Thunderbird (26 page)

“I know. It gets hard to breathe when you're out there.”

“What's the temperature like? It looks cold.”

“No. Actually, it was very nice. We were getting a cool wind off the sea.”

“Lovely.” He sat quietly for a moment letting the clip play out. Then: “Where
is
this place? Any idea?”

Brad smiled. “Not a clue. Some astronomers have tried to do an analysis of the sky to see if they could match a cluster of stars with something they can identify, but I don't think they're having much luck.”

“Is that where the alien, the floater, came from?”

“If there
is
one, yes, the Maze is a good guess. But that's something that's still up in the air.”

The investigation of nature is an infinite pleasure-ground, where all may graze, and where the more bite, the longer the grass grows, the sweeter is its flavor, and the more it nourishes.

—T. H. Huxley, “Administrative Nihilism,” 1871

T
HE
AVALANCHE
OF
requests from those who wanted to visit one of the off-world sites forced the chairman to hire additional people to respond. People with children tended to favor Eden, a consideration that drove Walker crazy. Who would take a kid to a place with intelligent gorillas? And even if we now called them Arkons, they still should have induced some concern in parents. Others were more interested in the roller coaster. Relatively few seemed to care about the Milky Way.

At first Walker thought that Cynthia Harmon had broken her word and let everyone know she'd gotten to the Maze. But her name never came up. “I'm surprised it didn't start earlier,” said Miranda, her eyes twinkling. “I think people at first were a little scared about the way the transport system worked. But that's obviously changed. I'll tell you, James,
I'd
like to go. Put me on the roller coaster and send me to the Moon.”

“That's not what happens.”

“I know that. But the point is we've got a gold mine here. We should start selling tickets. And I'm not sure there's any limit to how much we can charge.”

Complaints continued to come in from people upset that the Roundhouse activity was endangering the world or violating divine law. Walker's e-mail was clogged, the telephone line was constantly tied up, and the post office delivered a fresh pile every day. In the early days of the Roundhouse, he'd allowed a few tourists to visit Eden. But it had been a foolish decision because he couldn't guarantee their safety, and it had been a dangerous precedent. After a couple of weeks, and a suggestion from the president, he'd stopped it.

Despite his reluctance, there was no way the chairman could continue indefinitely to decline these opportunities. But he wasn't comfortable about allowing people on board the roller coaster. And he didn't want to turn a pack of tourists loose on Eden. The space station seemed like his best bet. He began looking into the possibility of getting heating units installed, along with an oxygen supply.

•   •   •

A
PRIL
,
OVER
THE
course of a few months, had become one of the most famous persons on the planet. She'd signed a multimillion-dollar deal to write an account of her off-world experiences, bought a new house, and left her job at Colson Laboratories. Walker had heard her joking that she could now
buy
Colson Laboratories. She took her secretary Barbara along with her. Requests from scientists who wanted to join one of the missions continued to arrive by the busload. One of the calls came from Lloyd Everett, whom Barbara described as “another physicist.”

“No,” he said. “I'm a
psychiatrist
, Dr. Cannon. I'd like very much to talk with you about the reports of apparitions in the area. May I come see you?”

“I'm extremely busy, Doctor.”

“I may be able to tell you something about what's actually happening.”

An hour later, he walked into her office wearing a large woolen sweater. He sported a carefully trimmed black beard and had intense blue eyes. “I wanted to talk to you about the alien that's been all over the television lately.”

She invited him to sit. “Doctor, there's really not much we can do about that. We don't even know for certain that it exists.”

“
Something
exists,” he said. “And I suspect you're aware of that, or you wouldn't have agreed to see me.”

“All right. What did you want to tell me?”

“I was involved in an incident with it. Dr. Cannon, it took over my mind.”

“In what way?”

“Since then,” he said, “I've spoken to a number of the people who showed up in the news after their own encounters. I don't pretend to know what we're dealing with. But these people all had the same kind of experience. If they were making it up, or imagining it, we wouldn't get descriptions that share certain details.”

“Like what, Doctor?”

“The overhead perspective, for one thing. People involved in these incidents are consistently looking down from a position that seems to be twenty or thirty feet in the air.”

“How do you know?”

“I've talked to a dozen of them. All but three had the same airborne experience.”

“But there's no way to be sure they aren't playing off one another. Picking up the standard story.”

Everett exhaled. “As I said, Dr. Cannon, I've spoken with these people. I'm pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. Or to himself. And there's another reason.”

“What's that?”

“I've been
through
the experience. It never made the newspapers, but what they're describing is exactly what happened to me.”

“Floating in the sky?”

“To a degree. The reality is that I, somehow, acquired the perspective of someone else. Some
thing
else.”

“All right. So where do we go with this?”

“That's where it gets tricky, doesn't it? It's hard to believe we actually have an alien loose in the area, but it's hard to account otherwise for these events. You probably know more about this than I do, so this may come as no surprise to you. Several of these people experienced another effect. A couple of guys who used to play baseball when they were teens spent an evening reminiscing in a bar. On their way home, they found themselves on a field, playing ball again.”

“Both of them?”

“
Both
of them. One of them came to see me about it. It was the first time he'd experienced anything like that. I've since spoken with the other man. Same thing. Look, Dr. Cannon, something really strange is going on.” He took a deep breath. “My name's Lloyd, by the way.”

“You might as well call me April. Have you any theories? Other than that it's an alien?”

“I've seen shared delusions before. You'll find a few cases on record, but the people involved inevitably have a common history of instabilities. The two former ballplayers—” He took a deep breath. “I can't see it happening. April, if it really
is
an alien, nothing's off the table. You asked about theories—Yes, I
do
have one. A number of the people who have had these encounters have also experienced a delusion that includes a return to a place they once loved, the home where they grew up, a farm their family once owned. The baseball field.”

“And that tells you what, Lloyd?”

“It tells me the alien does not communicate verbally. I know this sounds off the charts, but obviously it connects more directly with us.”

“You're suggesting it can read minds? Or, rather, project thoughts?”

“Maybe not thoughts so much as emotions. I think the creature is empathic on a scale that leaves us pretty far behind. That would explain why, on several occasions, it seems to have intervened when someone was in trouble. It may be that it transmits emotions directly to the brain. I have to confess I don't know whether that's even possible.”

“Any particular emotion?”

“Good question. In the baseball case, apparently, sadness. A lot of it seems to be about something of value that's been lost. I think your alien would like to go home. That it misses where it came from, and it doesn't know how to get back.”

The idea had occurred to April, but it just seemed too far out to take seriously. “You really think that might be true?”

“I wouldn't want to be quoted. But yes, try to imagine any intelligent creature, cut off and alone in an alien world.”

“That could be fairly depressing.”

“Especially if it came from a place like Eden.”

“We don't think it came from Eden.”

“Really? Where then? The space station?”

“No,” she said. “We suspect it came from the Maze.”

“The place with the moon that looks like Saturn?”

“Yes.” Barbara brought in some coffee.

“April, have you any idea how we might be able to get this thing back to the Maze?”

“There's no easy solution that I can imagine.”

“Were
you
there when it got loose?”

“Probably. We're not sure about any of this.”

“It's been showing up a lot in Fort Moxie. In fact, there are all kinds of media vehicles up there, hoping to get lucky. And I imagine the townspeople have been looking out their windows a lot. In any case, it is obviously intelligent. If you were able to show up and talk to it, maybe say hello—” He smiled. “Do that, and there's a good chance it would connect with you. Maybe recognize you.”

“It sounds like a colossal waste of time, Lloyd. It's not as if it's out there on a regular schedule.”

He pressed his fingertips together. “There might be a way to make it happen.”

“And what's that?”

“Mount a large TV screen in back of a truck. Drive the truck around
Fort Moxie at night, running some of the images of the floater that have been on TV. Or maybe images from the Maze. The ringed world would look pretty enticing to it, I suspect. I'd be surprised if it didn't realize that we are trying to contact it.”

•   •   •

“J
AMES
,
THE
EVIDENCE
suggests it might have telepathic capabilities.”

Walker broke out laughing. “Mind reading? Come on, April, let's leave the witchcraft out of it.”

“I'm not talking about witchcraft. The creature seems able to establish a mental or emotional connection with us. Are we sure we can do it? Of course not. But it's worth a try. If nothing else, maybe we can show that we want to help it.”

“Then what would you do?”

“Dr. Everett thinks it's lost and wants to get home. We're responsible for its being here. I think we should try to help it.”

“Okay. So what do you want from me?”

O the snow, the beautiful snow,

Filling the sky and earth below!

Over the housetops, over the street,

Over the heads of the people you meet,

Dancing, flirting, skimming along.

—Joseph W. Watson, “Beautiful Snow,” 1858

O
LIVER
STILL
FEARED
for his children. Even Becky, who was usually inclined to ride through life without worrying, recognized the potential for trouble. “It just amazes me,” she told him, “that so many people don't take this more seriously. Who knows what that thing really is?”

Oliver had always thought of himself as a hardheaded guy. Not the type to take seriously reports of aliens and flying saucers. And the truth was he still hadn't really seen anything other than a glimmer of light that might have been a reflection and wind blowing in a tree. Still, somehow, he had
felt
a presence. “I don't even like going out,” he said, “and leaving the kids alone in the house.”

“It looks as if the damned thing has settled in here,” Becky said.

“We need to get rid of it.”

“That would be great if you could think of a way to do it. But no more with the gun, okay?” She didn't like guns in the house to start with, and she'd damned near gone into convulsions when he told her what had happened.

“You have a better suggestion?”

“Try hosing it down. Maybe it'll get the point.”

“I don't know. You think water might have an effect?”

•   •   •

T
HE
APPARITION
CAME
back that evening. It had settled in a tree on Jay Spangler's property, two blocks away. Jay was a butcher at Mike's Supermarket. “Let me get that again,” Spangler said on the phone. “You want to chase the thing by squirting a hose at it?”

“Right. I can't say that it will work, but it's worth a try.”

“Okay by me. When were you planning on doing it?”

“Might as well do it now.”

He could hear Spangler breathing. The guy was obviously not comfortable. “All right,” he said finally.

“Can we use your gear? You have a hose?”

“Sure. Just be careful.”

“I'll be there in a couple of minutes.”

It was about seven thirty, but they'd just gone on Daylight Saving Time, so there was still plenty of light. Becky was upstairs. “I'll be back in a bit, love,” he said.

“Ollie?” Her voice drifted down the staircase. “Are you going chasing after that thing again?”

“Just an experiment.”

“I wish you'd leave it alone. You have no idea what it is, and there's no way to know what might happen if it gets mad.”

“I'll be careful. Be right back.” He tugged on a jacket and gloves and went outside. The walkway was covered with a light dusting of snow. The winter just wouldn't go away.

Jay's wife, Mary, didn't think it was a big deal. She'd tried to convince her husband not to worry about it. After Oliver had waved the gun around, though, she'd told her husband that Ollie was probably a bigger threat than the floater. She was a good woman, but if it had been left to her, they'd all
wait around until something happened, somebody got hurt. Then her attitude would change.

He turned the corner at Twelfth and waved to the McColloughs, who were standing at the edge of their property pointing at the tree down the block. The Donoughs were there as well, and a couple of kids. The floater was spinning slowly, lodged in the same tree it had occupied before, where the branches were thickest. He saw little more than rotating mist.

Jay came out of the house, bundled in a woolen coat, with a hunting cap pulled down over his ears. The hose was on a reel. The outside spigots were frozen, so he'd attached it to a faucet in the kitchen. As Oliver approached, he dragged the hose forward. “Okay,” he said. “We could make a lot of people happy if this works.” He fired a test blast into some bushes.

A door opened across the street, and Tony Tully's two sons came out again, both pulling jackets over their shoulders. June was right behind them.

Oliver looked up at the floater and took a deep breath. “Whatever you are,” he said, “go away. We don't want you here.”

“Yes, we do,” said June. “Leave it alone.”

“June, I know you think that thing got Jeri out of a bad situation. But we don't know
what
it might do. We're not going to hurt it.”

“Just stop it, Ollie. Please.”

A gust blew in from the west. Oliver's eyes met Jay's. He grabbed the hose, raised the nozzle, and squeezed the trigger. The water soared through the mist and blew it away. But some of the stream got caught up in the floater's rotation. Water was flung in every direction. And suddenly the thing wasn't there anymore.

“How about that?” said Jay. “I think it worked. I think we got rid of it.” He let the hose go a minute or two longer, then shut it off. The two boys came down and stood beside their mom. The older one, Ted, was shaking his head in disapproval.

Dumb kid.

“I'm sorry, June, but it's best this way.”

“I think it's gone,” said one of the McColloughs.

Oliver was still looking up at the dripping branches. “Ask me in a week whether I think it really worked.”

“You're a born pessimist, champ.”

June just stared at him.

The gusts that had been coming in from the west picked up a bit. While Oliver rewound the reel, Jay walked back to the house, went inside, and disconnected the hose from the kitchen spigot. When they'd finished, they shook hands. “Thanks, Ollie. I'm sorry about June, but she'll come around. Anyhow, I owe you one.”

The wind intensified while they congratulated each other. June said nothing more, but simply walked back to her house. The kids followed, and the wind began to churn and suddenly a load of cold snow blew out of the branches and landed on Ollie's head. He fell forward.

Then Jay was helping him to his feet. A couple of kids down the street started laughing.

•   •   •

T
HERE
WERE
NO
reports of further sightings that night in Fort Moxie. April expected it to come back to the small border town. But it had been seen frequently in Devils Lake also. And occasionally in Grand Forks. She wanted to get the thing away from North Dakota and return it to its home in the Maze. She couldn't imagine why anything like the creature Dr. Everett had described would want to go back to those dreary tunnels, despite the incredible night sky, but she was determined to assist the creature if she could.

She decided to cover both Devils Lake and Fort Moxie.

A majority of Brad's callers were saying they liked the floater and wanted it left alone. But a lot of people wanted it gone. And the police chief thought it was just a matter of time before somebody was killed on the highway.

Brad did not take sides, nor did he voice his own opinion, which was the same as April's: It probably wants to go home, so we should assist it. When she asked him why he was holding his tongue, he said that he
needed to maintain his image as a skeptic who wasn't prone to buying into the latest crazy theory.

April already owned a pickup truck. The morning after the hosing incident, she bought two wide-screen TVs, leased a second truck, and picked up a cover for each. The Spirit Lake Tribe produced a team of electricians to install the televisions on cradles in the truck beds.

She asked the chairman to make George Freewater available to her. George could be the key because he'd been present in the Roundhouse when the floater had come through the port. Which meant that it might recognize him and would hopefully associate him with its arrival. She was assuming that the creature had blundered into the teleporter and had no idea what had happened after that.

She and her colleagues had sensed a presence in the tunnels during their first visit. They'd never talked much about it because there'd been no evidence it had been anything other than their imagination. But if it had been the floater, it might recognize her as well.

The electricians connected the cradles to the hydraulic system, which could raise them to whatever angle was needed to ensure that a viewer at the top of a tree would be able to see the screen. Both the cradles and the televisions could be operated by the driver.

April inserted disks containing the footage that had been appearing on the news shows: the little whirlwind slowly rotating, its barely visible glow that seemed always to nestle in or near trees. And videos from the Maze, of the tunnels, and the giant moon. “It's set to go,” she told George, two days after the hosing incident. “All we have to do is find the thing. If you see it, park as close as you can, aim the TV in its direction, and start the clips. Hopefully, it will get the point.”

“Which is what?” asked George.

“That we can take it home. It would also be a good idea to get out of the truck and let it see who you are. It might remember you. You might even try thinking about the Roundhouse, and about the Maze. There's a chance it could pick that up.”

“You're kidding.”

“I never kid, George. I know how this sounds. But right now, it's all we have.”

“Whatever you say, April.”

“If you find it, or hear about a sighting, let me know. I'll do the same. Try to get under it with the TV, give it a few minutes, and then drive slowly away. Head for the Roundhouse. With luck, it'll follow you.”

“What do I do if it doesn't?”

She had no idea. “I suppose you could get out of the truck again and try to talk to it.” She shrugged. “I don't know. If it wanders off, it wanders off.”

“Sounds like a long shot.”

“For now, it's all we have. We've set up quarters for you.” George would be in Devils Lake. She gave him the name and address of a local motel. “They've got a room for you. Or go home. Whichever works. Don't forget you have a wide-screen TV in the back of the pickup. When you're not in it, keep the cover down.”

“How do I get my car back?” They were in her Grand Forks home, where she'd treated for a take-out meal of Philly cheese steaks and baked potatoes.

“I'll see that you get it tomorrow.”

“All right. You want me to do these patrols at night?”

“Yes. It's easier to spot at night. Unless you hear that it's shown up somewhere. In that case, we don't care what time it is. Keep me apprised of whatever happens.”

The pickups were in the driveway. “If there's no sign of it, you might try turning the TV on and just drive around. We've cleared it with the police, so they won't give you a problem.” She handed him a set of keys. “Keep the radio on to one of the local news shows or whatever you can find. With a little luck, it'll show up again tonight somewhere.”

“Let's hope it turns up in Devils Lake. That's closer to the Roundhouse.”

“By the way, if it
does
show up, you may experience some emotion. Maybe a sense of sadness, or who the hell knows? And I know how that
sounds. But it's been happening.” She paused. “If you start seeing illusions, like the roadway from sixty feet overhead, it's nearby. But stop the truck, right?”

“Of course.”

“Try to concentrate on the purpose of the mission: that we want to establish contact and help it. To help it get back home.”

“April, do you have a problem if I take someone with me?”

“No. Although I'd prefer we not broadcast what we're doing. Who did you have in mind?”

“I think Andrea would love to be part of this.”

“Okay.”

They finished the meal, shook hands, and wished each other luck.

•   •   •

A
FEW
HOURS
later, April rode I-29 north to Fort Moxie, which was still quiet.

At the top of the hour, she turned on KLYM in Grand Forks. A woman had confronted police with a rifle in Cavalier on the outskirts of town. The gun, it turned out, wasn't loaded, but nevertheless the standoff had lasted three hours. So far, no motive was given. A former member of the city commission was charging that real-estate taxes were higher than necessary, that the money was being wasted, and that the commission chairman should step down. Two boys were injured when a car crashed into a moose. And a student who'd gone missing from UND had been found partying in Hawaii. No explanation had as yet been offered. An investment advisor had been scamming clients. And a politician had delivered some racist remarks during a TV interview in Devils Lake. The politician was now saying that he apologized to anyone who might have been offended. He was claiming he had misspoken. There was no mention of the floater.

When the news report ended, she started an audiobook, Stephen Hawking discussing the nature of time.

But she wasn't able to pay attention to it. She was too distracted, too
anxious to see the floater taken home, too reluctant to see Fort Moxie lose the creature. Did that make any sense?

Dusk was settling in as she exited the interstate at Fort Moxie and pulled into a gas station. The pickup had three-quarters of a tank, but she wanted to talk to one of the locals. And if you didn't have a police force to supply information, who better than the guy behind the counter at the town's only fuel stop? She went inside, scanned the shelves for treats, picked up a couple of lemon pies, and wandered over to the register. There was no other customer in the store. “Hi,” she said, “is this Fort Moxie?”

The cashier smiled. He was middle-aged, overweight, with a bald head and glasses. His badge identified him as Ernie. “It is,” he said. “You looking for somebody?”

His tone suggested he knew everyone in town.

“Just passing through.” She dug out a ten. “Seems like a nice quiet place.”

“That would tell me you don't know much about us. But aren't you the woman who keeps showing up on television?”