Thunderbird (7 page)

•   •   •

B
RAD
CALLED
. “Y
OU
'
RE
headed out tomorrow, April?”

“Around noon.”

“I don't guess I could get you for
Grand Forks Live
tomorrow morning before you leave? I can set everything up with our van at the Roundhouse. We can do the show there.”

“I don't think so, Brad. Things are going to be a bit hectic.”

“Then how about the following day? Friday? Will you be back by then?”

It wasn't the first time he'd asked. She'd been reluctant because she was so close to the project, and it was too easy to say something that would show up on the cable networks and blow up. Everybody had strong opinions about what the country should be doing about the crossover
links. And no matter what she said, there was a potential for generating a lot of political heat. “Ask me when we get home, Brad,” she said. “Okay?”

“All right. How long do you expect it will be before you get word back to us about what you've found? You think it will be just a few hours? Or—?”

“Brad, what I'm going to try to do is send Harvey back as soon as we know what we have.”

“He'll come back to the Roundhouse?”

“Yes. It shouldn't take long. Probably not much more than twenty minutes.”

“Okay. Good. Do you think I could get into the Roundhouse tomorrow? I'd like to be there when you guys head out. And when Harvey comes back.”

“I can arrange that. Sure. I've gotta go, Brad. Take care.”

•   •   •

T
HERE
WERE
SO
many troubling issues connected with the Roundhouse that Walker seldom slept soundly. When he closed his eyes at night, he could not get away from wondering who had been responsible for constructing it? Why would anyone with such technology want to visit a primitive Earth to go sailing? How did the place retain power after being abandoned for ten thousand years? Everything not connected with Johnson's Ridge now seemed trivial.

Carla tried to help. “Relax, Jim,” she told him. “Everything will be okay. When you're in charge, everything's
always
okay.”

“I wish David hadn't been so pessimistic. I could deal with it when the president got worried. But not David.”

“Look, nobody moves ahead by backing away from opportunities. You've got good people on these missions. If you shut things down, you'd never forgive yourself.”

He had invited the president to send in the engineers he'd earlier said were available. But Taylor had become reluctant. “Not just now,” he'd said.

The Sioux had a couple of engineers he could call on. One in particular,
Ivy Banner, had a solid reputation. Ivy and her husband lived in Fargo, where she worked for the Renko Construction Company. He didn't remember much detail about her except that she specialized in electrical design.

Next year, he'd be up for reelection, but unless something changed radically, Walker would not run. He'd had enough.

Tomorrow, if the mission went well, he'd call Ivy and ask for her help.

Hitch your wagon to a star.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson,
Society and Solitude
, 1870

A
NDREA
H
AWK
WAS
on the midwatch at the Roundhouse. She'd spent the earlier part of the evening doing her talk show. She'd have liked to stay and watch April's team set out at noon, but she knew what kind of shape she'd be in after being awake all night.

A couple of media vehicles were parked on the lot, including a van from NBC. Other than that, the area was empty. She wandered outside just to get some fresh air, hoping the media types were asleep. But a door in the van opened. A woman got out and closed the door softly. She had no interest in waking her colleagues.

It was Josephine Costain, who had interviewed Andrea before. She came over and asked the routine questions: What did she think the mission would find when they did the crossover from the Eden link? Had Andrea hoped to go? Was there any possibility that the chairman would go back to allowing reporters to participate, as he had a few—? And she stopped in midsentence, staring up over Andrea's shoulder.

Andrea turned and looked in the same direction. A soft white glow
floated in the treetops at the edge of the parking area. It was rotating slowly. “What
is
that?” said Costain.

“A reflection.” What else could it be? But it looked like a small whirlwind that had picked up some loose flakes.

The reporter kept staring. She didn't take her eyes off the thing while she asked whether it might be possible for her to go along on the new mission?

“I don't know,” said Andrea. “You'll have to ask the chairman.”

“You don't have any input on that?” She seemed surprised. Everybody knew that Walker thought highly of her.

“If I had any serious influence, Jo, I'd be on these missions myself.” The little whirlwind was dissipating. Fading. Finally she decided it was probably just moonlight.

•   •   •

M
ATT
F
ANNY
SAW
no point in Brad's visit to the Roundhouse. “They aren't going to let you go along on the trip, are they?”

“No. Not that I know of. But I'll be there today when they leave.”

“Well, that's something I guess.” He looked bleary-eyed. It was pretty early for him. “When will we know what they find?”

“They're going to send Harvey Keck back with a report.”

“Who's Harvey Keck?”

“He used to be April's boss over at Colson Labs.”

“You know, if she can arrange for her old boss to make one of those trips, she ought to be able to manage something for us. Have you asked her to get you on board?”

“We've talked about it.”

“It would be a game changer for your career, Brad.”

“I don't think it would be a big deal.”

“So what's she say?”

“They're sending scientists. I don't qualify.”

Matt grumbled something. Then: “So how long's that going to take?”

“Will
what
take?”

“Getting Keck back to the Roundhouse?”

“She thinks about twenty minutes.”

“All right. Call us when you have something. And maybe you can get one of those people for the show. This stuff is all anybody talks about anymore.”

•   •   •

B
RAD
FINISHED
G
RAND
Forks Live
at ten and headed immediately for Johnson's Ridge. He felt a bit out of place since he was not really a journalist. But he liked to think of himself as one, and he'd be crazy not to play this story for all it was worth.

There were dozens of media people in the parking lot when he got there. He bypassed them and headed directly for the front door. April had left his name with security, so he had no problem getting into the transport room. Someone from the tribe was talking to the pool reporters about why
they
weren't being allowed to join the mission. One of the CNN guys was literally yelling. “How can you say that? It's too dangerous for us? We still have people in Syria!” Chairman Walker came in a few minutes after Brad did, accompanied by a man and woman in blue NASA uniforms. April was also there, mingling with the crowd. Walker went over to her and shook her hand.

So did Brad. Over the next twenty minutes, he wandered around, talking with everyone, exchanging business cards, making mental notes of those he thought would contribute to a good show. He knew Harvey Keck, who came over and introduced the NASA people. They were, as he'd guessed, astronauts. And finally it was time for the mission to move out. They were mostly wearing fatigues, and some had brought light jackets. Brad was watching the security people move the reporters back from the transport system when he got a surprise: Max Collingwood came through the door. April spotted him, too, and waved. He waved back.

Max had been the guy who'd short-circuited the shootout between the
Feds and the Sioux when the government attempted to seize the Roundhouse. He'd brought a group of celebrities who'd interposed themselves between the two sides, and stayed in place until a compromise had been reached. He was also the second person, after April, to teleport out of the Roundhouse. Eventually, he'd been a guest on Brad's show.

April appeared at his side. “Good to see you, Brad. You're sure you don't want to come?”

Brad saw she was joking, but played it straight: “Thanks. Next time, maybe. Be careful.”

She touched his arm. “We will.”

Max spotted them, came over, and said hello. “What are you up to these days?” April asked.

He thought about it. “Actually, I'd like to track down our visitor.”

“You mean the wind creature?”

“I'm not serious, guys. I'm too busy restoring planes. But I'd like to know if there's something really there.”

“If it really exists,” said April, “it might be dangerous.”

Max laughed. “It might be. But we know it has a sense of humor. And it rescues kids and cares about dogs.” He smiled and shook his head. “Who would have thought aliens would be so friendly?”

•   •   •

A
PRIL
WAS
ON
the ride of her life. Six months earlier, she had been a minor-league chemist who'd been in exactly the right position when the Roundhouse was excavated on Johnson's Ridge. And now, here she was, hanging out with some of the top scientific people on the planet while every major media outlet wanted to interview her. Nobody was drawing more attention at that moment than the Strike Team, which was the name that somebody in the Tribal Council had suggested, apparently because the selected icon consisted of three parallel lines. Three strikes. When she first heard the designation, which had happened when the
chairman raised his toast to them last night at the Cedar Inn, she'd winced. Back at the hotel, she'd suggested to Walker that the sobriquet suggested failure. But he'd laughed it off.

Finally, they were moving out. Adam Sky and another of the Sioux security guys stepped onto the grid. Adam pressed the arrow icon, approximately twenty seconds passed, and the glow appeared, brightened, and wrapped itself around both men. Brad's breathing picked up as he watched them fade into transparency. Then the light went out, and they were gone.

Incredible.

The light reappeared, and another of the security people, a woman, picked up a pen from the grid. Brad knew that was the all-clear signal from Eden.

April and the astronaut Melissa went next. Then, Boots, carrying a pressure suit, and one of the scientists. They continued until all were gone.

•   •   •

B
RAD
WOULD
HAVE
liked to accompany them to the Eden station. He wasn't so sure about the Strike World. There was a part of him, if he was honest with himself, that was relieved he was staying right where he was. He liked to think of himself as an adventurous type, but the truth was he wasn't big on risks. The notion of getting disassembled, then put back together, made his skin crawl.

Max came over and sat with him. “It's good to see you again, Brad. You trying to arrange to get a booking on one of these missions?”

“Not really,” Brad said. “I have to admit that this whole business is a little scary. What's it feel like to go through that process?”

Max was about average size, not quite six feet, with dark hair. He seemed easygoing, but there was something in his manner that suggested his barging into the middle of the Federal attempt to take the Roundhouse would not have been a surprise to people who knew him. “It's a bit unnerving at first,” he said. “You just close your eyes and try not to throw up.”

“Really? Did you have a stomach problem when you did it?”

He laughed. “No. Not that I can recall. But I
was
jittery.” He checked his watch. “They should be moving on to the Strike World by now. I hate to clear out, but I have to get going. Got clients waiting for me. Brad, you going to stay here?”

“Yes, Max.”

“Okay. Do me a favor and let me know when they come back.”

•   •   •

B
RAD
HAD
BROUGHT
a photo of the interior of the Eden Station, the Cupola, with him. Eight icons were embedded in a post. The stag's head would take the science team back to North Dakota. The arrow was prominent among them, as the stag's head was on Johnson's Ridge. Neither image would light up and were apparently there simply to serve as reminders of the image that would bring them home.

The other Eden icons were all different from the figures at the Roundhouse. Four of them were geometrical. The remaining two looked like a flower and a pair of wings. Three still generated power. The arrow, an octagon, and a set of three parallel horizontal lines. The Strikes.

If everything went well, Harvey Keck would be dispatched back to the Roundhouse to break the news and describe what they'd found on the new world. That was the moment Brad and the reporters were waiting for.

One of the journalists mistook Brad for a member of the Tribal Council and asked to interview him. Chairman Walker arrived and strolled through the area, talking with everybody. There were a few other people Brad knew, Jim Stuyvesant of the
Fort Moxie News
, Ben Markey from WLMR-TV's
Ben at Ten
, Mike Tower of the
Chicago Tribune
, and Andrea Hawk.

He checked his watch. It had been twenty minutes since the Strike Team had left. That was probably enough time to get Boots into his pressure suit and transport him to the new world, and for him to report back. Then they'd send Keck back to the Roundhouse. He was rushing things, though. They'd probably want to look around somewhat on the new world before dispatching Harvey.

One of the tables was covered with snacks and Cokes. He made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The room was beginning to grow noisy again. Everybody was on a cell phone. He bit into the sandwich, and his own phone sounded. Max's voice: “Any word yet, Brad?”

“Nothing. We're still waiting.”

“Okay. Thanks. Let me know.”

Eventually, Walker became impatient and decided to go find out what was happening. He approached the wall behind the grid and studied the icons. At that moment the grid lit up. The chairman stepped quickly away, and Harvey Keck's outline appeared. A sense of anticipation spread through the room.

When the light faded, Harvey looked around and waved at the crowd. Walker smiled and extended a hand. But Harvey shook his head no, and whispered something to the chairman. Walker's features hardened. He turned to the reporters. “Everything's okay,” the chairman said, raising his voice. “But we need a couple of minutes. We'll get right back to you.” Then he was talking to Keck again.

Keck replied, and Walker stared at him in confusion. Brad couldn't hear any of the conversation. Suddenly Keck grasped the chairman's right arm and pulled him onto the grid. Walker waved again to the audience in an obvious effort at reassurance, and pressed the arrow.

The reporters hurled questions at them: “What are you doing?”

“What's going on, Mr. Chairman?”

“Is there a problem?”

“Harvey, is everybody—?”

The luminous cloud appeared. Walker waved and smiled. “Everything's okay.” Then they were engulfed by the light.

Everybody in the crowd was back talking into a cell phone. Ben Markey shook his head. “Something's wrong,” he was saying.

One of the Sioux security people, a female, jumped onto the grid and pressed the arrow. “Everybody stay put. I'll be back in a minute or two.”

“Go, Paula,” said another of the security guys. Then, raising his voice: “Everybody just relax, please. We'll have some answers in a minute.”

It was more like seven or eight. Finally, Walker and April came back together. The crowd quieted and the chairman came forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, when we transported out on the Strike link, we arrived in a
city
. I say ‘we' although the only people who actually made the crossover were Boots Coleman and April. April, do you want to describe what you saw?”

“It's a high-tech place. Big, stretching as far as we could see. We saw some of the inhabitants. They almost looked human except that they were smaller than we are.”

The reporters started shouting questions, so she stopped talking and waited for them to calm down.

“We were only there a few minutes,” she continued. “Inside a dark building. We saw a river, lights moving through the sky. Skyscrapers. Heard music from somewhere. Actually, we could see a park, and it looked as if there was a party going on. And that was enough. We left. Went back to Eden before one of them saw us.”

The grid lit up again, and two of the scientists came back. They looked frustrated.