Coyote Ugly

by Pati Nagle

  “What else could we say to him?” Adele asked. “He won’t look for his friends. He’s sure he’s surrounded by enemies.”

  “He still shooting off that dang gun?” Thelma asked.

  “Yes.”

  Thelma stood up. “Hey, you! Jason!”

  Adele saw the soldier turn at hearing his name. His eyes narrowed as he faced Thelma. Seeing him point his gun at her raised the hair on the back of Adele’s neck.

  “He’s listening,” she whispered.

  “Haven’t you used up a lot of bullets?”

  The soldier blinked. What?

  Adele nodded vigorously to tell Thelma to keep going.

  “That gun of yours seems like it has an endless supply of ammunition. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

  The soldier hesitated, then looked at his gun. Adele sensed his anger dissipating, replaced by confusion. She raised her hands, sending light to him.

  Yes, Mariah said.

  Adele felt the second circle joining in as everyone raised their hands, except Thelma, who kept talking. The light was so powerful it sent a tingle along Adele’s arms.

  “You’re out of the battle, you know,” Thelma said. “You’re back on friendly territory. Some of your buddies should be around. Don’t you see them?”

  All I see is fog.

  “He says he just sees fog.”

  “Well, you see me, don’t you? And Donna Sue here, and Clara? Don’t you have a pretty girl like her at home?”

  Adele winced, because it wasn’t safe to make assumptions like that, but getting his mind off the violence was the important thing. The soldier frowned, looking at Clara for a long time, then finally sighed.

  Yeah. Michelle.

  So he did have a sweetheart. That could be touchy, but it might help.

  “His girl is named Michelle,” Adele said.

  “Don’t you think Michelle misses you?” said Thelma at once. “Don’t you want to see her?”

  Michelle.

  His voice sounded like a plea. It made Adele’s heart ache for him, poor boy. He was hardly more than a kid. All the anger wasn’t natural for him. He had put it on to shield him from worse things, but he didn’t need the armor any more.

  Adele sensed Mariah’s attention. We are going to try showing him Michelle.

  You can do that while he’s here?

  In a limited way. Keep sending light to him, please.

  Adele focused on the soldier—Jason—and redoubled her efforts. A little tune was running through the back of her mind; she tried to figure it out without letting it distract her. She began to hum it softly, trying to recollect what it was.

  “I know that!” said Clara. “My auntie Jo used to sing that to me!”

  “Sing it now, please,” Adele said, not sure why but knowing she should trust her instincts.

  Clara began to sing, her voice shy and sweet. It was a little children’s song, a lullaby.

  Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

  And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

  Jason turned toward Clara as she sang, and Adele felt the last of all the anger melt out of him. The gun was gone; it had disappeared and he didn’t seem to notice. He was listening to the song, looking like his heart ached fit to break.

  There wasn’t going to be a happy reunion for him, at least not now. Michelle was still on this side, otherwise Mariah’s circle would have brought her.

  As she thought of Michelle, Adele saw a glow of light rising in one corner of the room, behind Clara’s end of the sofa. It was like a little spotlight, shining on a scene where a young woman sat playing cards with some other girls, laughing together.

  Michelle!

  “She can’t hear you,” Adele said. “Or see you. I’m sorry.”

  For a moment she wondered if Jason had heard her, then he turned and looked right at her. His eyes were cold and hard, like they’d been when he had the gun.

  What do you mean?

  Rescuees rarely heard Adele; she mostly let the others in the circle do the talking, but he had focused on her so it was her task this time. She made her voice as gentle as she could.

  “You’re in a different place now.”

  What place?

  Adele swallowed. “A place of transition. You have friends waiting to see you.”

  And family, Mariah added.

  “And family. Do you see a light over that way?”

  He frowned, looking in the direction she’d indicated, toward where his friends were waiting. There were several souls there. Adele couldn’t tell much about them besides their eagerness to make Jason see them.

  He took a step toward them. “Poppa?”

  One of the souls came forward. The closer he got to the soldier, the more clearly Adele could see him. He looked like Jason, though too young to be his father; hardly older than Jason was now. Of course, on that side they could appear in different ways, depending on how strong and experienced they were. Usually they chose to look like they had when they’d crossed, if they showed a human form at all.

  When Jason and his father embraced, Adele let out a sigh of relief. Everyone on both sides rejoiced.

  The satisfaction was bittersweet. So many times Henry had led the circle, been the beacon that shone from the lighthouse. Adele had now taken his place, but she never set to work without thinking of him.

  Mariah came toward her, taking her human shape: a middle-aged woman with short, dark hair and warm eyes, dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Adele knew that it was an effort for her to do this. Usually it meant she had an important point to make.

  You did very well today. Please thank your circle for us.

  Adele passed her message along, and answered aloud, “We’re all honored to be doing this work.”

  “That’s what Henry used to say,” Emmaline murmured. “Every time, after we were done for the day.”

  Another soul from the second circle moved to join Mariah, slowly drawing into a human shape. Adele’s stomach tried to turn over.

  Henry?

  It was him. Not like he’d been when he passed—so thin and sick—but like when they’d first met, young and handsome, with that unruly blond hair and that big grin.

  Hello, Adele. Bet you didn’t know I was here all along.

  Her throat was so tight she couldn’t say a word aloud. She just shook her head.

  I’ve joined Mariah’s team now. Took me a while to get up to speed, but here I am.

  Yes, Adele thought with tears in her eyes. Here you are.

  “Adele? You all right?”

  She wasn’t sure who had spoken—Donna Sue or Clara, probably—a gentle voice. She took a shaky breath and whispered.

  “It’s Henry.”

  Everyone started talking at once. Henry laughed and held up his hands.

  One at a time!

  Adele shushed them all and got them into order, then acted as interpreter. Everyone had something to say to Henry, even Clara, who shyly introduced herself.

  Henry nodded. I’ve been watching you. You’re a great addition to the lighthouse.

  Clara blushed prettily and murmured a thank-you when Adele passed that along. Emmaline said something about Tony, and Adele gave her Henry’s answer. She didn’t mind letting the others talk to Henry. It was so wonderful just to see him, to watch him smile and nod. She had missed him so!

  Even as the thought made her heart swell, Henry turned to look at her with a soft smile.

  I’ve missed you too. It took a while for me to adjust—and there’s a lot happening here.

  You can tell me about it when we’re alone.

  Actually, I can’t. That’s the frustrating thing—I can’t make you hear me without the lighthouse. I’ve tried.

  Adele stared at him, understanding slowly sinking in. She felt her throat getting tight again.

  That’s why I pestered Mariah into letting me join her circle. Usually they only take
people who are a lot more experienced—

  But you are experienced!

  It’s different on this side. I’ve got a lot to learn, Adele.

  “Is he still here?” asked Donna Sue.

  Adele nodded, keeping her eyes on Henry.

  “Henry, I’d like to give my baby your name for a middle name, if you don’t mind. It’s a boy, and he’ll be Joseph after his daddy, but we’d be proud to give him your name too. We’d already planned to. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Tell her I’d be honored.

  She did, then Mariah came forward to stand beside Henry.

  It’s time for us to go.

  Adele drew a deep breath. She wanted to say so much more to Henry. She almost wished she could join him, now that she knew he was with Mariah’s circle.

  You still have work to do on Earth, Mariah said gently.

  And in her heart, Adele knew that was true. She straightened her shoulders and put on a smile.

  “We’ll see you all next time.”

  She stood, offering her hands to either side for the closing circle. The others hastened to rise and join hands. Adele closed her eyes.

  “Thank you Lord, for being with us today and for allowing us to do this work for you. Please watch over us until we meet again. Amen.”

  Murmered “Amens” fluttered around her from both circles. She felt the wavering uneasiness that meant Mariah’s team was dispersing. She looked toward Henry, saw him smiling at her, even as he faded from her view. The last thing he did was blow her a kiss.

  Then he was gone, and she couldn’t feel Mariah’s team any more. Her own circle said their goodbyes and drifted away. She waved to them from the porch, then went and sat on the swing and breathed in the scent of honeysuckle.

  Closing her eyes, she thought of all the times she’d sat there with Henry. She could almost imagine he was beside her.

  She smiled, and whispered, “I love you, Henry.”

  A little breeze brushed against her cheek, like the softest kiss.

  The Cygnius sedonai Caper

  My life may look easy, but it isn’t, as anyone on Gamma Station can tell you. I’m no lap cat, despite what half the tourists who come through the station seem to think.

  Gamma isn’t the roughest assignment around, in fact it’s fairly quiet most of the time. You got your fugitives, bail jumpers, your occasional small-time smuggler of cheap knockoff wetware or nanoporn—they’re usually easy to sniff out because of the fear sweat—and a whole lot of ordinary tourists who trip up ‘cause they just don’t know the rules.

  I watch and report suspicious behavior to my human teammates. People will do things in front of a cat they would never do in front of other humans, which is what keeps me in kippers. That’s why I put up with the petting and cooing, even let the rug rats get away with grabbing occasionally. It’s part of my job.

  No pulling the tail, though. That’s where I draw the line.

  It’s a tempting tail for the brats, I admit. My genetic ancestors were Maine Coons, and the tail is long and very full because of that.

  My coat is a dark blue tabby-stripe, with silvery tufts inside my ears and a silver bib on my chest, which is why some of the bipeds call me Tux even though my name is actually Leon. I suppose I would have been less conspicuous with more average-cat genes, but I wasn’t exactly in control of the process.

  My breeders were looking for even temperament. In my job, you have to stay cool. Interstellar criminals are no easy cheeses. I’ve run into a few that would make your average house cat shed a week’s worth of dust bunnies in a flat second.

  I’m also required to be able to talk with my human colleagues, and my breed happened to have a high adaptability factor in that department. Surprise, surprise—Siamese don’t rate so well there. Go figure. Guess there’s a difference between conversation and just noise.

  The Cygnius sedonai caper was a whole different kettle of fish, though. If I hadn’t had a good team put together—something Gamma Station Security failed to appreciate at the time—it could have ended very badly indeed.

  That morning I did my usual rounds at the market before heading up to watch the first inbound shuttle dump its load. The cleaning crew had just been through, wiping up all the really good, gritty smells and leaving behind their usual chem odor and that fresh-clean slickness to the floors. My claws ticked a little on the polished surface.

  Gamma’s market is in the central rotunda under the highest ceiling in the station, a full ten meters high with beautiful soaring arches supporting skylights that look out at the stars. The beams are stuffed full of cameras and recorders of every imaginable variety. The theory is that any suspicious characters who come on station will have to come to the market, so the rotunda is the place to get a look at them. That’s why all the food and the shops are there. Even the public restrooms are only accessible from the rotunda.

  Things can be hidden from cameras, though. Shielded with a turned shoulder or a strategically placed piece of luggage. That’s where I come in.

  That morning the shops were all open but not doing much business. Everyone was glued to the nearest holopad. That was unusual, so I kept my ears up.

  The news feeds were all full of the same story. Someone had broken into the Cygni C IV Global Aviary and stolen a pair of rare Cygnius sedonai, a bird native to Cysgee Four and never successfully raised in any other environment. Big news, and since Gamma is the closest station to the Cygni system, definitely worth my attention.

  I went on past the game stands and duty-free shops, keeping an eye on the feeds until I got to Ling-Ling’s Lightspeed Asian, where I settled down in my usual spot underneath the end of the lunch counter. The place was minuscule, four tables and a half-dozen stools at the counter, all crammed into a kiosk covered in red-and-gold Chinese frou-frou. It had a double advantage, though. Not only did it have a prime view of the inbound tunnel from customs, but Ling-Ling made the best fish dumplings on the station and I had dibs on the day’s trimmings every morning.

  I had to actually meow before Ling2, Ling-Ling’s clone, noticed and gave me my scraps. That’s how engrossed everyone was with the news.

  No, I don’t talk to the cits. Word would get around, and that would blow my cover. Besides, most of them don’t have much to say to a cat. Not much that’s interesting, anyway.

  After a glance around to make sure there was no suspicious activity in view, I settled down with a dish of fish tails and ripe, stinky guts, and turned my attention to the news.

  Cygnius sedonai were prized as songsters and for their rare plumage. The feathers were not only a spectacular blend of rust-reds and brilliant, shimmering blue-greens, but had medicinal properties that were just beginning to be explored. The tail-feathers had already been the source of cures for cystic fibrosis and spider-veins.

  The stolen pair were the only two sedonai that had survived in captivity for a significant length of time. The Executive Director of Cysgee Four’s aviary was beside himself with anxiety for their safety. The feeds ran a bite of him: skinny, elderly guy with silver hair that stuck out in odd directions.

  “These birds are practically irreplaceable,” he said in a mournful voice. “We had hoped that they would be the first Cygnius sedonai to breed in captivity.”

  The feed switched to a rotating full-spectrum still of the two birds, all scarlet and blue with green highlights. I sat up, sniffing to try to catch the olfactory track, but Ling-Ling’s holopad was too cheap and I was too far away from it. All I could smell was my breakfast. I lay back down to polish it off.

  Who would want, and be able, to steal a couple of highly conspicuous, highly valuable birds? Someone with access to them, and who knew how to exploit them, I figured. Either a contract from the sort of private collector who didn’t care about robbing the public, or someone in the med industry who thought they could make a few gigabucks off the plumage.

  “Halva, halva, halva!” barked a nasal voice at my shoulder.

  I looked u
p at Ling-Ling’s annoying mini-peke, a pampered, papered show-pup. His real name was a mile long and totally unpronounceable. We all—by which I mean all the quadrupeds around the station—called him Hosehead.

  “Morning, Hosehead.” I spoke amiably, but bent a little closer over my dish.

  “Halva bite of that for me?”

  He never failed. Despite all the chow he got from Ling-Ling—and by the roundness of him he got a lot, pure caviar for all I knew—he always hit on me for some of my meager handout.

  I looked down at my bowl. I was down to the spiny bits anyway, so I stood up and moved aside.

  “Sure. Be my guest.”

  Hosehead dived in. I sat down and started washing my face, wondering what Ling-Ling saw in such a useless, funny-looking beast.

  He had a black, pushed-in schnoz, round brown eyes that watered perpetually, and sandy-colored hair so long it dragged around his paws. A lot of the time it looked like dreadlocks, but he must have been to the groomer’s lately, because today it was fairly tangle-free and the stuff on top of his head was caught up into a stupid blue bow. Over the next few days the bow would loosen and finally fall out, but at the moment it was still tight enough that he could probably actually see.

  I glanced up at the holopad, where the sedonai story had rolled around to the top again. There were no details I hadn’t already caught, so I looked back at Hosehead. Might as well see if I could get some useful bit of information in exchange for my breakfast.

  “So, Hosehead, buddy. Where’s your boss this morning?”

  He raised his head, licked the flat place where he ought to have a nose, and sneezed. “Shopping for a big dinner. Fancy catered affair. Important client.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of fish bones. “No. Some doc from off-station. One who did her.” He nodded his round little head in Ling2’s direction.

  “Oh.”

  That made sense. Ling-Ling had probably offered the doc a fancy dinner in exchange for a break on the clone.