. Somehow, in the intervening years, the Liberty Party must have twisted her soul, transforming her into a monster...

He feels a hand touch his arm. Looking up, he finds Henry Johnson next to him. "You okay?" he whispers. Feeling numb, Lee nods. Henry turns to the Matriarch.

"Why are you telling us this? What does it have to do with why you're... ?"

She holds up a hand. "Patience. All to be explained." To Manny: "Continue."

"After the Liberty Party was overthrown," the Savant says, "the government collapsed virtually overnight.What used to be known as the United Republic of America had become an anarchy. Thousands more perished over the course of the following months, either from plague, starvation, or random violence.

During the crisis, the countries bordering the Republic and elsewhere in the Americas formed the Western Hemisphere Union, with its capital in Havana, in the neutral nation of Cuba."

"You said something about that," Lee murmurs. "The Treaty of Havana, signed in... What was the date?"

"April 26, 2096. Liberation Day, as it's now known. The first major act of the WHU was to dispatch military troops to North America to restore civil order and provide humanitarian relief. Once this was accomplished, the Union set forth to rebuild El Norte... not as an independent nation, but as a province under the stewardship of the WHU."

Lee stares in disbelief at the Matriarch "You're saying my country no longer exists?" Manny interprets, and she nods gravely. "And what sort of government did you install?"

"Social collectivism." Her chin lifts with pride.

"Under social collectivism," Manny says, "all individuals are treated as equals. The barriers that once divided people-capitalism, cla.s.s status, racial inequality, so on-have been eradicated, replaced by a system that rewards the individual on the basis of his or her contributions to the greater good.

No one is rich. No one is poor. There is no hunger, no civil strife, no political turmoil..."

"Sounds familiar." Henry murmurs. "I think that was tried before. Russia, Eastern Europe, and China, during the twentieth century."

The Matriarch appears baffled; she doesn't understand what he just said. "You're alluding to Marxist socialism," Manny replies. "An early version of collectivism, quite crude in execution. Our system is different. Believe me when I tell you that collectivism works. It's not only responsible for rebuilding North America, but it's also allowed us to make the technological advances that have made ships like this possible. Were it not for collectivist theory..."

"Just a moment," Lee says. "What you just said... 'ships like this.' Are you telling us that there's more than one?"

Matriarch Hernandez apparently understands this, for she smiles. "Glorious Destiny, only one... the first.

More there are. See."

She raises her left arm from beneath her robe, touches her bracelet, and the dome above them changes.

Lee looks up, sees the Moon as seen from Lagrangian orbit. Scattered in a broad swath across s.p.a.ce are three giant vessels identical to Glorious Destiny, each in various states of construction-some mere skeletons, others near completion-surrounded by dozens of tiny vehicles, moving back and forth, transporting hull segments from one place to another. In the far distance, he can make out a ring-shaped s.p.a.ce station, possibly a construction base. A shipyard, more vast than any ever built before.

"This is Highgate," Manny says, "as we saw it shortly before we left. The vessels you see are three of our five sister ships, each capable of carrying one thousand colonists in biostasis..."

"A thousand... ?"

"Yes, Captain. Glorious Destiny carries a total complement of one thousand. You haven't seen them because they haven't been revived yet. Unless there were any unforseen setbacks during the lastforty-eight years, the remaining five ships of our fleet should be arriving over the course of the next four Earth-years."

The scene above him is already history, an artifact of the past. Even now, distant from one another by only a matter of light-years, a convoy of leviathans race toward them at sublight velocity, bearing thousands of pa.s.sengers in deep hibernation...

"We are coming to Coyote," Matriarch Hernandez says slowly, choosing her words with great deliberation. "Seeking glorious destiny among the stars, for the greater good of social collectivism."

;;|J.

Liberty: Raphael, Gabriel 18 / "Order! Order, please!"

The gavel bangs sharply against the table, yet it's swallowed by the tumult of upraised voices. Throughout the jammed grange hall, men and women have risen to their feet, yelling to be heard above each other. At the front of the room, the members of the Town Council sit nervously behind the head table, a couple of them obviously wishing they could be anywhere but here.

Seated in the audience, Susan cradled in his arms, Carlos watches Wendy from across the room. She sits bolt upright at the Council table, her hands clasped together, her face drawn tight. Little more than an hour has pa.s.sed since Plymouth returned, and they've barely spoken since he met her at the landing pad, yet it seems as she's joined the rest of the Council only with great reluctance. Something's troubling her, but whatever it is, she's refused to tell him about it.

"Everyone, please sit down!" Once again. Captain Lee pounds his gavel. "We have to get through this, and we're short of time!"

Gradually, the noise begins to subside, as those who were standing reluctantly take their seats again.

Now several hands have been raised. Tom Shapiro nudges Lee, whispers something to him; he nods, then looks back at the audience. "Let me finish, then we'll proceed with open discussion. But, please, everyone... we need to keep this on track, so be patient just a little while longer."

Scanning the crowd, Carlos sees expressions of fear, anger, even panic. Captain Lee slowly lets out his breath; like everyone else who made the trip up to Glorious Destiny, he appears ready to collapse from exhaustion, yet when he radioed from Plymouth shortly after departing the starship, he insisted that an emergency town meeting be held as soon as the shuttle touched down.

"I realize this comes as a shock," Lee continues once the room is quiet again. "Believe me, it was a surprise to the rest of us. I attempted to explain to Matriarch Hernandez that Liberty is barely capable of supporting a hundred people, let alone another thousand, but she doesn't understand our situation or..."

"What doesn't she understand?" This from Lew Geary, standing next to Carrie off to one side of the room. "We've only got enough food to get those of us here through the rest of winter. Except for what we raise in the greenhouse, it'll be at least three more months before we can plant the spring crops."

Murmurs through the audience. "I know that, and you know that," Lee says, "but either she doesn't believe me, or she's chosen to ignore the facts. My feeling is that it's the latter. The political system she comes from... this 'social collectivism'... dictates that everyone shares everything in common.What's mine is also yours, simple as that."

"Then they stay in orbit," Lew says. "You just said that most of their crew is still in biostasis. They wait a few more months, then we can talk about feeding a few more mouths..."

"More than a few, sounds like." This from Naomi Fisher, the chief cook. She's seated next to Carlos with her husband Patrick Molloy, one of the Marshall engineers who helped design the Alabama. Neither of them look very happy about what they've just heard.

"And where are we supposed to put all these guys?" Patrick demands. "In our homes? I mean, even if they remain in orbit until next spring, who's going to build shelters for them?"

Across the room, the noise level begins to rise once more. Susan stirs uneasily against his shoulder, and Carlos shifts her from one side of his lap to another; she thrusts her thumb into her mouth, and he gently pulls her hand away from her face. Lee bangs the gavel again. "Order, please... Pat, I don't know how the Matriarch thinks we're capable of feeding and providing shelter for all her people, only that she expects us to do it. In her mind, the Alabama is property of the former United Republic of America, which in turn came under control of the Western Hemisphere Union. Since we stole the Alabama and used it to establish a colony, we're part of the WHU..."

"That's absurd!" Naomi snaps.

"I know... but try explaining that to them." Lee holds up a hand before he can be interrupted again.

"Even if she's willing to keep her crew in biostasis for another few months, that only forestalls the situation. Liberty will have ten times as many people as we do now..."

"So let 'em build their own colony," Ted LeMare calls out. "We've spent three and half Earth-years learning how to live here... why can't they?"

Lee's about to answer, but then Dana stands up from the first row. "For the record, I agree. Apparently they're expecting happy natives throwing out the red carpet. The Matriarch doesn't know what we've been through to get to where we are now..."

"Then tell 'em to go somewhere else!" someone shouts from the back of the room.

"You don't understand." Dana shakes her head. "Their ship... I mean, it's nearly three times the size of the Alabama. By sheer force of numbers alone, they can overwhelm us. Not only that, but their level of technology is over two hundred years in advance of ours. If... when... they start coming down, I don't know how we're going to be able to resist them."

From the first'row, Jean Swenson raises her. Grateful that someone is abiding by parliamentary procedure, Lee points to her, and she stands. "I thought the Council decided to keep our location a secret," she says. "When did that change?"

"It was indeed the Council's decision to keep secret Liberty's whereabouts for as long as possible." Lee hesitates. "Unfortunately, that's no longer an option. Last night, an unauthorized radio transmission was made to the Glorious Destiny by a certain individual, during which he revealed our lat.i.tude and longitude..."

Angry whispers. "Who the h.e.l.l... ?" Patrick starts.

"I'm sorry, but I don't wish to discuss that." Lee looks pained. "That person has been detained, and once this meeting is adjourned the Council will decide what measures should be taken."Carlos glances toward where Sissy Levin is seated near the back of the room. He'd already heard about Chris. His mother sits alone, her hands folded together in her lap; her face is neutral, expressing no shame or remorse. Perhaps she believes that what Chris did was right...

"At this point," Lee continues, "casting blame serves no real purpose. I don't think we could have kept our location secret for very much longer. Inevitably, they would have found us. The more important issue is what do we do when they arrive."

"When do you think they're coming?" Kim Newell says. Carlos sees that his sister Marie is sitting in her lap. "If we can expect them at any minute..."

"Fortunately, it won't be that soon." Lee forces a grim smile. "For one thing, the Matriarch told me that most of her crew is still in biostasis. Only herself and the... um, Savants, whom I've told you about... are presently awake. I think we can reasonably expect that it'll take some time for them to revive a sufficient number of their pa.s.sengers to form a landing party. For another, the winter storm we've been tracking over the past few days is definitely headed our way. Once it hits... probably two nights from now... it'll be impossible for any of their shuttles to land, or at least until it blows over. So I guess this will give us a lead time of..."

He pauses. "Three, maybe four days. Then I think they'll start arriving."

An uneasy silence falls across the room. No one says anything, and Carlos can tell that it's all beginning to sink in. Lee waits a moment, then goes on.

"So far as I can tell," he says, "we've only got two choices. First, we attempt to negotiate with the Matriarch. Try to make her understand that we're unable to feed and shelter a thousand more settlers, or at least until springtime when we're able to plant crops..."

"Okay, so what then?" Paul Dwyer says. "These people probably don't have any more of a clue as to how to support themselves than we did when we first got here. Which means that they're going to be dependent upon us..."

"And so we're supposed to feed and provide shelter for a bunch of unwelcome guests?" someone else asks.

"h.e.l.l with that." Lew Geary crosses his arms. "If I wanted to live that way, I would've stayed home. At least with the Liberty Party I knew where I stood."

Scattered laughter from around the room, and he nods. "This... what d'ya call it?... social collectivism sounds like the same c.r.a.p we left behind, just with a different name."

Applause, even from those who were once Party members. Gazing around the room, Carlos marvels at how much these people have changed. Less than a year and a half ago by Coyote reckoning, the colony had been divided between those who had once sworn allegiance to the URA and those who'd fled from the Republic.

Yet together they'd endured the extremes of climate, suffered through deprivation and loss, overcome hardships that might have broken lesser men and women. Any differences they once had were now forgotten, or at least rendered trivial; deep down, they'd found something within themselves that many of them probably didn't know was there: a spirit unwilling to surrender to anyone or anything.

Freedom does that to people, he realizes. Once you've tasted it, you never want to let go. But how much would they be willing to sacrifice to remain free?"All right then," Lee says, "then that leaves us with our second option... we resist. Fight back. Don't let them set foot in Liberty."

Again, the room becomes quiet. Ron Schmidt, the chief of the blue- shirts, clears his throat as he raises his hand. Lee acknowledges him, and the former URS sergeant stands up. "The armory contains two long- range mortars, twenty-five carbines, and twelve sidearms, along with the twelve automatic machine guns that comprise our periphery defense system," he drawls. "During our last inventory, my people counted forty mortar sh.e.l.ls, 362 rounds of .38-caliber parabellum ammo, 202 flechettes... and, before I forget, ten longbows and eighty-two arrows."

The last might have been intended as a joke, but no one laughs. Carlos winces a bit; he fashioned those bows and arrows himself, and has trained the blueshirts in their usage. But never to be used against other people. "Mr. Mayor," Schmidt continues, "in my opinion, we have sufficient materiel to deal with boids and creek cats, but not a determined and well-armed expeditionary force. If someone seriously wants to take Liberty, they could do so within two or three days, even if we were determined to fight to the last man." He hesitates. "That is, if anyone cares to open fire on another human being. That's a matter you'd have to decide for yourselves."

There's an uncertain rumble through the room as Schmidt sits down. "Thanks, Ron, for your report," Lee says. "I appreciate your a.s.sessment." He glances at the rest of the Council members, who've become ashen. "The chief has a point. Are we willing to go to war to protect ourselves? Is that a step we're ready to take?"

Voices are already rising-argument, counterargument-yet Carlos suddenly doesn't hear them, for in that instant, something flashes through his mind.

Not so much an idea as a memory: a mural painted upon the walls of the Alabama's ring corridor...

Prince Rupurt, leading a procession of friends and allies across a mountain valley, taking them away from the forces that threatened to destroy them.

Without fully knowing what he's doing, Carlos turns to Naomi. "Would you hold Susan for a minute?"

Surprised, Naomi nods, gently takes Susan from his arms. Carlos hesitates, then raises a hand. "Pardon me... Mr. Mayor?" he calls out. "Mr. Mayor, may I speak, please?"

For a few moments, it doesn't seem as if Lee has heard him. Then he spots Carlos from across the room and points his way, formally acknowledging him. Wendy stares at Carlos in astonishment as he rises to his feet. Townspeople turn to gaze at him, and suddenly Carlos finds himself the center of attention. For a second, he wants to sit down again, remain silent.

"Mr. Montero," Lee says, "you have something to say?"

"Yes, sir," Carlos says. "I think... I believe there's another alternative."

Raphael, Gabriel 18 / The town stockade resembles one in name only; it's really a uuindowless one-room cabin next to the Prefect barracks, originally intended to be a storehouse until it eventually became necessary to have a place that would function as a jail. Even so, it's seldom used; very rarely does anyone cause enough trouble for the blueshirts to place them under arrest, and punishment has usually been in the form of community service rather than incarceration.

Tony Lucchesi unlocks the front door, reaches in to turn on the light. "Levin? Wake up. You've got avisitor." A moment pa.s.ses, then he steps aside to let Wendy pa.s.s. "Want me to hang around?"

"No thanks. I'll be okay." Chris is sitting up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He gives her a rea.s.suring nod; whatever else happens, the last thing he'll do is attack her. Wendy looks back at Tony, and he reluctantly shuts the door behind her. A rattle as the dead bolt is thrown.

"Well, h.e.l.lo," Chris says once they're alone. "This is a surprise." He gazes at the carafe in her hand. "Is that for me?"

"Uh-huh. Thought you might be cold out here." Wendy hands the carafe to him; he nods in grat.i.tude, unscrews its cap. The stockade is spa.r.s.ely furnished-a narrow cot, a chair, a wood-burning stove, a chamber pot in the corner-but at least it's reasonably warm. She watches as he pours black coffee into the cap. "Also thought you might want to talk."

"What's there to talk about? Caught red-handed. Guilty as charged. End of story." He shrugs, takes a tentative sip. "Thanks for the coffee. Does the condemned man get a last meal, too?"

"That's not going to happen... I mean, if you think you're going to be executed." Wendy pulls off her shawl, takes a seat in the chair. "The Council just met in executive session. We haven't quite decided what to do with you yet, hut... well, that's why I'm here. They want to know why you did what you did."

"They want to know... ?"

"I want to know." Wendy shakes her head. "Chris, why? Why do something you knew would put everyone at risk?"

"Oh, c'mon." He shakes his head. "What do you think this is, high treason? If anything, I've saved everyone's lives. We're barely managed to scratch by down here. If that ship hadn't arrived, we'd probably all be dead in another two or three years. You guys want to hide in the swamp, go ahead. Me, I think we could use whatever goodies they've got aboard that ship. That's why I told 'em where we are."

"That sounds like self-justification."

He puts down the coffee, pulls the blanket off the bed, and wraps it around his shoulders. "Yeah, maybe so. Maybe I don't know why myself." He hesitates.

"You still haven't told me whether you think I'm a traitor."

She doesn't reply. Outside, the wind has picked up once more. On the other side of the door, she can hear m.u.f.fled voices: men and women moving through town.

Even though it's close to the middle of the night, there's little time to lose. Soon the storm will be upon them, and the colony has to be ready before then.

"I know a little about betrayal," she says after a moment. "I learned something about my father today...

something I didn't know before. He tried to play both sides, too... his personal interests against his loyality to the Republic. In the end, when he had to choose between one or another, he made the wrong choice, and he paid for his mistake with his life."

Chris peers at her. "I don't understand. What are you...?"

"Never mind. It's a long story." She shakes her head. "What I'm trying to say is, n.o.body ever thinks ofthemselves as being a traitor. Deep inside, they always believe they're doing the right thing, even when it hurts someone else. That's what I think my father was doing... and I think that's why you did it, too."

"Sounds about right to me."

"You think so? You really mean it?"

"Uh-huh." Then he smiles. "And given a chance, I'd do it again... just the same way."

Again, Wendy doesn't answer immediately. She gazes at the man- the boy, really-for whom she once felt an attraction, who might have been her partner if things had worked out differently, and feels only a certain cold pity. He sits slumped on the bed, drinking the coffee she brought him-no regret, no guilt, only misplaced contempt.

"That's all I wanted to hear." She stands up. "Goodbye, Chris. I hope... I dunno. Maybe you'll finally work things out."

"Goodbye?" Chris gapes at her as she turns toward the door, raps on it. "What do you mean, goodbye?