Coyote Horizon (29 page)

The following morning, Jon ordered the sails to be set, and by midday, the
LeMare
was sailing north of the Archipelago, a steady ten-knot wind taking us toward the confluence of Short River and the Highland Channel. It wasn’t long before we began to make out, rising above the horizon, the immense cone of Mt. Pesek, the vast shield volcano that comprised the continent of Vulcan. By the time we dropped anchor off the southern tip of Hammerhead, the volcano was towering before us, its snowcapped summit so high above sea level that it was hidden by low clouds; if anyone ever dared to climb it, they’d have to bring their own oxygen.

Nonetheless, something lived up there. As we approached Vulcan, we occasionally spotted birds circling the volcano just below the tree line. The zoologists attempted to study them through binoculars, yet except for only fleeting glimpses of an avian much larger than a swoop, they remained mysterious, vanishing almost as soon as they were seen. Someone called them thunderbirds, after a creature from Native American mythology, and the name stuck.

The
LeMare
spent the next two days traveling along Vulcan’s rocky southern coast until we reached the Squanto River, a short channel separating the continent from the nearby island of Squanto. Sonar soundings from the bridge indicated that the river had a maximum depth of only four to six fathoms, and there was the hazard of shoals just beneath the surface. But the science team had reasons to investigate this part of the world—the geologists wanted to collect samples of igneous rock formations on Vulcan’s river bluffs, while the botanists and zoologists were anxious to see whether Squanto harbored any unique habitats—so the centerboards were raised and, for the first time since our departure from New Florida, the
LeMare
left the Great Equatorial River.

Since the current was against us, we had to lower the tenders to tow the
LeMare
upstream. Although the Squanto River turned a little deeper than expected, Vulcan’s southeast coast was largely inaccessible, its inland guarded by sheer cliffs. The geologists eventually found a small cove shallow enough for them to collect rock samples, but exploration of anything past that was prevented by the overhanging bluffs. However, the western side of Squanto was a low, sandy shoreline, giving the life-science guys plenty of opportunity to visit the dense rain forest beyond. At the northern tip of Squanto was a small sound where the Vulcan Channel forked west and east to form the Squanto and Pequot rivers, and it was here that Carlos and Jon decided to make anchorage.

We remained there for the next several days while the scientists took turns exploring Squanto and nearby Pequot. As the naturalists had predicted, Squanto’s ecosystem was unique. Much of the island was covered by dense rain forest, its canopy principally comprised of parasol trees much taller than those found on Midland, within which nested species of birds unlike any yet seen elsewhere on Coyote. Scarlet grak, so-called because of their harsh cries, flitted from branch to branch, following us as we hiked into the jungle. Earsplitters, small birds whose high-pitched song could give you a headache if you got too close. And near the beach, a ground-nesting bird that came to be called the tufted crabbreaker, for its ability to pluck crustaceans from the shallows and bash them against rocks until their shells broke open.

But they were clearly not the dominant species. More than once, while walking through the forest, we noticed that all the birds suddenly went silent. Moments later, a shadow would swiftly travel past above the treetops, as if something menacing was gliding overhead. No one ever got a good look at it, but we had little doubt of what it was. A thunderbird, stalking the lesser creatures of the lowlands.

It was on Pequot that the scientists found the most interesting plants and animals. Like Squanto, the subcontinent was largely covered by rain forest; a medium-size tree was found within its understory that, at first glimpse, appeared to resemble a mountain briar, except that its broad, spadelike leaves were coated with some gummy substance. The naturalists who discovered it were still puzzling over it when they spotted a small arboreal mammal—later called glidemunks, because of their ability to soar from tree to tree upon thin membranes stretched between their limbs—alight upon one of the leaves. The tiny animal quickly found itself unable to struggle free before the leaf slowly closed around it, gradually suffocating the hapless creature. When one of the scientists used a knife to prize open a closed leaf, they discovered the desiccated remains of a glidemunk, its small body apparently dissolved by organic acids.

Judas trees weren’t the only carnivorous plants they found. Both Squanto and Pequot also contained tall bushes whose six-leaved flower tops bore an uncomfortable resemblance to claws. And for good reason; like Judas trees, they attracted flying insects by the sickly sweet scent from their petals, only to trap them. Yet earsplitters were able to safely land upon the petals, where they’d insert their narrow bills within the stamens to drink the nectar. Further investigation showed that the nectar contained tiny seeds that, presumably, the earsplitters would later excrete, thus allowing the red snatchers to propagate elsewhere.

Even the waters of the Pequot Channel turned out to harbor aquatic species that hadn’t been seen before. One afternoon, as I followed a group of naturalists I’d just escorted back from Squanto down to the greenhouse with their latest plant specimens, I found Susan and a couple of her students gathered in front of one of the tanks. At first, I couldn’t see what they were looking at; it appeared as if the tank was empty. Then the fish they’d just captured turned sideways to us, and I saw then it was nearly as large as a redfish, but so thin that, in the water, it practically vanished from sight. The razorfish was superbly adapted to its environment; it possessed the ability to become nearly invisible to predators.

Yet the most intriguing discovery was on Pequot itself, where a zoologist found, in a freshwater pool fed by one of the streams that meandered through the forest, what appeared at first to be a salamander. Until then, no reptiles or amphibians had been discovered on Coyote; it was assumed that the world’s long winters prohibited the existence of cold-blooded land animals. Once the creature was brought back to the
LeMare
, though, Susan and her team realized that it was, indeed, a fish . . . but one that was growing legs, and which could breathe fresh air through its mouth as well as use its gills. Clear evidence that life on Coyote was evolving in unexpected ways, with some species making the transition from living in the water to existing on land, despite the limitations imposed by the climate.

In only a few days, we learned that, in this small part of Coyote, lay an environment unlike any on the other side of the world. If the scientists could’ve had their way, the ExEx would have stayed there for the rest of the summer. But Jon and Carlos eventually decided that we needed to push on. There was more that still needed to be seen, and besides, another expedition could always return to Pequot. So on the morning of the sixth day, the anchors were raised, the sails set, and the
LeMare
turned in the direction of the Great Equatorial River.

No one knew it then, but that would be a fateful decision.

 

 

 

After the
LeMare
left the sound and sailed down the Pequot River, we stopped for the night just off Pequot’s southwest coast. The crew gathered in the lounge after dinner, where Susan led a review of the data they’d collected from our stay in the delta. I decided to skip it, though. I’d been run ragged over the last week, sometimes making up to three sorties a day; although I’d never had occasion to use my gun, having to shepherd the science teams had become exhausting. All I really wished to do just then was have a drink and watch Bear as it rose above the horizon.

Nonetheless, as I made my way along the bulwark rail to the bow, I reflected that the trip wasn’t so bad after all. Once the scientists figured out that I wasn’t some bloodthirsty maniac looking for something to kill, they’d stopped being so standoffish, and I’d even made friends with a few of them. Although Jorge was almost always with either Jon or Susan, they’d allowed him to go ashore with me a few times, once I’d ascertained that there was nothing on Pequot or Squanto that could harm him. I still wished that I could have an adult as my cabinmate, but the fact of the matter was that I had come to like the kid; once he was out of his shell, Jorge had a curiosity nearly as intense as the scientists’. And although Lynn and I hadn’t much of a chance to pursue our relationship—there was little privacy aboard ship, and besides, she was always writing stories for her readers back on Earth—we were still able to see each other now and then, usually at night after everyone else had gone to bed, when we’d curl up together in one of the tenders and share a drink. There was an unspoken agreement between us that, once the expedition was over, we owed ourselves a romp in bed.

Indeed, I expected to meet Lynn on the forward deck that evening. I’d brought my flask with me when I left my cabin, and given her a hint during dinner that, just for a change, perhaps we could watch Bear come up from the bow instead. She’d told me that she would come along after a while, but first she wanted to sit in on the review session, to see if something came up that she needed to put in her next dispatch.

As I walked out on the bow, though, I saw that it was unlikely that I’d find a place where we might be alone. Lights were on in the wheelhouse, and through its half-open windows I could hear voices: Carlos, Jon, and Barry, engaged in conversation. I was about to turn and leave when Carlos said something that caught my attention:

“Turning back is out of the question. You’re going to need to find some place to ride this thing out.”

My first thought was that what they were discussing was none of my business. On the other hand, I was the expedition guide. If there was going to be any talk of turning back, for whatever reason, I should be in on it. So I found the hatch leading to the wheelhouse and climbed up the ladder to the bridge, politely knocking on the door just before I walked in.

The
LeMare
’s bridge was a narrow, semicircular compartment, with wood-paneled consoles arranged beneath the windows and a couple of swivel-mounted armchairs anchored to the deck. Although an old-fashioned captain’s wheel was mounted below the center window, most of the ship was comp-controlled, its masts and stays manipulated by a touch-screen system that automatically rotated the sails to catch the wind. The ship had a full complement of experienced sailors, but I’d been told that, in a pinch, one person could operate the entire vessel.

The three men were gathered around the communications console, apparently studying something on its main screen. They looked up as I entered the bridge, and for a moment I thought they’d tell me to go away. But then Carlos waved me over. “Come on in, Sawyer,” he said. “Maybe you ought to take a look at this. We could use another opinion.”

Jon stepped aside to make room for me. As I came closer, I saw that the screen displayed a real-time satellite image of the western hemisphere. Or at least that was what I presumed; although it was still daytime on the other side of the world, most of the terrain was lost beneath a dense swirl of clouds. It appeared to be the southern half of Midland, but I had to look hard to recognize it.

“Oh, hell,” I muttered. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Afraid so,” Jon said. “Tropical depression, becoming a major storm. Coming out of the west, with wind speeds already up to forty knots.” He hesitated, then added, “And before you ask . . . yes, it’s developing into a hurricane.”

Hurricanes are rare upon Coyote, but they
do
occur, with midsummer as their most likely season. Although Coyote doesn’t have any major oceans, the Great Equatorial River becomes wide enough off the coast of Midland that, under certain conditions, a low-pressure system can produce a tropical cyclone that starts moving down the river, picking up moisture as it rolls along. Yet Coyote hurricanes are different from those on Earth. Because Coyote has a lower atmospheric density, the storms are generally less severe, and Bear’s gravitational influence, combined with the close proximity of the westerly and easterly trade winds near the equator, causes them to follow an eastward track instead of westward.

The last is fortunate for most of the colonies, since the worst effects are usually felt east of Midland, where the hurricanes would pick up most of their force as they traveled across the Meridian Sea before dying out when they hit the narrow part of the river south of Narragansett. In this case, though, it also meant that this particular storm was barreling straight toward us.

“If you want my opinion,” I said, “I think it’s pretty obvious. If we try to turn back, we’ll only be sailing straight into that thing. Our only option is”—I let out my breath—“well, find some place to drop anchor and ride it out.”

My advice was only an echo of what I’d heard Carlos himself say while I was out on deck, but it seemed like the proper course of action. Barry cleared his throat. “The situation is a little more complicated than that,” he said, glancing at Carlos. “There’s something else you should know.”

For a moment, Carlos seemed reluctant to answer. “I’ve been asked . . . well, more than asked, really . . . to return home at once. We received word just before dinner that I’m needed at Government House. The sooner the better, storm or no storm.”

“Now? Lousy timing, don’t you think?”

“Actually, my timing hasn’t been so good either.” He sat down in one of the deck chairs. “Sorry, gentlemen. I should have never come along on this trip . . . or at least I should’ve dropped out when I heard about what was happening on Earth.”

I remembered something that had occurred just before the ExEx left Bridgeton. “Is that why the EA ambassador came to see you off? To ask you to stay behind?” Apparently surprised that I’d recall the incident, Carlos raised a eyebrow, then slowly nodded. “I don’t get it. What difference does it make whether you’re there or here with us? Can’t President Thompson handle this on his own?”