“I think,” said Max, “he’s right. It’s time for us to clear out.”
April stood hesitating, dismayed. Terrified. “No,” she said. “I don’t think it is.”
Max’s heart sank.
“I’m not going,” she said. “I’m not going to let it happen.”
Brian Kautter was the commissioner of the Environmental Protection Agency. At eight-thirty, tracked by TV cameras, he walked into the agency’s press room. There was more tension in the air and more reporters present than he had ever seen. That meant there had been a leak.
Kautter was a tall, congenial African-American. He hated what was happening right now, and he resented being part of it. He saw the necessity of the president’s action. But he knew this was one of those events that would dog him through the years. He suspected a time would come, and very soon, when he would wish with all his heart for the capability to come back and relive these next few minutes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I have an announcement to make, after which I will be happy to take questions. We have become increasingly concerned with the dangers inherent in the Roundhouse. Your government, as you know, has taken no official position on whether there actually is a bridge to the stars. But enough evidence is in to allow us to conclude that the land on the other side is most certainly not terrestrial.
“That brings up a number of disquieting possibilities. There are already stories that something has passed into our world. We do not know what this something might be, nor do we believe there is any truth to the account. But we cannot rule it out. Nor can we be certain that such an event might not happen in the future. There are other potential hazards. Viruses, for example. Or contaminants.
“In order to ensure the general public’s safety, EPA has requested and received a court order requiring the owners of the artifact to submit it to government inspection and control. I repeat, this is only a temporary measure and is designed purely to avert local hazards.” Kautter looked like a man in pain. “I’ll take questions now.”
Maris Quimby from the Post: “Mr. Commissioner, have the Sioux agreed to this arrangement?”
Kautter shook his head. “Maris, a federal court order does not require anyone’s consent. But to answer your question, I’m sure they’ll see the wisdom of the action.” He pointed at Hank Miller, from Fox.
“Isn’t it a little late to worry about bugs? I mean, if there’s anything dangerous over there, we can be reasonably sure that by now it’s over here.”
“We don’t think there’s any real reason to worry, Hank. Our action in this regard is purely precautionary.”
When he was finished, he went back upstairs to his office and opened the bottle of rum he kept stashed in his supply cabinet.
30
Courage is worth nothing if the gods do not help.
—Euripides, The Suppliant Women
This is an NBC News flash.
U.S. Marshals have sealed off Johnson’s Ridge tonight, apparently preparing to seize the property. A group of Native Americans has announced they will not obey a federal court order to leave. We take you first to Michael Pateman at the White House, and then to Carole Jensen at the Sioux reservation near Devil’s Lake, North Dakota.
Jensen was set up inside the tribal chambers in the Blue Building, where she had cornered William Hawk. National coverage. When you worked for the ten o’clock news in Fargo, this was the moment you lived for. She smiled at Hawk and got no reaction.
“One minute,” said her cameraman, adjusting his focus.
“Just be natural, Councilman,” she said. “We’ll start when the red light goes on.”
“Okay.” He wore a cowhide vest, a flannel shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. She guessed he was about sixty, although his face was deeply lined.
The producer again, from Fargo: “Same routine as usual, Carole. Just like you’d do it for us. Except adjust the tag line.”
“Okay,” she said.
They were seconds away. The cameraman gave her five fingers, counted down, and the red lamp blinked on.
“This is Carole Jensen,” she said, “in the tribal chambers at the Devil’s Lake Sioux Reservation. With me tonight is Councilman William Hawk, one of the Sioux leaders. Councilman Hawk, I understand you saw the EPA press conference earlier this evening?”
“Yes, I did, Carole.” His jaw was set, but she could see pain in his eyes. She hoped it translated to the screen. Tragic nobility here.
“How do you respond to Commissioner Kautter’s remarks?”
“The commissioner should be aware there is no danger to anyone. No one has seen anything come through the port. And I’m sure nobody out there takes seriously the story of an invisible man. Or whatever.”
“Councilman, what will you do?”
His expression hardened. “We will not let them steal our land. It belongs to us, and we will defend it.”
“Does that mean by force?”
“If necessary. I hope it will not come to that.”
“You told me earlier that your daughter is on the ridge.”
“That is correct.”
“Will you bring her home?”
“She will stay with her brothers to defend her heritage.” His leathery face was defiant.
“We don’t need you,” said Adam. “You and Max should get out now, while you can.”
“He’s right,” said Max. “We have no business here.”
April looked at him sadly. “I think everybody has business here. We’re too goddamn stupid or lazy or whatever to tackle the job of educating people, so instead we’ll destroy the Roundhouse. It just makes me furious. I’m not going anywhere. My place is here—”
“Can you shoot?” interrupted Adam. “Will you shoot?”
“No,” she said. “I won’t kill anybody. But I’ll be here anyhow.” She knew how disjointed and weak that sounded, and tears came.
“You’ll only be in the way.”
“If you want me out of here,” she told Adam, “you’ll have to throw me over the side.”
Max threw up his hands.
He was trying to begin the complex action of disengaging and heading for his car. Sometimes, he thought, it takes more guts to run than to stay. But he had no intention of throwing his life away for a lost cause. He was still thinking how best to manage it when Andrea joined them.
“There might be another way,” she told Adam. “We could threaten to destroy the port. Take it from them.”
“That’s no good,” he said. “That’s precisely what they want.”
“Maybe not,” said Max. “There’ll be a lot of media attention here tonight. It would be a public-relations nightmare for the administration.”
“It’s a public-relations nightmare,” said Adam, “only if we can broadcast the threat. We have no capability to do that.”
“You mean the Snowhawk is off the air?”
“Yes, she is,” said Andrea. “But I think it would put a lot of pressure on them to stay clear if we could find a way to get to the media.”
“No.” April’s voice took on steel. “You can’t threaten the port. The whole point of staying here is to protect the place.”
“We don’t actually have to destroy anything. It’s a bluff,” Andrea said.
“And that’s exactly how they’ll read it,” said Adam. “They would have to call us on it.” Lights were moving on the access road. “They’d have to.”
A phone rang. They looked at one another. It was coming from the control module. “I thought,” said Max, “the phones were dead.”
They had been standing at the rim of the cut in which the Roundhouse rested. “That’ll be an official call,” said April.
It was Max’s phone. April picked it up, listened, nodded. “Yes,” she said, “he’s here.” She handed it to Max.