Thunderbird (18 page)

“When are you going?”

“The end of the week.”

“Wonderful.” She closed her eyes. “Do what you want, Brad. It's your call.”

•   •   •

L
LOYD
E
VERETT
ROUTINELY
allowed himself to sleep late on Thursday mornings, the day on which his office opened at eleven. He was enjoying a leisurely breakfast with Mabel when the phone rang. They were watching the news, and the caller's number showed up on the screen. It was local, but unfamiliar. Probably a sales pitch.

“Let it ring,” said Mabel, knowing he wouldn't. They only ignored unknown numbers with unfamiliar area codes.

He was still chewing a piece of toast when he picked up.

“Dr. Everett?” said the caller.

“Speaking.”

“My name is Victor Sedgwick.” The voice was unfamiliar. “I'm associated with the Sedgwick and Kane realty office. I don't know whether you'd be interested in selling your house, but I'm in a position to make a very generous offer. I wonder if it would be okay if I dropped by to discuss it with you?”

Lloyd looked over at Mabel, who was finishing her scrambled eggs. “Our property's not up for sale, Mr. Sedgwick. But thanks.” He touched the disconnect but didn't press it.

“Doctor, please, hear me out. We have a company that is planning to do some reorganization in your area. They're offering sixty percent more than the current retail value of your property. I strongly recommend you at least consider it.”

“Who is it?” Mabel asked.

“A real-estate salesman.”

She shook her head. “What's he want with us?”

“Hold a second, please, Mr. Sedgwick.” He watched a FedEx truck stop
across the street and covered the mouthpiece. “Mabel, he says he has an offer for the house. Sixty percent over current value. Are we interested?”

She put her tongue in her cheek. “That's a serious amount of money, Lloyd. How much would it cost us to move?”

Lloyd didn't really care about the money. He liked the house and the neighbors, and he had no inclination to go somewhere else. He and Mabel had more than enough income to support their lifestyle. His wife had grown up down the street, and she loved this house. Since that wild night when they'd been extracted from their car, when he'd become someone else,
something else
, looking down from the sky on the vehicle that he was driving, the world had changed. Thank God she had been through the same event. That they'd been able to talk about it, and reassure each other that it had actually happened. Had she responded the way Chuck and Amy had, talking to him from the back of the car with scared voices and asking him what the hell he was doing, he'd have drawn the only possible conclusion: that he'd suffered a mental meltdown. The house, with its familiarity, had become their anchor in the new reality. Whatever had happened that night, they felt safe near their fireplace. “You know what this is about?” he said. “There's a lot of talk that real-estate prices here are going to go through the roof.”

Mabel took a sip of her coffee. “Because of the Roundhouse.”

“Yes. And I'd be surprised if that doesn't happen.”

“Okay. So that's one more reason to stay put.”

Lloyd took his hand from the mouthpiece. “We're really not interested, Mr. Sedgwick.”

“Dr. Everett, opportunities like this don't come every day.”

“Thank you, but we'll pass.” He'd just gotten back into his seat when it rang again. Mabel was getting up. “I've got it,” she said.

“Tell him to go away,” said Lloyd.

He took another bite of his toast and heard Mabel say, “You're kidding.” A silence followed, then he heard the channels being changed. And Mabel was saying, “Lloyd, you want to see this.”

He grumbled something, got back up, and returned to the living room. Mabel was pointing at the TV. They were interviewing Chuck.

Then the phone was ringing again.

•   •   •

W
ALKER
WAS
IN
his office attending to final details for the Fort Totten ceremony when Andrea contacted him. “I think I have the person you want.”

“Good,” he said. “Who?”

“Dolliehi Proffitt. She's a Ph.D. at Princeton. She's considered one of the top linguistics experts in the world. Has written several books on the subject. One of them,
A Brief History of Symbology
, was a finalist for the Pulitzer a few years ago.”

“Is she willing to go spend some time with Solya?”

“She says she'd love to. You want her number?”

“Please. Do you think we could persuade her to come in for the celebration?”

I go into my library, and all history unrolls before me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of Eden's roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the world's first brood of nightingales, and to the laugh of Eve. I see the pyramids building; I hear the shoutings of the armies of Alexander.

—Alexander Smith,
Dreamthorp
, xi, 1863

T
HE
S
PIRIT
L
AKE
Tribal Council wasn't scheduled for its regular meeting until the end of the month, but Chairman Walker wanted to get things moving. So he called a special conference at their Fort Totten headquarters. The council consisted of the chairman; Jane Martin, the treasurer; and representatives from the tribe's four districts. “You've all been invited to the celebration tomorrow,” he said. “We're looking forward to seeing you there.

“We've been aware from the beginning of the possibility of finding another civilization out there. And it's happened. In fact, we've found
two
. One appears to be in an early stage of development. The other, Riverwalk, is highly advanced. At least technologically. Unfortunately, we didn't get any photos of Riverwalk. And we won't be going back anytime soon. Nonetheless, we know it's there now, and
we
, the Spirit Lake Sioux, made the discovery.”

“James,” said Dorothy Kalen, who represented the Woodlake district,
“some people in my area are interested in
moving
to Eden.” She laughed. “Not that we don't love the weather in North Dakota, but life over there looks pretty inviting. When can we expect a green light?”

“It'll take some time, Dorothy. For one thing, we need to be certain it's safe. Tell your people that all options are open, but I don't want to rush into anything.”

Bobby Reynolds, who hailed from Crow Hill, raised his hand. “Who could ever have believed this would happen?”

“I don't think we can talk about
two
civilizations,” said Rack Colby, from Mission. “Eden has a cabin with a gorilla. That's all we know.” Colby glanced at the chairman. “Or at least all we've been told.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Let's not get into that again, Rack.”

Jane usually maintained a discreet silence when they weren't discussing monetary matters. But not this time: “They have somebody out there producing books,” she said. “That would seem sufficient to establish that there's something more than just a gorilla in a cabin.”

Walker tried not to let his annoyance show. “I don't think Solya qualifies as a
gorilla
. Just for the record, I'd agree that the weather on Eden is pretty nice. But even if no one were there, it would not be a good place for us. I'm not sure how well we'd do without highways, TV, and an electric company. Let's not try to go back to the eighteenth century, okay?”

Dorothy had a weight problem. Somehow, when she was digging in, as she was now, it made her look a bit more intimidating. “I don't think that was anybody's intent, James. But let's try not to be so negative. We'd have a land of our own again. Imagine what we could do with it.”

“We're probably out of practice,” said Walker. “That stuff sounds good at a rally, but I think there are some difficulties once we get beyond the hand-waving.”

“Okay,” said Les Krider, the Fort Totten representative, “where do we go from here?”

Walker took it: “We've been thinking too much about the Roundhouse as a source of cash.”

“Right,” said Rack. “We don't have any use for a gold mine.”

“All right,” said Walker. “Let's keep it serious. What's the single biggest problem the Spirit Lake Sioux have? I'm talking about the people now, not the organization.”

They looked at one another, and everybody had the answer: “Jobs.”

“The same as the rest of the country,” added Rack.

“Except that
our
unemployment is around fifty percent.”

“But the Roundhouse,” said Bobby, “can fix that. Permanently. Sell the damned thing.”

Walker frowned. “I'm not so sure.”

Dorothy looked as if she were ready to throw something. “Come on, James. How can we
stop
the Roundhouse from fixing it? We'll get more than enough cash to provide for everybody on the Rez.”

“You really think,” said Walker, “that handing out a ton of money will help us long range? What happens when the money runs out? And it would, eventually. We give everybody a large handout, and the only thing it buys for us is time. Look, why do we have a bigger unemployment problem than the country at large?”

“Maybe,” said Les, “we need a better education system.” Les would one day, because of his passion and eloquence, be a serious political asset. But he was still too young, and would have to grow into it. But, as usual, he had a point.

“Okay.” Walker sat back in his chair. “Isn't the real problem here that we live in a part of the country that has a very low population density? The towns are small. And they're thirty and forty miles apart. And between them it's virtually empty space. If we were living in, say, central Pennsylvania, or outside Seattle, how much easier would it be to find work? Or better yet, to establish the Lester Krider & Associates Real Estate Agency? Or to open Rack Colby's Hardware Emporium? Or the Kalen Café? You try starting a new restaurant here, what are your chances? We need a system that provides a way for people to support themselves. Not just handouts. We need something that gives purpose to our lives.”

“I don't have a better idea,” said Jane, “than taking the best price we can get for the Roundhouse.”

“All right.” Walker allowed himself a complacent smile. “What do you think this area will look like in ten years?”

Rack was nodding as if he could see exactly what it would look like. “I know where you're headed with this, James. But it probably won't be much different from what it is now. It never changes. And that crazy door isn't going to have that big a long-term effect. I mean, it might become a theme park. But there'll probably never be more than one narrow entrance. And now that we know someone's there—” He turned and grinned at the others. “Even if we're talking about gorillas with books—all that's going to happen is more of what's
been
happening. Government control. Sure, they'll talk about cooperation with us, like they do now, but we all know they're leaning on you constantly, James. They are not going to allow us to open it to the general public. Not now. Especially not after that city. And the whatever. The gorilla.”

“That's correct,” said Walker. “And I have no problem with that.”

“You don't?” Bobby looked surprised. “You were the guy who kept talking about asserting our rights.”

“I was thinking small. I was thinking about establishing our own country on the other side. But that was crazy. There's no way we can make it work. We're in the Communications Age. There's a global economy out there.”

Dorothy cleared her throat. “What exactly are you saying, James?”

“Johnson's Ridge has become the most visible, and remarkable, place on the planet. In ten years, this area will be overrun.”

“By tourists?”

“Sure. And by industry.”

“You know,” said Rack, “they're still going to have to squeeze through that damned grid.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Walker. “They don't have to go
anywhere
.
All
that matters is that they show up here and look at the Roundhouse. They'll
be everyplace. As will developers. Ladies and gentlemen, the world is coming to Fort Totten. We'll need a new airport. More restaurants. Hotels. Real-estate values will go through the roof. We need to advise our people about what's coming. Anybody who can pick up property should do it this afternoon. No casino will be big enough to hold the crowds. Jane, maybe you should establish a sightseeing tour that finishes up at the Roundhouse. If we play this right, the tribe is headed for glorious times. But the smart thing to do is for us to keep control to the extent we're able. Sell it to the corporates, and they'll take care of themselves, and we'll only survive until the cash runs out.”

“So what's first, James?” asked Les.

“We're going to try to acquire the language of the Eden inhabitants. It would help if we could get a name for these creatures. Something a little sexier than ‘gorilla.' But don't worry about it. We'll come up with something.

“Also, we have a few other working links at the Maze and the space station. We have no idea where they'd take us. I'll admit to being a bit uncertain about sending teams to unknown places. That's something we need to think about.”

“Mr. Chairman,” said Jane. “What are you hearing from the president?”

“He's offered whatever assistance we need. He has also, as you would expect, made it clear that, if we wish, he will take over the operation and assume all risks.”

That drew some laughter.

“I think you're right,” said Bobby. “We should maintain control. Why'd you let the marshals in?”

Walker sighed. “I thought that was clear to everybody.”

•   •   •

A
FTER
THE
MEETING
, the chairman returned to his office and was just sitting down to take a look at the reservation's latest employment statistics when Miranda informed him of a visitor. Her name was Cynthia
Harmon, and her business card identified her as executive vice president of the Blackwell National Bank in Minnesota.

She was middle-aged, with amber hair and features that implied she was accustomed to being in charge. “Mr. Chairman?” she said. “I need a favor.”

He invited her to sit down and had his secretary bring in some tea. “How may I assist you, Ms. Harmon?”

“This may be hard to explain, sir. I grew up in Minneapolis. When I was a child, I was a huge
Star Trek
fan. I remember asking my father one night if we'd ever go to the Moon.” She smiled. “He told me we'd already gone. That it was just a big rock.”

“So I asked whether we'd ever go to Mars? He said no. It's too far, and it doesn't matter because there's nothing there either. He showed me some pictures of the place. And he was right. It doesn't look anything like what showed up in the stories. Have you ever read Ray Bradbury, Mr. Chairman?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It's a heartbreaker when you learn the truth. But most people never really look past the rooftops.” She paused, and her eyes grew intense. “You have a door that opens onto other worlds. All I've really wanted during my life, other than my family, of course, my kids, was to find out whether there was life somewhere else. It's something I've always cared about. Don't ask me why.”

“And now you know,” said Walker.

“And now I know. My dream has been realized. But there's something else. I mean, I have the opportunity to actually
walk
on another world. On a place that's—what?—a thousand light-years from here. What I'm asking is that you let me pass through the star gate. Just make the transit. Or whatever you call it. Let me go through for a few minutes and see one of these places.”

“Ms. Harmon, I wish I could help you, but we simply don't allow anyone to pass through the link unless they're part of one of our scientific teams.”

“I'm willing to pay, Mr. Walker. Please.”

“I'm sorry—”

She took out a checkbook. “How much would it take to persuade you?”

“I would if I could. It's complicated, but we just can't do it. For one thing, it would set a precedent.”

“I wouldn't tell anyone. You have my word.”

Of course not. This rabid enthusiast would make it out to the Belt of Orion, but she'd never mention it to anybody. “I'm sorry, Ms. Harmon.”

“Two hundred thousand, Chief.”

“I'm not a chief, Ms. Harmon.”

She inhaled. “I'm sorry, Mr. Chairman.” She took another breath. “One million.”

Walker thought about what could be done with a million. Business incentives. A few more teachers and a load of supplies at the schools. “I wish I could help, Ms. Harmon. But I think, if you're willing to show some patience, the opportunity may arrive in the near future. We are still feeling our way.”

“I don't have a near future, Mr. Chairman. I have breast cancer.”

Walker froze. “I'm sorry,” he said, finally.

“They're giving me three months.”

A terminally ill woman passes through into Eden? There was no way that could be kept from the media. And it would be followed by an endless horde of special cases. It would be the first step. And, eventually, April's friends in the cabin would find their land taken over.

Still, there was no way he could refuse her. “Okay,” he said.

She broke out into a relieved smile, thanked him, and began writing the check. It was one of those moments in which he realized how much he loved his job while simultaneously wishing he could retire.

•   •   •

T
HE
G
RAND
F
ORKS
chief of police was Juan Cavalos. He'd been an occasional guest before on the show, where they usually talked about ongoing traffic issues or current efforts to curb juvenile delinquency. But now nobody
had any interest in traffic problems around Grand Forks, or measures the police were currently taking to reduce the recent rise in the number of burglaries across the city. All they cared about was the wind creature.

“Brad,” he said, answering the host's usual leadoff question, “we're doing fine. Crime in the city continues to be low, and the biggest single automobile problem we have is tailgating. If we could break that habit, we'd get rid of probably fifty percent of the accidents. But that, I suspect, is not what either of us wants to talk about today.”