Coyote Destiny (38 page)

“That was my doing,” the
chaaz’maha
said. “I, too, figured that Sergio would be searched once he made it to Coyote. Since his mission . . . Black’s, that is . . . was to bring someone back here to find me, I didn’t want them arriving in Boston without any advance warning of who might be waiting for them. On the other hand, we didn’t know for certain whether Sergio would be making the trip alone or if one of the Provos would be with him, so the block would have to remain intact until he returned to Earth. So . . .”

“You placed a mental image of the URA flag in his mind as a subtle warning,” Jorge said, and the
chaaz’maha
nodded. “Very sneaky . . . and, yeah, it worked, all right.” Another thought occurred to him, and he turned to Vargas again. “But then we got to Boston, and you suddenly disappeared . . . what was that all about?”

“I’d hoped that, once we were actually in Boston, we’d able to make contact with the Terra Concorde underground without the Provos finding us first. But in case that didn’t happen . . . that is, if I received any indication that we were in danger of being caught by them . . . my unconscious mind would snap the block, and I’d recall what I was really supposed to be doing.”

“I think I remember now,” Inez said. “You were very nervous when we were on the Charles River, and utterly insistent about going ashore as soon as we saw the first signs of life in the city.”

The
chaaz’maha
looked at her. “You’re telepathic?”

A slight smile as Inez shook her head. “Only empathic, Papa . . . something I inherited from you and Mama.” She paused, then added, “I was raised by the Order, but no, I haven’t joined them. I’ll explain it later.”

“Anyway”—Vargas politely coughed into his hand—“the block began to crumble once we reached the city. It hadn’t fallen yet, but . . .” He shrugged. “I just knew that I had a very strong urge to get to Beacon Hill and find someone who’d lead us to the
chaaz’maha
. When Sam took off, though . . .”

“That’s when the block collapsed,” the
chaaz’maha
said. “That was in keeping with what I’d planted in his mind. If Sergio received any visual indication that something was wrong once he reached Boston, he’d remember everything, then go find someone in the underground who, in turn, would get in touch with the New England satrapy.”

“I’m sorry, but . . .” Jorge was confused. “Look, I’ve been following you so far, but how could just seeing something break his memory block?”

The
chaaz’maha
smiled. “Maybe I could demonstrate. Would you allow me to place a memory block on you? Don’t worry. It’ll be harmless, and last only a minute or two.” Jorge hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Relax. Just look at me, and don’t try to resist.”

Jorge took a deep breath, tried to relax as much as possible. Resting his elbows on the table, the
chaaz’maha
stared straight at him, solemnly peering into his eyes. For a moment, Jorge felt an odd tickle at the back of his skull, almost as if a gnat had nestled within his hair. He started to reach back to scratch at it, then the
chaaz’maha
smiled again.

“All right, it’s done,” he said, then he glanced at Inez. “Would you go stand behind him, please?” Without a word, Inez rose from her chair and walked around the table to stand behind Jorge’s chair. “Don’t look at her,” the
chaaz’maha
continued. “Just look at me. Now, tell me, please . . . what are your parents’ first names?”

Jorge opened his mouth . . . and suddenly found that he was unable to respond. In his mind’s eye, he could see their faces very clearly, yet as hard as he tried, he could not recall their names. He winced, struggling to remember . . .

“Can’t do it, can you?” the
chaaz’maha
asked, and Jorge shook his head. “Now . . . look at Inez.”

Jorge turned his head. Inez was standing behind him, a smile upon her face. “What are your parents’ first names?” the
chaaz’maha
asked again.

“Jonathan and Susan,” Jorge said, with no effort at all. Inez grinned and gently patted his shoulder. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured, stunned by what had just happened. “It was like . . . like . . .”

“You couldn’t remember their names until you saw my daughter.” When Jorge looked at the
chaaz’maha
again, he noticed that he was regarding them thoughtfully. “I had her become the visual trigger that would break the memory block . . . someone who’d make a very strong visual impression on you.”

Jorge felt his face grow warm. How much had the
chaaz’maha
learned about his feelings for Inez while he was placing the block? He tried not to look at her as she returned to her seat beside her father. “So . . . ah, that’s how Sergio remembered what he was supposed to be doing.”

“Right.” Vargas nodded. “When Sam ran off, I realized we were in danger.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it would’ve taken too long to explain, and I wasn’t sure if you would’ve believed me anyway. So I disappeared while you and Greg were studying the map . . .”

“And allowed us to be captured by the Provos.” Jorge glared at him. “Nice thinking.”

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t anything I could’ve done to stop that.” Vargas shook his head. “But I did keep the three of you in sight from a discreet distance . . . believe me, I didn’t abandon you entirely . . . until I saw where you were being taken. Then I found our contact on Beacon Hill, whom you’d just met . . .”

“The old bookseller?” Inez asked.

“That’s him, yes.” Vargas nodded. “He’d been watching the Provos on his own, and by then he’d learned that they were holed up in the State House and that they’d begun keeping their prisoners in the basement. So it wasn’t hard for us to figure out where you’d been taken. And . . . well, you know the rest. The Terra Concorde brought in its paramilitary units. One team staged the rescue operation while I led another team to Port Logan, where we recaptured the
Mercator
.” He smiled. “And just in case you’re wondering . . . yes, the starbridge key is safe. That was the first thing I checked. Black’s people hadn’t gotten around to removing it yet.”

“So we’ll still be able to use the shuttle to get back home.” Jorge let out his breath. “That’s a relief.”

“Sergio’s plan worked . . . with two exceptions.” The
chaaz’maha’s
face became grim, his voice subdued. “One was Sergeant Dillon’s death and Captain McAlister’s becoming wounded. I apologize for this, and hope that you’ll understand that neither could be helped. The other was your personal involvement. I never expected, in all my dreams, that the people who’d come to find me would belong to my own family . . . or that my own daughter’s life would be put at risk.”

Inez didn’t respond, but instead laid a hand upon her father’s. The
chaaz’maha
smiled as he looked at her, then his expression became serious again as he turned to Jorge. “Now . . . I’m sure you’re very tired, and I’d like to have some time alone with her. Sergio . . . ?”

Vargas pushed back his chair, stood up. “We have a room for you at the student union, Lieutenant. If you’ll come with me . . . ?”

“Sure.” Jorge’s legs were rubbery as he rose from his seat. It wasn’t just exhaustion he felt, though. He needed rest, but also time to absorb all that he’d learned. He started to let Vargas lead him from the room, then stopped to look back at Inez. “Are you . . . ?”

“I’m fine.” She didn’t look away from her father. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Jorge nodded and left them with each other.

 

 

The university’s guest quarters were located on the third floor of
the student union, not far from the library. Jorge’s room was small, with only the most basic furniture, but it did have its own bathroom; seeing this, he realized that he needed a bath just as much as sleep. Vargas promised him a meal and a fresh change of clothes, then he left Jorge alone, closing the door behind him.

Jorge peeled off his Corps uniform, then stood beneath the shower for a long time, letting the hot water rinse away the grime and sweat. When he emerged from the bathroom, he discovered that someone had visited his quarters while he was in the shower; his uniform was missing from where he’d dropped it on the floor, and a clean outfit had been placed on top of the dresser, along with a covered tray. His hosts were nothing if not efficient. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, toast, a bowl of mixed fruit, and a small pot of coffee. He devoured everything while he was still wrapped in his bath towel but ignored the coffee; the last thing he needed just then was something that would keep him awake. Feeling clean and well fed, Jorge closed the window blinds, then crawled beneath the bedcovers. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Daylight was still visible through cracks in the blinds when he finally woke up. A small clock on the bedside table told him that it was only a quarter after three, but he had to remind himself that Earth days were two hours shorter than those on Coyote. Which meant that it was late afternoon, and he’d been asleep a little more than six hours. That was enough; time to get up, perhaps see a little more of where he’d found himself.

The clothes he’d been brought were plain but fitted him well enough: brown denim slacks and a matching shirt, underwear and socks, a heavy wool sweater. His parka and boots had been left behind, though, so he wouldn’t get cold if he left the building. And it was a relief to find that the door wasn’t locked, nor was there a guard posted outside. Yet he’d barely pulled on his boots when there was a knock at the door, and a young man stuck his head in.

“Oh, good . . . you’re already up.” Jorge nodded, and he went on. “The
chaaz’maha
would like to see you if you’re not too busy.”

“Not at all,” Jorge replied.

“Great.” The student smiled and nodded. “If you’re ready, I’ll take you to him.”

Jorge thought at first that they would return to the library. Instead, the young man escorted him across the campus, past the library, and down the hill, until they reached the geodomes he’d spotted earlier. In the waning light of the day, the translucent hemispheres glowed from within, looking like a pair of blisters that had grown up in the middle of the former athletic field. A concrete walkway led them to the one on the left; an airlock door opened to a small anteroom, where the student told him he could leave his parka. After Jorge hung up his coat, the kid opened the inner door and took him the rest of the way into the dome.

Jorge found himself in a large greenhouse, with row upon row of elevated racks arranged beneath a gridlike ceiling of ultraviolet lamps. Upon the racks were long trays filled with dark, rich soil; spray-heads above the racks watered the plants being cultivated in the trays. The air within the dome was warm and humid; Jorge was glad that he had left his parka outside and found himself wishing he’d done the same with his sweater. Nonetheless, the dome was a pleasant relief from the autumn chill outside; it was as if there was a little bit of summertime in the place.

The student left him then, making a slight bow before turning to walk back the way they’d come. So far as Jorge could tell, there was no one else in the dome. Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled down the aisles between the racks, casually inspecting what was being grown in that part of the greenhouse: herbs, for the most part, although none he immediately recognized.

He’d just bent over to look more closely at what appeared to be a bed of grass when he heard the airlock door open. Looking up, he saw the
chaaz’maha
come in. No longer dressed in the long white robe, he wore an ordinary sweatshirt and jeans; were it not for the
hjadd
symbol on his forehead, he could have been a university botanist, dropping by to check on the gardens.

Spotting Jorge, the
chaaz’maha
smiled. “Oh, excellent . . . you’re already here.” He carefully shut the door behind him, then sauntered down the center aisle. “Thought you might prefer to meet here,” he went on. “This is one of my favorite places, especially when it’s cold outside. I can’t get here often enough.”

“Yes, it’s . . . it’s pretty nice.” Jorge found that he was having trouble speaking. He wasn’t a
Sa’Tong
ian, but nonetheless he was still overawed to find himself in the presence of the
chaaz’maha
. “Are these . . . I mean, is this being grown as food, or . . . ?”

“These species? Oh, no . . . or at least, not exactly. Most of what’s here are exotic species, some of them very nearly extinct until the Terra Concorde undertook its horticultural revival program. The herbs in this part of the dome were often used as folk remedies, way back when.” Coming closer, the
chaaz’maha
nodded toward the rack Jorge had been inspecting. “That’s couch grass, for instance . . . sometimes used in witchcraft, or so it was said. Placed under the bed, it could break evil spells.”

Jorge raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

The
chaaz’maha
chuckled. “Not at all. Still, it’s fun, knowing the lore behind some of these species.” He pointed to another tray. “That’s horny goat weed . . . yes, that’s really what it’s called . . . and it’s supposed to increase the libido. Quite a few of the herbs here have that purpose, it seems. Blood root for sexual enhancement, parsley for fertility . . .” A salacious wink. “I suppose the old-timers needed a little help now and then.”

Suddenly nervous about the direction this casual conversation had taken, Jorge decided to change the subject. “How did you find them? You said they were nearly extinct.”

“Good question. Glad you asked.” The
chaaz’maha
gazed around the greenhouse. “The Terra Concorde isn’t without precedent. As long ago as the early twenty-first century, various organizations recognized the inevitability of global climate change and began to take measures to assure the long-term survival of endangered species. One of those was the Svalbard Global Seed Bank, which the U.N. established on a Norwegian island just south of the Arctic Circle. It served as a repository for seeds of various plants . . . particularly agricultural species . . . that naturalists figured might disappear unless an effort was made to save them.”