London, Mar. 14 (BBC News Service)—
The recent rise in workplace murders in the United Kingdom can possibly be ascribed to events on Johnson’s Ridge, according to Timothy Clayton, an industrial psychologist writing in the Economist. “People are more fearful for their jobs than they’ve been since the Great Depression,” Clayton says. “They’re not sure who’s responsible, but to a remarkably increasing degree, they’re gunning down bosses, secretaries, newspaper vendors, and anyone else who happens to get in the way.”
The five members of the tribal council, four men and a woman, were arrayed across the front of the chamber behind a long wooden table. Behind them hung the banner of the Mini Wakan Oyaté, the shield of the Devil’s Lake Sioux, with its buffalo skull and half-sun devices. Chairman Walker occupied the center of the group.
The chamber was packed so tightly with journalists and photographers there wasn’t much room for the tribe’s members. Some nevertheless managed to squeeze in, while others waited in the hallways and outside the Blue Building. The mood was jubilant, and when Wells stepped forward, there was a smattering of applause.
“Chairman,” he said, “esteemed council members, as you are aware, I represent the men and women of the National Energy Institute, which hopes to be allowed to examine the archeological find on Johnson’s Ridge and to preserve the find for future generations. In order to accomplish this, we are offering to pay the Mini Wakan Oyaté two hundred million dollars in exchange for the property.”
The crowd caught its collective breath. Applause began, but Walker quickly gaveled it down. Wells smiled, enjoying himself. He took out a letter and gazed at it. “I have, however, been directed by my superiors to inform you that some of our investors doubt that this is a wise use of their money, and they are threatening to pull out. The offer could be withdrawn at any time.” He crumpled the letter and pushed it back into his pocket. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, looking concerned, “take the money while you can. Unfortunately, once I walk out that door, anything might happen.”
The chairman nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Wells. The council appreciates your coming here this evening to speak with us.”
Wells bowed slightly and sat down.
“We have one other person on the agenda for this matter.” He looked to his right, where April and Max were seated with Arky. “Dr. Cannon?”
April looked like a world-beater. She wore a dark blue business suit and heels and the expression of someone who’d just found a cure for cancer. “Chairman,” she said, “and members of the council. Two hundred million dollars sounds like a lot of money—”
“It is a lot of money,” said a middle-aged woman up front.
“—but something happened today that changed the value of your property.” April paused. “The Roundhouse has a doorway. It’s a port to another world.”
The audience did not react, and Max realized that people did not understand what she was saying. Even the media representatives were waiting for more.
“This morning two of us walked into that building and walked out onto another world. This means that the Roundhouse contains the secret of instantaneous travel. There is a technology that would allow any of us to travel to Fargo, to Los Angeles, to China, in the blink of an eye.”
An electric charge rippled through the crowd. Flashbulbs went off, and cellular phones appeared.
Walker pounded his gavel.
In accordance with Arky’s advice, April described the land through the port as a place where the world felt young, a wilderness of virgin forests and starlit seas. “Moreover,” she said, “we think there are several ports. Perhaps to other forests. We don’t know yet. What we do know is that the Mini Wakan Oyaté have a bridge to the stars.
“Do not sell it for a few million dollars. Don’t sell it for a few billion. It’s worth far more.”
She sat down, and near pandemonium erupted. It was almost a full minute before the chairman could restore order. “We will now,” he said sternly, “hear comments from the floor.”
Andrea Hawk stood up to be recognized.
“I would like to remind the council that we are talking here about two hundred million dollars.
“I know April Cannon, and I am happy for her. This port she talks about, if it really exists, is of supreme importance. But that is in the future. The reality is that we have people suffering now. We can do a great deal for ourselves, and for our kids, with this kind of money. I implore the members of the council not to let it slip away.”
A tall man in a worn buckskin jacket told a story about a coyote who, by trying to grab too much, got nothing.
One by one they rose and related stories of children gone bad, of men and women ruined by drugs, of what it meant to be powerless in a rich society. Wells sat looking piously at the ceiling.
“The outside world,” said a man who looked ninety, “only knows we are here when they want something from us. However much they offer, they are trying to cheat us. Be careful.”
It was the most encouraging comment Max heard until Arky got up. “Tonight,” he said, “I am saddened at what I hear, and I worry for my people. Once again, the white man offers money, and we are quick to snatch it from him. We pay no heed to the nature of the bargain.
“The problems that you have described do not happen because we have no money. Rather, they happen because we have lost our heritage. We have forgotten who we are and what we might have been. I tell you, brothers and sisters, if we allow ourselves to be seduced again, it would be better for us if we never saw another sunrise.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. The journalists were holding up cassette recorders, aiming TV cameras, getting it all. Arky turned back to the council.
“We have been shown a new world. Maybe it’s time we stopped trying to live on pieces of land that the whites dole out. Maybe it’s time to do what our fathers would have done. Let us hold on to this forest world that April Cannon has found. Let us see if we cannot make it ours. That is the choice before you tonight: Take this man’s money, or live again as we were meant to live.”
After the council had filed out to deliberate, the media jumped April. While she answered questions, Max took Arky aside. “I don’t think you convinced the crowd,” he said.
The lawyer smiled. “I wasn’t trying to,” he said. “I was pointed in their direction, but I was talking to the old warriors.”
Devil’s Lake, ND, Mar. 15 (AP)—
The tribal council of the Devil’s Lake Sioux today turned down a two-hundred-million-dollar offer from a consortium of business interests to purchase the Johnson’s Ridge property on which a controversial excavation site is located. Their action is related to the alleged discovery of a “star bridge.” (See lead story, above.) Unrest among tribe members has been reported. Several mounted a demonstration here today, and police are bracing for more….
They made a second trip through the port and took some reluctant reporters along. That night the nation developed what Jay Leno dubbed “Roundhouse fever.” Pictures of the beach and the Horsehead Nebula and of people vanishing in a splash of golden light were on the front page of every newspaper and on every channel. As daylight moved around the globe, the Roundhouse and the wilderness world made headlines everywhere.
Security was beefed up. VIPs arrived, mostly by helicopter, from major universities, research facilities, state and federal agencies. Foreign dignitaries dropped in, and at one point a flustered Max was introduced to the French president. April put together a slide presentation, which highlighted Tom Lasker’s boat, results of the various tests of the material used to construct the boat and the Roundhouse, early stages of the excavation, and aerial views of Johnson’s Ridge at night.