Coyote Horizon (44 page)

Again, Carlos was impressed by his nephew’s self-confidence. How different he’d become in such a short time; where once there had been a troubled, insecure boy, now there was a young man at peace with himself and the world. Yet Carlos still couldn’t help but wonder if the
chaaz’maha
was, in fact, who he claimed to be, a teacher dedicated to bringing a new form of spiritual enlightenment to humankind.

A tram arrived to carry them across the field. As it rolled across the tarmac, Carlos spotted the shuttle that would ferry the
Robert E. Lee
’s remaining passengers to orbit. It wasn’t scheduled to depart for another couple of hours, though, and in the meantime, Commodore Tereshkova had dispatched her personal skiff to pick up the VIPs. It was a gesture Carlos appreciated, even if he considered it unnecessary. However, the Commodore had insisted that, for the sake of privacy, the president and the
chaaz’maha
should arrive earlier, in order for them to settle into their private cabin before anyone else boarded the starship.

Standing beside the skiff, familiar faces waited for them. Wendy had flown in from Liberty earlier that morning; it had been nearly three weeks since Carlos had last seen his wife; although it was not the first time they’d been apart from one another, it seemed as if it had been only yesterday that he’d returned from the Exploratory Expedition. He hated to have to leave her again, but it couldn’t be helped. Unfortunately, Susan, Jon, and Jorge were still aboard the
LeMare
; according to the most recent report from the ExEx, the ship was off the coast of Navajo, nearly three-quarters of the way around the world. Although the
LeMare
was just close enough for the Colonial Militia to send out a gyro, everyone agreed that it was probably best that Susan and her family stay where they were.

Wendy wasn’t alone. With her was the woman whom Carlos had met only the night before: Melissa Sanchez, the young lady whom the
chaaz’maha
had taken as his partner. And cradled in her arms, wrapped in a soft cotton blanket with her head carefully shaded against the morning sun, was Inez—their infant daughter, born only a few days ago in Carlos’s Pizza.

Until after he was released from jail, the
chaaz’maha
had kept secret the fact that he had a companion—he refused to call Melissa his wife, even though it was obvious that she filled that role—or that she was pregnant. He’d told Carlos that he wanted to be certain that he wouldn’t be prosecuted before he let anyone know that he had a family; no sense in potentially putting them in harm’s way as well. Carlos was surprised to learn about Melissa and Inez, but not displeased; he was glad that his nephew had found someone. Nonetheless, he hadn’t been able to get permission from the Chief Magistrate to let the
chaaz’maha
return to Midland in time to see his baby come into the world. But as soon as Melissa’s doctor pronounced both mother and child fit to travel, a boat was sent across the Great Equatorial Channel to pick them up.

“Off again, I see.” Wendy feigned a scowl even as she extended her hands to her husband. “A fine excuse for not mucking out the barn . . .”

“Nag, nag, nag.” It was an old joke between them; Carlos’s least favorite household chore was shoveling horse manure. “I’ll get to it when I come home.”

“You’d better.” She couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer. Taking his hands in her own, Wendy drew him closer. “Damn it,” she whispered, “why does it always have to be you?”

“Because . . .” Not having an easy answer to that, he wrapped his arms around her. “This is the last time. I promise. After this, someone else gets to do all the hard work. I’m retiring.”

“You should’ve retired already.” Wendy laid her head against his chest; she was fighting back tears, and suddenly he felt ashamed of himself. She’d cried, too, when he’d told her that he was leading the ExEx. “You just won’t stop, will you? Just the other day, there was a message from someone named”—a pause as she searched her memory—“Lee, Sawyer Lee. Something about a Corps of Exploration. What’s this all . . . ?”

“Nothing.” Carlos let out his breath; he’d all but forgotten the discussion he’d had with Sawyer Lee about forming a dedicated exploration team. One more thing that threatened to keep him apart from his wife when they should be spending their days together at Traveler’s Rest. “A fellow I met on the ExEx. Wilderness guide, I’ll talk to him when I get back, but . . . well, I think it’s something he can handle by himself.”

“I’m going to take that as a promise.” Wendy looked him straight in the eye. “I mean it. The next time you come home . . .”

“I’m here to stay. That’s a promise.”

Wendy smiled, then gently pulled his face toward hers to give him a kiss. Then and there, Carlos resolved to himself to keep his word. She was right; the time had come for him to settle down. One last diplomatic mission to Earth, then he’d return to Coyote for good. He’d ride their horse, and learn how to garden, and sit out on the deck and watch his wife paint. Let younger men like Sawyer have all the adventures; his day was done.

Off to the side, the
chaaz’maha
was saying farewell to his own family. Again, Carlos noticed that few words were exchanged between him and Melissa. He’d observed the same thing the night before, the first time he’d met her at the consulate. Seeing that, a chill went down his back. He’d heard about the Order of the Eye; rumor had it they’d apparently learned how to read minds. He didn’t know if the stories were true, unlikely as they seemed, yet his nephew had been with them in Medsylvania for over a year. Had he become a telepath during that time? The
chaaz’maha
wasn’t saying, yet it was always possible . . .

“Pardon me, folks.” From the top of the ladder, the skiff’s pilot called down to them. “Sorry to have to rush you, but I’m afraid we’re on a schedule here. If you’ll please . . .”

“Certainly. By all means.” Carlos turned toward Wendy again. “See you in a couple of weeks,” he said quietly. “Then I’ll sleep with you for a month.”

“Better bring home some oysters, if you plan to do that.” A sly wink, then she became serious again. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” A final embrace, a last kiss, and he let her go. The
chaaz’maha
did the same for Melissa; he gently stroked the fine hair on Inez’s tiny head, then he turned to follow his uncle up the ladder.

A few minutes later, the skiff was airborne. With the pilot and copilot at the controls, it slowly rose upon its vertical thrusters until it cleared the field. Then its prow tilted upward, its main engines fired, and Carlos felt himself pushed back into his seat.

They were on their way to Earth.

 

 

 

David Laird found the Reverend Alberto Cosenza just where the deacon said he would be, in a small cafe across the street from the inn where Cosenza had been staying. Why they couldn’t have met in Cosenza’s room, he didn’t know. Perhaps Cosenza was afraid that he’d miss his ride to the spaceport. Or maybe he just wanted to see the world one last time.

In any case, Laird paused in the doorway to pull the bill of his cap a bit lower over his face. Cosenza was sitting alone at a table beside the window; outside, the street was busy with midmorning traffic, the good people of New Brighton going about their daily affairs. Laird decided that it probably wouldn’t matter if the two of them were seen together; no one in the cafe seemed to be paying attention to them.

“Good morning.” Cosenza looked up as Laird approached. “Care for some coffee?” He tapped a fingernail against the small clay pot on the table. “I had the waiter bring an extra cup, just in case you . . .”

“No thanks.” Laird didn’t intend to stay any longer than necessary. Sitting down next to Cosenza, he placed the suitcase he’d brought with him between them, making sure that it was upright. “I’m sure you’re anxious to be on your way, so . . .”

“My cab won’t be here for another few minutes.” Cosenza appeared calm, yet Laird couldn’t help but notice that his hand trembled slightly when he picked up his coffee. “I’ve been enjoying the view,” he added, nodding toward the window. “What a lovely town this is. So many beautiful people. Seems a shame to . . .”

His voice trailed off, and he sighed. “Well. Such as it is.” His gaze flickered toward the suitcase; oversized, its outer shell constructed of titanium alloy, it was the same one that he’d brought with him from Earth last year. “You’ve done as I’ve asked?”

Laird pulled his chair closer to the table. From the corner of his eye, he checked the room. Only a couple of other tables were occupied, and those were far enough away from their own that he felt safe that they wouldn’t be overheard; the waiter was at the serving counter, chatting up a pretty cook.

“All taken care of,” he murmured. “Took a while to get the stuff I needed, but . . .”

“I don’t need to know the details. Only that it’ll work.” Cosenza shifted around in his chair so that he was able to pick up the suitcase by its handle. He grunted with the exertion. “Rather heavy, don’t you think?”

“Can’t be helped. There’s a lot packed in there.” Laird pointed to its lockplate. “It’s been deactivated, of course, but as soon as you enter your thumbprint, it’ll be sealed. No one but you will be able to open it.”

Cosenza raised an eyebrow. “And if someone asks me to . . . ?”

“They won’t.” Laird shook his head. “I asked around, and it’s the same procedure as when you came here, only in reverse. No customs inspections for outbound passengers. After you check it at the spaceport, it’ll be put into a freight container along with everyone else’s luggage and taken straight out to the shuttle. Once the shuttle docks with the
Lee
, the container will be transferred to the cargo bay . . .”

“That’s not something that will concern me. What about the detonator?”

Another glance around the room, then Laird reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the datapad he’d bought in a secondhand electronics shop. Along with the suitcase, he’d spent the last couple of weeks working on it in the secrecy of his tiny apartment. The hard part hadn’t been gathering the necessary materials—ammonium nitrate, aluminum powder, even the chemical components of trinitrotoluene; all had been available from local agriculture or construction-supply stores, where he’d paid cash for them, no questions asked—but assembling everything without becoming so nervous that he’d touch off his control bracelet. But he’d built things like it before, and he knew how to remain calm. The trick was pretending that it was just a toy . . .

“This is it,” he said, flipping open the pad’s cover. “Works like any other except that it now holds a high-frequency transmitter, effective range of three hundred yards. Don’t worry, it’ll send through bulkheads.”

Cosenza took the pad from him “And the trigger itself . . . ?”

“Second function key on the menu bar.” Careful not to touch the pad himself, Laird pointed to its tiny screen. “Push it once, and it’s armed. Push it twice . . .”

“I see.” Cosenza weighed the pad in his palm. “And the timer? How does that work?”

“Third function key. A clock will come up once you’ve armed the mechanism. All you have to do is set it for however long you want, then push the ENTER button to start the countdown.” He paused. “Of course, if you decide to change your mind, all you have to do is close the pad. It’ll turn off, and everything will reset to neutral position.”

“Nice to know, but . . .” Cosenza let out his breath as he placed the pad on the table. “I sincerely doubt it.”

“Well . . . all right, then.” Laird pushed back his chair, prepared to stand up. The less time he spent with the Dominionist preacher, the better. It wasn’t just for fear of being linked to what Cosenza intended to do. It was also that, in the years that Laird had been a member of Living Earth, he’d learned how to recognize a fanatic when he saw one. And Alberto Cosenza was as driven as they come.

“Yes. I think our business is concluded.” Cosenza regarded him with unblinking eyes, and it seemed for a moment as if a certain sadness had come over him. “I know our motives aren’t the same, David”—Laird hissed at the sound of his name, but the deacon didn’t appear to notice—“but, all the same, I hope that you’ll pray for me.”

Laird stopped halfway out of his seat. From their first meeting outside the jail, he’d pretended to be a devout Dominionist, even going so far as to take communion with the clergyman. He thought his performance had been convincing, but it seemed that Cosenza had seen through him from the very beginning.

“I will,” he said. It was a lie, of course, but it was the only way he could respond.

Cosenza nodded. “Thank you. And may the Lord . . .”

Laird didn’t want to hear the rest. He hurried out of the cafe, hoping that no one there had seen him. But it wasn’t until he was several blocks away that his heart stopped pounding.

 

 

 

“I can’t believe you let me sleep late.” Sitting beside him in the back of the rickshaw cab, Lynn glared at Sawyer. “If this is your way of trying to keep me here . . .”

“It’s not! I swear!” Sawyer was trying not to laugh, but it was impossible to keep the grin off his face. “If I’d wanted to do that, I would have . . .”

He stopped, not knowing how to complete that sentence. Ordered more wine at dinner last night? Failed to set the alarm on his pad? While it was true that they’d been roaring drunk when the two of them had returned to her room, the latter had never occurred to him, or at least not as something he’d do deliberately. In any case, Lynn was positively livid when she woke up to discover that she had little more than an hour to get to the spaceport before her shuttle lifted off. And she was holding him to blame.

“You would’ve what?” Lynn clasped her shoulder bag closer to her chest as the rickshaw’s left wheel hit a pothole, then she leaned forward in her seat. “Do you think you can go any faster?” she called out to the driver. “I’ll throw in another five if you can get me there sooner.”