Jack McDevitt: Ancient Shores

“The real question,” Sagan said later, when it had grown cool and they’d all moved close to the fire, “is, where do we go from here?”

“How do you mean?” asked April.

“I think he means,” said Wilbur, “that the government has a point. And I believe he’s right.”

“I agree,” said Schirra. “If we exploit the Roundhouse, we move completely outside human experience. For one thing, we’re going to have to have a whole new type of economy. Wouldn’t you say, Harry?”

Markowitz nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said. “But we can prepare for it. Adapt to it.” He smiled and pointed out to sea. “The future lies that way.”

“We,” said Hawking, speaking through his electronics, “have incurred a responsibility. After all, we took it upon ourselves to make a decision today. I don’t see how we can back away now.”

The air moved. The long shoreline curved beneath the stars.

“But there are risks,” said Walker.

Curran nodded. “The risks are proportionately high, as are the fears.” He grinned. “We may have a lot to answer for.”

“We have nothing to fear,” said Schramm.

“Stephen is right,” Schlesinger said. “We’re looking at a new world. New worlds are always hard on old ideas.”

Benford opened a box of marshmallows, stuck one on the end of a stick, and put it over the flame. “Are we saying that we should lead the charge?”

“I think you have to,” said Max.

Several faces turned in his direction. They looked, he thought, not uncomfortable with the prospect. LeGuin poked at the fire. It crackled, and a cloud of sparks rose into the night. “It seems arrogant,” she said.

Schramm opened two beers and passed one to Benford. “Of course it is. But I think we might need a little arrogance here.”

“We might not be around to help,” said Curran. “I’m not sure yet, but I think we committed a federal offense out there last night.”

Sagan smiled. “I don’t think we need worry. Matt Taylor’s going to need all the help he can get.”

“Yeah,” said April. “I’d really like to help the President. He almost got us killed.”

“He was in a box,” said Schlesinger. “Right now everyone in the world may be in a box, and we’ve helped put them there.”

“I agree,” said Hawking. “And I think we should begin to consider how to get them out.”

Benford nodded. “For a start, we need some positive PR.”

“Precisely,” said the chairman, who had seen a demonstration that day of the power of public relations.

“Maybe a TV show,” said April. “Let people know what this place really is. What it can mean.”

“And what the risks are,” suggested Carpenter. “We need to be honest. Speaking of which—” He looked at Walker. “What about the Sioux? Are you willing to help?”

All eyes turned toward the tribal chairman. “I think we will insist that this world not be turned into a second North America. And we will control the use of the port to that end. Beyond that, yes, we will be proud to help.”

The Horsehead Nebula was in the northern sky, out over the sea. The illusion that it was an approaching storm was very strong.

“We’ll have our hands full,” said Schirra.

They looked at the stars, listened to the wind coming off the sea, felt the warmth of the fire on their faces. “I wish we could all have made it,” said LeGuin.

Wilbur nodded. His eyes were lost in shadow. “I have Asquith’s notes on this project.”

“Enough to publish?” asked Hawking.

“Oh, yes.” Wilbur reached behind him for a jacket and pulled it around his shoulders. “And it’s pretty good stuff. Maybe, in the end, he’ll outlive us all.”

April Cannon watched her duffel bag disappear in a blaze of light. Her seven companions (one of whom was her retired boss, Harvey Keck) were making last-minute checks of equipment.

She turned to Max. “You’re sure you don’t want to come?” She was lovely in the green-tinged light.

“No,” he said. “I don’t like surprises, and I think you’re going to find a lot of them out there.”

She touched his arm. “We’ll be careful.”

They were planning on exploring the links to the Eden terminus. The expedition had an ample supply of food and water. They carried pressure suits and oxygen masks and contamination test kits and spare parts and a wide array of sensing equipment. If everything went well, they would be back in two weeks with a wealth of detail about the worlds beyond Eden. (For the time being, at least, the Maze was being left alone.)

“Max,” she asked, “what are you going to do? Buy an island in the Bahamas and retire?”

He grinned. “I’m going to try to track down our visitor.”

She shivered. “It seems to be gone now,” she said. “I’d let it be.”

“I think we have an obligation to try to find it.”

“An obligation to whom?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe to the creature. I have a certain fondness for it.”

“It might be dangerous.”

“Maybe. But we know it has a sense of humor. And it rescues kids. I’d like very much to talk with it.”

Harvey signaled her. Ready to go.

“Be careful, Max,” she said.

“Sure.” He was having a little trouble with his voice. “You too. Come back, okay?”

“Count on it.” She moved suddenly, unexpectedly, into his arms, warm and yielding, and turned her face up. He kissed her, long and deep and wet.

Lake Agassiz existed. I’ve taken a liberty or two with the shoreline, but other than that I’ve tried not to assault the facts unduly. Anyone who cares to may fly over the western limits of the valley of the Red River of the North, up near the Canadian border, and the ancient coast will be quite visible.

“Lightnings in the Sky,” in Chapter 2, is quoted from P-38 Lightning in Action , by Larry Davis. Reprinted courtesy of Squadron/Signal Publications.

Native-American poetry epigraphs are from American Poetry Volume Two: Melville to Stickney, American Indian Poetry, Folk Songs and Spirituals (New York: Library of America, 1993); George Copway, Life, History, and Travels of Kah-Ge-Ga-Gah-Bowh (1847) (Chapter 25); John Mason Browne, “Indian Medicine,” Atlantic Monthly (1866) (Chapter 26); Fannie Reed Giffen, Oo-Mah-Ha-Ta-Wa-Tha (1898) (Chapter 29); Don D. Fowler and Catherine S. Fowler, eds., Anthropology of the Numa: John Wesley Powell’s Manuscripts on the Numic Peoples of Western North America, 1868—1880 (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1971) (Chapter 33).

Excerpt from “Sonnet III,” George Santayana, The Complete Poems of George Santayana (Bucknell University Press, 1979) (Chapter 22). Reprinted by permission.

I would like to express special appreciation to those who graciously allowed their fictional alter egos to be flown into a desperate situation during the closing chapters. Also, I am indebted to Galen Hall and Brian Cole for their comments on an early version of the manuscript; to Major Jim Clark, U.S. Air Force (retired), and John Goff, for technical advice; to Lorna Sharp, at the Devil’s Lake Sioux reservation in North Dakota; to Christopher Schelling at HarperCollins, and Sue Warga for editorial assistance; to my wife and in-house editor, Maureen, who maintains a sense of humor about it all. And to Jim Karas, who first called Lake Agassiz to my attention.