Children of the Old Star (6 page)

The man who answered the door looked at Ellis with sharp blue eyes, outlined by crows’ feet. He wore a thin, white beard. A black, fisher's hat topped his head. His deeply tanned chest revealed a mixture of muscles and sags that showed this to be a man who had worked hard all his life. Ellis reddened slightly at the thought of his protruding stomach and brow sweating after a brief bike ride. He blushed at the thought of his skin, pale as the underside of a fish.

"John Mark,” wheezed the man after several moments. “I didn't recognize you with that beard. For a minute, I thought I'd seen a ghost. You look like your grandfather, Zechariah."

Ellis smiled warmly. “How are you doing, Coffin?"

"Like my name, I feel like death.” The old man smiled wanly and motioned for Ellis to come in. “Care for some tea?"

Ellis nodded, looking for a place to sit. The inside of the house was filled to the brim with compasses, sextants, and netting. Seashells were piled in one corner. Ancient starfish were nailed to a wall. Light ship baskets hung from the ceiling along with a carved whale. After a cursory glance, Ellis finally found a couch made of wood and canvas. He pushed aside twenty years worth of sailor's almanacs to find room to sit.

The old man returned from the kitchen with an old ceramic cup, handing it to Ellis. “Your mother called up last night, concerned about you. I hear you've landed yourself some trouble, young man,” wheezed Old Man Coffin, turning to scan his pile of maritime artifacts.

"Have you been following the news about the conflict with the Cluster?” Ellis took a tentative sip of the tea. He made a face when he realized it was Earl Grey. It wouldn't be so bad if it had not been brewed too strongly.

The older man reached behind a net hammock and retrieved a folding deck chair. He took painfully long minutes to unfold the chair. “I can't turn on the holo without seeing something of the war. If it's not a news broadcast, it's a movie,” he cackled.

"I was relieved from duty because I tried to talk to the Cluster.” Ellis leaned forward slightly.

Old Man Coffin let out a boisterous laugh that dissolved into a coughing fit. Ellis put down the teacup and stood to pat the old man on the back. Coffin looked up at Ellis with tears in his eyes and a grin. “And I used to think it was funny that you and your daddy would go talk to whales!"

Ellis shrugged, returning to his seat on the couch. “People have been talking to whales for years."

"But only you and a few others have broken down the barriers and actually managed to befriend them, really understanding them as individuals.” The old man looked toward the ceiling. “It's funny, but here we are two species that evolved on the same planet, but they are almost as alien to us as those amoeba things that come from Zahar.” Finally, the old man looked back at Ellis. “If anyone can understand the Cluster, it's you."

Retrieving the tea, Ellis sat thinking about the whales. “Do you think the whales could help me understand how to talk to the Cluster?"

"It's hard to say what the whales can help you understand.” The old man scratched silver stubble on his chin. “If anyone can, though, it's Richard. I'd talk to him. Your father was always fond of that old bull."

Ellis sipped the tea. “But even if the whales help me understand,” he said after a moment. “I'll need to get back to space to talk to the Cluster. There might be a reasonable amount of Ellis money, but it's definitely not enough to purchase a space ship."

"Oh, you'll find a ship,” said the old man. “Like your father, it's in your nature. It would be impossible for you to stay away from space or the sea.” Ellis looked at the old man quizzically. “Oh, it might not be a Navy ship, but you'll find something. It won't take long before you'll need to get another job as it is."

Ellis sat up straight. “What do you mean? Last I knew there was pretty much enough money in the family accounts to let me retire even at my age."

The old man opened his arms and gestured around the shack. “At one time, my family could have claimed that as well.” Sitting back, the old man rummaged around in a pile of papers and retrieved a jar full of one-inch square brown patches. From his pocket, he pulled an ornately carved meerschaum pipe reddened from age and use. He crumbled one of the patches into the pipe and lit it. “Taxes are going up all the time."

"Surely they wouldn't do anything to the property while Mom runs Maria Mitchell,” said Ellis.

"Your mother is a talented woman,” said Coffin. “However, director of the association is largely an honorary position. If she stays away too long, they'll find someone else connected to an old Nantucket family to take her place. If the Association is too broke, they'll let her go and not bother to replace her. The Maria Mitchell Association is in danger of vanishing as we all are."

"The islanders will band together,” said Ellis, a horrified frown forming. “We can't be kicked off our land."

"It's happened almost everywhere else that tourists love. Look at what happened in Santa Fe, centuries ago; Martha's Vineyard not too long ago.” The old man held out the jar. Ellis retrieved one of the patches and sniffed it tentatively. “Navy Flake tobacco,” grunted the old man.

Putting down the teacup, Ellis retrieved the pipe from his pocket. Thinking about Coffin's words, he awkwardly crumbled the tobacco into the pipe and tried lighting it. It didn't light well at first, but he tamped it down some more and another application of the lighter got it going. The tobacco was somewhat harsh, but that fit Ellis’ mood perfectly. He nodded approvingly.

"If you like that, I've got twenty ounces around here somewhere. I could give you some.” Coffin smiled.

Ellis nodded. “I'd like that.” Finally he leaned forward again. “How long do you think I have?"

"Until what?"

"Until the money runs out?"

Coffin took a long draw on the pipe stem and exhaled slowly. “It's hard to say. At the rate they're raising taxes, I'll probably have to move off the island before you do. I'd say it's more like years than months, if you're lucky and your mother does return."

"What would you do, if you had to move off the island?” asked Ellis, his brow knitted.

"I'd probably die,” said the old man, looking out his window at the moors and ocean, beyond. The two men sat, smoking in silence for much of the rest of the afternoon.

Clyde McClintlock was not completely sure how he ended up in a hover traveling nearly 200 miles per hour over sparkling white sand. More specifically, he knew the sequence of events, but was not sure why Suki Ellis and Manuel Raton of all people would want to break him out of prison. After all, Manuel had been the opposing general in the campaign against New Granada. Likewise, Suki was the mother of the man responsible for his defeat. Having them risk their lives made no sense to him. At this point, he did not value his own life enough for all this trouble. However, he was not in a position to question Suki and Manuel's motivation. Instead, he was busy keeping his head out of range of hepler fire and stray bullets. While he didn't attribute much value to his life, he wasn't about to just throw it away either.

"Only fifty more miles to Roanoke!” called Raton, from the driver's seat.

Fire knelt in the back seat, holding an ancient rifle, pointed to the rear. She was carefully watching three hovers close in, in tight formation. The hovers kicked up great clouds of white sand. Their own hover was wheezing from sand in the intake. “They're gaining, but slowly,” she said as a red hepler pulse buzzed beside her head. Clutching the rifle butt tightly in one hand, she grabbed one of the wooden-handled heplers from the seat with her free hand and aimed. Gently, she pushed the trigger with her thumb. As she held down the trigger, several electric-red bolts of light flew from the end of the fragile-looking weapon, striking the left most of the pursuing hovers. A shower of sparks flew up from the impact, but the vehicle kept on coming.

"Damn,” cursed Fire. “I wish they'd get close enough so I could fire a round from the rifle. That would slow them down."

Clyde said a silent prayer. At first, he wasn't sure to whom. He had never been a very religious man. As his lips moved, he realized the last time he had said such a prayer. It was when the Cluster had come into orbit around Sufiro, shortly after his troops had been defeated. He hoped the Cluster or someone might perform the same type of miracle all over again, letting Suki and Manuel get to the neutral territory of Roanoke safely.

Clyde's thoughts were interrupted by the loud report of the rifle. “Got one!” called Fire. Colonel McClintlock raised his head just far enough to see the smoking remains of one of the pursuing hovers. He could see two figures thrown to the side, bringing themselves to their feet.

"Ay carajo, Señora,” shouted Raton. “Just how close are those bastards getting?"

"Close enough!” Fire discharged another round. “Damn! I missed!"

"I think I see the Roanoke border!” Raton put on a burst of speed, throwing Clyde hard into the seat. For several heartbeats he held his breath, then looked up in time to see a hepler pulse whiz by his head.

Fire pushed him back down. “I told you to stay clear!” She reloaded the rifle and fired again.

"It looks like the cavalry's here!” called Raton. Clyde looked up to see a line of rag-tag New Granadan soldiers lining the border to Roanoke. As soon as the hover was past, the militia people fired on the pursuing hovers.

"It looks like they've taken the hint,” said Fire as the hovers turned back across the desert. Raton slowed the hover to a reasonable speed and brought it into the small coastal village of Roanoke.

Clyde had never been to the village before, but he had known about the quiet colony that sat across the desert from his own country. A small religious sect had founded Roanoke nearly ten years before Tejo. The land itself was worthless. The coastline was even worse. Consequently, the Tejans never bothered the settlers there.

Raton pulled the hover to a stop by a two-story inn on the seashore. A stout, clean-shaven man wearing a black shirt and black trousers approached the hover. “You know we do not condone violence here,” he said, indignant.

"No one was hurt, Reverend Burroughs,” reassured Fire whisking her long black hair behind her shoulders.

"What about the hover I saw destroyed?” asked the one-time colonel. “That was pretty damned violent."

"All for show, Clyde,” said Manuel, patting the colonel on the back with strong hands.

Clyde stood blinking for several minutes. He began putting pieces of the puzzle together. “That escape did seem awfully easy."

"You call driving like that easy?” Raton put his hands on his hips. His mustache drooped. “Next time, get your own butt out of jail!"

"So, is this what you meant by ‘taking me out of the equation?'” Clyde's brow wrinkled.

"Exactly,” said Fire, leading Clyde inside the cheerily lit inn. Reverend Burroughs escorted the group to a small round table.

"If you had simply been released,” said Manuel, tapping his fingers on the table. “It would have been the same as if you had been given no sentence at all.” Manuel's grin grew big and fierce. “Now, you are a bandito, on the run from the law. If you let yourself get caught, it's a whole new ball game. They can throw the book at you without worrying what the people think."

"They'll simply charge you with breaking out of jail,” winked Fire. “A pretty serious crime in Tejo, I hear."

Clyde put his head in his hands. “I'm not exactly difficult to find, sitting across the desert from Tejo."

"That's if anyone actually bothers to look,” said Fire.

"And if they look too hard, they might wind up in the same mess they were in before.” Manuel leaned across the table. “It's easier for them if you stay ‘on the run.’”

A waitress came to the table, distributed glasses of water and left.

"I see,” said Clyde. “But, why Roanoke?"

"Here,” said Reverend Burroughs, “they will have to go through a messy extradition procedure to get you. You are welcome to stay or go as you wish. If you stay, our only price is that you learn something of our faith."

Clyde thought about the Cluster and his prayers. “I could use some instruction in faith, about now, Reverend,” he said meekly. He looked back to Fire. “Back at the prison, you said there was something you wanted to ask me?"

"I want to know why you led the military coup,” said Fire, drumming her fingers on the table. “I want to know if the Cluster communicated with you."

Clyde McClintlock's bright eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open, as he sat back in the chair.

John Mark Ellis careened southward from Nantucket aboard a modest boat, first purchased by his grandfather Zechariah. The little boat had a screw propeller that was designed to make as little noise in the water as possible, but give good speed. The boat also had antigraviton generators and could rise out of the water if there was need for absolute silence, but there was a cost in velocity.

Ellis began to feel like himself as the wind whistled through his hair. He felt the salt sting his face through his freshly trimmed beard. Smoke from his pipe trailed behind him. He felt the exhilaration of Ahab, hunting the whale. Except, this time, he merely wanted a chat.

On the boat's computer, Ellis checked the location of the Atlantic sperm whale feeding grounds and made for them. While he knew the old whale, Richard, was a lone bull, it was likely he would not be too far from any large pods of females.

Setting the boat on automatic pilot, Ellis went into the cabin below. He attached a simple metal pan to a latch on the stove. As he turned on the heat, the boat lurched to the side suddenly, causing him to grab onto the counter. He shook his head, finding it a bit difficult to regain his sea legs. He was, after all, used to space ships and their graviton generators. Unless one was involved in a jump or the ship's momentum was suddenly changed by hepler fire, the ship's decks were rock solid.

After letting the pan heat, he tossed in some potatoes and sausage. He followed that, after a time, with some eggs. Again, the tiny boat lurched, and his hand fell near the heat. Like lightning, he pulled his hand from the fire and sucked on it for a moment. Finally, he removed the small, dented metal pan from the heat. Ellis took the whole conglomeration with him to the tiny wooden table where he sat down to eat.