Thunderbird (16 page)

A tractor-trailer roared past, headed in the opposite direction. “Sure. I'd love to.” Brad's fears had disappeared.

“Good.”

He was surprised by the invitation. He'd assumed she was disappointed in him. He'd stood aside and let her go up alone to the cottage. What a missed opportunity that had been. What if
he
had gone? Brad Hollister makes first contact. But it was just as well. April had fallen down when Solya had opened the door. Had he been with her, he'd still be running.

•   •   •

D
ONNA
SIGNALED
HER
reaction by gazing at the ceiling. “The space station?” she asked, in a flat voice.

“They just want to take a look. See whether it really
is
a space station. That's still up in the air.” He chuckled at his own joke, but she wasn't buying in.

“The place without any air?”

“We'll be wearing space suits, so there won't be a problem.”

“Brad, when was the last time you wore a space suit?”

“It's been a while. They've got a couple of astronauts who've been helping them. They'll provide some training.”

“What's the point of this again?”

“They want to find out what the place is. Where it is.”

“Brad, I wish you wouldn't get involved in any more of this stuff.”

“I understand, Donna. But it's safe. And, you know, I love doing it.”

•   •   •

T
HEY
SAT
THAT
evening plugged into cable news, watching Brad materialize again and again out of the transport system at the Roundhouse. She'd caught her breath the first time she'd seen it. It still unnerved her. She'd reached over and taken his forearm, holding on as if he might slip away. It was unsettling for Brad as well.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll admit it. I'm proud of you, love. But if something happens, I'll never forgive you.”

Media vans were showing up. For most people, it would probably have been a nuisance. But this was Brad's business. And he enjoyed attention. It's what he was about. He was always at his best when he had an audience. So he did what he could to accommodate them.

They watched the interviews play out on the various networks. Every time the phone rang, he hoped it was someone calling from
The Tonight Show
. Or Stephen Colbert. But usually it was just a local media outlet. Toward the end of the evening, Donna picked up a call, listened, and handed it to him. Her lips formed Matt's name.

“Hi, Matt,” he said.

“Hello, Brad.” There was a stiffness in his boss's tone. Not the all-out congratulations he was expecting. “You did a good job. Well done.”

“Thank you. I was just lucky enough to be there when stuff was happening.”

“Yeah. Look, you'll probably be doing more interviews. When that happens—”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could mention the station's call letters once in a while?”

“Oh. Sure. I guess I got so caught up in all this, I forgot.”

“Naturally. Now, you're going to be here in the morning, right?”

“Yes, I'll be there.”

“Good. See you then.”

He disconnected. Brad stared at the phone. “He's never satisfied.”

“Brad, he probably thinks he's going to lose you.”

It was true that Brad was hoping he could turn all this into a job as an anchor at a local TV station. If that happened, who knew where he might go from there? “He's a crank, Donna.” He flashed that big happy grin that told her not to worry, everything was fine.

•   •   •

W
ALKER
DIDN
'
T
REALIZE
he'd left his secure phone in the desk drawer until he was several blocks away from the Blue Building, so he was not entirely surprised when, on the way home, Carla called and told him the White House wanted to talk to him. “Call them right back, okay?” She sounded nervous.

It was early evening. He turned around and went back to the office, which was deserted when he arrived. But Alice was still at her White House post. “He'll be right with you, Mr. Chairman,” she said.

He expected a show of annoyance, but the president congratulated him on the first contact and on getting through it without any dire consequences. “You have a good operation out there, James,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. President. April and the people on the ground deserve the credit.”

“I know. But so do you.” There was a long pause. Then: “I'm sure you're aware that we got lucky.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“That everything went well. As you know, I've been concerned since the beginning of this about who we might run into out there. James, is there anything at all I can do to persuade you to slow this thing down? I don't see any way these continuing operations can end well.”

Walker looked toward the windows. It had begun to snow. “Mr. President, I wish I could oblige you. I've cut back as much as I can—”

“I appreciate that. I'm taking a lot of heat from the scientific community. They want acceleration. Missions going out every day.”

“I'm aware of that, sir. I'm getting a lot of complaints, too. And there are people who are desperate to get a look at the technology.”

“Just tell them I'm the one responsible. No need for you to absorb any of the fallout. But the reality is that we have to get away from this. James, I really think we need to bring this to a halt. Take the equipment down. Do whatever you have to.”

“Mr. President, for the first time in my life, I love coming to work. The reservation is
alive
, as I've never seen it. We're making incredible discoveries, and the Spirit Lake Sioux are leading the way. I can't take that away from them.” He watched the snow coming down. “I can't see that any harm is being done.”

“I understand, James. But if something goes wrong, and it could happen easily enough, you wouldn't want your people associated with it.”

Sight is the keenest of the senses.

—Cicero,
De Oratore
, c. 80
B.C.E.

L
LOYD
AND
M
ABEL
Everett loved bingo, which they played regularly on Friday nights at the Spirit Lake Casino in St. Michael, North Dakota. St. Michael was part of the Sioux reservation. It had been a good night for them. Largely thanks to Mabel, they still had $120 of their winnings after buying pizza and Cokes for themselves and their neighbors, Chuck and Amy Benson, at the Snack Bar.

They hung around the casino for another hour, enjoying the music, the conversation, and the views of Devils Lake. Lloyd was a psychiatrist and Mabel had been a full-time mom. But the kids were gone now, off to school, and the household seemed unduly quiet. Chuck and Amy were both retired Customs officers, whose children had also left home.

Ordinarily, they'd have talked about movies or who was coming back for Lloyd's birthday or whatever oddball news event had shown up on TV. But on that night, nobody was talking about anything other than the star gate, or whatever it was, that had been found buried atop Johnson's Ridge, which they'd passed on their way to the casino that evening.

Chuck and Amy had driven onto the ridge a week earlier, hoping to get a look at the interior of the thing, but the police had been keeping everyone at a distance. “What really blew my mind,” said Amy, “was watching the Feds back off after they tried to seize the thing.”

“You guys believe the Roundhouse story?” asked Chuck. “You think they've really been able to do that
Star Trek
thing? That they're actually opening doors to other worlds?”

“They've got pictures,” Mabel said.

That wasn't exactly news, of course. “But it looks pretty ordinary. Just woods. Everything looks like Colorado. You notice they've got blue jays?”

“You might be right, Lloyd,” said Chuck, “but I'll tell you, I'd love to have a portal to San Francisco. But sure, it's going to turn out to be an illusion, or a fraud of some kind. When it does, I'll be disappointed.” His oldest son, Jess, lived in San Francisco with his wife and two kids.

Amy smiled. She was in her sixties but still pretty. “Chuck,” she said, “you watch too many science-fiction movies.”

They had another round of drinks and lifted their glasses to the happy gorilla who'd been all over cable for several days.

•   •   •

W
HEN
THE
EVENING
was over, Lloyd went out onto the parking lot under a full moon while everyone else waited inside. The temperature was down close to zero, which was a bit brisk for this time of year even by Dakota standards. He tracked down the car, climbed in, and drove back to the front entrance. Mabel, Amy, and Chuck came out.

Chuck was having minor problems with his left leg, but his wife helped him into the backseat. Then she got in beside him. Mabel climbed in, and Lloyd pulled away. He made his way out to Route 57, turned left, and almost slid into someone's mailbox.

“Heads up!” cried Mabel. “It's icy.”

Lloyd came off the gas, straightened the wheel, and discovered he'd been holding his breath. “Wait'll you see me on the mountain roads,” he said.

That produced laughter in back. “So,” said Amy, “if they open the Roundhouse to the public, are you guys going to go up and go through the star gate?”

“I'm not so sure I'm ready to try that,” said Lloyd.

Mabel laughed. “I'm not big on it either. What do they call it? Teleprompting?”

“Tele
port
ing,” said Amy. “You'd rather take the bus?”

“I'd rather make sure that I actually get where I'm going. How do you know that the person who gets reassembled at the other end is actually
you
and not somebody else with your memories?”

“I don't think that makes any sense,” said Chuck.

“Neither does a building that's been buried for ten thousand years but still lights up at night.”

•   •   •

R
OUTE
57
TOOK
them north across the lake and into the city. “I can see it,” said Chuck.

Mabel swung around in her seat so she could look through the rear window. “The Roundhouse?”

“Yes. See the glow?” Nobody knew why the place put out that eerie green light. There'd been a panic at first, and people had fled the area. But the Geiger counters had registered nothing dangerous, and after a while everybody had become accustomed to the radiance. Had even come to admire it.

Lloyd turned right on Twelfth Street, passed the Northern Plains Railroad offices, and turned left on Fifth Avenue. He was about three minutes away from Chuck's house when something changed. He was simultaneously holding on to the steering wheel while he drifted through the night, looking down on his car from a height of about thirty feet. The car began to swerve. He could still feel the wheel in his hands and the gas pedal under his foot. But he was
out
of the car. Somebody screamed. He came off the gas and tramped down on the brake. He watched the car angle off to one side and jump the curb. It barely missed a telephone pole and plowed into the piles of snow.

“Oh my God,” said Mabel. “What was that?”

He was beside her again. Back in his seat. “You guys okay?” asked Amy from the rear of the car while Chuck demanded to know what the hell Lloyd was doing.

“Don't know,” said Lloyd. “What happened?”

“You mean
you
don't know?” asked Amy.

“I have no idea.” He was having trouble breathing. “Did you see that, Mabel?”

“Yes!” she said. “Yes. I was outside. Up with the trees.”

“What are we talking about?” Chuck asked.

“I don't know,” said Lloyd. “I don't get it. I didn't have that much to drink.”

“What happened?” Chuck sounded shaken.

“I was up there.” Mabel pointed at the roof. “Above the rooftops. Looking down. Damn son of a bitch!” She rarely used language like that.

“Me, too,” said Lloyd. “I don't— There must have been something in the drinks.”

“What?” Chuck was seriously upset. “You were up in the air?
Both
of you.”

Both shouted, “Yes!”

“I know it sounds crazy,” said Lloyd.

“
Sounds
crazy?” Chuck was breathing heavily. “It
is
crazy. You didn't drink that much.”

A blinking light showed up in the rearview mirror. “Uh-oh,” said Lloyd.

A police car pulled in behind them. Amy advised him to just relax. “Don't say anything about being up in the sky,” she said.

One of the patrol car doors opened. An officer got out and approached. Lloyd lowered his window. “Everybody okay in there?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Lloyd. “We're good, Officer.”

“May I see your license and car registration, please?”

He produced the documents. The officer studied them. “What happened?”

“I guess we slid a bit.”

“On what, Mr. Everett? It's not that slippery here. Would you step out of the car, please?”

“Why, Officer? We didn't do any damage.”

He sniffed a couple of times. “You've been drinking.”

“Not very much. I'm sure I'm not over the limit.”

“Would you step out of the car, please?”

Lloyd exhaled and climbed out into the street. He felt okay. “You want me to walk a straight line?”

“No. Let's not waste time.” The other patrolman was getting out of the police car now. He was carrying a small black device. “I'm sure you wouldn't have any objection to a Breathalyzer test?”

Lloyd had never been much of a drinker. On this night he'd had two rum and Cokes. But, depending on the type of rum, it might be enough to set off the alarm. “Officer,” he said, “I'm a psychiatrist. Can't we just move on?”

“I'm sorry, sir. But I think we need to be certain you're okay. We can do it here, or we can do it at the station.”

Mabel turned in her seat and looked at their passengers. “You guys really didn't see what happened?”

Amy and Chuck both looked puzzled. “I have no idea what happened,” said Amy.

Chuck nodded. “Me either.”

Mabel frowned. “That was no dream, Lloyd,” she said in a rising voice. “Maybe you should tell them what we saw.”

“Yes,” said the policeman. “Why don't you do that? What did you see?”

“Mabel,” Lloyd said, “please be quiet. Let me handle this.”

“Mr. Everett, this is going to go a lot better if you cooperate. Now, what happened?”

“Something took us out of the car,” said Mabel. “Both of us. We were up there somewhere, looking down, and I know how crazy this sounds.
But we're not drunk, and I don't mind going down to the station if that's what it takes to prove it.”

The policeman with the Breathalyzer approached.

Lloyd submitted to it. They took the reading, studied the results, and looked surprised. “You're okay,” the cop said. “But when you get home, you might want to get the lady some help.”