Coyote Horizon (39 page)

“I’m afraid there is . . . or at least there may be, if what I’ve heard is true.” Rhea pulled out his pad, unfolded it. “A year or so ago, I got a memo from Albion. Chief proctors send and receive a lot of stuff like this . . . it’s our way of sharing information between jurisdictions . . . but most of the time they’re pretty routine. Read it once, store it in memory, and forget about it. And that’s what happened with the one I got from my colleague in New Brighton . . . until I happened to find it again yesterday.”

As he spoke, he ran his index finger down the screen, pulling up a file from the menu. “Last year, someone went missing in New Brighton . . . a customs inspector who’d been working at the spaceport until he suddenly vanished. Wouldn’t matter much except that this individual was currently on parole, having been previously convicted on charges of second-degree murder. But he decided to remove his inhibitor patch and monitor bracelet and skip town without informing his parole officer. The parole officer”—Rhea paused to read something on his pad—“name of Joe Bairns, eventually managed to track him as far as the fishing boat that carried him and an unidentified female companion across the channel to Bridgeton. And after that . . .”

“They vanished.” The
chaaz’maha
tried to remain stoical, but he didn’t have to search Rhea to know where he was going.

“Not entirely.” The chief proctor didn’t look up from his pad. “A few weeks later, there was an unconfirmed sighting in Liberty. But by the time Chief Levin over there heard about this, the two of ’em had left town. And they haven’t been seen since.”

Rhea raised his eyes to look straight at the
chaaz’maha
. “Until now, that is. May I ask . . . is this you?”

He turned the pad around in his hands so that the
chaaz’maha
could see the screen. Upon it was displayed a picture of himself, when he’d been known as Hawk Thompson and when he’d worn the uniform of a customs inspector.

“I can’t be sure, of course,” Rhea went on, watching the
chaaz’maha
carefully. “That is, he looks a bit like you, but . . .”

“You are correct. That’s me.” The
chaaz’maha
took a deep breath. “Or rather, that’s the person I once was.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow. “Sorry? Come again?”

Before he could reply, Melissa stepped forward. “Constable Wolff, if you know that he was originally Hawk Thompson, then you must also know that I’m Melissa Sanchez, the woman who left New Brighton with him.” Rhea started to speak, but she held up her hand. “Listen to me, please. I’ve known him for almost a year and a half, and believe me when I tell you that this isn’t the same person I first met in New Brighton. When he says he’s changed, he doesn’t just mean his name or his appearance. Hawk Thompson is the man he used to be. The
chaaz’maha
is who he is now.”

“I can’t accept that.” Rhea shook his head; searching him, the
chaaz’maha
found determination mingled with regret. “Y’know, if you’d denied everything, I might have let it go at that, even though I know better. You’ve done a lot for this town while you’ve been here. I’ve also been reading the
Sa’Tong-tas
lately, and there’s a lot to it that makes sense. But . . .”

“But you’re an officer of the law, and have a sworn duty to uphold.” Despite his efforts to remain calm, the
chaaz’maha
realized that his hands were trembling. “So I take it you’re here to put me under arrest?”

“Let me finish, please.” Wolff paused, then went on. “I haven’t reported this matter to anyone yet. No one else knows about this except the four of us.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Uh-huh. I thought you would, considering the respect you’ve earned in this community. When you came here, I told you that you’d get no trouble from me if you didn’t cause any yourself. You’ve kept your promise, which means the only thing I have on you is a charge of skipping parole. But still . . .”

—Just go get out of here don’t make me do this I believe in
Sa’Tong
I can’t arrest my teacher just get out of here please . . .

“What if we were to leave town?” the
chaaz’maha
asked. “Would that solve your problem?”

Wolff blinked, not quite believing what he’d just heard. “My thoughts exactly.” He paused. “Y’know, I never know how you do that . . . I mean, figure out what people are going to say before they actually . . .”

“I’m a good listener, that’s all.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Melissa covering her mouth with her hand. “Just give us a day or two to make arrangements, and we’ll go as quietly as we came. If you want to report seeing us after that . . .”

“No, no.” Wolff shook his head. “Once you’re gone, you’ll be out of my jurisdiction. You won’t be my problem anymore.” He thought about it for a moment. “I’ll give you twenty-seven hours to get out of town. Think that’ll be enough?”

Walking Star started to say something, but the
chaaz’maha
looked at him and he kept his peace. “That will be sufficient, yes. It’ll give us a chance to charter a boat ride.” He paused, then added, “I’d also like to take care of some unfinished business before we go.”

The chief proctor studied him. “What sort of business?”

“Now that we’re done here, there’s something I’d like to do next.” The
chaaz’maha
smiled. “And I’m going to need help from some of your people, if you don’t mind.”

Wolff hesitated. “Depends.”

“Here’s what I’m thinking . . .”

 

 

 

The fishing boat was a twin-masted schooner, not much larger than the craft that had carried him from New Brighton over a year ago. This time, though, the
chaaz’maha
wasn’t sneaking out of town at dawn; instead, he was leaving in the broad light of day.

The schooner’s second mate was one of his students, the sailor who’d come to him the first morning the
chaaz’maha
sat on the inn’s front porch. Now that he’d repaired his relationship with his captain, the second mate had been able to persuade him to take on passengers and cargo for a special trip across the channel. The captain was skeptical at first, but then the
chaaz’maha
passed him a handful of colonials and the bargain was made.

The
chaaz’maha
was returning to New Brighton, but he wouldn’t be alone. During his last session on the Laughing Sailor’s front porch, the
chaaz’maha
told his students where he was going, and what he intended to do once he got there. He wasn’t surprised to find that he had volunteers. Yuri, Bess, a few other townspeople . . . even Grey, who’d decided that the
chaaz’maha’s
new mission was more important than cutting up fish.

Indeed, Grey turned out to be instrumental in his plans. As the
chaaz’maha
stood on the dock, he watched as his small group helped the schooner’s crew carry aboard barrels of ice-packed fish. Once Grey had explained to his employers what the
chaaz’maha
intended to do, the processing plant was glad to get rid of the surplus catch from its warehouse. Along with several kegs of fish oil, they would be welcome donations to the refugee relief effort, with more to come.

Yet the
chaaz’maha’s
heart was heavy, and not only because he was about to leave a town he’d come to love. He was also leaving behind his companions.

“I’d still like to come with you.” Melissa stood beside him on the dock, a shawl wrapped around her head. “The baby isn’t due for another few weeks. I’m sure we could find a doctor over there who—”

“We’ve been over this before.” The
chaaz’maha
shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the answer’s still no. You’ve got a good doctor already, and he’s willing to look after you while I’m gone.”

Melissa nodded. As much as she wanted to remain by his side, they both knew that a refugee camp was no place for her to give birth. There was also the strong possibility that he might be arrested as soon as he set foot on Albion; indeed, the stress of the trip across the channel might complicate her pregnancy. So it was only for the best that she stay in Carlos’s Pizza, at least for the time being.

The
chaaz’maha
didn’t need to search her to see the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” he added, taking her hand. “Once I’m done over there, I’ll be back.”

“And when I have the baby . . . ?”

“Someone will let me know. We’ve got a satphone, remember?” He smiled as he let his hand fall to her swollen belly. “I want to see Inez, too, y’know.”

She grinned, acknowledging that he’d finally lost the argument over whether they were going to have a son or a daughter. Nonetheless, there were tears in her eyes as she moved closer to him. “You better come back,” she whispered. “She’s going to want to meet her daddy.”

A last kiss, one that lingered for a few seconds, before she reluctantly stepped away from him. The
chaaz’maha
let her go, then turned to Walking Star. “Still time to change your mind,” he said. “We could use you over there.”

Cassidy shook his head. “Believe me, I’d only get in your way.” He nodded in the general direction of Albion. “Morgan’s over there. If he finds out that I’ve returned, that could be trouble for you.”

“I’m going to have trouble anyway, if Joe discovers who I am . . .”

“He might, or he might not.” Cassidy paused. “Melissa was right . . . I mean, about what she said yesterday to Rhea. You have changed, and not just in appearance. The person I met last spring doesn’t really exist anymore. You’re no longer Hawk . . . you’re the
chaaz’maha
.”

“If that’s so, it’s because I had a good teacher.”

“Maybe . . . but perhaps I’ve changed, too. Maybe I’m not your teacher any longer, but instead your student.” Walking Star raised a hand before the
chaaz’maha
could object. “Look, we could argue about this all morning, but the truth of the matter is that you don’t need my help anymore. My place is at The Sanctuary. Yours . . .”

“I know.” The
chaaz’maha
let out his breath. “Take care of the
Sa’Tongtas
, will you? I’ll come back for it when . . .”

His voice trailed off as something caught in his throat. “When you come back,” Walking Star finished. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again before long.” As he gazed at the schooner, a rare smile appeared on his face. “The next time we meet, you’ll be a father as well as a teacher.”

By then, the last of the barrels and kegs had been loaded aboard. The schooner’s captain walked to the stern and looked at the
chaaz’maha
, not saying anything yet obviously impatient to set sail before the tide changed.

“I think you’re wanted.” Walking Star took a step back, then he clasped his hands together and bowed from the waist. “
Sa’Tong qo, chaaz’maha
.”

“
Sa’Tong qo
, Walking Star . . . and thank you.” The
chaaz’maha
bowed as well . . . then, on impulse, he reached out to Cassidy. The two men embraced for a moment, then quietly let each other go. Nothing more needed to be said, nor was it necessary for either one of them to search the other’s mind.

The
chaaz’maha
clasped Melissa’s hand one last time, then he turned and walked away, heading for the waiting ship. He found a place on the aft deck as the sailors cast off the lines and raised the anchor. A shouted order from the captain, then the sails were raised and the schooner slipped away from the dock.

As the sails caught the morning wind, the
chaaz’maha
watched Carlos’s Pizza until it gradually disappeared from sight, before turning to gaze at the channel. The past was only prelude. His destiny lay beyond the horizon, in the place where he’d begun his journey.

Although Carlos’s voice was little more than a murmur, no one standing near the former president failed to hear him. The other Government House officials touring the refugee camp—Council representatives, for the most past, along with the heads of various ministries—looked in his direction, with most of them nodding in silent agreement. The former president had never been someone to be ignored, and now that he’d become one of the main figures in the crisis, every word he uttered was bound to be taken seriously.