Ancient Shores

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 become too old. He had lost his passion 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 Coke 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 ma

“How do you mean?” asked Harry.

“Are you serious? What’s the point of boosters and shuttles when you can walk?” He finished off his drink. “What is the President going to do 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 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.”

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 suggestion?”

Harry fingered his glass, waiting.

“Condemn the area. Send in a flight of F—111’s and take the top off the escarpment. You can apologize later, and nobody will complain. Nobody.”

DRIVER IN FATAL CRASH CLAIMS ATTACK BY “VISITOR”

Grand Forks, ND, Apr. 2 (UPI)—

A driver charged with vehicular homicide in Saturday’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, begi

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 pla

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 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 cha

“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.”

“You saw nothing at all?” asked Le Parisien.

“That’s correct.”

“But that’s what you’d expect to see, isn’t it,” asked the London Times, “if the creature was invisible?”

“How can I respond to that?” asked April. “We didn’t see anything. More than that I can’t say. If the Times wants to speculate, go ahead.”

“How do you account for Deekin’s statements?” asked a reporter from Pravda. “Deekin swears something came across.”

April allowed herself to look distressed. “You’ll have to ask Dr. Deekin about that.”

Reporters, like everyone else, love a good story. And April knew they were torn between their natural skepticism and an unexpressed hope that there was something to the rumor. Everyone understood that this was the sort of thing that sold newspapers. A lot of newspapers.

She had, of course, been less than candid. The guard who had seen the wrong icon light up had been George Freewater. George also believed something had come across. But they had learned the danger of going public with everything they knew.

“Tell a press conference what we really think,” Max had said, “and we’ll have a panic.”

Adam had disagreed. “Nobody’s going to panic. That’s government-speak. I think we’d do best to tell the truth.”

“Truth is overrated,” Max had said, looking wearily at him. “Have you been out to any of these towns lately? They’re barring the doors at night. And you won’t find many kids outside.”

The News at Noon, KLMR-TV, Fargo

Anchor: More strange goings-on in and around Fort Moxie today, Julie. First we have an exclusive interview with the man who claims to have spoken to the invisible creature that is haunting the border area.

(Cut to aerial shot of the railhead, where we see the depot and a line of tankers and empty flatcars; back off gradually for perspective)

There’s another report on the town’s so-called Visitor. Carole Jensen is in Noyes, Mi

(We see Jensen standing by a railroad track; a white tank car is behind her)

Jensen: This is where it happened, Claude. We are at the tiny depot in Noyes, Mi

(Camera moves away; Hollis is standing beside the reporter)

How do you feel, Mr. Hollis?

Hollis: I’m okay, thank you.

Jensen: What actually happened here?

Hollis: (Nervously) There was something calling my name. The wind, it sounded like. (Tries to imitate sound)