Ancient Shores

The way he did that was to assign the distorted perspective he’d experienced to his momentary weakness and to concentrate instead on getting them back to the grid. He’d always been proud of his directional sense. Even in this labyrinth, he was confident he knew which way they had to go. He showed them on the map. “We’re here,” he said. “And we’ve got to get here.” Roughly a mile away.

He took them out through the exit and into the passageway. A moment later they turned left and walked into the room with the grid.

A chill ran through Max’s stomach. “This can’t be right,” he said.

But Arky looked immensely relieved. “Max,” he said, “you’re a genius.”

Max was shaking his head. “Not possible. It can’t be the same room.”

They crossed the chamber, anxiously eyeing the other entrance, which was the one by which they’d left. Max looked at the triggers. They looked like the same set he’d seen earlier. The room looked identical.

April waved it away. “We’ll figure it out later. What bothers me is that this isn’t the way to handle first contact.” But she kept her voice down. “Ru

“To hell with the history books,” said Max. “The history books will only know what we tell them. Let’s go.”

“You really want to stay?” Arky asked her in a tone that challenged her to do it if she meant it. Otherwise, don’t waste our time.

“We’re going to have to come back,” she said. But she stepped onto the grid.

“Next time we’ll write.” Max punched the stag’s head and joined them.

The countdown was interminable. Max remembered having visited an empty house once as a boy and being frightened out by noises in the attic. It was like that, and when the light folded over them and the Roundhouse formed, he recalled how it had felt to escape back into the sunshine.

23

The business of America is business.

—Calvin Coolidge

JOHNSON’S RIDGE EXPLORERS OPEN SECOND WORLD

Walhalla, ND, Mar. 22 (AP)—

A team of explorers passed through a second port today and entered a world that was described as being “pure indoors.” No evidence of recent occupancy was discovered, according to press spokesman Frank Moll, who added that visitors will not be permitted until the exact nature of the terminus can be established.

There was no indication of danger, so they reopened Eden to the press and to researchers on the twenty-third. Groups crossing over were accompanied by a guide and a member of the security force. The tours went every two hours. People were fairly nervous about the method of transit, and some in fact backed out. But those who went invariably came back elated.

Everyone signed a release, although Arky warned darkly that such documents rarely influenced liability judgments.

Blood tests for April, Max, and all the security people who had been across came back negative.

April was pleased that Eden was finally a going concern, and she loved showing it off to the world’s academics. (As to the second terminus, which they had begun to refer to as the Maze, they decided to postpone further investigation until they had a chance to think things out. Max could not believe he’d got so completely lost and began to suspect that the second terminus was a sphere.)

She held informal conferences, and arranged special field trips when the requests seemed justified. She was begi

Andrea Hawk was tending the port when two geologists came back through the system from the Eden terminus. They were bearded and gray-eyed, and both were talking. They seemed so deeply involved with each other that they did not even notice her. But one word caught her attention: “Oil.”

An hour later, it was the number one story on the wire services.

The main item during the plenary session of the General Assembly was to have been a motion by Tanzania suggesting a further weakening of global trade barriers. But the newspapers, which had been full of speculation about the star bridge in North Dakota, now carried stories that oil had been found in Eden.

If the delegates in attendance at the United Nations had found all the talk about other worlds and dimensional intersections confusing and largely irrelevant to real-world politics (they perceived themselves as, if nothing else, hardheaded realists), they did understand oil.

Brazil was scheduled for opening remarks on the trade policy initiative. But everyone in the building knew where the conversation was going that morning.

The Brazilian minister was a portly woman with black hair and a thick neck and quick eyes. “The question before us today,” she said, “goes far beyond the issue of tariffs. We are looking at a new world, located in some curious way beyond, but not in, the United States. We do not have any details about this world. We don’t know how extensive it is or how hospitable it may be. So far, it appears to be very hospitable.” She looked directly across the chamber at the U.S. delegation. “Brazil wishes to submit to the members the proposition that this discovery is of such supreme importance to everyone that no single nation should claim sovereignty over it. The port should be open to all mankind.” The minister paused here to listen to a comment from an aide, nodded, and sipped her glass of water.

“Brazil is confident that the United States, which has always been at the forefront in arguing for human rights, will recognize the essential human right to explore and ultimately occupy this strange new place. We urge the United States to declare itself accordingly.”

Margaret Yakata could never have been a serious presidential candidate. While the country might be willing to accept a woman in the highest office, it was not yet ready for one of Japanese ancestry. And so Yakata had put away her own ambitions, which had taken her to the governor’s mansion in Sacramento, and used her considerable political influence to get the vice presidency for Matt Taylor.

Taylor had shown his appreciation by sending her to the United Nations, where she was respected as a champion of global cooperation on environmental matters. She had also shown herself to be a staunch advocate of collective security by supporting fledgling democracies wherever they arose. “Democracies,” she was fond of telling representatives of police states, “are the supreme hope for peace on this planet, because they do not make war on one another.”

Now she sat in her office at the UN, watching the Brazilian delegate on one screen and the president’s reaction on another. Someone handed the president a note. He read it without noticeable change of expression and then looked directly at her. “Iran,” he said, “is going to demand that Johnson’s Ridge be inspected by the UN and placed under international mandate.”

“They’ll get a lot of support,” said Yakata.

“I know. It’s a new stick to beat us with.” An expression of pain crept into his face.

“Mr. President,” she said, “a lot of people are scared about Johnson’s Ridge. Even the Brits are jumpy. They’re telling me they’ll vote with us if we can guarantee it’ll go away. Otherwise they’re reserving their options.”

“You heard about the oil?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“What do you think?”

“Considering what else may be coming out of there, I think it’s trivial. But it’s got everyone here thinking about natural resources. Is there gold over there, too? Uranium? Where does it end? Incidentally, I understand the Palestinians are going to demand land in Eden.” She gri