Thunderbird by Jack McDevitt Page A

Walker arrived and strolled through the area, talking with everybody. There were a few other people Brad knew, Jim Stuyvesant of the
Fort Moxie News
, Ben Markey from WLMR-TV’s
Ben at Ten
, Mike Tower of the
Chicago Tribune
, and Andrea Hawk.
    He checked his watch. It had been twenty minutes since the Strike Team had left. That was probably enough time to get Boots into his pressure suit and transport him to the new world, and for him to report back. Then they’d send Keck back to the Roundhouse. He was rushing things, though. They’d probably want to look around somewhat on the new world before dispatching Harvey.
    One of the tables was covered with snacks and Cokes. He made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The room was beginning to grow noisy again. Everybody was on a cell phone. He bit into the sandwich, and his own phone sounded. Max’s voice: “Any word yet, Brad?”
    â€œNothing. We’re still waiting.”
    â€œOkay. Thanks. Let me know.”
    Eventually, Walker became impatient and decided to go find out what was happening. He approached the wall behind the grid and studied the icons. At that moment the grid lit up. The chairman stepped quickly away, and Harvey Keck’s outline appeared. A sense of anticipation spread through the room.
    When the light faded, Harvey looked around and waved at the crowd. Walker smiled and extended a hand. But Harvey shook his head no, and whispered something to the chairman. Walker’s features hardened. He turned to the reporters. “Everything’s okay,” the chairman said, raising his voice. “But we need a couple of minutes. We’ll get right back to you.” Then he was talking to Keck again.
    Keck replied, and Walker stared at him in confusion. Brad couldn’t hear any of the conversation. Suddenly Keck grasped the chairman’s right arm and pulled him onto the grid. Walker waved again to the audience in an obvious effort at reassurance, and pressed the arrow.
    The reporters hurled questions at them: “What are you doing?”
    â€œWhat’s going on, Mr. Chairman?”
    â€œIs there a problem?”
    â€œHarvey, is everybody—?”
    The luminous cloud appeared. Walker waved and smiled. “Everything’s okay.” Then they were engulfed by the light.
    Everybody in the crowd was back talking into a cell phone. Ben Markey shook his head. “Something’s wrong,” he was saying.
    One of the Sioux security people, a female, jumped onto the grid and pressed the arrow. “Everybody stay put. I’ll be back in a minute or two.”
    â€œGo, Paula,” said another of the security guys. Then, raising his voice: “Everybody just relax, please. We’ll have some answers in a minute.”
    It was more like seven or eight. Finally, Walker and April came back together. The crowd quieted and the chairman came forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, when we transported out on the Strike link, we arrived in a
city
. I say ‘we’ although the only people who actually made the crossover were Boots Coleman and April. April, do you want to describe what you saw?”
    â€œIt’s a high-tech place. Big, stretching as far as we could see. We saw some of the inhabitants. They almost looked human except that they were smaller than we are.”
    The reporters started shouting questions, so she stopped talking and waited for them to calm down.
    â€œWe were only there a few minutes,” she continued. “Inside a dark building. We saw a river, lights moving through the sky. Skyscrapers. Heard music from somewhere. Actually, we could see a park, and it looked as if there was a party going on. And that was enough. We left. Went back to Eden before one of them saw us.”
    The grid lit up again, and two of the scientists came back. They looked frustrated.

EIGHT
    Oft expectation fails and most oft there
    Where most it promises, and oft it hits
    Where hope is coldest