Thunderbird (3 page)

“Sure,” said Marge. “No sweat.”

They talked about people who'd gotten annoyed that they weren't selected to make the trip. Jerry asked April if she knew how the decisions had been made. “The choices,” she said in a serious tone, “were based strictly on good looks.”

In fact they all knew that most of the decisions, maybe all of them, were being made at the White House level. There was a selection committee in Washington, and the choices had been made on perceived flexibility, by which was meant a willingness to keep an open mind, and on accomplishments and good health. At least those were the theoretical requirements. Garth, hauling around all that weight, did not look to be particularly healthy. Michael had no doubt that April was hoping the guy wouldn't have any kind of attack while they were out here. But his name was as big as his anatomy. Michael also assumed there'd been some political maneuvering to give major scientific figures visibility by ensuring their organizations were represented. That might have been how
he
had gotten on board. He had a lot of connections. However that was playing out, his impression was that they'd gotten a good team.

April told Adam and Paula they could go home if they wanted. “Just send out a couple of replacements.”

“That's okay,” said Adam. “I don't really want to leave this.”

“Neither do I,” said Paula.

Marge was watching Paula. “The one thing I'm concerned about—”

“Yes?”

“How can I arrange to bring my kids out here?”

“Check with James,” she said That, of course, was James Walker, the Sioux chairman.

While the sun moved across the sky, Michael wandered into the forest, accompanied by Paula. He saw some small animals, some insects, various flowers, and a wide variety of trees. Birds soared through the sky. Something he couldn't see sat hidden in the branches and yowled at him. And a long, lizard-like creature took time to stare up at him with no indication of fear. He wasn't sure how it would react if he moved so he remained still and cautioned Paula to do the same until it had moved on. It was much too early to begin to draw conclusions about the biology here other than the obvious one: It was similar to the system that had developed at home. But that was to be expected since the environment was similar.

Eventually, he went back to the shoreline and strolled along, just out of reach of the waves, examining shells and whatever else had washed up. April asked if he'd seen any surprises?

“Not yet,” he said. “Maybe with a laboratory.”

Eventually the sun began to sink again toward the hills. “Beautiful sunset,” said Jerry.

Marge's eyes brightened. “I wouldn't have taken you for the romantic type, Jerry.”

He smiled. “There's nothing like a beautiful physicist to make me appreciate the sun going down.”

Eventually, the night returned. Jerry opened his tablet and began comparing his data with what he could see overhead. Garth sat down beside him.

Marge was staring out toward the horizon as the last faint glimmers of light faded. “Look,” she said quietly.

Michael didn't see anything other than a handful of stars.

“What?” asked Garth.

“One of them's
moving
.”

For several seconds he was aware only of the barely perceptible rumble of the sea. Then, “Yes.” Jerry's voice. “It's a comet.”

“Hell of a show,” said Garth.

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's,

One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

—Fitz-Greene Halleck, “Marco Bozzaris,” 1825

“W
E
KNOW
WHERE
Eden is,” Jerry told the pool reporters.

“Where?” they shouted.

“Its sun is a K5 orange dwarf.” He put the designator on the monitor:
2MASS J05384917-0238222.

They gave off disappointed sounds. “Does it have a name?” one of them asked.

“That's as close as you'll get.”

“We need to give it a name,” the
Morning Show
said. “We can't really go live calling it
2Mass Whatever
.”

April stepped in: “Since Jerry Carlucci discovered it, I think we should invite him to name it. He suggested
Oyate
.”

Jerry tried to conceal his surprise.

The Associated Press pointed a pen at the astronomer. “Brilliant. Exactly the right thing.”

April moved close to him. “Named for the tribe,” she whispered. “We'll make it up to you later.”

“No,” he said. “That's good.”

“How far is it?” asked a woman from PBS.

“It's pretty far,” Jerry said. “A thousand light-years, give or take.”

That drew some gasps. “Are you serious?”

“This keeps getting crazier.”

“We always knew Eden was pretty far out,” Jerry continued. “The Horsehead told us that much.”

The
New York Times
asked whether we could assume that whoever built the Roundhouse had come from Eden? “Or can you travel out of the transport station there and go somewhere else?”

Jerry drew back and let April field the question. “The equipment doesn't seem to have been maintained,” she said. “At one time, it looks as if Eden had connections with seven other places. Other than Johnson's Ridge. But only two of them still seem to be getting power.”

“Can
we
provide power?”

“We don't know. We've been reluctant to tinker with the technology.”

•   •   •

J
AMES
W
ALKER
WAS
uncomfortable taking chances with other people's lives. But since the Roundhouse had been unearthed on Johnson's Ridge, he had no real option. He was fully aware that, at his moderately advanced age, he'd be in the way if he tried to accompany the missions. But to salve his own soul, he would at least have to experience passage through the portal. Or, he thought, maybe he was just making up an excuse to go. To do what he seriously wanted to. There was no reason he should allow others to have all the fun. Especially now since Carlucci had named that world's sun for the tribe.

Nine or ten hours after April's mission had returned with its news about Eden, he visited the Roundhouse. The chairman would not have been easy to pick out of a crowd. He was short, with unremarkable features, and might have seemed more likely to be found repairing rooftops or cars than conducting meetings in a council hall. There was no hint of
authority in his mien or his voice, nor was there a suggestion of the steel that could manifest itself when the need arose. His eyes were dark and friendly, his bearing congenial. Those who knew him well understood that his primary strength lay in his ability to get people to tell him what they really believed, a talent as rare among Native Americans as among the rest of the population.

He'd had a television and a computer installed in the transport room. When he walked in the door, CNN was interviewing Carlucci. He was explaining about light-years. Dale Tree was the senior duty officer present. The chairman said hello to everybody and took Dale aside. “I want to see the place,” he said. “Eden. I'll only be there a few minutes. Can we manage that without having it become public?”

Dale glanced over at the other two security people, John Colmar and Jack Swiftfoot. “I'll let them know,” he said. “When did you want to go, Mr. Chairman?”

“How about now?”

Dale walked over and talked briefly with the others. Then he arranged for Carlucci to take the reporters into the pressroom. When that had been done, he checked his sidearm, strolled over to a table, opened a drawer, and took out two pairs of gloves. He handed one to the chairman. “Ready when you are, sir.”

The chairman nodded. “Thanks, Dale. Why don't you stay with Professor Carlucci? In case he needs an assist. John or Jack can go with me. We'll only be a couple of minutes.”

Jack got the assignment. He was an average-sized guy who could disappear easily into a crowd. But he was a retired naval aviator who now did tour flights out of Devils Lake Regional Airport. He took the second pair of gloves from Dale, put them on, and walked over to the grid.

Walker had brought a revolver. He checked to make sure it was still in his pocket, donned the gloves, and joined his escort. “Looks as if we're off again,” he said with a smile. Jack had been the chairman's pilot on numerous occasions.

“I'll go first,” Jack said. He stepped onto the grid and pressed the arrow icon. A sprinkle of lights appeared and expanded into a glowing cloud. It wrapped around him, and he faded from sight.

“Enjoy your trip, Mr. Chairman,” said Dale. He shook Walker's hand and left for the pressroom.

Walker knew the program. The luminous cloud reappeared, then faded, depositing Jack's pen on the grid. It was an indication everything was okay on the other end. John came over, apparently to assist, but Walker waved him away. “It's okay, John. I've got it.” He picked up the pen and wasn't entirely surprised that as he leaned forward to press the arrow he was pumping adrenaline. The cloud reappeared. It settled over him, the Roundhouse interior faded, John waved good-bye, and he was in a different place.

Jack Swiftfoot was smiling. “Welcome to Eden, Mr. Chairman. Simultaneously our shortest and longest flight.”

He opened the front door for the chairman, and Walker looked out at thick forest. He stepped down off the grid, walked across the room, and strode through the doorway into the new world. He'd timed everything to arrive at night. He wanted to see the two moons, but only one of them was in the sky. The night was full of stars, far more than he had ever seen from the Rez. A warm breeze whispered through the trees, and he could hear the dull rumble of incoming tides. He was no longer in North Dakota.

They circled behind the structure, walked through a brief patch of forest, and emerged on a beach. An ocean glittered beneath the Horsehead. This, he thought, would have been an ideal location for the reservation.

•   •   •

P
RESIDENT
M
ATTHEW
R. Taylor understood that whatever else he might accomplish during his years in the White House, whatever bridges he might build, whatever boost he might provide the economy, he would always be remembered for what had happened on Johnson's Ridge. It had
been an impossible situation. No way to get it right, and in the end he was the guy who had taken the country back to the Indian wars and gotten Walter Asquith killed.

The incident had left him shaken.

The United Nations was voting at that moment on a motion demanding that the United States declare Johnson's Ridge an international facility. There was no question how that would go. People around the globe were arguing that the Roundhouse belonged to the human race, not to any one nation, and certainly not to those who happened to own the property on which it had been discovered.

Taylor was short and heavyset. He was not as good at hiding his feelings as were most politicians. On that morning, he watched TV images of the scientists talking with the media as they came back in from Eden, going on about the incredible technology and how they now knew where the planet was, and he found himself wishing the whole system would break down. There were too many conflicting issues. If they were able to reproduce the Roundhouse technology, which centered not only on instantaneous, long-range transportation, but also solar-powered energy production, what would it do to the transportation industries, to the car manufacturers, to the oil companies? It would probably wreck the economy. And there were all kinds of other hazards. They might bring a deadly virus back from Eden. Or even an army of invaders.

On the other hand, scientists around the globe were demanding access to whatever worlds were available. And some corporations wanted access to the technology. Handled properly, it could provide an enormous boost to a world with serious energy and population problems.

So what was the proper course of action?

It hadn't been an easy time for Harry Eaton either. The chief of staff was the guy who'd led the charge against all suggestions that they try to buy off the Sioux. It would cost too much politically, he'd told the president. The Indians had shown no inclination whatever to cooperate, and Eaton had argued that the administration had to be tough with them.
Show no weakness. Taylor had made a last-minute effort to persuade Walker, the Sioux chairman, to cut a deal. But Walker had backed off, and after that he'd seen no alternative to the use of force.

Eaton had been certain that the Indians would give way at the first sign of armed marshals. And Taylor had bought in. How could he have been so dumb? His buzzer sounded, and Alice informed him that Eaton had arrived. That would probably be with the results of the U.N. vote.

Eaton was African-American, about average size, with an easygoing, if occasionally stubborn, demeanor. He didn't always have the politics right, but he was a genius at handling the media, and he usually got hold of the appropriate course of action. He came in holding an envelope. Even had Taylor not known how the vote would go, his chief of staff's expression made it clear. “It passed,” he said.

The president exhaled. “Doesn't matter. We don't have the authority to take the land. And the U.N. can complain all they want, but they're in no position to take any action either.”

“Nevertheless, it's a disaster, Mr. President. If we act on the motion, we can expect another armed confrontation. If we don't, if we exercise our veto, the Republicans will be calling it a train wreck.”

“And they won't be wrong,” said Taylor. “But I'm not going to get anyone else killed.”

“That was my fault, Mr. President.” He reached into his suit coat and produced a second envelope.

“Put it away,” Taylor told him.

“I appreciate your willingness to keep me on board, sir. But somebody's going to have to take the fall.”

“Somebody already has.”

“Mr. President—”

“Shut up, Harry. If I let you go, I'll look like all those other sons of bitches who make dumb-ass calls, then try to blame it on somebody else. That might have worked in the old days, but not anymore. So just back off.”

“Okay, sir. Thank you. But where do we go from here?”

The Roundhouse was a unique global problem. People were terrified of what might happen if its technologies became generally available. Some regional economies were already in a shambles. The auto-parts industry in Morocco was close to collapse. Oil prices had begun to sink, which was not necessarily a bad thing. The stock market was down. Gold was up. Capital investment everywhere had slowed to a crawl.

“I've talked with Walker, Harry. What we need to do is demonstrate stability. Ride it out. He's in agreement. He understands what could happen. He knows we can lend him engineers or whatever the hell else he needs to get through this. We'll do what we can for him. Meantime we hang on, avoid explosions, and eventually everything'll work out.”

•   •   •

W
ALKER
RETURNED
HOME
and slept for a few hours until his wife, Carla, woke him. “I just couldn't wait any longer, Jim,” she said. “It's all over the TV.”

He needed a minute to think about it. “Oyate?”

“Yes. I didn't think it was a big deal, but they're going on as if we landed on the Moon again.”

“Beautiful,” he said. Carla, like himself, was putting on too much mileage. But
unlike
him, she still looked good. Dark hair, gleaming eyes, and the dazzling smile he'd fallen in love with at the Rez school a hundred years ago. “Thanks, babe. I guess we can still do something right.”

He watched the cable news while he ate breakfast. Then he headed for his office in Fort Totten. Its walls were decorated with tribal motifs, war bonnets, medicine wheels, and ceremonial pipes. His father's hunting bow was mounted beside the door, and framed photos of Carla and the kids were on the desktop. The boys were ten and eleven, and he wondered what they would see during their lifetimes. The world was changing so fast.

Miranda called. “Mr. Fleury's here,” she said.

Jason was his White House contact. “Congratulations, Mr. Chairman. It looks as if you and the Sioux are going to decide what the future looks like.”

“That would be nice, Jason,” he said. “But I always get a bit uncomfortable when everything seems to be running in the right direction.” He pointed at a chair.

Jason sat down and looked at Walker through his horn-rimmed trifocals. He possessed a casual manner that one seldom found in a high-level government official. He had consistently shown an ability to relax under pressure unlike anyone Walker had seen during his working career. Jason had been largely responsible for calming everyone down after the shooting that had occurred when the government had tried to seize the Roundhouse a few weeks before. “Anyhow, finding out where Eden is—that's great. The scientific world is deliriously happy.”

“I couldn't help noticing, though, that they gave all the credit to the astronomers. I don't recall anyone mentioning the tribe.”

“The astronomers are more visible than the Spirit Lake Sioux. But it'll be there, Mr. Chairman. The president asked me to pass along
his
congratulations, as well. They're having a celebration in the White House tomorrow night. They'd like you to attend.”