Allen Steele - Coyote 02 - Coyote Rising

COYOTE RISING

A Novel of Interstellar Revolution

Coyote Book 02

Allen Steele

The Dunamai Memorial Collection

This ebook is part of a collection to honor the memory of Hugh ‘Dunamai’ Miller who passed away on

the evening of January 19th, 2006.

Dunamai was an incredible asset to the ebook community, literally converting books to ebooks by hand

like a modern day clerical monk when he had to. He was the Knight of the Obscure Book and a better

champion could not be found. They don't make them much better than this man.

If you are lucky in your life you might meet a handful of really 'good' people. If you knew Dunamai, then

you were lucky in meeting just such a person. He was a very special man who had time for everyone and

asked nothing of anyone. He also had a smile and a kind word for you anytime you needed one.

Dunamai was one of the nicest, helpful and easygoing people you could meet online.

“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun. And what is it to cease

breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek god

unencumbered. Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you

have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim

your limbs, then you shall truly dance.”

I'm sure Dun is dancing today. He was a star on earth, and will be a star in heaven.

We grieve the loss of an important member of the ebook community. We will remember you forever,

dear friend.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's

imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Coyote Rising

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

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permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and

could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

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ISBN: 0-7865-5557-2

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AceBooks first published by The Ace Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

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Contents

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PROLOGUE

Book 3Saints and Strangers

Part 1 THE MADWOMAN OF SHUTTLEFIELD

Part 2 BENJAMIN THE UNBELIEVER (from the memoirs of Benjamin Harlan)

Part 3 THE GARCIA NARROWS BRIDGE

Part 4 THOMPSON'S FERRY

Book 4Revolution

Part 5 INCIDENT AT GOAT KILL CREEK

Part 6 SHADY GROVE (from the memoirs of Wendy Gunther)

Part 7 LIBERATION DAY

Part 8 HOME OF THE BRAVE

COYOTE CALENDAR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

SOURCES

Ace books by Allen M. Steel

ORBITAL DECAY

CLARKE COUNTY, SPACE

LUNAR DESCENT

LABYRINTH OF NIGHT

THE JERICHO ITERATION

THE TRANQUILLITY ALTERNATIVE

OCEANSPACE

CHRONOSPACE

COYOTE

COYOTE RISING

for

Ginjer Buchanan . . .

who was present at the creation of the world

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

New Florida Colonists

Matriarch Luisa Hernandez-colonial governor

Savant Manuel Castro-lieutenant governor

Allegra DiSilvio-composer

Benjamin Harlan-drifter

James Alonzo Garcia-architect

LEVIN FAMILY

Cecelia "Sissy" Levin -chicken farmer, original colonist

Chris Levin -Chief Proctor, Cecelia's son

THOMPSON FAMILY

Clark Thompson -mayor, Thompson's Landing

Molly Thompson -wife

Lars Thompson -nephew (older)

Garth Thompson -nephew (younger)

CHURCH OFUNIVERSALTRANSFORMATION

Rev. Zoltan Shirow -founder and pastor

Greer, Renaldo, Doria, Ian, Byron, Clarice, Ernst, Angela, Boris, Jim, Dex, and others -church members

Klon Newall-construction foreman

Frederic LaRoux-geologist

Enrique Constanza-electronics engineer

Jaime Hodge-field worker

Lonnie Dielman-Thompson's Ferry militia

Juanita Morales-Thompson's Ferry militia

Tomas Conseco-child

Midland colonists

Robert E. Lee-Mayor of Defiance; former commanding officer, URSS Alabama

Dana Monroe-Lee's partner; former Alabama chief engineer

MONTERO FAMILY:

Carlos Montero (aka "Rigil Kent") -resistance leader

Wendy Gunther -Carlos's wife

Susan Gunther -Wendy and Carlos's daughter

Maria Montero -Carlos's sister, resistance fighter

DREYFUS FAMILY:

Jack Dreyfus -former Alabama engineer

Lisa Dreyfus -wife

Barry Dreyfus -son; resistance fighter

Ted LeMare-former Alabama ensign

Jean Swenson-former Alabama communications officer

Tom Shapiro-former Alabama first officer

Kim Newell-former Alabama shuttle pilot

Kuniko Okada-chief physician

Henry Johnson-astrophysicist

Union Guard/Union Astronautica

Capt. Fernando Baptiste-commanding officer, WHSS Spirit of Social Collectivism Carried to the

Stars

Savant Gregor Hull-member, Council of Savants

Patriarch Leonardo Samoza-chief of operations, Copernicus Centre

Capt. Ramon Lopez-squad leader

Lt. Bon Cortez-expedition member

Warrant Officer Giselle Acosta

Sgt. Arthur Cartman

PROLOGUE

MAREIMBRIUM, LUNA-2.24.2260

"Have you ever been to Earth?"

At first, Fernando Baptiste didn't realize he was being spoken to; his attention was on the lunar landscape

passing by the maglev. Mare Imbrium was a grey, flat wasteland pitted here and there by ancient impact

craters. Far away, he could make out the hulking forms of He combines, 3 massive crawlers that

scooped up powdery regolith and seined it for volatiles. It was the middle of the Moon's two-week day;

stark sunlight, polarized by the train windows, cast long shadows from the high peaks of the Apienne

Mountains.

Every seat was taken, but it was late, and nearly everyone was asleep; the lights were turned down low,

and only the steward moved down the narrow aisle. The young boy sitting next to Fernando, though, was

awake. He had the straight black hair and angular features of someone of Hispanic ancestry, but his face

had the sallow complexion of a child born and raised on the Moon. No more than twelve or thirteen,

Baptiste guessed. A book lay open in his lap, a luminescent holo of a dinosaur displayed on its screen.

He wasn't looking at it, but rather at Baptiste himself.

"Sure," he said, quietly so as not to disturb anyone dozing around them. "Not recently, but I was born

there. In a small town in Belize."

The boy nodded once, then stared down at his book. Baptiste watched as he idly touched the upper right

corner of the page; the tyrannosaur took a couple of steps forward, raised its head, and bellowed silently.

Unimpressed, the boy touched the side of the book; the screen changed, and another Jurassic animal

appeared. Baptiste didn't know much about dinosaurs, so he couldn't identify this one.

"Have you ever been there?" he asked. "To Earth, I mean."

The boy shook his head. He didn't say anything, yet Baptiste noticed the way his eyes shifted to the

insignia on his charcoal black uniform. Most Selenians were reticent in the presence of a Union

Astronautica officer, but this child wasn't quite old enough to be intimidated. He was curious about the

spacer sitting beside him, yet he had probably been taught not to bother strangers.

Baptiste gazed again out the window. For the first time, he noticed Earth hovering above the horizon.

Perhaps that was what had prompted the boy's question: the sight of the cloudy blue-green orb,

juxtaposed with the UA officer next to him. He had satisfied the boy's curiosity, and perhaps he should

let it go at that, yet it had been a long ride from Archimedes, where he'd boarded the train, and it was

probably another half hour or so until they pulled into Copernicus Centre, his final destination. He'd slept

for most of the trip, and he wasn't ready to pull out his own book and study the material he'd been sent.

Perhaps a little light conversation might take the edge off things. Besides, what harm could come from

talking to a child . . . ?

"I haven't been to Earth lately," he said, "but I know of a place that's very much like it."

The boy had just turned another page in his book; this seemingly offhand remark caught his attention.

"What do you mean? There's nowhere like . . ." Then he frowned. "Oh . . . Tranquillity Centre. My father

once took me there on holiday. It's not the same."

"You're right." Baptiste smiled. "It's not the same. The domes are just giant gardens, with manicured trees

and tame animals no more threatening than a teb . . . and a young man like you has outgrown tebs,

haven't you." The boy grinned; he was past the age of needing a teddy bear as a playmate, even if he

wasn't old enough to appreciate the miracle of forests growing beneath vast domes on the Moon.

Baptiste crossed his arms and lowered his voice. "No, I'm talking about something entirely different . . . a

world far away from here, so far away that, if you were to leave for it today, by the time you arrived,

everyone you left behind would be very old, perhaps even dead."

The boy stared at him for a long moment, not realizing what he was saying, then his dark brown eyes

widened. "You mean . . . ?"

"Yes. I'm talking about Coyote."

Once again, the boy seemed self-conscious about whom he was speaking to: a spacer, one of those who

voyaged into the outer system. The lunar colonies boasted a population of over 7 million, with a couple of

million more living on orbitals scattered across cislunar space, yet Mars was still a frontier of only a few

hundred thousand residents, and even fewer lived on the Jovian moons. It was rare to encounter a

uniformed Union Astronautica officer, and Baptiste knew without asking that the boy recognized the gold

braid on his shoulders, the silver bangle dangling from his left ear. This man wasn't just an officer, but a

ship's captain.

"I'm . . ." The boy hesitated. "I'm joining my family at Copernicus. We're supposed to be going there.

Coyote, I mean."

"Really?" Baptiste raised an eyebrow; now it was his turn to be surprised. "A future colonist, eh?" The

boy nodded. "And which ship are you taking?"

"This one." The boy touched the side of his book. The dinosaur vanished; he closed the book, ran his

finger down the index bar, then opened it again and touched the upper corner of the page. A hologram of

a starship appeared. "The Spirit of . . . um . . ."

"The Spirit of Social Collectivism Carried to the Stars ." Baptiste hid a smile behind his hand; no

sense in telling the lad the truth. Or at least not all of it . . . "I've heard of it. The newest colony ship. A

fine vessel. Are you nervous? About leaving home, I mean."

"A little." The boy idly rotated the image; the Spirit turned on its axis, displaying the unfolded flanges of

its diametric-drive engine along its cylindrical aft section, the enormous dish of its telemetry antenna raised

from the blunt prow of the forward section. "The Moon's always been home. Never even been to Earth.

And now . . ."

"And now you're going all the way to 47 Ursae Majoris." Baptiste tapped his lip with his forefinger. "And

that frightens you, doesn't it?" The boy said nothing; he stared fixedly at the image in his book. "So tell

me, what's your name?"

"Tomas. Tomas Conseco . . . Tom."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Señor Conseco. I'm Captain Baptiste." He gave Tom a sly wink.

"For the time being, you can call me Fernando . . . but that's just between you and me, eh? If there's

anyone else around, you just call me Captain, or Captain Baptiste." The boy nodded. "Here. Let me

show you something."

Baptiste reached into the pocket of the seat back in front of him and pulled out his own book. He

pressed his thumb against the verification plate on the cover; the book beeped twice, and he selected a

coded prefix on the index table, pressed it, and spread the book open in his lap. The holographic image

of a planetary system appeared: a tiny star, orbited by four planets. A tap of his fingertip and the tiny

system rose from the book, the planets slowly revolving around the star.

"That's 47 Ursae Majoris," Baptiste said, pointing to the miniature sun. "It's a GO-class star, about

forty-six light-years from Earth. A little less luminescent than our own sun, which means it's-"

"I know." Tomas squirmed impatiently. "We were taught all that in Basic Astronomy. I got an E," he

added proudly.

"Really. So you're an expert." Baptiste touched the upper margin of the right page, and the third planet of

the system expanded, becoming a ringed jovian surrounded by six major satellites. "That's Bear, its

primary," he said, pointing to the gas giant. "It's the third planet of 47 Ursae Majoris. Now, tell me . . .

which one is Coyote?" Tom peered at the satellites, then pointed to the fourth one. "Very good. Now

then, tell me about the Alabama ."

"That was the first starship. It left Earth in 2070."

"Excellent. I'm impressed. And who was aboard?"

"Some people from the United Republic of America. They were led by Captain Robert E. Lee. . . ."

"Umm . . . almost right, but not quite." Baptiste closed the page, opened another one. A flat image of the

URSS Alabama appeared within the book: a smaller vessel, less than half the size of a Destiny -class

starship and not nearly as elegant in design, the conical scoop of its Bussard ramscoop protruding from

the spherical main fuel tank at its bow. "R. E. Lee was the commanding officer, and about half of his crew

were loyal to the URA, but the other half were political dissidents whom Captain Lee led in a successful

effort to steal his own ship. The theft of the Alabama was the first major event in the downfall of the

Republic. You haven't been taught this in history class?"

Tomas looked embarrassed. "I didn't do so well in history," he admitted. "I got a U."

"Well, now . . . we'll have to make up for that, won't we?" Baptiste opened another page; an ancient

photograph appeared, flat and unenhanced by holographics: Lee standing at the lowered gangway of one

of the Alabama 's shuttles, shaking hands with an older gentleman. "That's Captain Lee with Roland

Shaw, the Republic's Director of Internal Security. This picture was taken on Merritt Island, the old

Gingrich Space Center in Florida, just before Lee escaped with the forty-seven dissidents he managed to

smuggle aboard the Alabama . . . quite a story in itself. No one knew it at the time, but Shaw was part

of the conspiracy. He secretly worked behind the scenes to help Lee get all those people aboard the

Alabama ."

"What happened to him?"

"Shaw? He was arrested for high treason and was executed. . . ."

"No, I mean Captain Lee."

"You're getting ahead of yourself." But the boy was clearly fascinated, and so Baptiste obliged his

interest. "The Alabama managed to escape with only minutes to spare, and no one's heard from Captain

Lee or his crew since then. Whether they're dead or alive, no one knows. They're still on their way to 47

Uma, and won't arrive until 2300 . . . by our reckoning at least. It'll seem a little shorter for them."

"That's the part I don't understand."

"Well, when you approach the speed of light, time passes more slowly. Since Alabama has a cruise

velocity of twenty percent light-speed, this means that, even though two hundred and thirty years will

have passed by the time it reaches Coyote, for everyone aboard it'll seem as if only two hundred and

twenty-six years have passed. A difference of a little more than four years."

Tomas looked unsettled by this knowledge, and Baptiste smiled. "But since the Spirit has a cruise

velocity of ninety-five percent light-speed, it means that it will take only a little more than forty-eight years

to get there. For everyone aboard it'll seem as if only about fifteen and a half years have passed. By Earth

reckoning, you'll arrive in 2308, about eight years after the Alabama ."

Tomas's eyes widened. "You mean I'll be able to meet Captain Lee?"

"Maybe." Baptiste shrugged. "His ship still hasn't arrived, and neither have the four colony ships that have

been launched since then. Remember, radio waves travel at the speed of light. Since nothing travels faster

than light, no one here will hear anything from Coyote for quite some time to come. So we won't know

until we . . . that is, until you . . ."

"You're the captain, aren't you?" Tom didn't look away as he said this. "The captain of the Spirit , I

mean."

No point in hiding the truth any longer. Baptiste closed the book and put it away. "You're quite intuitive."

"I figured it out when I saw your uniform." Tomas looked straight ahead. "That's why I wanted to talk to

you . . . sir, I mean. Captain Baptiste."

Across the aisle, a woman opened her eyes. Baptiste met her curious gaze, and she quickly looked out

the window, feigning disinterest; her companion continued to snore softly. "Well, for the short time we've

got left together, let's keep on being friends, shall we? I'm still Fernando, and you're still Tom. Okay?"

"Okay. Sure." The boy's voice was very soft; now that he'd admitted knowing who his traveling

companion was, he seemed more nervous than before. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

"You may ask anything you like."

"Is it . . . ?" Tom hesitated. "Is it very dangerous, where we're going? Coyote, I mean?"

"It'll be difficult, yes," he replied, carefully gauging his words. "Like I said, there are things you've taken

for granted before that you'll have to do without. And you'll have to work hard to make yourself at home.

Coyote is a whole new world, so it'll be like starting over on Earth back when hardly anyone lived there.

You'll have blue skies and fresh water, and you won't have to worry about airlocks or radiation or . . ."

"I know. That's what my father tells me. But . . ." He stopped, still refusing to look at Baptiste. "That's not

what I meant. Could I . . . could I be killed?"

How could he give an honest answer? All available information indicated that Coyote was habitable. The

Alabama had a hundred and four passengers aboard when it departed from Earth, and four more ships

had gone out since then, each carrying a thousand passengers. By the time they arrived in forty-eight

years, the colony on Coyote should be well established. Indeed, toward the end of its flight, the Spirit

would probably pass the first Union Astronautica ship, the Glorious Destiny , on its return trip to Earth.

Nonetheless, no one knew exactly what was out there.

"You won't die there," Baptiste said flatly. "You'll be safe. You have my word."

He took the boy's hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. Tomas smiled and nodded slightly. In that instant a

bond was formed between them.

And then the train bumped and began to decelerate, and a few seconds later the ceiling lights brightened.

Around them, passengers stirred from their sleep, yawning and stretching their cramped legs. Glancing

out the window, Baptiste could make out a silver-blue aura upon the distant horizon, still many miles

away but coming closer: Copernicus Centre, the largest spaceport on the Moon. A luminescent speck

rose from within the crater wall, a shuttle lifting off for rendezvous with some vessel in lunar orbit.

"My family will be waiting for me when I get in," Tomas said. "Can I . . . would you like to meet them?"

"That may not be such a good idea." Baptiste shook his head. "I think this should be our secret." Then he

forced a smile. "Can we keep this between us, Senor Conseco? What we've talked about tonight?"

"Sure." The boy nodded, understanding the situation. "I can keep a secret, Fernando . . . Captain

Baptiste, I mean."

"Thank you." Baptiste looked away, yet he kept an eye on his traveling companion. And in the last few

moments before the train trundled to a halt, he saw Tom's hand steal toward the book Baptiste had

placed in the seat pocket before him. Without making any fuss about it, Baptiste pulled out the book and

put it in his own lap.

Coyote still had its secrets. And he had one or two of his own.

The lunar headquarters of the Union Astronautica was located within the north wall of

Copernicus, with the office of the Patriarch occupying a suite high on the crater rim. The south wall was

too far away to be seen, yet through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the suite Baptiste could nonetheless

gaze out upon the vast spaceport spread out across the crater floor: hangars, dry docks, warehouses,

fuel depots, the network of roads leading from one launchpad to another where moonships awaited

liftoff.

The Patriarch's senior aide-a young lieutenant in silver-braided waistcoat, polite yet perfunctory-had

greeted him, then requested that he wait there while he informed the chief of his arrival before vanishing

through the door leading to the inner sanctum. That had been nearly twenty minutes ago, but Baptiste

wasn't impatient. This was only the second time he'd been there, and the view was spectacular. So he sat

on a couch facing the windows and watched as a shuttle to Highgate silently rose into the black sky. Too

bad he couldn't have brought the boy he met on the train-Tomas, was it?-up here; he probably would

have loved it.

The door whisked open; the aide told him that the Patriarch would see him. Baptiste picked up his valise,

stood up, and followed the lieutenant to the inner office. The aide stepped aside as Baptiste crossed the

threshold, then turned and left, allowing the door to shut quietly behind him. Obviously, the chief wanted

to see Baptiste alone.

"Captain Fernando Baptiste, at your service, sir." He snapped to rigid attention-spine straight, arms at his

side, legs together-and locked his gaze upon the luminescent emblem of the Union Astronautica above

the Patriarch's desk. Indeed, it was one of the few things in the Patriarch's office he could see; with

ceiling lights dimmed, the office was illuminated by earthlight streaming in thin bars through the window

slats.

"Oh, come now, Captain. You're behaving like an actor in some third-rate skiffy." A dry chuckle from

the other side of the room. "I hate those things, don't you? Cheap melodrama, usually written by

someone who's only been a tourist . . . if that, even."

"I wouldn't know, sir. I don't watch skiffies very often." Baptiste maintained his stiff posture.

"Hmm . . . probably just as well. Still, entertaining enough, for what they are." A figure glided from the

darkness. "If you keep that up, though, you're going to get a crick in the neck . . . and I'll tell you right

now, I'm not impressed."

Baptiste relaxed, assuming an at-ease posture. He could see the Patriarch more clearly: a short, stocky

man, his scalp shaved clean, a narrow goatee framing a broad mouth, stark black eyes buried deep

within his skull. Patriarch Leonardo Somoza, former member of the Union Proletariate, highest-ranking

UA officer on the Moon . . . and, regardless of a cultivated air of affability, a man widely regarded to be

merciless with anyone who roused his ire. Be careful when you see him , others had privately warned

Baptiste. Leo would just as soon cut off your balls as offer you a drink .

"Would you like a drink?" The Patriarch now stood only a few inches away, peering up at Baptiste's

face. "I'm going to have one, and I don't like drinking alone."

Baptiste forced a smile. "Thank you, sir. Whatever you're having."

"Uh-huh." Somoza studied him for another moment, then turned away. "We haven't met till now," he said

as he walked toward a cabinet on the other side of the room, "but you've come highly recommended for

this mission. Twelve years deep-space experience, commanding officer of the second Titan

expedition . . . impressive. Very impressive."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad you approve."

"Uh-huh." Somoza opened the cabinet, regarded a small collection of cut-glass decanters, finally selected

one. He said nothing as he poured a measure of pale brown liquid into two glasses, then added ice and

water to each one. "Of course, this is . . . well, somewhat tame compared to Titan, don't you think?"

Titan had been a nightmare. The first lander sent down from his ship had been caught in a storm while

making atmospheric entry and crashed on the moon's uncharted surface, killing half the crewmen aboard.

Baptiste dispatched the second lander to recover the survivors, and the rescue mission had nearly failed

as well, with his first officer losing his life in the effort. The review board had absolved Captain Baptiste

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