Jack McDevitt - Ancient Shores

If the delegates in attendance at the United Nations had found all the talk about other worlds and dimensional intersections confusing and largely irrelevant to real-world politics (they perceived themselves as, if nothing else, hardheaded realists), they did understand oil.

Brazil was scheduled for opening remarks on the trade policy initiative. But everyone in the building knew where the conversation was going that morning.

The Brazilian minister was a portly woman with black hair and a thick neck and quick eyes. “The question before us today,” she said, “goes far beyond the issue of tariffs. We are looking at a new world, located in some curious way beyond, but not in , the United States. We do not have any details about this world. We don’t know how extensive it is or how hospitable it may be. So far, it appears to be very hospitable.” She looked directly across the chamber at the U.S. delegation. “Brazil wishes to submit to the members the proposition that this discovery is of such supreme importance to everyone that no single nation should claim sovereignty over it. The port should be open to all mankind.” The minister paused here to listen to a comment from an aide, nodded, and sipped her glass of water.

“Brazil is confident that the United States, which has always been at the forefront in arguing for human rights, will recognize the essential human right to explore and ultimately occupy this strange new place. We urge the United States to declare itself accordingly.”

Margaret Yakata could never have been a serious presidential candidate. While the country might be willing to accept a woman in the highest office, it was not yet ready for one of Japanese ancestry. And so Yakata had put away her own ambitions, which had taken her to the governor’s mansion in Sacramento, and used her considerable political influence to get the vice presidency for Matt Taylor.

Taylor had shown his appreciation by sending her to the United Nations, where she was respected as a champion of global cooperation on environmental matters. She had also shown herself to be a staunch advocate of collective security by supporting fledgling democracies wherever they arose. “Democracies,” she was fond of telling representatives of police states, “are the supreme hope for peace on this planet, because they do not make war on one another.”

Now she sat in her office at the UN, watching the Brazilian delegate on one screen and the president’s reaction on another. Someone handed the president a note. He read it without noticeable change of expression and then looked directly at her. “Iran,” he said, “is going to demand that Johnson’s Ridge be inspected by the UN and placed under international mandate.”

“They’ll get a lot of support,” said Yakata.

“I know. It’s a new stick to beat us with.” An expression of pain crept into his face.

“Mr. President,” she said, “a lot of people are scared about Johnson’s Ridge. Even the Brits are jumpy. They’re telling me they’ll vote with us if we can guarantee it’ll go away. Otherwise they’re reserving their options.”

“You heard about the oil?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“What do you think?”

“Considering what else may be coming out of there, I think it’s trivial. But it’s got everyone here thinking about natural resources. Is there gold over there, too? Uranium? Where does it end? Incidentally, I understand the Palestinians are going to demand land in Eden.” She grinned. “They’ll be supported by the Israelis.”

“This is a nightmare ,” said Taylor.

“The Japanese want the Roundhouse handed over to the UN and destroyed. They say the port technology will destroy the global economy.”

“They won’t be alone,” said Taylor. “The whole world is terrified of discovering that it could get a whole lot smaller. Overnight.”

Yakata sighed. “Exactly how difficult would it be to reproduce the port technology, Mr. President?”

“We haven’t been able to get a good look at it yet, Margaret. But my people tell me that anything we can get a working model of, we can duplicate.”

“That’s what I thought. Mr. President, you’d know more about this than I do, but in my opinion the people who have been raising security concerns have a point.” She considered what she was about to say and did not like it. She was not among those who had lost faith in technology or in the human race itself. And yet…“Matt,” she said, “do you want a suggestion?”

He nodded.

“Kill the damned thing. Kill it dead. Arrange an accident. Discover that it has stopped working. Do something to put it out of business. Then, when it’s done, invite the UN to come have a look, so there won’t be any question about the identity of the body.”

Arky’s fax was pumping out paper on a full-time basis. Sonny’s Barbecue, Hooters, International House of Pancakes, Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Steak ‘n’ Ale, and a dozen other chains wanted to put restaurants on Johnson’s Ridge. Sheraton, Hyatt, Holiday Inn, and Best Western had all submitted bids to build hotels. Albright REIT wanted to construct a shopping mall, and five oil companies were asking to install gas stations on the approach.

Some corporations were thinking about operations on the other side of the port. Lumber companies wanted to survey Eden’s forests. Real-estate developers thought that the beach beneath the Horsehead needed a boardwalk and hot-dog stands. Requests for oil surveys were coming in already.

A group calling itself Kurds for a Better World had sent an application for land, informing Max that they hoped to send sixty thousand people to establish an independent colony in Eden. Representatives of displaced peoples from around the globe were making statements to journalists that implied there’d be more requests of the same nature. A Poor People’s Crusade was forming in Washington and issuing demands.

“Maybe they’re right,” said April. “Maybe we should open it up and let everybody use it. What’s the harm?”

Arky frowned. “What happens if we try to settle and the owners show up?”

“I don’t think there are any owners,” said Max. “I wouldn’t want to put anybody in the Maze, but I think Eden is empty.”

Arky’s eyes flashed. “Maybe the owners like it empty. I would.”

“And that’s the real reason,” said Max, “isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You don’t want anybody using the land except your own people.”

Arky started to deny the charge but only shrugged. “No one else will treat it appropriately,” he said. “Turn it over to any of these other groups, and within a few years you’ll have something that looks like downtown Fargo. At best.” He was looking past Max, focusing on some distant place. “This is a new wilderness. We allowed strangers to settle our lands once before. I don’t think we are going to make that mistake again.”

“We’re concerned about the port.” Jason Fleury peered at Walker through horn-rimmed trifocals. There was something vaguely unkempt about the man, a quality which contributed to an overall sense of self-effacing honesty. Not at all what the chairman had expected in a presidential representative. “Chairman,” he said, “I’m sure you understand that what you have here is of such significance that it has become, in effect, a national resource. Are you familiar with what has been happening at the UN?”

“I am. People there are arguing that the Roundhouse belongs to the world.”

“And what is your reaction?”

“It is the property of the Mini Wakan Oyaté.”

Fleury nodded sympathetically. “I know,” he said. “I think I understand. But there are political realities involved. Tomorrow the United Nations will debate a motion that the U.S. be requested to declare Johnson’s Ridge an international facility. Under ordinary circumstances, the idea would be laughable. But the Roundhouse is a unique global problem. People are terrified of what will happen if its technologies become generally available. Some regional economies are already in a shambles. For example, the auto parts industry in Morocco has collapsed. The price of oil has fallen through the floor, and clothing industries in every major western country are dying. Dying , Chairman.” He dropped wearily back in his chair. “I don’t have to tell you what’s been happening to the stock market. Gold is way up, several major western banks have collapsed, capital investment everywhere is paralyzed. North Korea is threatening to nuke South Korea unless it gets access to the Roundhouse. We’re in a pressure cooker, sir. And something is going to have to give.”