Coyote Horizon

by Allen Steele

  For once, Hawk shared the same feelings as his fellow agents. Although they were intrigued by the prospect of seeing one of the aliens in the flesh, they also knew that it would be a major headache. A squad of Colonial Militia in full dress uniform had been flown in for the occasion; although they were little more than an honor guard, their presence was intimidating all the same. The arrest of a Living Earth terrorist was still fresh in everyone’s mind. And since no other spacecraft would be allowed to land until the emissary left New Brighton, there would be a logjam later in the day. So while they looked forward to the break from the routine, they were also aware that the hjadd ambassador would pose a nuisance.

  Yet Hawk was in for one more surprise: the unexpected arrival of Uncle Carlos.

  In the years since Carlos Montero had left office, the former president of the Coyote Federation had become the official liaison to the hjadd embassy. Since this coincided with the period Hawk spent on the farm, he was barely aware of the role his uncle played in fostering relations between Coyote and Hjarr; Uncle Carlos had become a distant relative, as remote from him as he was from nearly everyone else. Only a couple of people in New Brighton knew that they were related, and Hawk was just as happy to keep it that way. So he was stunned when, little less than a half hour before the hjadd shuttle was scheduled to land, he heard a voice speak his name, and he turned around to find his uncle standing just outside his kiosk.

  “Hawk?” Carlos gazed at him through the glass. “Good to see you again.”

  It took a second for Hawk to recognize his uncle. He’d grown older since the last time he’d seen him; his hair was almost completely grey, and sometime in the last few years he’d cultivated a trim white beard.

  “Uncle Carlos?” he said at last. “Is that you?”

  A smile appeared on Carlos’s face. “Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming, but…well, I’ve been busy lately.” A pause. “Think you can step out to see me?”

  Hawk hesitated. With the terminal vacant of incoming passengers, the only other persons around were his fellow inspectors. They’d turned around in their kiosks to regard him with surprise; they weren’t aware that one of their own knew President Montero. Behind Carlos, their supervisor quietly nodded.

  “Sure…okay.” Pushing back his chair, Hawk opened the door and stepped out of the booth. “Been a long time,” he added, not knowing what else to say.

  The smile faded. “Like I said, I’ve been busy lately.” Carlos looked him over. “You’re doing well. I hear you were responsible for a major arrest just recently.”

  Hawk shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

  “All the same, it was above and beyond the call of duty.” Carlos looked over his shoulder at the supervisor. “I hope you’ve put my nephew in for a raise. He certainly deserves it.”

  The customs supervisor gave him a nod, although that was the first time a pay hike had been mentioned. Hawk felt his face grow warm. He’d never said anything to anyone about a relationship to a famous uncle; all of a sudden, he found himself wishing that Carlos had never shown up. “It’s not necessary, really,” he said hastily. “Like I said…”

  “Just doing your job. Of course.” The smile reappeared, but it seemed as if Carlos had sensed Hawk’s discomfort. “Still, this sort of thing shouldn’t go unrewarded.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “I’m wondering if you could do me a favor…in an official capacity, of course.”

  Hawk said nothing but nodded. Putting his hand on his arm, his uncle pulled him aside. “I have a small problem,” he went on, once he was out of earshot of the others. “This idea of having the hjadd go through customs…it’s something I didn’t want. They don’t understand the concept of passports and visas, and although I’ve tried to explain it to them, they still consider it an insult. An indication that we don’t trust them.”

  “Sure, but I can’t…”

  “I know. You don’t make the rules, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Carlos kept his voice down. “I’m trying to persuade the Colonial Council to change their minds and make an exception for the hjadd ambassadors, but until I do, I need to work out some sort of compromise.”

  Hawk followed his uncle’s gaze through the terminal windows. A squad of Colonial Militia were lined up on either side of a red carpet that had been unrolled along the concrete apron; at parade rest, they awaited the arrival of the hjadd shuttle. “What I’d like to do,” Carlos continued, “is have you meet the new ambassador out there instead of making himher come through the terminal. That way, you can process himher in a way that’s a bit less…well, conspicuous.”

  Hawk was hesitant. “I don’t know if I can do that.” He glanced over his shoulder at his supervisor, who was watching them from beside the kiosk. “My boss…”

  “I’ve already spoken to him, and he says that, so long as you do everything you’d normally do, he has no problem with it. We’re not breaking any rules, only bending them a little. With luck, this may be the last time we’ll have to go through this foolishness. But until we revise the procedures, it’s the best I can negotiate at the last minute.” Carlos smiled. “And besides, you’ll get an opportunity very few people have had so far…you’ll meet a hjadd face-to-face. Interested?”

  Although Hawk had no particular fondness for Carlos, the fact remained that he owed him a favor; after all, if he hadn’t arranged for his parole, Hawk would still be on the farm. And, he had to admit, the prospect of meeting a hjadd intrigued him. It also occurred to him that, if he played his cards right, he might be tapped for permanent duty in that particular area. Much more interesting than dealing with tourists all day.

  “All right,” he replied. “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Great. I was hoping you’d say so.” Carlos briefly put his arm around Hawk’s shoulder, then turned toward his supervisor and gave him a quick nod, which the other man accepted with a stoical frown. “Very well. Get whatever you need, then come with me.”

  The hjadd shuttle was unlike any spacecraft Hawk had ever seen. Resembling a manta ray, its aquamarine hull lacking any obvious seams, it descended upon the spaceport with little more than a high-pitched whine, the pods of its reactionless drive emitting a deep blue glow that faded the moment its landing gear touched the ground.

  So accustomed had he become to hearing the blast of descent engines, Hawk found himself vaguely unsettled by the nearly silent arrival of the alien craft. Here was technology so advanced that it made anything made by his own race seem primitive by comparison. No wonder his uncle was concerned about not wanting to offend their visitors.

  They stood together at the end of the red carpet, the Colonial Militia on either side of them. At an order from their commanding officer, the soldiers snapped to attention, backs straight, hands to their sides. Someone had apparently instructed the militiamen not to present arms, because their carbines remained strapped to their shoulders; Hawk noticed, though, that the straps were loose enough that the soldiers could easily unlimber their weapons. He was also aware that, just out of sight, other soldiers were carefully watching the landing field. It had apparently occurred to others that David Laird might not have been the first member of Living Earth to visit Coyote.

  For a minute or so, there was no motion or sound from the hjadd shuttle. Then there was a faint hiss of escaping pressure as a hatch on the craft’s underside slid open, and a moment later a ramp slowly lowered to the ground. Another minute went by, then the hjadd ambassador walked down the ramp.

  Although Uncle Carlos had already told him what to expect, Hawk felt a shiver. The emissary wore an environment suit that completely concealed hisher body, yet it was obvious that heshe was an extraterrestrial. Shorter than a human, with a broad torso carried upon two short, thick legs, hisher face was hidden behind the reflective faceplate of a helmet that rose from hisher elongated neck. A brown satchel hung by a narrow strap from hisher right shoulder; Hawk noticed that hisher hand never left it.

  Apparently heshe would be the
only one of hisher kind to disembark, because no one followed himher down the ramp. The ambassador stopped just an inch or two before setting foot on the ground; heshe silently waited, ignoring the soldiers on either side of the carpet.

  “Let’s go,” Uncle Carlos murmured, then began to march down the aisle. Hawk took a deep breath and fell in behind him.

  Carlos came to a halt in front of the hjadd. “Greetings,” he said, raising his left hand palm-outward. “I am Carlos Montero, former president and official liaison for the Coyote Federation. Welcome to Coyote.”

  “Thank you, President Montero.” The voice that came from the grille beneath the helmet faceplate was pleasant yet androgynous; although Hawk knew that hjadd environment suits contained translation devices, nevertheless it seemed odd to hear Anglo being spoken. Heshe raised hisher left hand, six-fingered within its glove. “I am Jasahajahd Taf Sa-Fhadda, Cultural Ambassador for Hjarr. May I have permission to visit your world?”

  “Yes, Taf Sa-Fhadda, please do.” Carlos moved back a little. “May your stay be comfortable and in peace.”

  “Thank you.” The hjadd stepped off the ramp, hisher feet coming to rest upon the carpet. “May relations between our races continue to prosper.”

  “So say we all.” Carlos nodded and lowered his hand. “I hope that your journey was without incident.”

  “It was.” Taf’s head moved back and forth on hisher neck. “The courtesy you’ve shown us has been appreciated, although the recent change in landing site has been”—the slightest of pauses—“noted.”

  “Profound apologies for the inconvenience.” Carlos lowered his head in supplication. “My government has decided that all spacecraft are to land here, regardless of origin. I’m currently negotiating for a more private location at this spaceport for future arrivals by your vessels.”

  Looking up again, Carlos gestured toward the honor guard on either side of the carpet. “In the meantime, we will try to extend every possible courtesy to you and your kind. Once we are done here, these soldiers will escort you to an aircraft waiting nearby, which will transport you directly to your embassy. First, though”—a meaningful pause—“we have a small ritual that we are obliged to perform.”

  Hawk tried not to smile. He’d never thought of his job as conducting a ritual; apparently this was how the former president had presented it to the hjadd. But he managed to keep a straight face as Carlos turned toward him. “Allow me to introduce Hawk Thompson, an officer of our government’s Bureau of Customs and Immigration. He is the son of my sister, and he has been given this duty today.”

  Uncle Carlos moved aside, giving him a brief nod. Feeling his heart thudding in his chest, Hawk stepped forward. His left hand trembled as he raised it. “Greetings…uh, Taj Fhadda…”

  “Taf Sa-Fhadda.” Carlos cast an urgent glance at the hjadd. “My apologies, Ambassador. No insult was intended.”

  Taf said nothing, but once again hisher head swung back and forth on hisher neck. Hawk took the gesture to be an affirmative. “Pardon me,” he said quickly. “I…Sorry, but I didn’t…”

  “You are pardoned,” Taf replied. “Please continue.”

  Hawk took a deep breath, tried to remain calm. Raising his datapad, he switched to vox mode so that he wouldn’t have to write on the screen. “Yes…umm…name, please?”

  Too late, he realized that he’d committed another gaffe. From the corner of his eye, he saw his uncle stiffen; behind them, one of the soldiers stifled unkind laughter. Yet the emissary didn’t seem to mind. “I am Jasahajahd Taf Sa-Fhadda,” heshe said, repeating what heshe had said only seconds ago. “Cultural Ambassador to the Coyote Federation from Hjarr.”

  “Uhh…yes, thank you.” Hawk had the presence of mind to skip the next two questions; his uncle had already told him that passports and visas were meaningless to the hjadd, and the ambassador had already told him where he was from. “Reason for visiting?”

  “I have come to facilitate the exchange of cultural information regarding our respective races,” Taf said, his words coming effortlessly from the grille. “In particular, matters of history, art, social customs, and spirituality.” Heshe paused. “I hope that this visit will be to our mutual benefit, Hawk Thompson.”

  Any other time, and from anyone else, that would have been more than Hawk needed to know. Yet he couldn’t help but smile. “So do I…ah, Taf Sa-Fhadda,” he replied, feeling a little more at ease. “Expected length of stay?”

  A long pause. “I do not understand.”

  Hawk didn’t need to look at Carlos to know that his uncle was glaring at him. “Umm…how long do you expect to be here? On Coyote, I mean.”

  “For as long as it takes for me to fulfill my mission,” Taf said. “Unless my people decide that my work here is inadequate and decide to replace me, it will be indefinite.”

  “Yes, right…of course.” Again, Hawk realized how unsuitable his questions were. Yet all he could do was carry on as best he could. “Are you carrying any items valued at more than one hundred colonials?”

  “Ambassador…” Carlos moved forward. “Forgive us, please. My nephew didn’t mean any…”

  “No need to apologize.” Taf’s head swung toward him. “He is only performing a ritual as dictated by the customs of your people.” The hjadd looked at Hawk again. “I do not understand your question. I carry items, yes. Are you asking me if any of them are valuable to you?”

  Before Hawk could respond, Taf opened the flap of hisher satchel. Hisher hand disappeared for a moment; when it emerged again, heshe held a small black box, six inches on a side. “This may be worth something to you,” Taf said. “Is that what you mean to ask?”

  “No, I…”

  “I’m sorry, Taf Sa-Fhadda.” Carlos came to the rescue. “My nephew has made a mistake. As ambassador, by our laws you are exempt from having to declare…that is, to formally state…the value of any items you may be carrying.”

  “Yes. I understand now.” But Taf didn’t put away the box; instead, hisher head cocked slightly to one side. “You seem to be uncertain of yourself,” heshe said quietly. “I do not think you know what you are doing.”

  “I…” Hawk sighed, shook his head. “No. You’re right, Ambassador. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He saw the scowl on his uncle’s face, and added, “I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

  Taf didn’t respond for a moment, yet heshe took a step closer, as if to study the customs agent a little more closely. Hawk saw his face reflected in the faceplate of the hjadd’s helmet: nervous, unsure of himself. Little more than a functionary, and an inept one at that.

  “Yes,” heshe said at last. “I see that now. You search for something, but you do not know what it is, nor will you ever be happy until you find it.”

  Hawk didn’t know what to say, but it was as if the hjadd had found a window to his soul and opened it. Everything Taf said was true; he’d just never admitted it to himself. He nodded, then went quiet, looking down at the ground in humiliation.

  “I believe that you need this,” Taf said, hisher voice so low that only Hawk and his uncle could hear it. Hawk looked up to see that the emissary was offering the box to him. “Take it. Consider it a gift.”

  “I…” Hawk stared at the small box. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Rules say that I’m prohibited from accepting any…”

  “Hawk…” Carlos began, and Hawk caught the expression on his uncle’s face. He suddenly realized that if he didn’t accept a gift from the cultural ambassador, Jasahajahd Taf Sa-Fhadda would doubtless consider it an insult.

  “Thank you, Taf Sa-Fhadda.” Hawk took the small box from the hjadd. Now that it was in his hand, he noticed that it was a little heavier than it seemed; a narrow crack ran down its center, revealing the location of two hinged flaps. The box rattled faintly in his grasp, as if it contained something inside. He started to open it, but the hjadd quickly laid hisher hand across his own.

  “No,” heshe said quietly. “Not here. Later, when you are a
lone and your mind is at peace. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Hawk hesitated. “What is it?”

  “It is Sa’Tong-tas…the Book of Sa’Tong.” Taf paused. “Speak to it, and it will speak to you.”

  “Thank you.” Hawk didn’t know what else to say.

  “Sa’Tong qo, Hawk Thompson.” The ambassador turned away from him. “If we are finished with this ritual,” heshe said to Carlos, “I would like to leave now.”

  “Yes…sure, of course.” For once, Carlos appeared to be flustered; he was obviously shocked that his nephew, whom he’d ignored for so long, would be the recipient of an alien artifact. One last glance at Hawk, then he extended a hand toward the carpet. “If you will follow me, please…”

  Without another word, Jasahajahd Taf Sa-Fhadda allowed himher-self to be led away. Hawk watched as his uncle escorted the ambassador past the double row of soldiers; not far away, the twin props of a gyrobus were already beginning to turn, its pilot preparing for immediate take-off.

  Not once did the hjadd look back at him. Hawk waited until the emissary, accompanied by his uncle, boarded the aircraft. Its passenger door slammed shut, and a few seconds later the gyro rose from the ground, heading northwest to New Florida.

  By then, the Sa’Tong-tas had disappeared within his trouser pocket. No one except Carlos had seen Hawk take it; no one had to know that the ambassador had given him a present. Perhaps it was only a trivial item. Nevertheless, he had a feeling that it was important.

  Hawk left work early. He told his supervisor that he was feeling a little ill; something he’d eaten for breakfast, along with the stress of greeting the ambassador, had upset his stomach. His boss was a bit miffed—they were expecting a larger than usual number of passengers later that afternoon—but Hawk almost never called in sick, and he had an extra day off coming to him. So he grudgingly let Hawk go and assigned another inspector to take his place.