Thunderbird (24 page)

“How do you mean?” asked Brad.

“Okay. We've been talking about whether we've got artificial gravity, or whether this place is actually on the ground somewhere. I think this settles it.”

“The system's breaking down,” said April.

“I think that's exactly right. The gravity we're getting everyplace we've been is generated from beneath the floor. Somewhere. This place out here”—Jennie waved her light around the ballroom—“isn't getting the feed. So when we walk across it, the only gravity we feel comes from behind us, and is angled. The farther we get from the source, the steeper the angle seems. I suspect if we were to try to get up on the stage, we'd have a good chance of breaking our necks.”

Brad was trying to imagine himself during
Grand Forks Live
trying to explain this to his audience.

•   •   •

T
HEY
CONTINUED
ALONG
the corridor, passing more empty chambers, and were relieved that the gravity issue did not reappear. Eventually, they saw
light begin to show in the window. They all crowded over. “It's up ahead,” said Boots. It was little more than a glimmer in the distance. But it was
something
.

They kept moving, following the gently curving wall. “You know,” said Boots, “I'm beginning to think this place is a lot bigger than we thought.”

They went through a series of rooms. The area began to feel more like a concourse, periodically divided by hatches. But they were all open, and, gradually, the source of the light came into view. It was a magnificent oval cloud of stars and gas. And obviously at a considerable distance.

“The Milky Way?” asked Brad.

“No way to be sure,” said Jennie, “but it's as good a guess as any. You saw this when you were here before, didn't you, April?”

“Yes,” she said. “We saw it.”

There was a second starry cloud, not too far from the outer edge of the big one. And a third one, smaller, a bit closer in. “Those might be the two Magellanics,” Jennie said.

“So how far are we,” asked Brad, “from North Dakota?”

Jennie laughed. She said something about not being in Kansas anymore. Then: “But how is this possible? This is
crazy
. I thought it was absolutely nuts when we decided that Eden was out in the Orion Belt somewhere.”

“How far?” asked Brad again.

Jennie couldn't take her eyes off it. “If that's really the Milky Way, I'd guess a hundred thousand light-years, at a minimum. You know what this
is
? We're at some sort of tourist spot. Or at least that's what it used to be.”

“Like the Maze,” said Brad.

•   •   •

T
HEY
WALKED
INTO
another chamber, with a central desk where a clerk might have been stationed, half a dozen cushioned seats, and several side tables. A purple banner hung on the wall behind the desk. It was in folds, frozen like everything else. “What's that in the center?” Boots asked.

“Don't know,” said Brad. He couldn't separate the folds to get a decent look. “It's a monogram of some sort.” He took some pictures. “It looks like a bird.”

“With its wings spread,” said Melissa.

They proceeded into another control area. “We should be able to get something valuable out of this,” said Boots. “April, this is another place where we need to send in some engineers to look at the technology. Maybe we can figure out how to read their hard drives and find out what this place was all about.”

“Maybe,” said April. “Don't get your hopes up.”

Brad had thought it might be a breakthrough as well. “Why not?” he asked.

“Everything here's almost certainly ancient, Brad. I know the Roundhouse still works, but it may be yesterday's equipment compared to this.”

“It can't be too old,” said Jennie. “The place still has power.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
ENTERED
A
chamber that was bent and broken. The wall with the long window was torn away. April went over to it and looked outside. “Careful,” said Melissa.

“Something crashed into it,” she said.

Jennie joined her and leaned out. “An asteroid or something. That accounts for the Schleffer question.” Harry Schleffer was a physicist who'd asked why, if this was a tourist spot, visitors couldn't see the galaxy whenever they wanted to. Why did they have to wait for the equivalent of a moonrise? “Apparently,” she continued, “the station was knocked into a rotation.” Finally, it was time to start back. “First thing we should do here,” Brad said, “is install some lights.”

“And repair the window,” said April.

“I'd suggest,” said Melissa, “they get the life support up and running.”

They returned the same way they'd come. And they paused again at the theater entrance.

They aimed their lights through the darkness, fascinated by the gravity disparity. Yes, step inside and the floor
did
seem to tilt slightly uphill toward the stage.

Brad played his light across the curtains, which were drawn back on either side. And he saw something he'd missed earlier. Something they'd all missed. They were the same color as the purple banner in the lobby. More to the point, when Brad put his light on it, he saw the same monogram. At least, it would have been the same had the curtains been drawn together, closed as they would be prior to a show.

“Hold on.” He entered the theater and moved forward. The floor began to angle uphill. The slope became steeper as he approached the stage. April told him to come back, but he kept going until he'd reached the curtains. By then he was using the chairs for support. The rear entrance, where they all waited, looked a long way down. But he was okay. He'd gone all the way to the stage, so he'd expected it. Knowing the cause made it easier to navigate.

“What are you doing?” April said.

“It
is
the same image.” He grabbed the lip of the stage and used it to balance himself while he reached for one of the curtains, but he couldn't get hold of it without falling.

Eventually, he rejoined the others and looked at the photo from the lobby. He held it up and compared it with what he could see on the curtains. It showed different sections of the monogram. And yes! It was clearly a bird.

“It reminds me of something,” said Jack.

“What?”

He frowned. “Well, nothing really. Ridiculous idea.”

•   •   •

“T
HE
REPORTERS
WILL
be waiting for us when we get back,” said Boots. “What do we tell them? They're going to think we're crazy.”

Melissa laughed. “Just show them the pictures.” But the photos gave them nothing. They revealed a flat interior no matter where the pictures were taken.

“No point keeping it quiet, though,” said Brad, “even if we can't show it to them.” He was thinking how this story just keeps getting bigger.

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

—Alfred Tennyson, “Break, Break, Break,” 1842

S
CIENCE
T
EAM
V
ISITS
I
NTERGALACTIC
S
PACE
S
TATION

by Jim Stuyvesant

Devils Lake, May 3
—A group of scientists led by April Cannon used the Johnson's Ridge technology yesterday to visit a structure that appears to have once been a space station located outside the Milky Way. Professor Alex Ridgeway, of North Dakota State University, said that “if the cited location is actually the case, the potential we may be able to derive from this technology is even greater than anyone has dared imagine. We can't know whether the photographs and data brought back are an accurate depiction, or whether it's all a fabrication of some sort by whoever created the station. In any case, we seem to be on the edge of a new era. Life on Earth may never be the same.”

Pew Research has released data showing a rising tide of disenchantment with the president for failing to pursue technological development at
the Roundhouse. Many of his critics charge that the nation is proceeding at the convenience of James Walker, the chairman of the Spirit Lake Sioux. Representatives from the National Science Foundation are scheduled to meet with the president tomorrow in an effort to persuade him to put pressure on Walker. They have already released statements indicating that allowing a private group of persons to make critical decisions regarding technology that they happened to find on their property has been a pathetic strategy.

—
The Fort Moxie News

•   •   •

“D
OES
IT
REMIND
you of anything?” Walker asked, handing the photo to Carla.

She frowned at it, at the dark curtain and the figure trapped in its frozen folds. She held the picture sidewise.

“Maybe this will help.” Walker showed her the one they'd seen in the lobby.

She shrugged. “It's a bird.”

“Jack thought it looked like the thunderbird.” The powerful sky spirit of Sioux legend.

She began to laugh. “It's a
bird
. Whoever designed that place out there lived on a world that had birds. In fact, it would be hard to imagine a living world that
doesn't
have birds.”

“I'm not saying that
is
a thunderbird. But look at the way the wings are arched. The design. And it's carrying lightning bolts in its claws.”

“It's an interesting coincidence, love. I hope you're not suggesting that one of our tribes put the station out there.”

“Oh,” he said, “I'd give a lot to be able to believe that's what happened. But no, I haven't completely lost my mind. Still, I can't help wondering about the coincidence.”

•   •   •

T
HE
EVENING
NEWS
was running clips of the floater. Oliver White had never paid much attention to the news, but he'd become intrigued with the alien stories. Especially since he had actually
seen
the thing. It had shown up several times in one of the trees at the end of the block. It was never quite visible from his house, but he knew it was there when the crowds assembled. At night in Fort Moxie, a crowd tends to be any gathering over six people.

Oliver had three children, two boys and a girl, ranging in age from five to ten. The kids in Fort Moxie didn't go out much at night to play. It was too cold. Even in May. But they traveled to one another's houses. And that meant that if there really
was
an alien creature, they were exposed to it, at least for a short time.

The situation scared him. Since it had developed, he or his wife accompanied their kids whenever they went outside. And for all he knew, their presence might not be sufficient protection if the thing turned lethal.

It was also not exactly convenient. His wife worked at the post office, and he was the manager of the town's supermarket.

Fort Moxie was normally an ideally safe place for families. No living person could remember the last time a crime had been committed in the town. They didn't even have a police presence. The only law-enforcement people available were the Feds, who worked the border. If a police officer was actually needed, he would have had to be brought in from Cavalier, a distance of about thirty miles.

He'd tried reporting the issue to Cavalier law enforcement. When he'd explained that the floater was in one of the trees, the dispatcher hadn't laughed, as expected, but simply told him they'd look into it. “We get these calls all the time, sir. There's no indication that what you're seeing is in any way dangerous. Until we get it figured out, we suggest you keep inside and stay away from it.”

He had friends in Grand Forks who were telling him the cops there paid no attention either. But who really knew what this thing was capable of? He'd
walked down on several occasions to look at it. He even tried to talk to it, to tell it that people would feel safer if it went somewhere else, to warn it that eventually he might have to do something he'd prefer not to. The creature never responded in any way. The gently whirling snow and the lights never accelerated or slowed down. They simply continued to turn through the branches.

Oliver never went out to confront it without taking his .44 double-action Magnum with him. Finally, one night, he ran out of patience standing under the tree and produced the weapon. Cass Engle and Joe Wendell were already there. “Probably not a good idea,” said Joe, while Cass urged him to put the gun away. Which he did.

A week later, on the evening he saw the report about the mission to the space station, the thing was back. He decided he'd had enough. He got the weapon and waited until the crowd had dispersed. Then he walked to the tree, looked around to be sure he was alone, and got directly under it so the bullet wouldn't go through someone's second story. He aimed for the center of the thing. “Go away,” he said.

It ignored him.

“Get the hell out of here.” He showed it the gun.

It continued to rotate.

He waited about seven seconds, said “Okay,” and raised the weapon. “Last chance.” He felt like an idiot standing there talking to the wind.

A door opened. Tony Tully's house, which was across the street. Tony's two sons came out onto the porch. They were watching him. And his wife, June, joined them.

Better not pull the trigger, he thought. Don't want to scare anybody.

•   •   •

Plans are in the works for a television series based on the Johnson's Ridge events. The cast hasn't been decided on yet. But it's expected the series will arrive in the fall. Its projected title:
Worlds Apart.

—
The New York Times,
May 6

•   •   •

CNN
LED
EVERY
half hour with the bird-symbol story, described it as breaking news, and brought in “experts” to offer theories on what the image signified. “It has a hawkish demeanor,” Roster Arbuckle said. “Especially when you look at the lightning bolts. Whoever they are, we don't want to get connected with them.”

•   •   •

P
EOPLE
WERE
STILL
coming into KLYM to get Brad's autograph. Matt had put a security guard in the reception area to make sure they didn't get deeper into the station. He was happy about the skyrocketing ratings
Grand Forks Live
was collecting, but he obviously wished the fans would go away. Or maybe he was annoyed that they didn't know who
he
was.

Brad was seated in his office after signing a few autographs, getting ready to quit for the day, when Elizabeth Hardy put her head in the door. Elizabeth was a staff assistant. “You have a phone call, Brad,” she said.

“Who from, Liz?”

“Somebody named Hendin.” She smiled at him. “He says he's one of the producers for
Face the Nation
.”