Sky Coyote (19 page)

Well. Come genocide, come developers, come pollution and urban war. Let ‘em do their worst: we can clone even Eden, if we get there before the Serpent and take samples.

I
LED EVERYBODY UP THE
back of the big hill that overlooked the village. We paused on the summit to look down at the little houses and work yards and the tiny figures going to and fro. “Humashup,” I announced.

“Okay, we’re fanning out,” announced the head security tech, and he and the other members of his team vanished into the sagebrush, leaving their packs for the rest of us to carry. Within seconds even we couldn’t tell where they were, but we knew they’d be down there doing invisible surveillance.

“It’s
perfect!”
said Imarte, eyes shining. “Look, there are children playing the hoop game—and that must be the cemetery—oh my god, they’re making canoes over there!”

“See the shell mound?” Beckman said, shading his eyes. “That’s not a midden. Those are money shells. And that man’s cutting abalone shell for inlay work …” The others crowded close to see, muttering excitedly. Only Mendoza stood apart. I looked over at her.

She’d barely noticed the village. She was staring beyond it into the land, green and rolling with huge oak trees like gods, rolling
away to green and blue mountains. She was breathing in the scent of the aromatic brush on the hills, the sage and the agave with its white spires of clustered flowers. She was taking in the cloud shadows and the pattern the wind made coming across the savanna before it funneled into the canyon and carried away the smoke from the cooking fires of Humashup.

I know it’s pretty wild and empty, but it won’t be so bad, I
transmitted to her. No reply, but a sound I couldn’t describe exactly, kind of a throbbing sound, kind of a storm sound. What was she tuning in to that I couldn’t hear? She turned her head slowly to stare at me, and her eyes were a thousand years away. I shivered. Last time I’d seen that look, it was on a nun whose palms had suddenly and inexplicably begun to bleed.
You okay, Mendoza?

Her brows drew together in a faint frown, as if she’d just noticed me.

“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” she replied. “How could anybody cut down those trees?”

I went and took her by the arm. “Nobody’s going to start for a while, but you’ve still got plenty of work to do. Come on.”

There’s always a letdown after first contact with an endangered species. You get real moved at the thought of saving all those mortal lives, and then you actually meet the mortals and it’s sort of a disappointment. Except for the anthropologists. They love mortals. Good thing, too.

In spite of my careful preparation for this moment, the people of Humashup did not take it well when they beheld a crowd of green beings descending the green hillside. Men stared and rummaged for their spears, women ducked inside their houses, children ran screaming after the women who had ducked inside the houses.

“Children! Children! There’s nothing to be afraid of!” I barked. “Don’t you know friendly spirits when you see them?” Sepawit had come out of the council house and was standing there with his mouth open, watching us approach. I caught his eye. He turned and waved his hands frantically.

“It’s all right, everyone! It’s only Sky Coyote and his spirits! It’s
green
men, not white men! Come on back, all of you!”

Actually it took about an hour to calm down the populace of Humashup and entice them to an orderly assembly, during which time my fellow immortals stood awkward and embarrassed in their viridian near nudity. Except the anthropologists: they ran around with little cries of delight, taking notes and holo shots of everything.

“Thank you all for coming,” I said at last, pacing before the silent and staring village. “You mustn’t be afraid of my servants! Why, except for the fact that they’re green, they look just like you, don’t they? And you all know I’d never do you harm. I’ve brought them here to collect things. You see, I’m not just saving all of you, I’m saving this world. I’ll want to build it again someday, so I’m having my servants collect a little of everything: the plants, the animals, the stones and shells. They’re also here to collect wisdom, to collect your knowledge of these things. You must help them by answering any questions they ask you. Be truthful. Don’t lie about anything. After all, if you lie, I might make some mistakes the next time I create this world.”

The crowd took that in, and there were a lot of thoughtful nods as they accepted it. The concept of an infallible deity was going to be something new to the Chumash.

“I mean, you wouldn’t want me to make a world where the creeks flowed blood, or the oaks grew bones instead of acorns, would you?” Scattered laughter and shudders.

“We do things a little differently in the World Above. When
we spirits relax, we like to sit down to a big heaping bowlful of rabbit pellets with a few rattlesnake heads scattered on top for that extra burst of flavor”—screams of delighted laughter—”but somehow I don’t think that would suit you folks very well. So it’s very important for you to give good, truthful answers to the spirits. Otherwise, who knows what people could find themselves eating?

“Now, tell me: Who are the best hunters here? Who’s the best at bringing down the deer, the ducks and geese?” Quite a few skinny guys stepped forth uncertainly. I nodded to MacCool and the anthropologist Giovanna. They advanced out of the group.

“Good! Now, this man is the Spirit Who Catches Animals. He needs to catch two of all the animals you hunt. That woman is the Spirit Who Collects Hunting Wisdom. All of you hunters go over there with them and talk for a while, all right?”

They went obediently, and I beckoned to Mendoza and her team anthropologist, Dalton.

“Now, who among you ladies is the very best at gathering roots out of the earth, or greens in the rainy season? You members of the Deer Grass Gatherers’ Union, where are you? You herbal healers, you women of wisdom, where are you? Only the wisest, mind you.”

A number of hefty dames pushed their way forward, elbowing one another out of the way. There was a brief nasty squabble about which of them was the wisest woman of wisdom, and in the end I had to promise them they’d all get a turn at talking. I sent them away with the Spirit Who Collects Plants and the Spirit Who Gathers Herb Lore.

The rest of it went pretty peacefully. There was the Spirit Who Fishes, and the Spirit Who Collects Dirt, and the Spirit Who Wants to Know about Your Sex Life, and so on. Various elements of the population went off to sit under oak trees and talk with
them, until at last there were only Beckman with his satchels and me. My executive pals from the steam bath had been waiting in a group, eyeing the satchel.

Nutku put up his hand. “That’s the Spirit Who Buys at Retail, right?”

“Yes! This is the spirit whose coming I foretold to you.” I grinned, tongue lolling. They converged on Beckman like sharks on a swimmer.

“Hey, spirit. I’ve got canoes! Beautiful canoes, all redwood models, with every luxury feature. Retrievable paddles, spear racks, mother-of-pearl inlay, I’ve got two-seaters, three-seaters, hell, I’ve even got a couple of war canoes at prices you won’t find anywhere else!”

“You want baskets? I’ve got the best. Two-color, three-color, even four-color, large and small. Unbelievable patterns, also custom work!”

“No finer pots and bowls anywhere, guaranteed not to crack, and they’re fireproof! Polished, carved, and inlaid by the finest craftsmen. We also carry utility vessels, hand mills, storage basins, durable kitchenware in designs that’ll grace the poorest camp or the richest house. Ask me about our line of novelties, too!”

So they bore him off, and I heard his voice lifted and the rattle of his coin.

Neat stuff was acquired and sent back to the base for storage every night, already tagged and context-catalogued. Chumash kitchenware. Chumash clothing. Chumash tools. Chumash medical supplies. Chumash sporting goods. Chumash diapers. Chumash birthday presents.

The anthropologists became great favorites, because they were so friendly. They recorded endless hours of Chumash voices speaking at great length on every conceivable subject. Their eyes
recorded weeks of footage of Chumash life. Women pounding acorns. Men carving stoneware. A birth. Sports. A death. Courtship. Commercial fishing. They collected the people, too: DNA samples were taken, and each individual was catalogued and described under his or her entry by gender, age, profession, and genetic code. All two hundred and thirty-six or -seven inhabitants of Humashup, tidily listed for the big cargo manifest.

This is not to say that things went smoothly, however … though the Chumash weren’t the problem.

“A
feast?”
Bugleg looked blanker than usual. “At night?”

“Yes, sir. The Chumash would like to throw us a party.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, since I hadn’t been invited to. “They’d like to show off some of their dances and stuff, and the anthropologists are thrilled. It’ll be a great opportunity to record cultural material actually on location, you see. Their ceremonies and rituals aren’t just performed every day. They’re making a special occasion for us.”

“Rituals,” Bugleg repeated. “Ceremonies. Is that the same thing as a
cult?
That sounds scary. They’re not going to kill people, are they?”

“No, no, no,” Lopez hastened to assure him. “This will be a peaceful celebration, sir. And though it does require that we relax our regulations concerning base curfew for one night, it should prove well worth it.”

“Why do we have to do that?”

“Why, so the operatives can all attend, sir,” I explained. “They’ve been working pretty closely with the Chumash, and if they didn’t show up after being invited, it would cause hurt feelings. Plus, the operatives
really
want to go. So it’ll be all those who have gone on the collecting trips and the security teams who’ll guard the perimeter, and everybody’ll be out all night.
Now, to do this, we need you to sign your name on this plaquette that says it’s okay, because the rules say officially we can’t have that many base personnel out after dark at one time.” And I pushed the plaquette before him and put a stylus into his nerveless hand.

He wasn’t happy. “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound safe.”

“Oh, no, sir, it’s safe. I mean, what can hurt us? We’re immortal, remember?”

“I know that.” He pursed his lips. “I didn’t mean for you. I meant for us. We’d be alone here with all the security techs away from us. What if the natives attacked? If they play their drums and dance, they might attack. What would happen then?”

“Oh, but sir, they won’t do that,” Lopez assured him. “The operatives will be right there with them. If the Chumash tried anything of the kind, they’d all be stunned into submission, you see?”

“Though they won’t do anything like that, sir, honest,” I stated. “They’re nice people, when you get to know them. Really.”

“But they have rituals and dances,” said Bugleg in distaste. “And they catch animals and kill them.” His eyes widened as a horrid thought occurred to him. “A feast is where they catch an animal and cook it on a big fire, isn’t it? Are they going to do that?”

Lopez and I looked at each other.

“Well, only an animal that’s already dead, sir,” Lopez told him at last. “It’s not as though it’s being hurt in any way.”

“But there’ll be—bones, and muscles, and …” Bugleg’s face was going pale, either with the slaughterhouse mental pictures he must have been forming or with the effort of forming them, it was hard to say which.

“It’s true, sir, meat in its natural state does have bones in it,”
I agreed. “But the natives are okay with that, and so are we. We’re used to it, remember.”

“But I’m not!” He clenched the edge of the table. “This is gross. And I just thought of something! You’re all, ‘Only dead animals will be cooked,’ but that still means somebody will kill the animals, doesn’t it? And you can’t do that! You can’t have
rituals
and … and all that other stuff! I won’t sign permission. It’s too nasty and scary.”

“Oh, we won’t kill anything,” I told him earnestly. “The Chumash will be doing the hunting. Honest.”

“But they’ll be killing animals and you’ll eat them. No. Nobody in the Company can do this while I’m in charge. You Old People get away with a whole lot, but you can’t do this.” He folded his arms. “No weird rituals.”

I gave Lopez a long, meaningful glance.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, I know what the trouble is!” I slapped my brow. “You thought—but how silly—I somehow gave you the impression that there were animal sacrifices going on. Wasn’t that dumb! No, no, sir, no actual real live animals will be killed for this feast. No, we explained to the Chumash our feelings about that. It so happens they’ve got an ingenious way of fabricating protein out of, uh, acorn meal and soya flour, which they then sculpt into the shapes of animals, and
that’s
what’s actually consumed at the feasts. See?”

Bugleg wasn’t quite that dumb. “But you were all, ‘Meat in its natural state does have bones in it,’ “ he quoted. “You said about eating blood and bones and muscles. I heard you.”