Ancient Shores Part 29

"I know of your work, Mr. Asquith," she said. "What can I do for you?"

He was big, round-shouldered, meaty. His hair was white and combed over a bald spot. He spoke in short, authoritative bursts and would, April thought, have made a good judge.

"I want to spend some time in Eden," he said.

April wrote down the scheduler's phone number and pa.s.sed it over to him. "They'll be happy to put you on the list."

"No, I don't think you understand. I've already been there. I want to go back. To be honest, I'd like to pitch a tent and move in. For a while."

April glanced quite deliberately at her watch. She was no longer impressed by credentials. An outrageous request was outrageous, whatever its source. "I'm sorry, Mr. Asquith. I don't think we can permit-"

"Dr. Cannon, I'm aware of the scientific significance of the Roundhouse. I wonder whether you you grasp the psychological and philosophical implications. The slow, generally upward course of the human race has forked. We have plunged into a broad forest. The world as we know it is waiting for something to happen. But it is uncertain what that something will be. That is why the world's financial markets are in chaos; why demonstrators are in front of the White House; why the United Nations is locked in its most acrimonious debate in a decade. When you stepped across the gulf a couple of weeks ago into whatever place that was, you began a new era. grasp the psychological and philosophical implications. The slow, generally upward course of the human race has forked. We have plunged into a broad forest. The world as we know it is waiting for something to happen. But it is uncertain what that something will be. That is why the world's financial markets are in chaos; why demonstrators are in front of the White House; why the United Nations is locked in its most acrimonious debate in a decade. When you stepped across the gulf a couple of weeks ago into whatever place that was, you began a new era.

"Someone needs to record all this. To tie the daily events to their historical and literary significance. We used to think that if the twentieth century would be remembered for any single moment, it would be the moon landing. But-" He looked steadily at her. "The moon landing is small potatoes, Dr. Cannon. The decisive moment, not of the century but of recorded history, is now now. I know you have begun to bring in experts, mathematicians, geologists, astronomers, and whatnot. And that is all to the good. We need to do that. But we also need someone whose sole function will be to consider the meaning meaning of what is happening here. To stand back while others measure and weigh and speculate, to apply these events against the progress of the human spirit." He placed his hands together and laid his chin against them. "I think that I am uniquely qualified for such a role. I have, in fact, already compiled extensive notes. And I would be honored to be allowed to partic.i.p.ate." of what is happening here. To stand back while others measure and weigh and speculate, to apply these events against the progress of the human spirit." He placed his hands together and laid his chin against them. "I think that I am uniquely qualified for such a role. I have, in fact, already compiled extensive notes. And I would be honored to be allowed to partic.i.p.ate."

Asquith had a point, April thought. "What did you have in mind? A series of news reports?"

"Oh, no," he said. "Nothing like that. I would want to do a major work. My magnum opus."

"Let me think about it," she said. "I'll get back to you."

"The working t.i.tle would be Ancient Sh.o.r.es Ancient Sh.o.r.es." He gave her a card. "We should start without delay."

He let himself out. April decided she would do it. That kind of publicity couldn't hurt them. But she'd run it past Max first.

She picked up her messages. Peg Moll, their scheduler and event coordinator, had received a call from a man identifying himself as the agent for s.h.a.ggy Dog. The rap group wanted to do a concert on Johnson's Ridge. "They're promising to sell two hundred thousand tickets," Peg said.

When the phone rang, Max and April were discussing plans to send a repair crew into the chamber that had taken Arky's life. (Already it had outdistanced Eden as the place that researchers most wanted to visit.) April picked it up, listened for a minute, and said, "Thanks." She replaced the receiver and turned to Max. "There are some investors," she said, "forming a corporation to control travel to all the worlds connected to the Roundhouse. They've offered three-quarters of a billion dollars for exclusive rights."

"The price is going up," said Max.

"They call themselves Celestial Tours." She smiled sadly.

Detroit, Apr. 1 (Reuters)-The Detroit Free Press Detroit Free Press today reported that the Detroit Lions may move to Fargo, North Dakota. According to unnamed sources, the club has agreed to a deal with Manuel Corazon, CEO of Prairie Industries, and the sale will be announced tomorrow. Pending approval by the rest of the league, the team would move next year and become known as the Fargo Visitors. today reported that the Detroit Lions may move to Fargo, North Dakota. According to unnamed sources, the club has agreed to a deal with Manuel Corazon, CEO of Prairie Industries, and the sale will be announced tomorrow. Pending approval by the rest of the league, the team would move next year and become known as the Fargo Visitors.Prairie Industries is a conglomerate specializing primarily in the manufacture of agricultural equipment.

Larry King special on TNT, April 1. Guest: Dmitri Polkaevich, winner of the Pulitzer prize for Iron Dreams Iron Dreams, a definitive history of the USSR. Topic: the new Russian revolution. (Suggested by then-current fears that a right-wing Russian coup was imminent.) King: You don't feel, then, that a resurgence of nationalism is likely? You don't feel, then, that a resurgence of nationalism is likely?Polkaevich: The world is changing very rapidly, Larry. No, it is true there are those in Russia who would give us their own peculiar brand of fascism, if they could. Just as there are those who would return to Lenin. But the tide of history is running against them all. The world is changing very rapidly, Larry. No, it is true there are those in Russia who would give us their own peculiar brand of fascism, if they could. Just as there are those who would return to Lenin. But the tide of history is running against them all.King: Well, I'm happy to hear it. If I may ask before we go to the phones, where is the tide of history taking us? Well, I'm happy to hear it. If I may ask before we go to the phones, where is the tide of history taking us?Polkaevich: Predicting the future is a dangerous enterprise. Predicting the future is a dangerous enterprise.King: Yes. But you just implied- Yes. But you just implied-Polkaevich: That some tendencies are evident. Larry, you have of course been following the events along the Canadian border? That some tendencies are evident. Larry, you have of course been following the events along the Canadian border?King: The Roundhouse? ( The Roundhouse? (Smiles) I wouldn't know how to get away from them. In fact, we'll be doing a show from there next week.Polkaevich: The bridge to the stars is a Rubicon. The bridge to the stars is a Rubicon.King: For Russian politicians? For Russian politicians?Polkaevich: Oh, yes. And for the Armenians. And the Chinese. Larry, I no longer think of myself as a Muscovite. Or even as a Russian. No. You and I are citizens of Earth. The era of national borders, of governments that divide us with their petty squabbles, is pa.s.sing into history. Oh, yes. And for the Armenians. And the Chinese. Larry, I no longer think of myself as a Muscovite. Or even as a Russian. No. You and I are citizens of Earth. The era of national borders, of governments that divide us with their petty squabbles, is pa.s.sing into history.King: Governments are becoming obsolete? Governments are becoming obsolete?Polkaevich: Individual governments, yes. I think we will soon see a world body. Unfortunately, the transition period will be a dangerous time. People tend to disparage their governments, but they will fight to the death to keep them. And there is good reason for their fears. If a world government becomes oppressive, where does one flee? Although now perhaps we have an answer to that problem. ( Individual governments, yes. I think we will soon see a world body. Unfortunately, the transition period will be a dangerous time. People tend to disparage their governments, but they will fight to the death to keep them. And there is good reason for their fears. If a world government becomes oppressive, where does one flee? Although now perhaps we have an answer to that problem. (Chuckles)King: Dmitri, your comment that you no longer think of yourself as a Russian intrigues me. I wonder if you can elaborate a little more on that. Dmitri, your comment that you no longer think of yourself as a Russian intrigues me. I wonder if you can elaborate a little more on that.Polkaevich: Larry, we know now we are not alone. There are others out there somewhere, and they are quite near. This knowledge will cause us to draw together. Larry, we know now we are not alone. There are others out there somewhere, and they are quite near. This knowledge will cause us to draw together.FBI/CONFIDENTIALTO: Intel IVFROM: SAC, Morton, IDSUBJECT: Initial Report/SIR27New right-wing hate group is forming in this area in an effort to seize the entrance to the off-world site at Johnson's Ridge, ND. They are designing a charter calling for occupation of the new world, followed by a quick drive for statehood.Attachment A lists active insiders. Almost everyone a.s.sociated with the governing board of this organization is on file. Attachment B contains press releases and public p.r.o.nouncements by John Fielder, spokesman for the group, and Abner Wright, its founder. You will note their concern with getting the Roundhouse out of the hands of foreigners (they seem to be referring to the Sioux) and their stated willingness to use force. Will advise as situation develops.TO: Director, Customs Management Center,Chicago, ILFROM: Area Port Director, Fort Moxie, NDSUBJECT: Roundhouse, Status ofAs you are aware, people are entering and exiting the country through a "transdimensional door" on Johnson's Ridge. Please advise whether Johnson's Ridge should be considered a port, for customs purposes. Of course, no one is bringing back commercial merchandise, at least to our knowledge. But there are fish and game requirements and other laws that would come into play.If instructed to establish an entry area, please note that the action will require additional personnel.

Project Forty's ratings had gone through the roof. As a consequence, criticism of Old-Time Bill also soared. ratings had gone through the roof. As a consequence, criticism of Old-Time Bill also soared.

Bill's enemies were the mainstream press, liberal politicians, and left-leaning churches, which is to say all the various forces that were conniving in the moral collapse of the American people. They accused him of every conceivable crime but concentrated particularly on fraud and hypocrisy. They charged that he used religion to solicit donations, that he was a theological con artist, that he probably didn't even believe in G.o.d.

None of this, strictly speaking, was true. To deal with the last first, Bill didn't think seriously enough about theology to worry about details, but he sincerely believed that, as he often preached, everyone had a direct line into G.o.d's study. Don't hesitate to use the phone, he said; say what you really mean, and G.o.d will never put you on hold.

He sincerely believed in his own uprightness, because he gave hope to the despairing, meaning to those who had lost direction, and a sense of belonging to the unloved. To all who came to him, who wandered the various Sinais of their lives in keeping with the spirit of the Volunteers, he offered redemption, an easing of pain, and a celestial compa.s.s.

Oh, yes, Bill was a believer. G.o.d stood by Bill's side when the choir was singing and the pipes were playing and people sobbed out their sins and promised to amend their lives.

And he most certainly did not not do it for money. do it for money.

The money was nice; he never denied that. But he thought of it as a corollary benefit for doing what was right, for walking the path of the Lord, for living by the Book. His real motivation would have been found in the exhilaration of standing before audiences in English-speaking countries around the world and feeling their response to G.o.d's truth. He loved to draw them into the power of the Word, to hold their emotions in his hands, and, with his soaring rhetoric, to loosen the chains that bound them, not to an earthly existence, but to prosaic lives.

Bill understood the romance implicit in the tales of a desert G.o.d who had loved his people and who had eventually faced the Roman cross for all who had ever drawn breath. Yes! That was what people understood and what they loved. And they loved him him because he had made himself part of the message. because he had made himself part of the message.

His second Fort Moxie broadcast took place during the last snow storm of the season. Ordinarily, Bill didn't get to see much snow, and it inspired him. While the flakes drifted against the windows, he understood G.o.d's love for Adam in spite of his disobedience. And he felt his people's hearts beat with his.

"But Adam has gone back into the Garden."

"Amen," cried the Volunteers.

"O Lord, we need your strong arm."

"Alleluia!"

"Give us a sign. Show the faithless You stand by our side!"

He urged his listeners to write to their representatives. "Demand that we withdraw. For we are deaf to His word." Tears appeared in his eyes. The wind began to build. Bill felt the Presence. "Show them your strength, G.o.d of Abraham," he said. "I ask it in your Son's name."

The chorus, on cue, burst into "Rock of Ages." The room shook and people sobbed and the wind wrapped itself around the building. Amanda Dexter, who could always be counted on to go to pieces at the climax of a good service, shrieked her undying grat.i.tude to her Creator and collapsed in a quivering heap.

They rolled through several choruses while the wind played with the windows. Bill felt something open in his soul, and the power of the Angel of the Almighty entered into him. He knew once again the sheer exuberance of bringing people to the Lord. He flowed into the Angel and became one with it, directing the storm, watching the snow submerge the harsh angles of roof and shutter and drainpipe, enshrouding the building, burying it, removing its harsh lines.

Abruptly, he was back inside and the organ had stopped, and the Volunteers were in the aisles, exhausted, helping one another to their feet, delivering alleluias, collapsing into chairs.

"Praise the Lord," said Mark Meyer, whose face was ashen. "Did you feel feel it?" He was looking directly at Bill. it?" He was looking directly at Bill.

"Yes," said Bill, shakily. "I felt it." Tonight, more than at any other time in his career, he knew he walked with the Blessed. "I think we got the sign," he added. "I think we actually got the sign sign."

He remembered the TV cameras. And at that moment, while he wondered if the network had picked up his remark, the lights went out.

"Check the circuit breakers," someone shouted.

His people didn't mind a little power failure, and they laughed their way through "Victory in Jesus."

Bill put on his headset so he could talk to Harry Staples, his maintenance chief. "I'll have the lights back in a second," Harry said.

The room was absolutely dark. Bill could not even see any illumination coming in through the windows. That suggested the streetlights had also gone out.

"Everybody stay put until we get the power working again," Bill said.

His producer reported that they were off the air. "But we went with a bang," he added. The Whitburg studio had picked up and was covering with gospel music.

The Volunteers finished with "Joshua." They cheered, conquering failed lights the same way they conquered everything else.

Harry's voice again: "Power failure's outside outside, Reverend. We've lost the heater, too." Flashlights had appeared on the stairs.

"Okay," said Bill. "Let's close up and clear out." They were staying in motels in Morris, Manitoba, about a half-hour north of the border. He turned to his audience. "You folks have done great," he said. "Let's go home."

They were already filing toward the door, struggling into coats and boots. Bill waited, talking with his people. He heard the front door open.

And a rough masculine voice, breaking tone with the evening, said, "Hey, what the h.e.l.l is this?"

Bill heard a whimper.

The door had opened on a wall of snow.

Frank Moll was at home listening to a Mozart concerto when the lights went out and the music died. Through his picture window, he could see that the streetlight located immediately in front of the house had also gone dark.

Peg came out of the den with a flashlight, headed for the circuit breakers.

"They're off all over," Frank said, reaching for the phone book.

"We are sorry," came the recorded response at the electric company, "but all our service representatives are busy. Please stay on the line."

He hung up, sat down, and propped his feet on the ha.s.sock. "Must be lines down somewhere," he said. It was cold outside, but the house was well insulated.

They talked in the dark, enjoying the interruption in their routine. Across the street, Hodge Eliot's front door opened. Hodge carried a lamp out onto his porch and peered down the street.

The phone rang.

"Frank?" He recognized Edie Thoraldson's voice. "Something's happened at Kor's place. We're sending the unit."

That was the Quick Response Team, which Frank had once directed. "What?" he asked. "What happened?"

"I'm not exactly sure," she said. "Apparently somebody got buried buried. I've got the police coming in from Cavalier. I thought maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea if you took a look."

"Okay," he said, puzzled.

Peg looked at him, worried. "What is it?" she asked.

"Don't know. Edie says somebody got buried buried. What the h.e.l.l does that that mean?" He had his coat on already. "Keep the door locked," he said. mean?" He had his coat on already. "Keep the door locked," he said.

Kor's house was only six blocks away. He paused in his driveway for a stream of cars carrying volunteer firemen. Then he backed out into the street and turned left. Two minutes later he parked behind a gathering crowd a half-block away from Kor's house. He was just behind the Quick Response Team. The neighborhood was thick with box elders, and it was hard to see what was happening. But he could hear a lot of crowd noise.

The fire engine rolled in. The crowd split and flowed away from the emergency vehicles. And Frank finally got clear of the trees.

Where Kor's house, lately the Backcountry Church, had been, there was now a two-story-high snow cylinder. The snow was swirled at the top like soft ice cream.

27.

He asked for a sign.-Mike Tower, Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune (commenting on Old-Time Bill and the freak storm at the Backcountry Church) (commenting on Old-Time Bill and the freak storm at the Backcountry Church) Harry Mills liked to say he was pure corn country, bred true. He had spent thirty years in the Congress of the United States, eight as chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, before becoming Matt Taylor's vice president. Harry told people he had no political ambitions other than to serve his nation well. He would be seventy-seven before he could hope for a run at the top job.

He had therefore decided to retire at the end of Taylor's first term, while he was still young enough to enjoy the leisure. He would write his memoirs; travel the country to spend time with his grandchildren, who were scattered from Spokane to Key West; and get back to playing serious bridge, a pursuit he'd abandoned a quarter-century ago.

The reality was that Harry probably had had become too old. He had lost his pa.s.sion for politics, his taste for power. He no longer enjoyed influencing policy, or rubbing shoulders with the decision makers, or even making the Sunday round of talk shows. Tonight he was at a reception for the Jordanian king, and he devoutly would have preferred to be home with Marian, shoes kicked off, watching a good movie. become too old. He had lost his pa.s.sion for politics, his taste for power. He no longer enjoyed influencing policy, or rubbing shoulders with the decision makers, or even making the Sunday round of talk shows. Tonight he was at a reception for the Jordanian king, and he devoutly would have preferred to be home with Marian, shoes kicked off, watching a good movie.

As was usually the case at these outings, he was being stalked by half a dozen predators who wanted to use him to push their agendas. One was the NASA director, Rick Keough, who caught up with him near the hors d'oeuvres.

Harry didn't like Keough very much. The director was a former astronaut, so he was popular with the general public. But he was given to grandstanding, and he was less interested in the organization than he was in his own career.

Keough was nursing a rum and c.o.ke and trying to look like a man bearing up under misfortune and bureaucratic stupidity. They exchanged pleasantries, and he came to the point. "Mr. Vice President, we have a problem. This thing on Johnson's Ridge. My people are starting to wonder whether they have a future."

Keough had headed the effort to return to an aggressive manned program when that idea was popular, and during recent years had argued just as effectively for economy, science, and safety. He was short, barely five-six, narrow of both shoulder and intellect. There was an elusiveness in his character, a tendency to become distracted or change the subject without warning. Talking to Keough, one of the capital's pundits had once remarked in print, was like trying to carry on a conversation with a man hiding behind a tree.

"How do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Are you serious? What's the point of boosters and shuttles when you can walk? walk?" He finished off his drink. "What is the President going to do do about that thing?" about that thing?"

Harry was tired of hearing about the Roundhouse. He was not a man easily rattled, and he was convinced that, given time, it would all blow over. When it did, life would go on. "Relax, Rick," he said. "There will always be a mission for NASA."

"Well, maybe somebody better tell that to my people, because they are looking around. Mr. Vice President, they are going to start bailing out. These are dedicated dedicated people. And they can't be replaced. Once they get the feeling that what they do doesn't matter anymore, they're gone. The organization will people. And they can't be replaced. Once they get the feeling that what they do doesn't matter anymore, they're gone. The organization will die die."

And your job with it. "I'll talk to the President," Harry said. "I'm sure he'll be willing to issue a statement of purpose."

"I think he'll have to do better than that. You want my my suggestion?" suggestion?"

Harry fingered his gla.s.s, waiting.

"Condemn the area. Send in a flight of F-111's and take the top off the escarpment. You can apologize later, and n.o.body will complain. n.o.body n.o.body."

DRIVER IN FATAL CRASH CLAIMS ATTACK BY "VISITOR"Grand Forks, ND, Apr. 2 (UPI)-A driver charged with vehicular homicide in Sat.u.r.day's seven-car crash on I-29 has claimed that "something" took the wheel out of his hand and drove the car across the median into oncoming traffic. John Culver, twenty-nine, of Fargo, insisted yesterday that he had no way to bring his 1997 Honda under control. Police have said Culver was legally drunk when he crashed head-on into a station wagon, beginning a chain of collisions that killed three.

The press conferences on Johnson's Ridge were held daily at one o'clock. Pool reporters, wearing pressure suits, had visited the galaxy terminus, which seemed to be located on an off-world platform. No one knew for certain, because no exit from the chamber could be found. But if it was indeed off-world, then it followed that artificial gravity was now within reach. An expedition was being planned.

Today, however, no one was interested in anything other than the Visitor.

Flanked by Adam Sky, April began by issuing a short statement that admitted a remote possibility that something might might have come through the port. "We don't think so," she said. "We are reasonably sure that the only thing that happened was a brief malfunction. The malfunction opened a channel between Johnson's Ridge and one of the terminus worlds." have come through the port. "We don't think so," she said. "We are reasonably sure that the only thing that happened was a brief malfunction. The malfunction opened a channel between Johnson's Ridge and one of the terminus worlds."

"The Maze?" asked Peter Arnett of CNN.

"Yes," she said.

"April," he pursued, "when are you going to open it up for us? The Maze?"

"As soon as we can be sure it's not inhabited, Peter." (Wrong word: She should have said "not occupied." Sounded less ominous.) "But I'd like to reiterate that we spent more than two hours over there. We saw no sign of life. And we were in no way molested, attacked, or threatened by anyone. After we returned, the system reactivated on its own. No one appeared, and there was no evidence to suggest it was anything but a malfunction. And I hope this puts the rumors to rest."