Thunderbird (10 page)

When a man takes the road to destruction, the gods provide ready transportation.

—Aeschylus,
The Persians
, 490
B.C.E.

T
HE
CHAIRMAN
LOOKED
genuinely unhappy while John told his story. “And Diana saw the same thing?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“But nobody else did?”

“No. There were a couple of guys at the gate and two people in the parking lot. But none of them saw anything.”

“Anything like that ever happen to you before?”

“No, sir.”

“And you guys weren't drinking?”

•   •   •

I
VY
B
ANNER
CAME
in less than an hour later. “Have you figured it out?” the chairman asked.

She made herself comfortable and shook her head. “The technology is beyond anything I've ever seen or heard of. But I can tell you some of what's happening.”

“All right, Ivy. What have you got?”

“The building soaks up power, as far as I can tell, from wind and sun. Maybe rain, too, for that matter. I'm pretty sure the circuits would have been down when it was first excavated. Do you have anything on that? Especially, did it glow those first few nights?”

“I don't think so. I don't remember when the first reports about that started coming in.”

“Okay. I guess it doesn't really matter.”

“So how does it teleport people?”

“James, I hope I haven't misled you. You're going to have to find someone who's a little more advanced in physics than I am.”

“No, I didn't mean that. I was just asking what happens when we push the icons?”

“There's a collector—Here, let me show you.” She produced a photo of a gray device with a couple of cables tied into it. “This is the central unit, which acquires all the power that comes into the station and redistributes it according to need. Some of it goes into plates behind the icons. Press the icon, it activates the plate and sends a signal to
this
.” Another picture, this time a black device, again with two cables. “This is the feeder. It takes the signal, manipulates it, and relays it to the control box, which activates the grid.” She opened a plastic bag and showed him the control box. “More than that I can't tell you. I have no idea how this thing disassembles people and sends them somewhere. I'd be surprised if anybody else will, either.”

“
That's
the control box?”

“Yes.” She was holding it in one hand.

“You're saying that if this thing is removed, the grid won't function. Is that correct?”

“The grid won't get power. It makes a growling noise, but that's all. So yes, I'm pretty sure it won't function.”

“There are no cables attached to it.”

“I disconnected it.”

“How difficult was that?”

“About the same as disconnecting your computer from the display screen.”

“You say it's inside the grid?”

“Yes.” She showed him another photo, of the grid with an open panel. “The control box and the feeder are both located in here.”

“So right now, it won't work.”

“That's correct.”

Walker stared. “I was never aware that panel even existed. How did you know to look?”

“There had to be a connector of some kind. Underneath the area where the person being teleported stands seemed like the obvious place.”

“Okay. Thank you. Now can we put it back?”

•   •   •

A
RI
C
ASTOR
COULD
not get the Roundhouse out of his mind. It was certainly obvious to him that they should detonate the bomb. Blow the place to hell. It was crazy to leave that door open. No one could predict what sort of aliens were out there, just waiting for an opportunity to come in and take us over. Maybe monsters, maybe something that looked friendly but would still have us for dinner. The government was saying there was little probability that anything like that could happen. But what the hell did they know? And who could trust them to tell the truth anyhow? Even if you could, if there was any chance at all of an invasion, didn't it make sense to stop it now?

Ari had been preparing a bomb for his school. Not that he didn't like his teachers or his classmates. Actually, he did. The other kids were fine, and his teachers were nice. The problem was that they kept talking about treating everybody as if they were the same. It didn't matter to them whether you were white or Indian or Muslim or whatever. And it was time to make a statement.

But the Roundhouse was more significant than racial mixing. He never thought he'd find anything more important to the future than keeping the races separated, but now it seemed trivial. They needed somebody to go up to Johnson's Ridge and take that goddam place out. He
sat in the shed behind the garage, which he thought of as his laboratory, and imagined the headlines.
ARI CASTOR SAVES
THE WORLD.
He'd be all over the TV as well, with everybody thanking him for what he'd done. Maybe not right away. But after they had a chance to think about it.

It shouldn't be hard. They'd put a chain-link fence around the place. And there was barbed wire atop the fence. But to get inside all you had to do was pass through an inspection booth with a gate. There was a second, wider entrance for trucks. He saw nothing that would prevent him from pulling up to the inspection booth and then, when it was his turn, hitting the gas. He was pretty sure he could break through the gate. If he set the timer right, all that would be necessary would be to reach the Roundhouse at the right moment, and that would be the end of it.

He wrote a note to his mother:

Mom, by now you probably know what I've done. I know you won't be happy about it, but people will eventually be grateful. Somebody has to do it. If not me, then who? I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. And to tell you how much I love you. In case something bad happens, take care of Robbie for me.

Love, Ari

Robbie was his Boston terrier. He didn't try to explain any further because if she found the note before he had time to complete his mission she'd do everything she could to stop him. He folded the paper and put it inside an envelope, wrote ‘Mom' on the front, and left it on his worktable. It should be safe. She rarely came into the lab.

The sun was sinking. He studied it for a moment and then took the bomb out of the old filing cabinet that his father had left behind when he ran off with his secretary. He checked it one final time. Then he put it in his backpack, pulled on his jacket, and went into the house to say good-bye to his mother.

You'll be proud of me, Mom.
She wouldn't understand at first, of course. Probably wouldn't figure it out until they began talking on the TV about how it was good that somebody had taken action. And the country went into mourning over the loss of a wonderful human being. Thank God Ari had been there. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened?

“Mom, I'm going over to Archie's for a while,” he said.

“I thought you said Archie had a game this evening?”

“Yeah. I'm going over to the court and watch the game.”

“Okay. Be careful driving.”

•   •   •

H
E
GOT
INTO
his car, put the backpack under the front seat, turned on the radio to his favorite rock station, and started west on I-94. There wasn't much traffic. He left the lights of Fargo behind and slipped out into the snow-covered plains. Within minutes he was fifteen miles over the speed limit. Inviting trouble. He took his foot off the pedal and let the car drift back down.

Ari wasn't one of those suicidal nutcases. He was saddened as he drove out of the area in which he'd spent his entire life, knowing he would never see it again. He didn't like the idea of dying. But this was the only way he could think of to make his life count for something.

He didn't know whether there'd be a Heaven, or a judgment. If there was, he was sure he'd be okay. God would certainly understand and be proud of him.

Near Jamestown he turned north on U.S. 281.

The cops were checking people going up to the Roundhouse, but he hadn't seen any indication they were searching people. They'd just be looking for a lunatic, so he wasn't likely to have any problem getting through.

He'd probably come down to the final hours of his life. As he passed Carrington, it occurred to him that he was entitled to a last meal. He'd already had dinner. What he really wanted was a couple of drinks, but they probably wouldn't serve him. Anyhow, if he got any alcohol on his breath, the cops wouldn't let him through the roadblock.

There was a diner just outside New Rockford. When he reached it, he pulled into the parking area, locked the car, and went inside. There was no point ordering a meal since he didn't have an appetite. But they had lemon pie and milk shakes. And a gorgeous waitress.

That was something else that bothered him: He was eighteen and he'd never taken a girl to bed. He'd tried a few times, but nobody had ever really responded to him. Not to that extent, anyhow. It was the one thing that he would really have liked to do before ending his life.

He settled for the milk shake and lemon pie.

•   •   •

I
T
WAS
DARK
when he arrived at the mountain road that led up to Johnson's Ridge. The police had turned it into a one-way drive, and opened a secondary road for people exiting the area. There were two lines of cars going in. Maybe thirty vehicles altogether. Ari got in line, switched his radio to NPR, and sat back. He wasn't a big NPR fan, but it would help persuade the cops he was harmless. He wasn't at all nervous. He didn't really think there was any chance he'd get caught. This was something he'd been born to do. Protector of the Earth. He suspected that eventually they'd make a movie about this. He began contemplating who would be right to play him.

The police didn't seem to be spending a lot of time asking questions. It took them only a couple of minutes to clear the cars in front of him. Ari pulled up to where they waited and rolled down his window. “Good evening, Officer,” he said.

“Hello,” said the cop. “Going up to see the Roundhouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. You understand the parking area is closed now. All you can do is drive by.”

“I know, Officer. I was visiting my cousins in Devils Lake, and I wanted to take advantage of being in the area to see this thing. I just want to get a look at it.”

“Okay, son. Go ahead. But be careful. The road's slippery tonight.”

Ari eased onto it and started up toward the Roundhouse. It was mostly open country, almost completely devoid of trees or any vegetation other than grass. As he went higher, the plains spread out beneath him. And ahead, along the edge of the ridge, lights appeared.

Gradually, the soft green glow emanating from the Roundhouse rose into the sky. Then the building itself. There was a cluster of lights from cars that had pulled off the road. People were standing around, taking pictures. He saw more lights at the front entrance, which, as Ari had read, would have been a way for the aliens to get in and out when they weren't using the boat.

The gatehouse was also lit up. The gate at the entry lane was down. Four cars and a van were in the parking area. Another car was just leaving. A uniformed guy was walking toward the van. As Ari watched, he climbed inside, started the engine, and began to back out. He was moving slowly, but a cop was already waving him toward the exit. The gate rose.

If he timed it right, Ari might be able to get through the exit before the van got there. That looked like a better idea than trying to crash the entry. He released his belt and reached under the seat for the backpack. After looking around to be sure he hadn't drawn any attention, he set it on the seat beside him and unzipped it.

Traffic was piling up behind him. A horn blew. One of the officers came out of the gatehouse, looked in his direction, pointed to the
CLOSED
sign, and waved at him to keep going.

A second officer, a woman, came outside. She was a babe.

He reached into the bag for the detonator and set it for thirty seconds. “Good-bye, world,” he said.

He pressed the pedal to the floor and surged ahead into the exit lane. He sideswiped a guard post, hit the woman, and saw that the van had seen what he was trying to do. It was moving to block him. Coming too fast. He collided with it, almost head-on. Ari, who hadn't reconnected his belt, was thrown against the wheel and the front window. Nine seconds later, the bomb went off.

And all who told it added something new,

And all who heard it made enlargements too;

In ev'ry ear it spread, on ev'ry tongue it grew.

—Alexander Pope, “The Temple of Fame,” 1714

B
RAD
'
S
MOMENT
WITH
the transporter had finally arrived. The evening before the Eden mission was to go out, he was at home with Donna trying to watch
Rio Bravo
but utterly unable to concentrate on the movie. When the phone rang, Donna picked it up, listened, and handed it to him. “It's Matt.”

He sounded excited. “You see the news tonight, Brad?”

“No. What's going on?”

“Somebody tried to blow up the Roundhouse.”

“They didn't succeed, did they?”

“No. He barely got onto the parking lot.”

Brad had, for just a moment, nursed a wish that the transporter had been wrecked. “That's good,” he said. “Anybody get hurt?”

“The bomber got killed. He was a high-school kid. Also one of the Sioux, who used a van to block him. And a police officer.”

“Which of the Sioux?”

“Dale Tree was the guy in the van. He was one of their security people. The police officer was Diana Quixon.”

Brad knew Dale. “They've announced they're going to increase the security.”

“It sounds as if the system they have worked.”

“Up to a point.”

Ten minutes later, April called. The mission had been postponed.

•   •   •

KLYM'
S
M
ONK
P
ATTERSON
had the rest of the story in the morning. “Castor's mother found a note saying he was going to do something big. She said she couldn't believe he would ever do anything like try to blow something up. She said he's always been a good boy and stayed out of trouble. His police record is clean.

“She said she had no idea her son had become a bomb maker. She was in tears this morning, but she nevertheless took time to apologize to the families of Dale Tree and Diana Quixon, who died in the attack.”

•   •   •

E
D
E
XETER
WAS
anxious to get home. He'd been in Grand Forks talking to a specialist about his digestive problems. It was nothing serious, so he was happy. But it was an eighty-mile run back to Fort Moxie. By the time he arrived, he was exhausted. He pulled off the expressway and cruised into town, thinking about nothing other than how good it would feel to get into bed. But directly ahead, just above a cluster of trees, he saw a rotating light. Several cars had stopped, and some of the drivers had gotten out and were staring at it.

Bart Marsh and his wife were on the side of the road. Ed pulled in behind them. It was a small, luminous cloud, at about treetop level, turning slowly. Bart saw him and came over. “You ever see anything like this before, Ed?”

Ed looked at it and scratched his head. “Not that I can remember. You think it's that floater they've been talking about?”

It was probably no bigger than the sign over the front door of the Prairie Schooner, the town's lone bar. People were coming out of their houses to look. But the illumination was beginning to fade.

“Crazy,” somebody said.

•   •   •

I
N
THE
MORNING
, after his show, Brad drove to Johnson's Ridge to take a look at the damage. The county police were more methodical than they had been with their previous inspections before allowing him onto the road that led up to the ridge. The two gatehouses and a portion of the fence were in ruins. Brad saw a couple of the Sioux security people coming out of the Roundhouse. One was Paula; he didn't recognize the other. He'd have liked to stop and offer condolences, but a contingent of U.S. marshals had sealed off the parking area, and he had no way of getting past them. The building itself had been too far away from the blast and was undamaged.

He said a silent prayer for Dale and the police officer, whose name he'd forgotten. Diana Somebody. Then he turned and drove back to the radio station.

•   •   •

T
WO
DAYS
LATER
, Donna, Brad, and April went to Fort Totten to attend the memorial service for Dale. His family subscribed to both Christianity and the
Midiwiwin
tradition. The service was conducted by a tribal holy man who called on both Jesus and Wakan to grant the dead warrior a better life in the world beyond the skies.

There was music, singing, grief. Another good man sacrificed to the idiocy of the outside world. Brad had been somewhat uncomfortable since the killer had been a white man, and he assumed there was still some tribal resentment aimed at the people who had taken so much Native American
land. There might be an inclination to blame white society in general for Dale's death. But he and the two women were welcomed warmly to the memorial.

Walker, of course, was present also.

April, in her role as leader of the exploration effort, was invited to speak. She expressed her sorrow at the loss, and her admiration for a man who had walked on other worlds and ultimately given his life to stop the attacker. “Had that young man gotten through the gate,” she said, “he might have destroyed the Roundhouse, which is a treasure, not only for the Mni Wakan Oyate, but for the entire human race. In their name, I would like to express my appreciation to Dale, and to the courageous people whom he represents.”

Most of the same people attended a Catholic ceremony for Diana Quixon the following day in Devils Lake, accompanied by a substantial contingent from the county police force. Mac Doolan, the officer who'd been with Diana at the gate, was also present. Doolan's arm had been broken when the bomb went off, but he had surprisingly sustained no other major injuries.

Everyone knew of the connection between Diana and John Colmar. And while they all came forward to offer regrets, John was beyond consolation.

•   •   •

W
HEN
IT
WAS
over, they returned to Grand Forks, talking about how they wished they could believe that Diana really
was
in a better place. Nothing challenged Brad's faith quite like a funeral. Especially one that was marking the end of a person who'd died too young. He'd visited one of the Canadian Air Force museums once and still remembered walls covered with the names of those who'd given their lives during World War II. And the axiom
They never grew old
.

Eventually, though, as they approached the city, Donna switched the subject to the Eden mission. “How long do you expect to be there?” she asked.

They were scheduled to leave next morning. “We're going to move out a bit this time,” said April, “so we'll probably be gone for about two days.”

Brad could feel the tension emanating from Donna, and he had no doubt April was aware of it, too. Both women, he suspected, would feel relieved if he backed off. But he saw no way he could do that without losing their respect. And his radio audience would never take him seriously again. “I'm looking forward to going,” he said.

“Good.” April's smile was perfunctory. “You'll probably want sunglasses and a hat of some sort. Eden gets a lot of sunlight.”