Thunderbird (17 page)

Our doubts are traitors,

And make us lose the good we might oft win,

By fearing to attempt.

—Shakespeare,
Measure for Measure
, 1604

“H
AVE
YOU
SEEN
the latest Quinnipiac poll, Harry?” The president looked tired. “The voters want us to go into the river city and say hello. By a thirty-eight-percent margin.”

Eaton nodded. “The voters will support anything if someone gets them excited. The cable news people are pushing it.” They didn't dare send anyone out to take on the cheerleaders. They couldn't do that without scaring everybody. “When that thing first showed up, I thought we might get a serious technological boost out of it. But the more I think of the ways it can do us in—We need to find a way to get rid of it.”

“Harry, if I weren't sitting here, I'd be with them. I'd want us to go in and find out who they are. Send April What's-Her-Name in to say hello. It worked with the gorillas; it should work with the river city. Maybe we could sit down and have a few beers with them.” He sat quietly for several minutes. Finally, he shook his head. “Why the hell did this have to happen on
my
watch?”

•   •   •

A
NDREA
H
AWK
LOOKED
surprised when she came into Walker's office. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Chairman?” she said.

“Have a seat, Andrea.”

She was a beautiful young woman, long dark hair, intelligent eyes, perfect features designed more for TV than for radio. She sat down on the couch. “Would you by any chance like to come on the show, James? My callers don't want to talk about anything other than you and the Roundhouse.”

“I know. I'm a regular listener. But I think I'd better pass for now. They'll be asking questions I'm not ready to answer.” He leaned forward, put his elbows on the desk, joined his hands, and balanced his chin on them. “Speaking of the radio show, I've noticed how good you've been with foreign visitors. How many languages do you speak?”

“Spanish and French. A little German.”

“Very good. And you handled a Chinese visitor pretty well last year.”

“Thank you. I have some work to do on that, though.” She flashed that all-knowing smile.

“You know about Solya.”

“The gorilla? Sure.”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“You want me to learn the language?”

“Yes. Do you think you could take the time to do that?”

“James, I'd love to help. But something like that is way beyond what I could do.”

“I think you're underestimating yourself, Andrea. But if you don't want to attempt it, I understand.”

“It's not that I don't want to try. I just don't want to waste our time. Something like this needs a professional.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?”

“No. But I have some contacts. Let me call around. I suspect with this kind of project, we can get pretty much anybody we want.”

“All right. There's something else. You know that Solya reads books.”

“Yes. Are we going to be able to get our hands on some of them?”

“We'll do what we can.”

“How do we manage that? We're not going to try to steal them, are we?”

“No, of course not. We've picked up some coffee-table books with lots of pictures. Landscapes. Astronomical views. Cabins at sunset. That sort of thing. If we can find the right person, we'd like to have him, or her, go to Eden, get to know Solya, and execute a trade.”

“Good. Give me a little time, James. I'll get back to you as quickly as I can.”

•   •   •

W
ALKER
HAD
GOTTEN
word that an Eden movement was under way in the tribe, so he wasn't surprised when a delegation showed up at his office. It consisted of three people, only one of whom he knew personally: Walter Billings, who owned Walt's Electronics in Fort Totten. His companions were Chaska Good News, who was probably in his nineties, and Wichahpi White Eagle, whose angry eyes suggested she expected no nonsense from the chairman. They introduced themselves as representing a group that wanted access to Eden. “There's no reason to keep our people out of there,” Walter said. “It's a chance to get away from the cold, a great place for a vacation. Why aren't we letting our own people take advantage of this?”

Walker's secretary brought coffee in for the visitors.

“I would like nothing more,” said Chaska, “than to make the area available as a legacy to my grandchildren. We have a clear obligation here, Mr. Chairman, and I'm sure you will not try to sidestep it.”

“There are a couple of good reasons for my hesitation,” said Walker. “The major one is that it's dangerous. We don't really know enough about this place to sanction casual visitors. There may be predators that we haven't seen yet.”

“That's hard to believe,” said Wichahpi.

“He's talking about the gorillas,” said Chaska.

“I'm talking about
tigers
. We don't know yet what we're dealing with.
And just so we're clear, Chaska, the real reason is that there
are
inhabitants. We don't know how they'll react—”

“They're
gorillas
, for God's sake,” said Walter. “Why would we give a damn about a bunch of gorillas?”

Damned idiots. “They're
not
gorillas. They're intelligent creatures. I understand what they look like, which by the way is not very much like gorillas except for the fur.”

Chaska jabbed a finger at him. “Chairman Walker, we're serious about this.”

Walker told himself to stay calm. “I hate to say this, but you're suggesting we just go in and take the place over, right?”

“No, I'm not saying that although I can't see that there'd be a problem if we did.”

Somewhere nearby a woodpecker was at work. “You know,” Walker said, “I suspect that was pretty much the way the whites talked about us when they first showed up. Look, people, you're going to have to trust me on this. Let me handle it. For the time being, we're not going to allow anybody to go in there for anything other than scientific purposes. When we get the information we need,
then
we'll think about what our next step will be.”

“Have your way,” said Walter. “Hell with the tribe.”

“Try to open your mind, Walt.”

Wichahpi was wearing a smug smile. “Mr. Chairman, did you know they are now selling gorilla action figures?”

“No. I hadn't heard that.”

“They were advertising them on TV today.”

“Well, I guess that's no surprise.”

She was watching him as if he were a deer. “Mr. Chairman, I hate to criticize, but are we getting a share of that, by any chance?”

•   •   •

A
RTHUR
W
OODS
WAS
approaching eighty, but he'd filled his life with workouts and had never been ill. Unfortunately, good things don't go on
forever. His daily walks, which used to consist of strolling three miles while he listened to audio thrillers, had grown stressful as he'd become more vulnerable to the weather, and he'd ended them. Now he restricted himself to about fifteen minutes in an aerobic chair, and a half hour on a stationary bike. He especially liked that because he could read while he pedaled. Despite growing problems, he refused to admit, even to himself, that he was getting old. Eighty, he'd decided, was the new forty.

Arthur's breakfasts usually consisted of two pieces of toast and a lot of fruit. He especially liked grapes. But on that morning, there was no fruit in the refrigerator. “Sorry, dear,” said Rosalie, his wife. “I forgot to get some yesterday.”

“I'm going down and take care of it,” he said.

“Why don't you have some cereal?”

“I'm not in a cereal mood, love.”

“All right. Just give me a minute to change, and I'll take care of it.”

“It's okay. I got it.”

She watched him take his overcoat and trapper hat out of the closet. “You going to take the car, Arthur?”

“We're two blocks from the store, babe, and I'm just getting some grapes and, probably, strawberries.”

“Be careful,” she said.

The sky was clear. He walked south on Phillips Street, hands pushed deep into his pockets. Like many of the people in Fort Moxie, he'd once been a Customs officer. But that was a long time ago.

Across the street, Marie Stone was just pulling out of her driveway. She saw him and waved. Then she turned right on Main and was gone. He turned left. The sidewalks had been cleared of snow. He passed Lock 'n' Bolt Hardware and noticed his neighbor Frank Brantlow coming out of Jerry's Gun Shop. Frank's appearance distracted him, and he stubbed his right foot against a piece of uneven pavement. It sent him hurtling through the air. He threw out his hands in an effort to protect his head and suddenly it seemed as if a cushion had formed under him. He came
down on his nose and mouth, but the landing, impossibly, was almost soft. He was lying flat on the ground, on cold concrete when Frank Brantlow knelt beside him. “Arthur,” he said. “You okay?”

One knee was bent under him, but it didn't feel as if anything was broken. Dottie Cassidy appeared on his other side. “Arthur,” she said, “what happened?”

“I tripped.”

She stared at him, then at Brantlow. “Did you see that, Frank?”

“I'm not sure,” he said. “What did
you
see?”

“It looked like he
floated
down onto the pavement.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah. I saw something like that, too.”

Arthur laughed. Then realized he couldn't get up on his own. “Frank,” he said, “could you give me a hand?”

“Sure. You okay? Want me to call the EMTs?”

“No, no. I'm fine.”

“You went down face-first, Arthur,” said Dottie. “How did you not get hurt?”

“I think I blocked the fall with my hands.”

Frank reached under Arthur's right arm and lifted him to his feet. “You better be careful out here. It's slippery.” They stood back and watched him to be sure he was okay. “How about I take you home?” said Dottie. “I'm in the parking lot.”

“No, thanks. I'm good.” He made sure everything was still working, then limped down to the end of the block and went into the supermarket.

•   •   •

D
OTTIE
HAD
LUNCH
that day with Diane Freewater at Clint's Restaurant. She mentioned the incident with Arthur, whom Diane did not know. “It just amazed me that he could absorb a spill like that and not get hurt.”

Diane took a bite out of her tuna sandwich. “Well, if he got up and walked away, he was obviously all right.”

“I guess. But I was there. He didn't really fall. It was like he stopped
short of the sidewalk. And something happened to the light where he was. It changed color or something. I don't know. It just looked different. And somehow he got a soft landing.”

“Really?” Diane recalled George's mentioning something like that when one of the science teams had come back from the place they called Eden. And, of course, there'd been other stories lately about a spirit, or a ghost, or something drifting around town. She'd assumed it was just the media playing stuff up. George, she'd thought, had imagined seeing something. Now she wasn't so sure.

Language! The blood of the soul, sir, into which our thoughts run, and out of which they grow.

—Oliver Wendell Holmes,
The Professor at the Breakfast Table
, II, 1859

T
HE
SKY
WAS
still dark when Brad rolled into the deserted KLYM parking lot and let himself into the building. A few minutes later, he was putting together the five o'clock news and weather report, which he would read live. On this unique morning, he smiled as he worked. It was the first time in his career that he was part of the story. He would be using an extract from the IPA:

The scientific team that left Johnson's Ridge for Eden returned after an encounter with the first alien to appear in human history. The alien gave no indication of hostility although it resembled a gorilla. Incredibly, it lives in a cabin and owns several books, written, according to team leader April Cannon, in a language she did not recognize.

There was no mention of the creature that had entered the Cupola. Brad thought about adding that part of the story but decided to let it go. One alien works better than two. And the books were an explosive
element. Even better than the bathrobe. Brad reread the extract and wondered whether someone had expected Solya's library to be in Spanish. His name showed up at the conclusion of the account, in the general listing of the team members:
“—and Brad Hollister, a local talk-show host.”
He resisted the temptation to insert “popular” into the report, but did replace “local” with “Grand Forks.”

When he went live at five o'clock, he read it straight, or at least tried to. But it was impossible not to add a little false modesty.

The staff members all congratulated him. And there was something new in their voices. He was no longer just the guy who ran
Grand Forks Live
and wrote commercials. Most asked how it felt to travel to another planet. Two of the secretaries and their sports guy still claimed it had to be some sort of illusion.

At seven, after the hourly news, he went on with the talk show. No guest today. But there was nothing unusual about that. And from the moment he sat down at the mike, the line was backed up.

From Roger: “What did you think, Brad, when the gorilla opened that door?”

“I'll tell you the truth, Roger. My heart stopped. I expected a little green man, maybe. But a gorilla? No way. Although, in all honesty, I could see immediately it wasn't really a gorilla. There was a resemblance. But it stood there straight and it moved—I don't know how else to say this—it moved gracefully. And it was dressed.”

And Marie: “Is there any way I can get a ticket to go to Eden? I'd love to visit the place.”

“Marie, you'll have to ask the Spirit Lake Sioux. But I doubt they'll let anybody go for a while. Other than the science teams.”

And an unfamiliar voice: “How did
you
get an invitation, Brad? You're not a scientist, are you?”

He thought about turning it into a joke, about how he had friends in the right places, but realized that would get him in trouble. So he played it straight: “They wanted a journalist.”

Then another unfamiliar voice, belonging to a male: “How come you guys all hid in the woods and let a woman go up and knock on that door?”

He'd known somebody would bring that up. His reply was ready: “Because she was in charge, and she said that was the way we were going to do it.”

Larry O'Brien was next: “Brad, what do you think about this apparition people have been seeing? The one that lights up? Any connection with the Roundhouse? Is it maybe something that came through from Eden?”

“I doubt it. But who really knows what's going on? There have been some strange stories about it.” The conversation continued along that line for several minutes. People were seriously interested in the apparition. Some sounded worried.

Then Marie: “You deserve a lot of credit for going out there, Brad. To Eden. You're my hero.”

“Marie, the hero of that operation was April Cannon. She took her life in her hands when she walked up to that door. We had no way of knowing what was behind it.”

Mack: “You know, Brad, sometimes I think women are tougher than we are. I'll tell you, I wouldn't have gone up there without at least a gun in my hands.”

That stung a bit. “I know, Mack. I know exactly what you mean.”

Unknown caller: “Do you think they'll invite you to go out there again? And if they do, will you go?”

“I don't know, Caller. I don't know whether they'll ask me to go back to Eden. Would I go if they did? Yes. There's nothing I would rather do.”

They hadn't officially announced the trip to the space station, so it was best he keep quiet about it. But he liked being in the spotlight. So yes, he would certainly want to go on the next mission. Wherever it went. He'd never known anything like this. And he wasn't sure he would be able to survive when it all went away.

He'd never enjoyed
Grand Forks Live
as much as he did that morning. When, at ten, he signed off and the theme music, Carl Orff's “O Fortuna,” took over, he felt its power in a way he never had before.

•   •   •

A
T
THE
END
of the day, the chairman was getting ready to leave when George Freewater arrived. He looked uncomfortable. That was unusual for George. Walker had known him since George's high-school days, when the chairman had been one of his English teachers. George was a combat veteran. He'd been through a lot, but he'd never let it get to him. There'd been a line in one of his essays that had stayed with the chairman: “No matter what you do, things always end the same way.” A dark comment to see in a high-school assignment.

Walker waved him into a chair. “So, George,” he said, “what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Chairman, you're going to think I'm crazy.”

Walker smiled. “Then you've nothing to lose, George.”

“I'm serious.” He opened his jacket, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his arms. “I was in the Roundhouse when one of the teams got back from the Maze a few weeks ago.”

“And—?”

“I think something came back with them.”

“What? George, we already went through this story once. I thought we'd put it behind us.”

“I guess not, sir. My wife had lunch yesterday with a woman who saw an old guy fall down in Fort Moxie. But he didn't get hurt. Dottie said—that was the woman—that the light around him changed, and it was like something grabbed him and let him down slowly.”

“And you think this is the same kind of thing you saw?”

“I don't know. But it's an explanation. What else could it be?”

“Tell me about it again. What you saw.”

“Okay. A mission had just come back from the Maze. We also had people on Eden at the time. At one point, after the last people from the Maze had come in, the grid lit up, but nobody arrived. The lighting changed, though. It got brighter or something. Then I got dizzy. And one of the people who'd just arrived fainted. That's all that happened. Cass Deekin—the guy who passed out—came around. He said he was all right. I thought it was over. Maybe it wasn't.”

“George,” the chairman said, “who else was there with you?”

“You mean on the mission?”

“The security guys.”

“Jack and Adam.”

“Did they see this thing?”

“No, sir. They just saw me and Cass start to act funny.”

“And you say it came across from Eden?”

“No, sir. We also had people on Eden at the time, and we were expecting them. But the wrong icon lit up. I thought somebody was coming in from the
Maze
.”

“But there was no one?”

“That's correct. Everybody who'd been on the Maze mission had come back. But it was the Maze icon that lit up.”

“It's hard to make sense out of that, George.”

“I know. It's why I've hesitated about this. But Diane's been saying all along that something probably came through. Anyhow, for what it's worth—”

•   •   •

A
PRIL
WAS
IN
her office when the chairman called. “It's getting spooky,” he said.

“What is, James? You talking about the alien stories?”

“Yes. George Freewater was back with that account of something coming through from the Maze. You were on the Maze mission. You sure nothing happened?”

“At the time, we thought we were being tracked by something we couldn't
see. Some breezes started blowing. And—Well, I remember feeling spooked. But we never really saw anything.” He could hear her breathing. “Now I'm not so sure.”

“George says the Maze icon lit up, and the lights got funny. Two of the people who were in the Roundhouse at the time—George was one of them—got dizzy. Passed out. It sounds like the symptoms we've been hearing about.”

“The wind creature?”

“Yes. I don't know what's going on, but I don't want us looking at liability claims if this turns out to be something we caused.”

“If we really do have an alien drifting around, it doesn't seem to have been a threat to anyone. In fact, it's been helping.”

“I'm not comfortable with this, April.”

“I know. Tomorrow morning, on his radio show, Brad will have the Grand Forks chief of police as his guest. That's going to be the subject.”

“The floater?”

“Yes.”

“That's all we need. More publicity about this. I don't guess you can talk him into discussing something else? Don't they have a crime wave or something over there?”

“I don't think he has much control over the topics. I'd guess Matt Fanny's got the lead on that these days.”

“Matt
who
?”

“Matt Fanny. He's Brad's boss.”

“April, I've been planning a new Maze mission. Don't know whether I mentioned it to you. Now I'm not so sure it's a good idea.”

“I wouldn't back off, James. If the place really has some sort of windblown life-form, it's worth looking into, isn't it?”

“You think it's safe?”

“At some point, we're going to
have
to do it. I say go ahead with the project.”

“Some of the people who've seen the thing in Fort Moxie think they've
been in touch with a spirit.” Walker sounded tired. “I think I'd be happier if that were actually the case. Why the hell does Brad keep stirring things up?”

“James, he's a talk-show host. It's what he does.”

“I wish we could get him to wait until we know what's really going on.”

“That would take all the fun out of it.”

“The requests from people demanding we destroy the Roundhouse are heating up. Some people are worried primarily about economic consequences. But the alien is getting some attention, too. April, life would get easier if that thing went away.”

“I know.”

“Any idea how we could send it back where it came from?”

•   •   •

T
OWARD
THE
END
of the afternoon, Brad called her. “Tell me,” he said, “about that other place. The Maze.”

It wasn't hard to guess where this conversation would be going. She stared at the phone before answering. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I know you guys said there was nothing other than passageways. And chambers. Nothing else. All the rooms were empty, you said, right?”

“Yes. It's bare and empty.”

“As far as you could tell.”

“Brad, we didn't really stay that long. Why do you want to know?”

“There's a story going around that it might have been where the little whirlwind originated.”

“I've heard something about that. But I have no idea.”

“I'm hearing that they're going to take another mission out to the Maze. Is there any connection?”

“You're looking for a story.”

“Is there one?”

“Not that I know of. You want to come and take a look?”

•   •   •

D
ONNA
'
S
BROWN
EYES
wouldn't leave him. “So now it's the Maze? What happened to the space station?”

“I think we'll be going there later.”

“Tell me again why you want to do this, Brad?” She'd come in the door with an armload of essays. He'd taken them from her and put them on top of the bookcase beside another stack. Then they'd sat down on the sofa and she'd asked him how his day had gone and he'd told her. It had gone downhill from there.

“Donna, there are people all over the country who would give anything to have the opportunity to do this stuff. They have whole crowds trying to persuade the Sioux to let them make visits.”

“And why don't they let them do it? Why don't they sell some tickets?”

“I don't know. I think it's an abundance of caution either by Walker or the president.”

She did not look happy. “Why exactly are
you
getting all these benefits?”

“They see me as their P.R. guy. Donna, the Maze is perfectly safe. April's been there. All that happened is that they walked through a lot of empty passageways, then came home. That's it. That's all there is.”

“Then why are they sending another mission?”

“They want to figure out what the place is.”

“So they really don't know much?”

“Not really.”

“And that makes it safe?”

“They haven't seen any kind of problem.”

“It doesn't sound as if they've looked very hard.”

“Listen, love, I'd give anything to be able to make a contribution of some sort to one of these projects. Maybe I'd see something the rest of them missed.”