Queries flooded in, arriving in such numbers that Coyote was forced to set up a large organization to handle the flow.
In time the queries slowed down to a trickle and finally ceased. Coyote chose a thousand men and women; each possessed at least a drop of redskin blood. His major selection criterion was this: is this person miserable enough in his or her present circumstances to take a great risk?
Coyote is crafty, though not wise.
Coyote sent tickets and waited. Most of his choices came to Dilvermoon. He took tissue samples from each arrival. When he had enough, he took them to a famous soma builder.
"Make me a mate," Coyote said. "She must be a full-blood redskin, a beauty of her race, intelligent, resourceful, passionate but not too demanding — you know what I mean. You can cut and paste from these."
The famous soma builder took the tissue samples and the old topographs. He sighed. He made no guarantees and demanded a huge fee, which Coyote paid over with some reluctance. The project was beginning to press him a little financially; he was cutting into capital, something he had sworn never to do.
When his mate was ready, Coyote was present at the de-vatting. She emerged, looked about with a rather dour expression. Coyote was somewhat taken aback. Somehow he had envisioned the People differently. In the sensie, everyone had been tall, clean-limbed, clear-skinned, sexy. His Indian bride was short, with heavy legs and muddy skin. Her eyes were small, her face round and flat, her black hair coarse.
"Well, of course, she's just out of the vat. She'll look better when she's had a little sun on her," he told himself.
Coyote took her moist hand in a tender clasp. "Greetings," he said. "Your name is Gray Dove. I'm your husband."
"I'm hungry," she said, in a whiny singsong.
Coyote could not repress a tiny shudder.
Thinwolf paused. His throat was dry, and he wished he could have a drink. The hulk turned its beautiful head to look at him. "This seems a different story, John. Different from the others you have told. Am I wrong?"
"No. No, you're not wrong." Thinwolf looked toward the black horizon and saw a flare of pink light. Perhaps, he thought, a City is burning. "How different?"
The hulk was silent for a while, as if it were considering the phrasing of its answer. "The other stories were like dreams. This seems more a remembrance." The hulk watched him with soft eyes. "Am I wrong."
Thinwolf could not answer. After a bit he continued with the story.
COYOTE CHARTERED a great colony ship from SeedCorp and herded his new People aboard. Some went eagerly, some reluctantly, but almost all went, which encouraged Coyote. "I have chosen well," he said to himself. "The People will grow into a mighty nation on our new world." This was a reassuring thought, because Coyote had spent the last of his once-great wealth, buying supplies and teaching machines.
Another thought came to him: Perhaps I will someday become the new Coyote to my People. I must think of famous deeds to do. But he did not speak this thought aloud, for there is a limit to even Coyote's boastfulness.
On the ship during the passage to Treen, Coyote tried to become a friend to Gray Dove. During the first weeks, he took her to his bed every evening and made great efforts to give her pleasure. She submitted with tired sighs and impatient grunts; if she enjoyed the skillful ministrations of Coyote, she gave no sign. She had no great store of small talk. The minimal personality installed by the soma builder seemed to satisfy her; at least she made no efforts to develop it. She had revolting table manners.
After a time, Coyote desisted in his unrewarding efforts and found another companion among the newly recruited People: a slim, flamehaired woman with small, neat breasts, blue-white skin, and a hungry red mouth. Coyote expected resentment from Gray Dove, but she seemed uninterested. Freed of Coyote's attentions, Gray Dove spent even more time in the dining room, and by the time they orbited the new world, she had grown notably plump.
"What do you think will happen?" Thinwolf asked the hulk.
"I don't know, John. Your story has a texture of sadness. But perhaps I feel this because none of your other stories has ended well."
"Perhaps."
The People and their supplies ferried down from the colony ship, which then departed. Soon all was ready for the Great Experiment.
Coyote stood on a tall boulder; the People waited apprehensively. They were naked, and some shivered, though it was high summer. Coyote took no notice, began his speech. "You are the chosen People. This is your world. With your enthusiastic participation, under my guidance, you will come to belong to this world, as your ancestors belonged to theirs."
Someone spoke from the crowd. "Where do we sleep?"
Coyote was a bit taken aback by the tone of the question. He indicated the huge heap of crates. "In there you will find temporary lodges. You have only to find them and erect them; then you will be as comfortable ... no, more comfortable than your ancestors ever were. Later we'll build more substantial dwellings."
"What do we eat?"
Coyote frowned. He sensed an unproductive passivity among the People. "The land will provide," he said. "We will begin lessons on basic hunting and gathering in the morning. Meanwhile, I will issue temporary rations."
"Why did we have to leave our clothes on the ship?"
Coyote sighed. "All this was explained on the orientation sensie, issued to everyone on boarding the ship. Did you play it? Never mind; I will explain. Over there in the crates are appropriate garments, suited to our new life. We are the People reborn; we must look the part."
The People seemed uneasy; they drew together and asked no more questions. Coyote sighed. "Well. Here is a more pleasant prospect. We must all choose new names, names appropriate to our new lives. You all must consider carefully how you wish to be called. I've chosen my new name, after much thought. Henceforth, I will be known as John Coyote."
Thinwolf felt a terrible weakness steal over him, so that he slumped in the settee and could not continue his story. His breath came to him with difficulty; his head was filled with a painful pressure; his hands trembled. He supposed that his disease was entering a new phase, and he was frightened.
The hulk engaged the autopilot and knelt beside him. "John? Can I help?"
Thinwolf shook his head. Not yet, he thought.
"I'll take you to your bunk," the hulk said, and lifted him gently. "You can finish your story in the morning. Though I can guess what happened."
In the morning, Thinwolf could not rise from his bunk; he was too weak. He cried out, a wordless, despairing sound that shocked and frightened him. This is the sound of dying, he thought. He heard the clang of metal feet on the companionway ladder, and the hulk was there, looking down at him.
"John?"
"I can't get up," Thinwolf whispered, looking down at his traitor body.
"I will help you." But when the hulk lifted him to his feet, Thinwolf's legs would not support him. "We will go to the med unit, John," the hulk said.
The med unit examined him, its delicate probes touching his skin like so many icy feathers. He had barely enough strength left to shudder. When it was done, the med unit produced a grav chair. "Henceforth you must remain in the chair, if you wish to retain mobility." The med unit's voice was precise, pleasant, unemotional — even when Thinwolf shouted curses at it. He struck at it with feeble hands, but was restrained by the hulk, which clamped his hands in a powerful, careful grip.
Thinwolf looked up at it, astonished. "What are you doing?"