Thunderbird (22 page)

She gave the flashlight to them without turning it off. And they obviously enjoyed shining it in one another's eyes while delivering cackling sounds. When they tried to return it, April told them to keep it, and was able to convey the notion that it would lose power. “I should have brought extra batteries,” she said.

Adam contributed two that he had, and demonstrated why they were necessary and how to insert them.

•   •   •

E
VENTUALLY
, S
OLYA
SHOWED
them through the cabin. There were two bedrooms, and they had indoor plumbing. April thought they were going to receive an invitation to stay over, but it didn't happen. And the truth was that she would not have been comfortable sleeping in that cabin, no matter how friendly Solya and her mate were.

Each of the bedrooms sported a painting. An exchange between Dolly and her hosts indicated that Morkim had been the artist. They were both surprisingly good. One was simply a landscape, a mountaintop at sunset. The other depicted one of their species looking lost and alone on a moonlit ridge. There was a dining room, containing a small, framed portrait of a smiling Solya. She was wrapped in a soft blue knit sweater. It was hard not to laugh, but there was something intensely congenial in those eyes.

The two landscapes in the living room fit into the general pattern. Dolly turned back to Morkim. “All your work?”

“Gont,”
he said. Yes.

“Beautiful.” She turned to April. “I can't see any problem with staying here if they invite me.”

April didn't approve, but it didn't matter. The invitation didn't come.

I do not pin my dreams for the future to my country or even to my race. I think it probable that civilization somehow will last as long as I care to look ahead.

—Oliver Wendell Holmes, speech in New York, 1913

W
ALKER
CALLED
C
YNTHIA
. “I know you wanted to visit Eden, but you've probably seen the pictures from the Maze. If you'd prefer, we can take you for a ride on the roller coaster.”

She literally squealed. “Yes, yes! I was going to ask. Absolutely. When do we leave?”

“Will tomorrow work? Say two o'clock?”

•   •   •

L
ATER
, A
NDREA
H
AWK
called from the Roundhouse. “James, April and Dolly Proffitt should be back within about an hour,” she said.

“Great. Did they get a book?”

“Say again, Mr. Chairman?”

“They were going to try to get one of the books from Solya's library. Do you know if they managed to do that?”

“I don't know. I can ask them if you want.”

“No, that's okay. Thanks, Andrea. I'll be over shortly.”

When he arrived, he had to navigate across the parking lot through the usual crowd of media people. Questions were shouted at him. “Are they okay?”

“How are they making out with the language?”

“Are they bringing Solya back with them?”

More reporters, the pool, were inside. They also wasted no time surrounding him. But Andrea called everybody's attention to the luminous cloud that had just appeared on the teleporter. “Somebody's coming in,” she said.

Colmar was already standing on the grid, smiling. That took everyone's attention. He waved to the crowd. “They're only a few minutes out.” Then he spotted the chairman and gave him a thumbs-up.

“John,” said Walker, “welcome home. Can you tell me—?”

John smiled. “Yes, sir. They did it. Professor Proffitt had a conversation with them.”

“Beautiful. Are they bringing back a book?”

“Yes. They got one.”

“Did they say whether it has any pictures?”

John made a clicking sound with his tongue, as people do when they're trying to stall. “I don't know, Mr. Chairman.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
CAME
IN
fifteen minutes later. Dolly and April arrived first, followed by the security people. They all looked tired, even Adam. Walker was watching for the book but it must have been in somebody's backpack. “Congratulations,” he said, as Dolly slipped her bag off her shoulder. He was expecting to see her produce the book, but it was Adam who held it up for everyone to see.

It was a large volume. A TV camera zeroed in on it. There was a title and a byline, and a drawing of something that might have been a duck. “Did we find out anything about them, April?” he asked.

April passed the question to Dolly. “Solya has a mate,” she said. “And I don't think they've ever seen electricity before.”

“What else have you got?” asked one of the reporters. “What do we know about the book? Is it a history? A novel? What?”

“I can't be sure, but it looks as if it might be a collection of plays. If so, they're by different playwrights, assuming these are actually bylines and titles.” She showed him an example. “No way to be sure yet.”

“All right. That's fine. Do you have anything on the language?”

“We've picked up bits and pieces of the
spoken
language, but I can't relate any of that to this.” She looked over at the volume. “I'm going to have to match letters to sounds first.” She played recordings of Solya and Morkim speaking. To Walker, they could have been humans speaking a foreign language.
Very
foreign.

“Okay.” Jim Stuyvesant jumped in. “That's not bad for one day's work, I guess. Thanks much, Professor. Anything else you picked up that we didn't know? Do we have a name for them yet?”

“Not yet. I need time.” Her face softened. “I can tell you that we showed them a copy of the
Fort Moxie News
. They're interested in a subscription.”

The
Florida Times-Union
was next: “What can you tell us about the mate?”

“His name's Morkim. He's an artist.”

That produced an avalanche of responses. Dolly handed a memory card over to the desk officer, and moments later, pictures first of Morkim and then of the artwork appeared on the monitor.

For Walker, this did not feel at all the way first contact was supposed to go. Questions about Morkim and his work tied up the next six or seven minutes. Then MSNBC asked Dolly whether they'd be going back. “You have to, right, if we're ever going to figure out the language?”

“Sure, we are. I suspect the chairman will want me to move in over there.”

•   •   •

A
FTERWARD
, W
ALKER
MET
with them in the conference room, where he showed his displeasure. “April,” he said, “I thought I made it clear that nobody stays over in that cabin.”

“Nobody will, James. I didn't even know there'd been an invitation.”

“James,” said Dolly, “April told me about your feelings on this. And the fact is that I didn't get a direct invitation. But it'll happen next time I'm there. And if you want me to get the job done, you'll go along with it.”

Adam broke in: “That's not a good idea, Mr. Chairman.”

“I agree,” said Walker.

Dolly pushed her hair back from her eyes. “They're friendly,” she said in a tone that suggested she was talking to a child.

“It's hard to get past the way they look.”

Dolly rolled her eyes. “James,” she said, “they're civilized. I don't much care what they look like. They read books, Morkim's a pretty decent artist, and they treat strangers well. I need time with them. Right now, there's too much walking back and forth.”

“I understand. But we could set up a tent. I'll leave a couple of the guys with you to make sure you're safe.”

“Damn it, James, there's no way I can do that without insulting them. If this is going to work, we need them to trust us. And that means we have to trust them.”

“It's too dangerous.”

“Then call it off. I'm not going to waste my time if you're going to get in the way of letting it happen.”

•   •   •

W
ALKER
MADE
COPIES
of some of the pages and turned the book over to Dolly. He took the pages back to his office and spent time looking through them. There was an alphabet, and the words were separated by spaces. By midday he'd counted twenty-seven letters. He determined which characters were used frequently, and which were not. He doubted that detail would make much difference, but it gave him a sense of accomplishment.

There are many intellectual beings in the world beside ourselves, and several species of spirits, who are subject to different laws and economics from those of mankind.

—Joseph Addison,
The Spectator
, 1712

C
HAIRMAN
W
ALKER
PICKED
Cynthia up at her hotel. She signed a document recognizing that there were risks involved in traveling to the Maze and releasing James Walker and the Spirit Lake Tribe from all culpability in the event of an unforeseen occurrence. “The Roundhouse will be surrounded by the media,” he said. “Don't stop to talk to any of the reporters if you can help it. If you get cornered, and you probably will, tell them you're an electrician. You're there to fix some of the lighting gear we brought in. There's a tool kit in back. Take it with you. Okay?”

“Sure.”

The media presence was considerably less than the previous day because nothing was officially scheduled. The Roundhouse wasn't open to reporters at such times, but there were always a few in the area. As Walker pulled into the parking lot, several of them came over to meet him. “Hello, Mr. Chairman,” said one accompanied by a CNN cameraman. “Anything happening today?”

Cynthia reached into the back for the tool kit. “I have a statement,”
Walker said. “Just hold one second, please.” He turned to Cynthia. “Terry, see if you can get it fixed. I'll be with you in a minute.” They made room for her to get through. “Okay,” he said, “you already know that we have a mission going out to the space station this weekend.”

“Of course,” said a reporter from Fox. “What will they be doing?”

“Just looking around. We haven't really done a thorough exploration of the station. It's time.”

“It's more than time,” grumbled a woman from the
Wall Street Journal
.

“Look, the problem is that the hatch leading out of the transport chamber was closed, and we haven't been able to figure out how to get it open. We've been reluctant to cut our way through because we didn't want to cause any unnecessary damage.”

“So what
are
you going to do?”

“We're out of other options. We'll be taking a laser along this time.”

“So you
are
going to cut through?”

“Yes.”

A guy from the
Boston Globe
: “Isn't it time you gave us access to the space station?”

“One at a time, guys,” he said. “Some of you were at the space station several months ago. Nothing's changed.” The Roundhouse door opened, and Cynthia slipped inside.

“Who's she?” asked the
Fargo Forum
.

“Teresa is one of our electrical experts. We had a circuit breakdown in our lighting equipment. It's minor-league stuff.”

ABC asked whether they'd been able to interpret the gorilla book?

“We just got the thing. You'll have to give us some time.”

And from the
St. Louis Post-Dispatch
: “There's another set of links in the Maze.”

“Yes, there is.”

“When are you going to try some of them to see where they go?”

“In due time.” He laughed. “I know what you guys are thinking, but caution is my middle name.”

“You can say that again, Mr. Chairman,” said the
San Francisco Chronicle
.

Walker raised his left hand. “Gotta go, people.” He broke away and headed for the door. It opened as he reached it, and he hurried inside.

There were four security people, one of whom, Jack Swiftfoot, had gotten Cynthia a cup of coffee. Walker watched him stand talking to her. Jack and his partners were being paid minimal salaries for risking their lives. But that was about to change. The tribe was on the verge of cashing in. He'd finally gotten past all the talk and had a million-dollar check in his pocket. The Roundhouse was paying off.

No.
Starlight Station.
That had a much better ring to it. From now on, that would be the official reference.

He said hello to everybody. Then: “The lady is a close friend of the tribe. Officially, she's an electrical worker. Repairing some lights in back.” He grinned. “She and John and I are going over to take a look at the Maze. We'll only be gone a short time. An hour or so.”

No problem. A couple of them told him to be careful.

•   •   •

W
ALKER
HAD
NEVER
seen anyone waiting to be teleported the first time who hadn't looked at least mildly nervous. He liked to think of himself as a guy who didn't scare easily, but he recalled his own feelings that first time, when Harvey Keck had grabbed him and whispered something about a problem and all but dragged him onto the grid. Cynthia Harmon was the exception. If she was even slightly rattled, she hid it extraordinarily well.

John went first. He sent his pen back, and Walker and Cynthia followed. They arrived in an empty chamber and she immediately stepped off the grid and began examining the place, pressing her hands against the walls, studying the carpeting that sank underfoot, and proceeding to each of the two exits and looking up and down the passageways. Cynthia was going to make it count. “What
is
this place?” she asked. “You guys have any idea at all what it is?”

“As far as we can tell, it's a theme park.” Walker shrugged. “It's a place where you can get the ride of your life.”

John took them to the room with the roller-coaster icon, and a few minutes later they were riding wildly through the tunnels, with Cynthia and Walker both holding on for their lives, while shrieking with laughter. Then they came out onto the face of the cliff, and she reacted to the sky exactly as he'd expected.

•   •   •

W
HEN
D
OLLY
ARRIVED
at the Blue Building, she informed Walker she'd made some progress, but most of it consisted of linguistic technicalities like separating vowels and consonants. And she'd started a vocabulary. So far it consisted of ninety-seven words, some of which she'd been able to spell in Solya's language. “Something else of interest,” she said. “They live on an island. They're about thirty miles—if I have the terminology right—from the shore of a continent just over the horizon. They also have some big cities. Though I have no specific idea about size. Or their technology.”

Eventually, they circled back to the book. “Did she tell you what the title is?”

“Yes, but it was in her own language, and I didn't get it clearly. So, no, we don't have the title. It's obviously an anthology. I counted twenty-one plays. If that's what they are.”

“She said it was plays?”

“I'm still working on it.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dolly, for what you've done. As far as your staying at the cabin: I'm going to leave that to your best judgment. Whatever you choose to do, I'll support to the fullest extent possible. I'll get a volunteer from the security force, and he'll accompany you when you go back. I hope you won't take any unnecessary chances. And I'd prefer you don't do this. But it's your call. As long as your relatives don't sue us.”

“I assume,” she said, “you have a document for me to sign?”

He passed it over to her, and while she was looking at it, he asked whether she'd gotten their name? A species name?

“No. I tried, but I just couldn't find the vocabulary. We couldn't get past ‘Solya.' I got the impression she doesn't think I'm very bright.”

Damn. “How do we know the cities are
big
?”

“The word for big is
kowala
.”

“That covers a lot of ground. Does that mean a large population? Or a lot of land?”

“Not sure. I heard it applied to her husband, so it indicates physical size, but there's no way to be sure it's limited to that. I'm sorry, James. It's just going to take time.”

He had an idea. “You mentioned a continent. Do they have a name for it? Or do they just call it ‘the continent'?”

“The term they use is ‘Arkonik.' It's not used with an article, their equivalent of ‘the,' so I suspect it's a name.”

“Arkonik?” He raised both fists. “Dolly, I think we've discovered that our aliens are
Arkons
.”

“I like that,” she said. “It has a ring to it.”

•   •   •

T
HE
CHAIRMAN
WAS
getting ready to close up for the day when Cynthia called. “Thank you,” she said. “It was the most riveting experience of my life.”

Walker had grown to like her. “I'm glad I was able to help. And I appreciate your donation.”

“It's a small enough price to pay for that kind of ride. Mr. Chairman, I should mention that I'm not comfortable doing this by phone. I'd have preferred to go back to your office today, but I suspected someone might identify me and cause a problem for you.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“In any case, I'm grateful. I'll confess to you that it's been difficult not telling anybody what I did, but I've kept my word. And I'll continue to. If
eventually you change your mind and open the place up a bit more to the public, would it be okay if I talk about it then?”

“Cynthia, if we reach a point where it's okay to say something, I'll let you know.”

“Good. Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”

“My name's James,” he said.

•   •   •

R
ACHEL
B
RADFORD
WAS
the host for
Dakota Brief
. “It's good to have you with us, Brad,” she said. It was his first appearance on the very popular Fargo TV news show.

“Pleasure to be here, Rachel.”

They were seated in separate armchairs in front of several rows of filled bookshelves. Rachel was attractive, as female TV hosts inevitably are. Her black hair was cut short. She had expressive green eyes and a congenial smile. “It's nice to have a real space traveler on the program.”

Brad wasn't accustomed to TV productions. He reminded himself of the advice Matt had given him: Don't stare at the cameras but talk to them as well as to Rachel. “Who would have believed it?” he said.

She smiled. “Before we get off on that, Brad, we have a clip we'd like to run.”

He looked across at one of the monitors. A blank screen gave way to a white panel truck with the call letters KLMR on its side moving slowly along a narrow street with a lot of trees. It passed mostly dark houses, each set well back on a wide lawn. The truck's location appeared at the base of the screen: Fort Moxie.

“As you're aware, Brad, we've been getting reports of apparitions in Devils Lake, Grand Forks, some of the smaller towns, and especially Fort Moxie. We sent a team up there last week to see if they could get a look at what the fuss is about. They stayed several days and saw nothing out of the ordinary until last night.”

The time of the film clip blinked on: 11:46
P.M.

“For anyone who hasn't been to Fort Moxie, it's a
small
town. Population is under a thousand. It's only a mile or so from the Canadian border.”

The time moved to 11:47.

The truck turned right. “It's now on Harper Street,” said Rachel. “They are two blocks north of the center of the main street.” Suddenly, a light became visible in the trees.

They pulled in closer and got a clear view of the source. It was a small whirlwind, though it seemed to be rotating slowly. “At first glimpse,” said Rachel, “you get the impression it's a reflection of the streetlights.”

“You could read it that way,” said Brad.

Rachel nodded. “That's our floater, but my question to you is: Where is the wind coming from? There was no serious wind last night. And in any case, why would it be spinning?”

“Well,” Brad said, “you know as well as I do, Rachel, there's never a night without wind. Not in this part of the world.”

“Is that your explanation?”

“I don't have one. What happened next?”

“Hang on.”

A couple of people came out of their houses to watch. Then the film moved ahead, and the floater faded away. “It was there for about five minutes before it disappeared,” Rachel said.

Brad was looking directly into the camera. “I have no idea what it is.”

“Well, let me ask you straight out, Brad: Do you think we have an alien running around Pembina County? Or maybe I should say
floating
around?”

“I just don't know, Rachel.”

“What do you think?”

“If I run into it, I'll ask it what's going on.”

•   •   •

R
ACHEL
B
RADFORD
HAD
become entranced with the floater aspect of the Roundhouse story weeks earlier, and since then
Dakota Brief
had pursued it relentlessly. Consequently, Walker had become a regular viewer. He'd
seen the stories about people experiencing illusions and light distortions. But this was the first time he'd seen them come up with pictures. He could not get George Freewater's account out of his mind.

He called April. “No, James,” she said. “I did see the show, but it was probably just an ordinary small whirlwind. What's probably happening is that stories are getting around, and people's imaginations are heating up. The notion of a metaphysical alien loose in the area is Hollywood stuff. I don't think we should allow ourselves to get caught up in this. Look, tomorrow we'll be headed for the space station. Hopefully, that'll change the conversation.”