Coyote Destiny (10 page)

Vargas regarded her with much the same curiosity he’d given her mother. “My ship . . . the
Bolivar
, that is . . . was scheduled to make the jump to Coyote when our starbridge went down. Because of that, my crew and I were the ones who recovered the lifeboat with the
chaaz’maha
aboard. So it was from him that I learned . . .”

A quiet gasp from Melissa. Her face had gone pale, and she clutched the armrests of her chair so hard that the knuckles of her fingers were white. “You . . . you actually spoke to . . . ?”

“Yes, I did. Along with a doctor who happened to be aboard, I was the first person to meet him.” Vargas looked sharply at President Edgar. “Who
is
this woman?”

Edgar’s mouth became taut. “As I said, she’s from the university . . .”

“No.” Vargas pointed toward Melissa. “You said her name is Sanchez. The
chaaz’maha
has always said that he’d had a wife named Melissa Sanchez.” His finger turned toward Inez. “He also said that, just a few days before he left Coyote, she gave birth to their daughter . . . Inez, if I remember her name correctly. Your age is about right, I think . . . would that be you?”

“Sir, you are mistaken.” Edgar’s face had gone pale. “Ms. Sanchez and Ms. Torres are . . .”

“No.” Inez’s voice was quiet, yet it interrupted the president as surely as if she’d shouted. “You’re right. I’m Inez Sanchez, and this is my mother, Melissa . . . and yes, she’s the partner of the
chaaz’maha
, and I’m his daughter.”

The president scowled but didn’t say anything. Caught in a lie, he apparently realized that further denial was pointless. Sergio Vargas stared at the two women; although he’d been proven correct, he was unable to speak. Indeed, he appeared to be awestruck by their presence.

“Thank you for telling us that Hawk . . . the
chaaz’maha
, that is . . . is still alive,” Melissa said. “And I’m grateful to you for having rescued him.” As she spoke, she took her daughter’s hand. “For the last nineteen years, we’ve assumed that he perished aboard the
Lee
. I’m glad . . . we’re glad . . . to learn otherwise.”

Vargas sank back in his chair, nodding but remaining silent. Inez stared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said after a moment. “You’re not pleased by this, are you? In fact, your feelings about my father are rather hostile.”

“Inez . . .” Sawyer began.

“So that part’s true, too.” Vargas finally found his voice; his eyes narrowed as he returned Inez’s stare. “We’ve known for a long time that the
chaaz’maha
is a telepath, and he told his followers that his wife was, too.”

“I’m not his wife, but rather his partner.” Melissa smiled slightly. “I’m glad to hear that he considered me as such, though.”

“Yes, well . . . you know that already, don’t you?” There was a bitter undertone in Vargas’s response. “What else have you two found out about me? Or should I even ask?”

“My daughter isn’t a telepath. I can read minds, but only when I care to do so.” Melissa shook her head. “When I tell you that I haven’t probed your thoughts, you can believe that I’m telling the truth.”

Jorge didn’t know whether she was lying, but although there was still distrust in Vargas’s eyes, the pilot slowly nodded. “I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I? And I suppose it would be unfair of me to blame either of you for what the
chaaz’maha
has done.” His gaze flickered toward Inez. “Particularly not you. You never knew him at all.”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened.

“Oh, c’mon.” Vargas closed his eyes, shook his head. “Do you think I stole a freighter and risked my life coming all the way out here just because I felt like it?” He looked at Melissa again. “I’m sorry to say this, but if I could do it all over again, I would’ve left that goddamn lifeboat where I found it. Maybe even rammed it.”

Melissa hissed beneath her breath, while Inez gazed at him with astonishment. “Mr. Vargas, you’re way out of line,” Sawyer growled. “If you don’t shut up . . .”

“Why should I?” Vargas barely looked his way. “I don’t know what you people think of the
chaaz’maha
, but where I come from, he’s been nothing but trouble. That damned religion of his has been the worst thing to happen to us since . . . well, everything else that’s happened . . . and we would have been better off if he’d never set foot on Earth.” He hesitated. “Of course, I’m partly to blame for that,” he added. “Not only did I rescue him, but I actually helped bring him home. Was that a mistake . . .”

“Why?” Jorge couldn’t help himself; he had to know the reasons for this man’s hostility.

“And who are you? Another one of his followers?”

“No.” Jorge felt the president’s eyes upon him, but there was no point in keeping up the charade. “My name’s Jorge Montero, and I’m Hawk Thompson’s . . . the
chaaz’maha’s
. . . cousin.” Before Vargas could reply, he went on. “What’s he done that’s caused you to hate him so much?”

Vargas gazed around the table, studying his inquisitors as much they studied him. “Look,” he said at last, raising his hands, “I’m not trying to pick a fight. All I’m saying is that, back where I come from, the
chaaz’maha
took a bad situation and, just when we were beginning to pull ourselves out of it, made things worse. Hell, he’s even withdrawn our colonies from the outer planets, brought everyone back to Earth. That’s why I had to steal the
Guevara
. . . no one’s going out past Mars now, let alone Eris.”

“So that’s why no one used KX-1 until now?” Jorge asked.

“That’s right.” Vargas shook his head. “Oh, no, it wasn’t forgotten, just as Starbridge Earth is still usable. It’s only that the
chaaz’maha
told everyone to leave them alone.”

“Sounds as if his word carries a lot of weight,” Edgar murmured.

“You could say that, yes.” Vargas’s voice was dry with sarcasm. “Not that we needed a messiah, but that’s exactly what he set himself up to be. Now he’s got a whole lot of people believing this crap . . .”

“
Sa’Tong
, you mean.”

“I mean
Sa’Tong
.” Vargas’s lips curled in distaste. “Started as a cult . . . and if it had only stayed that way, I wouldn’t have any problem with it. But now it’s become a full-blown religion, with more people getting involved with it every day, and that’s just the last thing we...”

“Where is he?” Melissa was becoming impatient with him. “Where is the
chaaz’maha
?”

“You want to find him, don’t you?” A humorless smile crossed Vargas’s face. “Good. Maybe you’ll go back and get him. That would be a blessing . . .”

“Cut it out.” Sawyer was also losing patience. “Just tell us where he is.”

“Last time I heard, he was in Boston.” An indifferent shrug, as if Vargas couldn’t have cared less. “He gets around a lot, so no one is ever sure where he’s going to show up next, but I understand that he’s spent a lot of time there.”

“That’s rather vague, isn’t it?” Edgar asked.

“Best I can do . . . but don’t ask me to lead you there.” Clasping his hands together, Vargas leaned back in his seat. “It took years for me to pull off my getaway, and I’m in no hurry to go back. Especially not to Boston . . . not the safest place in the world, if you know what I mean.”

“Regardless, it’s in our interests to find him.” Edgar turned to Sawyer. “This is your area, General,” he continued, apparently abandoning the pretense that anyone in the room was affiliated with the university. “I want you to see about sending an expedition to Earth as soon as possible, with the express purpose of locating the
chaaz’maha
and bringing him back home.” He nodded toward Vargas. “I’m sure our guest will be willing to provide you with whatever assistance you need . . . won’t you, Mr. Vargas?”

Vargas seemed dubious about this proposal, but apparently he’d realized that his future rested upon cooperating with the government; he nodded, albeit reluctantly. The president turned to Inez. “No doubt you’ll be interested in participating in such an expedition, Corporal”—she quietly nodded as well—“so I’ll put you under the general’s command. You’ll be relieved of all other . . . um, assignments . . . for the time being.”

“Sir?” Jorge raised a hand. “I’d like to be in on this, too, if I may.” He glanced at Sawyer and Inez. “Unless you have any objections, that is.”

Inez smiled, and Sawyer did as well. “I think we have our first two volunteers,” he said to the president, then he pushed back his chair and started to rise. “If there’s nothing else for now, I’d like to . . .”

“Actually, there is.” Edgar looked at Vargas again. “There’s one other thing you mentioned to me when we met earlier that I think would interest my people.” Vargas appeared to be at a loss. “About the destruction of the
Lee
,” the president added, prompting him. “What the
chaaz’maha
told you after you rescued him . . .”

“Right.” Vargas snapped his fingers. “On the way to Highgate, where he was questioned before I took him to Earth, I had a chance to talk to him about what happened. He told me that the
Lee
was destroyed by a bomb that had been brought aboard by a Dominionist deacon. Someone named Alberto Cosenza . . .”

“We know that already.” Sawyer resumed his seat; impatient to get started on his new assignment, he glanced at his watch. “I don’t see how that . . .”

“He also said that he knew who built the bomb.” Vargas scowled. “We didn’t know it then, but that was the first indication anyone had that he could read minds. Apparently he learned this while he was in telepathic contact with . . .”

“Wait a sec.” Sawyer stared at him. “Did you just say that someone else put together the bomb? Someone besides Cosenza?”

The others glanced at one another. In the years that had passed since the destruction of the
Robert E. Lee
, it had been rumored that another individual had been involved. A government investigation turned up an eyewitness who claimed that, a couple of hours before Cosenza boarded the passenger shuttle that transported him to the starship, he had seen him in a cafe in New Brighton, speaking with someone who’d brought in a suitcase that the deacon had carried out of the cafe. Yet no one else had seen that individual, let alone identified him, and in the end the official report had concluded that, if only for lack of corroborating evidence, Cosenza had probably acted alone, even though there was nothing in his background to indicate that the deacon had any prior expertise in bomb making.

“Yes,” Vargas replied. “He said that the bomb was made by someone named David Laird.” He paused. “Why, does that mean something to you?”

Sawyer’s expression became grim, and there was cold fury in his eyes. Jorge didn’t have to ask why. Although the general seldom spoke about it, everyone who knew Sawyer well was aware that he’d had a close friend aboard the
Lee
: a woman whom he’d deeply cared about, who’d been on her way back to Earth. Indeed, that very morning, he’d tried to persuade her to stay on Coyote, even move in with him. Jorge had lost his grandfather, and Melissa and Inez had lost both partner and father, but Sawyer’s loss was probably the most tragic of all, if only because he could have prevented it.

“Yeah . . . yeah, that means something to me.” Sawyer slowly exhaled. Then, without another word, he shoved back his chair, stood up, and stalked out of the conference room. The slam of the door behind him was like a gunshot.

No one spoke. Vargas stared at the door. “I’m sorry, but . . . what did I say?”

“Enough,” Melissa murmured. “Perhaps too much.”

 

 

Jorge didn’t see Sawyer again for the rest of the day. Once the
briefing was concluded, the blueshirts escorted him, Inez, and Melissa back to their rooms, where—much to their annoyance—they were told that, on presidential orders, they were confined to quarters until further notice. Jorge didn’t know where Vargas was staying, but it was a safe bet that the former UA captain was being held by the Militia in some location where he’d have minimal contact with anyone. Edgar was taking no chances with word leaking out that a ship had recently arrived from Earth, and it was obvious that he didn’t trust his guests to keep their mouths shut.

So Jorge spent the day reading, napping, and pacing. Early that evening, a proctor arrived with a dinner tray. By then, Jorge was beginning to feel like a prisoner, and it didn’t help that the meal he’d been brought—boiled chicken, spongy potatoes, limp greens—was the sort of thing he would have been fed in a jail cell. But he’d just finished picking his way through dinner when there was a knock at the door. Before he could get up to answer it, Sawyer came in.

“Got a few minutes?” he asked, leaving the door open behind him.

“Yes, sir. More than a few.” Jorge noticed that, although Sawyer was wearing the same clothes he’d had on that morning, he’d put on his boots and was carrying his Corps parka over his arm. “I take it you managed to get out of here.”

A brief nod. “Grab your boots and jacket,” he said quietly. “We’re going for a walk.”

That was the best thing Jorge had heard all day. Sawyer waited as he put on his gear, then escorted Jorge out into the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind them. There was no one in sight save for two blueshirts standing watch at each end of the corridor; the soldier at the far end of the corridor took a sudden interest in his belt buckle, while the one watching the stairs gave the general a quick nod before raising his eyes to study the ceiling. Apparently Sawyer had persuaded them to look away for a few seconds while he and Jorge left the building.

Night had fallen, and with it, a thin shower of snow, carried by a cold wind from the northwest. Everyone who worked in Government House had left for the day; most of the windows were dark, and there was no one on the street. Once they were outside, the two men paused to put on their berets, then Sawyer led Jorge away from the building. He didn’t speak until they were on the raised wooden sidewalks of the historic district, and even then it was in a subdued voice.