Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

“Wait a minute—”

“Probably, it would be best not to say anything to anybody. You know how people are. And by the way, there is a reason I picked you. Other than simply because you happen to come out here.”

That felt better. “What was it?”

“ The telescope. I like people who want to see what’s really out there. Beyond the horizon. You know what I mean?”

“Listen. Traveler. Will I see you again? I mean, talk to you again? Do you live here?”

The river gurgled against the inshore rocks. “I’ve been using this as a base. Yes. Sure. Stop by again. Anytime.”

Arnold was on his feet now. “One more thing?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know what to call you. Do you have a name?”

“We don’t use names.”

“I’ve got to have something to call you.”

“Make one up.”

“I’ll stay with Traveler.”

“That would be nice. I like that.”

“Will you be here when I come back?”

“Can’t promise. But I usually return about this time.”

Arnold looked at the tallest tree in the area, the American elm which had served in the demonstration. He felt as if he were talking to it: “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“And I, you. Goodnight, Arnold.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

A warm breeze swirled around him, then dashed across the river. A burst of foam leaped high.

Arnold charged back through the trees and ran south on Fifth Street, full of exuberance. First thing was to find someone to tell. Arch Johnson was out on his front porch, and Sally and Ed Morgan were hauling firewood back to their shed. Amos Sigursen was bent under the hood of his pickup. He wanted to go to each of them and clap his hands on their shoulders and say Hey, I’ve just talked with a visitor from another world; It’s up in the wind screen, but each time he visualized the reaction, knew they would squint at him and joke around, or maybe just squint. He thought about going up and pounding on Floyd’s door, tell him what he’d seen. But Floyd was too much of a no-nonsense type, and he wouldn’t believe a word of it unless the Traveler was with him, and willing to maybe poke Floyd in the eye.

So he arrived home, with the secret of the ages still securely tucked inside his sweatshirt. He went through the back entrance, climbed to the second floor, and threw himself across his bed within reach of the phone.

But there wasn’t even anyone to call. Arnold didn’t have much of a family. Just a couple of uncles and aunts who already thought he was deranged because he had never left his remote border town. And on that evening, flushed with the joy of his discovery, he realized that he knew no one with whom he could share a significant experience. The most satisfying outcome he could think of would be to drag Floyd out to the wind screen, and show him how wrong he had been. And that was pathetic.

He showered, sat down at his rolltop desk, and pulled out a legal pad. He wrote out everything he could remember about his conversation with the wind creature. He recorded not only the text of their conversation, but his impressions of the size of the thing (larger than the biggest elm), the suggestion of movement among the trees, and his estimates as to temperature and wind direction. I’ll write a book on this one day, he told himself. And he wanted to be prepared right from the start.

There were also questions that needed to be answered. Where are you from? What do you think of the human race? What kind of anatomy do you have? How do your senses work? He recorded them more or less as they occurred to him, filling pages, and stacking the pages in a neat pile.

It finally grew dark. Fort Moxie was on the western edge of the Central Time Zone. The sun stayed quite late in the evening sky. He sat by his window, looking toward the wind screen, not able to see it except as a deeper darkness toward the north. And he wondered whether the Traveler was up there now, moving among the trees, watching what was happening in Fort Moxie. But what would be the point of that? Nothing ever really happened in Fort Moxie. Of what possible interest could the small border town be to an entity from another world?

The night was filled with stars. Although he could not see it from his rear window, a new moon ruled the sky. The town lay quiet beneath its scattering of streetlights. It pleased him to think of Fort Moxie as a place where history had been made. He wondered whether its name might one day become synonymous with a new age. The Fort Moxie Event.

Arnold never drank alone. In fact, he rarely drank at all. Weight was not a problem for him, yet, but he knew it would be if he indulged his taste for cold beer in any regular fashion. But tonight was an exception. It deserved recognition, it needed a marker, something to remember years from now.

He did not keep beer in the refrigerator, but he had brandy. He didn’t like brandy, but it had been a birthday present from the guys at the Elks. He pulled the bottle out of the cabinet where he kept his pots, popped the cork, and put a little bit into a glass. He stood beside his telescope, rubbed its gray-green barrel with satisfaction, and raised the glass in the general direction of the wind screen. Here’s to you, Traveler. And to the future.

Tomorrow, he would find a way to talk the creature into submitting to a TV interview.

Arnold woke in his armchair. The recollections of the previous day’s events flooded back. Not a dream. A cup of cold coffee stood on a side table. It’s really out there.

And it’s friendly. And talkative.

He went back into his bedroom and looked out the window. The wind screen was hazy and unreal in the gray light.

He showered and dressed and ate breakfast with enthusiasm. This would be a day to really move the hardware. By God, he felt good, and, at nine o’clock sharp, he threw the doors of the Lock ‘n’ Bolt open to the world. It would never have occurred to Arnold to leave the store closed for the day, to return to the site of The Encounter , and savor the moment. The Lock ‘n’ Bolt was nothing if not reliable. He prided himself on the principle that no local catastrophe had ever forced him to close down during business hours. He had ridden out the Flood of ’07, the blizzards of ’11 and ’14, the great Christmas storm of ’91, and even the ’02 tornado. Didn’t matter. Whatever happened in the cosmic order, Fort Moxie could be certain the Lock ‘n’ Bolt would open promptly at nine. Order and continuity were what made the American people great.

During the course of the day, he waited on the usual number of customers, experienced a run on mallets (folks were changing over from screens to windows), showed Ep Colley what was wrong with his lawn mower, advised Myra Schjenholde how to install her paneling. Tom Pratkowski bought one of the new Super Convex snowblowers, and there was some movement in block heaters. These people were all his friends and neighbors, and Arnold wanted to take them aside, was dying to grab them by the collar, and tell them what was happening. But Ep would never have understood about extraterrestrials. Ep wasn’t entirely sure where Jupiter was. And Myra was far too absorbed in visualizing how her new living room was going to look to care about a voice in the wind screen. And so it went. Arnold needed a kindred soul for an announcement of this magnitude. And the day dragged on while he looked for one.

When Dean came in, he finished up his paper work, made a quick run to a supplier over in Hallock for some rakes, and got back just before five. They locked the store, and Arnold wasted no time changing into his jogging gear. He picked up the questions he’d written out the night before and stuffed them into a sleeve. Today he was ready. And when he came back this evening, he would have some answers. And, he hoped, he would have persuaded the Traveler to hold a press conference.