33
Our song will enter
That distant land….
—Southern Paiute poem
They spent the evening camped on the other side of the port, along the shore of the unnamed sea. Sagan and Schramm lay with their heads propped on backpacks looking up at strange constellations; Carpenter, Wilbur, Hawking, Benford, and Schirra sat by a dying fire, talking little, listening to the murmur of the tide, feeling, perhaps, what people have always felt when they’ve been washed up on an unknown coast. LeGuin, Curran, and Walker had tossed off their shoes and walked out into the water, where they wondered what lay on the other side. Schlesinger, Gould, and Markowitz were comparing notes with April on the transportation system that had brought them here, and what its adaptation to local use might mean. “The end of the city,” said Markowitz.
Gould was not so sure. “Cities have a social utility, if only as places to get away from,” he suggested.
Max stood off to one side, intimidated, until April noticed and handed him a Coke, bringing him within the circle of friends. “I don’t know whether we thanked you,” she said. “None of this would have happened without you.”
Markowitz laughed and put an arm around him. “Yes, Max,” he said. “Like it or not, you got us here. Whatever happens from this point on, you are responsible.”
“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.”