Jack McDevitt - Ancient Shores

“We’ll put a tent over it,” continued Charlie, “and install some heaters.”

Lasker made a face. “I don’t want a tent on my front lawn,” he said.

“We know that.” Charlie’s benign expression signified that everything was under control. “We wouldn’t do that to you, Tom. We thought it would look better over where you dug it up, anyhow.” His eyes suddenly clouded. “You haven’t filled in the hole, have you?”

“Sure I have. We filled it in the day we got the damned thing out of the ground.”

“That’s too bad,” said Floyd. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not? The hole was thirty feet deep. If somebody’d fallen in there, they would have got a terrible bruise.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” said Charlie. “Wish we’d thought of that right away.” He rapped his fingers against the table. “Anyway, we’ll put up the shelter. We know where we can get an old circus tent. Old, but in good shape. But don’t you worry, that’s only temporary.”

“What do you mean, temporary ?”

“The bottom line on this,” said Floyd, “is that we might have a permanent draw here if we play our cards right. We need to think about a museum.”

Lasker’s head was beginning to hurt.

“Well, not right away,” said Charlie. “Look, we’re going to do a publicity push. We’ll start charging an admission fee. You’ll get a cut, of course. And we’ll see how it goes.”

“Wait a minute. You can’t charge for this .”

“Why not?” Charlie was into his take-charge mode. “You want people to react seriously, you have to make them pay something. Not a lot. But something. I bet we’ll double the crowds the first week. We were thinking thirty percent for you; the rest goes to the town. Okay? It’ll all be pure profit for you. Cost you nothing.” He nodded at Floyd, and Floyd nodded back. “The city will pay for everything. Now, we’ve got a T-shirt design. Let me show you—”

His eyes found Floyd, and Floyd produced a folder. He opened it and pulled out several drawings. All featured the boat, in various aspects. But there were several legends. The Devil’s Boat , read one. And My Folks Visited Fort Moxie, ND, and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt . Another featured a map of the upper Red River, with the location of the “devil’s boat” site marked with an inset.

“What’s this ‘devil’s boat’ routine?” asked Lasker.

“It was Marge’s idea,” said Charlie. Marge Peterson was the town clerk. “Part of the public-relations initiative.”

“I think it’s a little overboard.”

“Listen,” said Charlie, “people love that kind of stuff. And this whole business does have a kind of Twilight Zone flavor. Right?”

“And it lights up, doesn’t it?” said Floyd. “You find the power source yet?”

Lasker shook his head.

“Good. No known power source. We need to push that, Charlie. And the markings. The markings are good.”

“Yeah.” Charlie reached for his coat. “Listen, enjoyed talking with you, Tom. We’ve already started the ball rolling on this thing. Couple of the boys’ll be out tomorrow to get it going. You just relax. You won’t have to do anything except sit back and watch the money roll in.”

They were up and headed for the door. “Oh, one more thing.” Charlie stopped, and Floyd almost collided with him. “A rest room. We’ll need a rest room.”

“No,” said Lasker.

“It’s okay. We’ll set something up outside. Put it back in the trees. Out of sight.”

They shook his hand, opened the door, and looked out. There were maybe twenty visitors, and two more cars were pulling up. “See what I mean?” Charlie said.

April held the packet where the light from the window could shine through it. “What we have here,” she said, “are a few fibers taken from the mooring lanyards. The fibers are wood . They’re from spruce trees.” She passed it over.

Max squinted at the samples. “What does that tell us? There aren’t any spruce trees around here.”

“Not anymore. But there used to be. At one time they were quite common, as a matter of fact.”

“When?”

“When the lake was here.”

They were in a steakhouse. Max listened to the murmur of conversation, the clink of silverware. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Max’s insides churned. A waitress arrived, and he settled for a Caesar salad rather than the club sandwich he’d been planning. “So what we’re saying is that we’ve got a ten-thousand-year-old boat up there?”

April squirmed. “I’d rather not jump to conclusions, Max. Let’s just stick with the facts for now. One, the boat will not rot, rust, or decay over extremely long periods of time. Two, the lanyards that are in the Lasker barn were once tied up to a piece of wood that was cut from a spruce tree. The tree that the wood fibers came from was alive ten thousand years ago.”

“But the boat,” said Max, “is new .”

“The boat will always look new, Max. You could put it back in the ground and dig it up to celebrate your sixtieth birthday, and it would look exactly as it does today.”

“That doesn’t sound possible.”

April nodded. “I know. Look, it’s outside our experience. But that doesn’t make it irrational.” Her voice dropped. “I’m not sure what kind of alternative explanation might fit the facts. The age of the wood fibers is not in dispute. Neither is the composition of the original samples. I think somebody was here. A long time ago somebody with advanced technology went sailing on Lake Agassiz. They tied up at least once to a tree or a pier.”

“So who was it?” asked Max. “Are we talking UFOs? Or what?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a question worth asking.”

Diet Cokes came. Max took a pull at his while he tried to get his thoughts in order. “It doesn’t make much sense,” he said. “Assume for a minute you’re right. Where does that leave us? With the notion that people came here from another world to go sailing ? I mean, are we seriously suggesting that?”

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility. Try looking at the big picture, Max. And I mean big . How many water lakes are there, I wonder, within a radius of, say, twenty light-years? Agassiz might have looked pretty good to a load of tourists.” She smiled. “Look, let’s stay away from the speculation and concentrate on what we know. What we know is that we have an artificial element that’s unique in the world.”

“How do we know that?” asked Max.

“I guarantee it.”

“ You guarantee it. April, I hate to say this, but a couple of days ago I wouldn’t have known who you were. No offense, but maybe you’re wrong.”

“Maybe I am. In the meantime, Max, consider this: If I do know what I’m talking about, the boat is literally beyond value.” She realized she was getting too loud; she leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Look. You’d like a second opinion. I know we don’t need one. Get a second opinion, and we get a second chemist. I’d just as soon keep this as exclusive as we can. We are sitting on a monumental discovery, and we are all going to be on the cover of Time . You. Me. The Laskers.” Her dark eyes filled with excitement. “There’s another reason to keep this close for the time being.”

“What’s that?” asked Max.

“There might be something else out there.”

Lisa Yarborough had launched her professional career as a physics teacher in a private school near Alexandria, Virginia. But she had been (and still was) an inordinately striking woman who just flat-out enjoyed sex. While she discussed energy and resistance by daylight, she demonstrated after dark a great deal of the former and hardly any of the latter.