Coyote Rising (14 page)

Ugly murmurs from all around us—
you tell ’em, guy
and
we’ll bust their asses
and so forth—and that was when I realized, for the first time, just how much danger we were in. The fact that a big, mean smile was plastered on the face of the nearby Proctor only confirmed my suspicion; if a mob descended upon the Universalist camp, nothing would stop them. Not the Proctors, not the Union Guard. Zoltan and his followers had become pariahs.

“I hear you,” I said. “Is that it?”

Jaime said nothing for a moment. “Yeah, that’s it.” He stepped back, cocked his head away from the hall. “Go on, beat it. Get out of here.”

Disappointed that they weren’t going to see a fight, the crowd began to dissolve. Watching them shoulder each other as they sought to resume their former places in line, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. Caught like rats in a maze, all they could worry about was whether a small band of pilgrims would try to show them a way out. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how much the Universalists had come to mean to me. They weren’t just two hots and a cot, but something more.

I’d lost my appetite, though, so I started to head toward the road leading back to Shuttlefield. Feeling a hand on my arm, I looked around, saw that Jaime had stepped out of line. Thinking he intended to restart our quarrel, I stiffened up, but he quickly shook his head.

“Relax. I don’t mean nothing.” Behind him, a few people glanced in our direction, but no one did anything. The front door had just opened, and the line was shuffling toward it. “Look, I’m sorry,” he continued, his voice a near whisper. “My fault. I shouldn’t have started it.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay . . .”

“Look, can I give you some advice? Between you and me?” I nodded. “Get out of there. Fold your tent, pack up your gear, and scram. We’ll take you back.”

“Who will?”

“Your friends, man. The people who care for you . . .”

“I know who they are,” I said. And then I turned my back on him and walked away.

Later that evening, after dinner was over and everyone was still
seated around the fire, I told them what had happened. Several weeks earlier, when they had still believed that no one would do them any harm, they might have been willing to turn the other cheek. The incident with the New Frontiers gang had put them on their guard, though, and when I got to the part about the not-so-veiled threat Jaime had made, they weren’t so complacent.

Greer was sitting next to me. As I spoke, she put an arm around my shoulder; after a few minutes, it traveled down to my waist. She might have only meant to offer comfort, but somehow it didn’t seem that way. Greer and I had become close after I’d moved in with the Universalists, but I’d come to accept the fact that, while she clearly liked me, there was little chance that our relationship would ever become more than friendship. While sex wasn’t absolutely forbidden among his disciples, abstinence was one of the virtues Zoltan preached, and after a while I’d given up on the idea of sleeping with her. Yet she was snuggling up with me, and it was hard not to become aroused by her touch.

If Zoltan noticed, though, he was too distracted to care. He sat quietly while I spoke, hunched forward with his hands clasped together between his knees, wings folded against his back, gazing into the fire. When I was done, an uneasy silence fell upon the circle. Everyone waited for him to respond, but he remained silent for a few moments.

“Thank you, Ben,” he said at last. “I’m glad that you’ve brought this to our attention . . . and I’m pleased that you were able to escape without harm. It must have been difficult, standing up to a friend like that.”

“He’s not my friend.” My throat felt dry as I spoke. “I thought he was, but . . . well, that’s changed.”

Zoltan nodded sadly. “Much has changed now.” He raised his eyes to look at the others. “Make no mistake . . . if Ben’s warning is correct, and I believe it is, then we’re no longer safe here. We can post more guards at night, and try to keep everyone out of town unless it’s absolutely necessary, but in the long run it will be pointless.”

“I don’t agree, Reverend.” Standing behind Zoltan, Ian leaned against
his staff, the hood of his robe pulled up against the cold wind that snapped at the fire. “If someone tries to attack us, I’m sure we can defend ourselves. We’ve got thirty men and women. . . .”

“Against how many?” This from Boris; sitting on the other side of the fire, his face pensive. “There are almost three thousand people in Shuttlefield. If even a small fraction of them decided to come down on us, we’d be overrun. And if Ben’s right, we can’t expect any help from the Proctors or the Union.”

“But they’re supposed to be protecting us.” Clarice was usually the quietest member of the group, but that day she wore the black sash of someone who had taken communion with Zoltan; perhaps that status gave her the courage to speak her mind. “Why wouldn’t they step in if they saw . . . ?”

“You weren’t here for the last First Landing Day.” When I spoke up again, everyone went quiet. “That’s the annual holiday to commemorate the arrival of the
Alabama
 . . . happens on Uriel 47, at the end of summer. Last year, while the big feast was going on at the community hall, some Rigil Kent guerrillas snuck into Shuttlefield and blew up a shuttle.”

“I don’t understand.” Ian looked confused. “Who—I mean, what—is Rigil Kent? And why would they want to blow up a shuttle?”

“A group from the
Alabama
. They’ve staged sneak attacks on Liberty. They come across the East Channel from Midland, mainly to steal guns. The last time they were here, someone named Rigil Kent left a note on the boathouse door, claiming responsibility for the bombing and saying that they would continue until the WHU returned Liberty to its rightful owners. There was a small riot when that happened . . . everyone was dancing around the shuttle, watching it burn. The Guard couldn’t do a thing about it, neither could the Proctors. So if they can’t stop something like that, how could . . . ?”

“Interesting.” Zoltan was intrigued. “And you say they’re coming over from Midland?”

“That’s where they went after
Glorious Destiny
arrived.” I shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, though, no one’s been able to figure out exactly where they are. It’s a big island, four times larger than New Florida. Plenty of places for people to hide. So the Guard hasn’t been able to—”

“That’s good to know,” Renaldo said, “but it doesn’t get us any closer to fighting off—”

“You’re missing the point.” Zoltan raised a hand. “First, there’s no way we can defend ourselves . . . not against a lynch mob, at least, and that’s the inevitable outcome if we stay here much longer. And second, even if we managed to remain here, it would only be because we’ve decided to lie low.”

He gazed at the others. “But that’s not our mission. The Lord has ordained us to spread the word of universal transformation. This is why we’re here. It’s clear to me, though, that our efforts have become futile.”

Several people gasped. Others stared in disbelief at their leader. Feeling Greer tremble, I wrapped my arm around her; she sank closer against me, and I could tell that she was afraid.

“Yes . . . futile.” Zoltan’s voice became solemn. “Liberty and Shuttlefield are lost to God’s word, just as Sodom and Gomorrah once were. Destruction awaits this place, and there’s nothing we can do. Therefore, like Lot and his family, we must move on.”

“Where?” Renaldo demanded.

“You need ask?” Zoltan looked up at him. “You haven’t been listening to our brother Benjamin. He has shown us the way.”

At this moment, I saw what was coming. “Oh, no, wait a minute. . . .”

“Be quiet!” he snapped.

It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice; like the others, I was stunned into silence. Zoltan rose from his seat, his wings unfurling like great brown sails that caught the night wind. In that instant, he became a bat-winged messiah, standing tall against the giant planet looming behind him. If anything else remains with me, it’s this single moment.

“The path is evident,” he said. “Our destiny is clear. We shall go to Midland.”

A range of expressions passed across the faces of his congregation: disbelief, uncertainty, dread. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, acceptance descended upon them. The prophet had spoken. He had received a vision, one that would lead them from peril to the destiny he’d foretold. They had followed him across forty-six light-years to this world; they would happily let him lead them just a few miles more.

Only it wasn’t just a few miles, or even a few hundred. And they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. “You don’t . . .” My voice faltered. “I’m sorry, but . . . Reverend, but I don’t think you understand. . . .”

“Understand what?”

“You don’t . . . I mean, Midland is uncharted territory. The only maps we have of it were made from orbit. The only people who’ve explored the interior are the
Alabama
colonists who’ve gone there. . . .”

“Then we’ll find them.”

“How? No one knows where they are.”

He sadly shook his head, as if that were only a minor detail, and I was a child asking foolish questions. “Always the unbeliever. You’ve been among us for all this time, and still you haven’t learned the truth.” Knowing chuckles rose from around the fire as he regarded me with fondness. “God will show us the way, Benjamin. He will lead us, and He will protect us.”

Then he turned to the rest of his flock. “Rest tonight. We’ll begin making our preparations tomorrow. Be discreet, though . . . don’t let anyone outside this camp know of our plans. With luck, we’ll make our exodus within the next few days, before anyone knows we’re gone.”

He looked back at me again. “Benjamin, you’re welcome to come with us. In fact, we would appreciate your guidance. But you’re under no obligation.” He paused. “Will you join us?”

“I . . . I’m going to have to think about this.”

“By all means, please do.”

He bowed his head and led his followers in a brief prayer. Then the meeting broke up; people got up, began going about the usual chores they did before bed. There was nothing for me to do, so I headed for the tent I shared with Ernst and Renaldo when Greer caught me by the arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

“Well, it’s not my turn to do the dishes or stand watch, so I . . .”

“How lucky. It’s not my turn either.” She leaned a little closer. “And you know what else? Juanita and Mary have decided that they’d rather spend the night with Clarice and Bethany. So guess what that gives me?”

“Umm . . . a tent by yourself, I think.”

Her eyes were bright as she shook her head. “No. A tent with you.”

Then she led me away, taking me to a place where, for a few long and memorable hours, we were alone together. By the time the sun rose the next morning, my decision was made. There was no going back.

We left Shuttlefield three days later, in the early morning just before
sunrise. No one saw us as we set out on foot, a procession of men and women quietly walking through the silent town, duffel bags strapped to our backs. We took as much as we could carry, but there was much we had to leave behind; once our campsite was found abandoned, no doubt the townspeople would fight over discarded tent heaters, electrical tools, and generators. As it was, we were happy just to leave Shuttlefield in peace.

We took the road into Liberty, then cut across a potato field toward Sand Creek. The creek was still frozen over, so we didn’t anticipate any trouble crossing it. A thick ice-fog lay over the field, making it seem as if we were walking through a mist of pearl; we couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, so it came as a surprise when, just before we reached the creek, we came upon a lone figure standing near its banks, wearing a dark cloak with its hood raised.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice an electronic purr from the grilled mouth of his metallic head. “I take it you’re leaving.”

In all the time that I’d been on Coyote, I’d seen Manuel Castro only a few times, and then only from a distance. One of the Savants who’d been aboard the
Glorious Destiny
, he was the colony’s lieutenant governor, Matriarch Hernandez’s right-hand man . . . if one could consider a mechanistic posthuman still a man.