Thunderbird (5 page)

“Not really,” he said. “I've thought about it. And I guess there are some weird possibilities. But when they start talking about invading aliens, I begin getting the sense that I'm in a bad science-fiction film. Whoever built that thing, they used it to come here and go sailing on Lake Agassiz. They just don't sound all that dangerous to me.”

“You're talking ten thousand years ago. There might be something else coming through there now. What about those stories about a wind creature, whatever it was that was reported in Fort Moxie?”

“Donna, that's a stretch. And I'll believe the stories about the little whirlwind when pictures of it show up on CBS.”

He finished breakfast, smiled reassuringly at Donna, and started for the door. “See you tonight, kid. You might want to take a nap before you go over to the school.”

•   •   •

M
ATT
F
ANNY
ARRIVED
fifteen minutes after Brad did, which was unheard of. He usually didn't come in before eight. And he was not happy. “I assume you saw what's happening?” His eyes were aimed directly at Brad.

“Yes. I saw it.”

“You know this Cannon woman pretty well, don't you?”

“More or less.”

“Why don't you explain to her how much it would mean to us if she
would give us a call and let us know when she's sitting on a major story? That they'd figured out where that place
is
?”

In fact Brad
had
known. She'd told him how far it was. It just didn't seem like a big deal. A hundred light-years or a thousand. It's way the hell out there. He already knew that. Anybody with a brain knew that. But he didn't want to tell that to Matt, to admit that he'd held back a story of this magnitude and let the major networks run with it. “I'll talk to her,” he said. April was due there later that morning, and there was always a possibility his boss would confront her about it. He took a deep breath. “She might have said something about it to me. She mentioned light-years at one point. I don't recall that she put any emphasis on it.”

Matt's expression was taking on the aspect of a thunderstorm. “Are you
deranged
, Brad?”

“Matt, she started by telling me the mission had been routine. Nothing unusual had occurred. And she was right. The astronomers took some measurements. Eden was way out there. We already knew that. I mean, you could see the Horsehead Nebula from that beach.”

“How the hell long have you been in this business, Brad? Breaking news is what matters. It's all that matters.” His teeth were showing. “All right. Make sure it doesn't happen again, okay? Explain to her about stuff like that. What's the goddam point of having a friend on the inside if something like that shows up, and we either don't get the word or we're too dumb to recognize it when we hear it?”

He turned on his heel and headed back to his office.

•   •   •

D
AYLIGHT
FILLED
THE
room when Randall awoke. A nurse was smiling down at him, straightening blankets. Or maybe adjusting the devices he'd been tied into. “Good morning, Mr. Everhardt,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

His hip was numb. But otherwise everything seemed normal. “I didn't break anything, did I?”

The smile widened. She looked friendly and optimistic, which was just what he needed. No bad news coming. “No, sir,” she said. “Nothing broken. The doctor will be with you in a few minutes.”

The doctor was tall and seriously overweight, not exactly setting a good example for his patients. But at the moment none of that mattered. “You're fine, Mr. Everhardt. You'll want to be more careful walking around at night. And I think you might need a hip replacement eventually. We'll keep you here for a day or two, just to be sure you're okay. We don't want you to do any walking for a while. All right?”

“Thanks, Doctor,” he said.

“Glad we could help. By the way, you're lucky they got to you when they did.”

As soon as he left, Melinda came in. She looked relieved. “What happened?” she said.

He told her, as much as he understood himself.

“So you were out by the garage in the dark? How'd they find you?” She'd grown up on the property and knew how far away everybody was.

“Brian found me. I don't know how.”

“Did you have your cell with you? Maybe you called him.”

“No. I forgot it.”

She rolled her eyes. Some things never change. “He just happened to be back there?”

“I have no idea how it happened,” he said.

“You owe him your life, Dad.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
WERE
GIVING
him painkillers, of course. He slept most of the day. Didn't remember lunch although the nurse told him he'd had one. He was more or less awake that evening, and almost feeling normal again, when Melinda returned. With Bill. “I've been here all day,” she said. “Bill just got off work.” They'd unhooked him from the machines.

Bill was a firefighter. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who'd
rush into a burning building to get someone stranded on the top floor. If somebody was going to show up after he'd fallen down in the snow and do a rescue, he'd have expected it to be Bill. Even if he had no idea how the guy could have known. They were talking about how he should not go anywhere without his cell phone, and how many people just in the Pembina County area had survived near-death experiences because they'd been able to call 911.

Well, of course they were right. And Randall was assuring them for the fourth or fifth time that it wouldn't happen again when Brian walked in. His wife, Mary, was with him. They were both in their fifties, both smiling, both happy to see Randall in good condition. Brian worked at the post office; Mary was a teacher at the elementary school.

Melinda sighed and hugged them both. “Thank God you were there last night, Brian,” she said. “I hate to think what could have happened.”

Mary sat down, but they were short one chair, so Bill got out of his and offered it to Brian.

“It's okay,” Brian said. “I'm good.”

Bill insisted. “It's the least we can do for the man of the hour.”

It took maybe thirty seconds before Melinda asked the pertinent question: “Brian, how did you happen to be in the right spot at the right time? Did you hear him calling for help?”

Brian glanced at Mary. He was a big guy, broad-shouldered, somebody you'd suspect was a former linebacker. Mary was blond and still had her figure. She had never been a cheerleader, but she could have fooled Randall. They both looked as if the question was somehow embarrassing.

“Tell them,” Mary said.

Brian shook his head and exhaled. “I think it was divine intervention.”

“Really?” Randall couldn't resist grinning. “Nothing like having the Lord on your side.”

“I'm serious. Randy, we've known each other a long time. You know I'm not a wacko, right? At least I hope so.”

Yeah. That was true. Brian and Mary were both pretty solid people. “So what happened?” Randall asked.

“We were watching TV. A Western. We don't usually bother with Westerns, but this was a John Wayne movie. Anyhow, I started seeing a picture of you lying in the snow back of your house.”

“What?”

“It's true. It was like the living room went away and everything got dark and I was looking down at you. Maybe from the trees. You were lying in the snow between your house and the garage. I knew I was imagining it, and the first thing I thought was that I had a brain tumor. I got really scared.” He looked around at the others. “It wouldn't go away. I could still hear the movie. I could feel the chair under me. And Mary was asking me what was wrong. But it was like noise interfering with reality. You were the reality, Randy.

“Then it faded. It didn't completely go away, but I was back in front of the television. I was feeling my forehead, thinking I had a fever. But I thought I better go look outside, just to be sure. So I got out of the chair. I was a little bit dizzy. Mary asked me what I was doing, and I told her about you. Lying out there.”

Everybody was staring at him. Except Mary, who was nodding. Bill glanced over at her. “He told you about Dad?
Before
he went outside?”

“That is correct.”

“I grabbed a jacket and told her I'd be back in a minute.” He paused and took a deep breath. He had a deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. “I don't know what I expected to find. The apparition, whatever it was, went away after I got out of my chair. I felt as if I'd lost my mind.”

“That's really weird,” said Bill.

“We went over to the rectory this morning,” Mary said. “We told Reverend Claude what happened. He was skeptical at first. Thought we'd both lost it, but then he said that it might have something to do with the Johnson's Ridge excavation. That strange things had been reported recently. I don't know. But we sure owe
somebody
.”

•   •   •

I
T
LEAKED
OUT
to the media, and Brian found himself talking to television cameras that evening. The story appeared in the
Herald
next morning, bringing a surge of phone calls from neighbors, friends, and relatives. Even his two daughters, one living in Boston and the other in California, got in touch. Most people tiptoed around the divine-intervention theory, not wanting to call him crazy, but they all told him they weren't surprised that he'd shown up where he was needed.

•   •   •

H
IS
CONVERSATION
WITH
the president continued to replay itself in Walker's mind.
“I can tell you honestly that I'm not sure where we go from here. I wish that thing had never turned up.”

Taylor was a good man. But he was on the wrong side of the issue.

“. . . If the Roundhouse suffered a complete breakdown, I'd have no regrets. Sometimes I'm tempted to think we should arrange it.”

Taylor did not care about the potential benefits for the tribe. Or, more likely, he simply did not grasp the reality. The Spirit Lake Sioux stood at the crux of history. Walker was not going to let the opportunity melt away. But he did not want to force the president's hand. He'd tried to signal the president that he was a player also. That he was willing to reduce the number of missions. But he wasn't going to terminate them. Taylor didn't seem to have gotten the message. Consequently, the chairman would have to make a statement.

The night is more melancholy than the day; the stars seem to move in a more melancholy manner than the sun; and our imagination roams more widely because we suspect that everyone else sleeps.

—Bernard de Fontenelle,
Conversations on the Plurality of Worlds
, 1686

D
URING
THE
FIRST
few weeks after the Roundhouse had been opened, the Sioux had allowed visitors inside during daylight hours. Walker had never been comfortable with the policy, but tourists had become a major element in life on the Rez and, for that matter, around Devils Lake generally. But the crowds quickly became overwhelming, so Walker had been forced to exclude them. They could drive past on the access road, take as many pictures as they liked, but casual visitors would no longer be allowed inside the building.

Most of the local politicians objected. They wanted him to permit visitors. Even Devils Lake Mayor Wilma Herschel, usually a reasonable woman, tried to persuade him to reopen the place and deal with the risks by hyping security measures. He'd just finished a discussion with Wilma over lunch and returned to the Blue Building when a call came in for him. “From a Mr. Osborne,” Miranda said.

Walker tried his coffee and picked up the phone. “This is the chairman,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Walker, I represent Caulfield and Barker. The law firm out of Grand Forks. I assume you know who we are.” Walker had no idea. “Can you make some time to talk with me this afternoon? It's very important.”

“May I ask what it's about?”

“I'd rather not discuss it on the phone. We have an offer to make. I'd be surprised if you wouldn't find it to your advantage.”

•   •   •

O
SBORNE
WAS
TALL
, with a precisely manicured black beard, gray eyes, and the features of a guy accustomed to having his way. He was almost bald, probably approaching sixty. He carried a briefcase, and he wore a coat and tie, a proclivity not often seen in Fort Totten. “I'm sure you're aware of the effect the Roundhouse technology would have on the economy if it could be widely applied, Mr. Chairman. I represent an organization that has been looking into the potential results. Their conclusion is that the prudent strategy would be to shut it down. To destroy all trace of the technology. To make it generally available in the economy would result in absolute chaos. We already have a problem with the concentration of wealth at the top of the social ladder. Instantaneous transportation sounds like a great idea, and in the long run, it might well be. But at the moment, in this economy, in this society, it would result in the probable collapse of every industry connected with moving people from one place to another. Think about that, sir.”

Walker wondered if he'd been sent by the president. “So what are you suggesting?”

“That we take a safe route, one that would eliminate the negative effects, but still allow the Spirit Lake Tribe to profit handsomely.”

The chairman could see clearly enough what was coming. “And what would that safe route be, Mr. Osborne?”

“We are prepared to offer you three hundred million dollars if you will allow us to destroy the Roundhouse. You'll come out of it very nicely. Consider the alternative: If you proceed on your present course, and the
technology can actually be adapted, I doubt there's an economist in the country who would not predict a global crash. Not only transportation industries. But the entire defense establishment would be rendered useless. Retailers everywhere would close. Whatever profit you'd glean from the Roundhouse would very likely be worth nothing in a dead economy.” He smiled. “I'm sure you recognize that as well as we do.”

“And you're prepared to pay us three hundred million to turn everything over to you?”

“I can write the check now.” He opened the briefcase and extracted a folder, which he opened and handed to Walker. “This is the agreement. If you wish to settle it, we can bring in someone to act as a witness and sign the deal.”

Walker always thought of himself as decisive. But with regard to the Roundhouse, he faltered. He wasn't sure what would be best for the tribe. Three hundred million dollars. Was the global economy really in that much danger?

But if he sold the Roundhouse, and they actually put it to the torch, he had no way of knowing what might be lost. And he'd carry that responsibility the rest of his life. “I'll get back to you,” he said.

Three hundred million. He could solve a lot of the tribe's problems with that kind of money. If he played this right, the people on the Rez would prosper. He didn't want to give away the one thing that really mattered: This was an opportunity for the Spirit Lake Sioux to make an historic contribution to the global society. They'd never before been in a position to do that. Ultimately, the money would be there. But a great deal more was involved than simply turning a profit. This was a chance to acquire immortality. To create a world in which he and his people could live with pride. That was the prize being offered, and there was no way he was going to sacrifice that.

They might emerge with the technology to create unlimited instantaneous transportation anywhere on the planet. Or to Mars. Or, for that matter, to the edge of the galaxy. The Roundhouse also possessed an ability to
create substantial energy from sunlight, apparently far beyond anything that could be generated by solar collectors. At least, that's what the experts thought was happening. So maybe they were looking at a solution to the world's power issues. The president was concerned about putting airlines and automobile manufacturers out of business. But surely adjustments could be made. Should we have stopped the development of automobiles because of what they would do to the horseshoe industry?

As far as money was concerned, the worst that could happen was that the Sioux would have to settle for transporting tourists to the space station. Or Eden. That process wouldn't produce three hundred million dollars overnight. But he suspected that profits would be enough to provide a pretty decent living for everyone on the Rez.

He sat staring out the window at the snow-covered trees.

•   •   •

B
RAD
HAD
BEEN
under pressure to bring Lasker in as a guest. It was too late now. But he'd had a better idea. He went after Michael Fossel, the neurologist who'd been on the most recent Eden mission. Fossel accepted. He hadn't left the area yet, so he was able to come in the day after the invitation was issued. Brad had seen him on TV, but nevertheless he looked younger in person, with intense blue eyes and the jawline of a TV police detective. He was casually dressed, with an open brown leather jacket revealing a gray rugby shirt.

Brad shook his hand, got him some coffee, introduced him to a couple of the staff, and took him back to the studio. “Professor,” he said, “I see you've written a book on life extension.”

The visitor delivered a friendly smile. “Call me Michael, Brad. And yes, I have. We're not live already, are we?”

“No, we have a few minutes yet. The title is
Reversing Human Aging
. Do I have that right?”

“Yes. You've done your homework.”

“Part of the job, Michael. You're also a member of the Gerontological Society?”

“That's correct.”

They sat down at a table with two microphones. Brad looked up at the large clock over the bookcase. It was 7:03
A.M.
The news was running. “Tell me,” he said, “are we actually going to be able to do that?”

“Reverse aging?”

“Yes.”

“In all probability.”

“How long before we figure out how to make it happen?”

Michael leaned back in his chair. Brad could see he was tired of skeptics. “It's getting close,” he said. “Probably in our lifetime.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe that's what we should be talking about today. That would be a bigger story than just traveling around in space.”

Michael shrugged. “Your call, Brad.”

“Do you think you could come back in a few days? Maybe Monday?”

“I think I can arrange that if you want.”

Brad asked a few more questions, kept an eye on the time, and finally pulled his headphones down over his ears. They were running commercials. He activated the mikes and leaned over his.

His screener, Cary Elder, took her seat behind the glass in the control room. “One minute, Brad,” she said.

•   •   •

T
HE
SHOW
WENT
live. “So, Michael,” Brad said after doing the introduction, “you've actually walked on another planet?”

The neurologist grinned. He was obviously enjoying himself. “That's what they're telling me.”

“But it's hard to believe? Even for a guy who's been there?”

“Sure. Monkey brain at work, right? Teleportation seems like a scam.”

“How did it feel?”

“It doesn't hit home right away. When the transporter grabs hold of you, everything tends to freeze. You're just sort of bundled up and carried off. Then I was at the other station, the one on Eden that they call the Cupola. You walk outside, and it feels just like being on the ground here, except that it isn't so cold. By the way, I should add that I lost about fifteen pounds in the process.”

“Are you saying the gravity is less?”

“It is. It's hard to be sure just from how you feel. But they've checked it. That place is a little different from Earth.”

“I guess none of us would ever have believed something like this could happen. Doesn't it violate basic physics?”

“Apparently not, Brad.” He couldn't resist a broad smile. “It's what science is about, I guess. Discovering where we got things wrong.”

“Okay. Exactly how does it work, Michael? Do you just go through doors, or what?”

“There's a grid built into the floor. It's
big
. And there are some symbols, icons, visible in the wall behind it. You stand on the grid and press one of the icons. It lights up, and the next thing you know, you're looking at a sky with two moons.”

“Incredible.” Brad sat back and took a long deep breath. “Did you see other people use the system before you did?”

“One other. Adam Sky went first. He's one of the security guys.”

“And what happened with him? Did he just disappear?”

“That's as good a description as any. There was a lot of light, and when it went away, he was gone, too.”

“What do the physicists say?”

“I think they're not sure yet what to say.”

Brad hesitated. “Michael, when you got onto the grid, were you nervous?”

“Are you serious? I had all I could do not to throw up.”

“But you went through with it—”

That large smile reappeared. “No way I could duck.”

“All right. Now, they're saying this place is out”—Brad had to check his notes—“in the general direction of the Orion constellation.”

“Yes.”

Brad finished his coffee and refilled both cups. “Michael, pictures from Eden are available now. I didn't see anything that appeared particularly alien. The animals looked more or less like squirrels and cats and birds. The foliage isn't quite anything we'd see out back. I mean the colors aren't the same. But it doesn't look all that different. Still, we're being told they
are
different in some basic ways. Could you explain that, please? How are they different?”

Michael considered the question. “Keep in mind that we're in strange territory here, okay?”

“All right. So what do you think?”

“In most cases, when we try to predict what alien life might be like, we are remarkably provincial. For example, our division between plants and animals is not likely to apply perfectly, and maybe not even remotely, to alien biology. There may well be organisms that move and others that don't. There may be some that are equipped with collectors and are able to take their energy directly from the sun. And maybe others that eat the ones with collectors, just as our animals eat plants, but there may also be exceptions that we can't easily predict.

“The individual world will determine what an organism looks like. A planet with an atmosphere whose density is similar to ours, and which approximates our gravity, will very likely have birds. They'll resemble our birds, but that still leaves a lot of room for variation. We have convergent evolution, which occurs when two very different organisms try to fill the same ecological niche. When that happens, ultimately they resemble each other. For example, Australian honey possums, butterflies, and hummingbirds all developed a long tongue to remove nectar from flowers. Humans aren't the only animals that have opposable thumbs. There are hundreds of examples.

“The result is that, even though they may not be closely related, lots of animals look as if they are. Eden has birds, squirrels, and trees. But, if we take the time to look closely, we'll probably see some major differences. Their sparrows may have fangs. Even though there are creatures that look like squirrels, they may have scales. A maple tree might have bony support material and be hollow. If we look deeper, at microscopic and genetic levels, we'll very likely see that alien organisms are vastly different.” He sat back and took a deep breath. “Does that make sense?”

“Sparrows with fangs? That's a bit unsettling, Michael.”

“Keep your collar pulled up.”

“Did you see anything there that you didn't expect? Anything that surprised you?”

“Brad, I wasn't there long enough to do any serious research. I'd love to get invited back and spend a few weeks in that forest. Or a couple of years. I'd want to establish a laboratory outside the Cupola and bring a staff with me. But we do know a few things. I'm not the first biologist to see the place, and I had a chance to look at some of the material the others brought back.” He paused and propped his chin on one fist. “Yes, I got some surprises. On Earth, animals—all free-ranging organisms—have mitochondria. Plants, which don't move around much, all have chloroplasts. Plants make energy from the sun, and store it as sugar molecules. Animals take the sugars from the plants and use the energy. On Eden, things aren't so simple. Some of the birds actually have chloroplasts as well as mitochondria, which is unheard of here. As a result, the birds can glide through calm air and collect energy directly from sunlight. As far as we can tell, they can stay aloft indefinitely.