The Devil's Eye Read online

  “The explosion released bursts of gamma rays. These have been sprayed in all directions, and, unfortunately, we now know that one of them is headed our way.

  “What does this mean for Salud Afar? The situation is not good, but we can take action to protect ourselves. For one thing, it is still three years away. For another, our atmosphere will act as a shield to ward off the worst of the effects. Nevertheless, there will be some penetration.

  “We are working to secure assistance from the Confederacy. We’ve been constructing shelters against the possibility of a war with the Ashiyyur. These shelters will be used to protect us when the gamma rays arrive. But in fact a simple basement will suffice. The burst will require slightly more than three days to pass. We have already begun storing supplies against that time.

  “In addition, we will evacuate many of our citizens, and we are working to find other solutions.

  “Now, I must be honest with you. When the burst has passed, we will not be able simply to return to the land. It will probably not be possible, for many years, to do any farming. To compensate, we will be expanding our synthetic food capabilities. We are taking other steps as well to protect ourselves. But our greatest need at the moment is for everyone to remain calm. If we see this through together, if we unite in the cause of our common safety, we have nothing to fear.”

  Kilgore continued another three or four minutes in that vein. He announced the formation of a global executive committee to oversee what he called global security strategy. (That sounded as if the Thunderbolt were merely something to be gotten through. A severe storm, perhaps, or an incursion by foreign spies.) He promised to report regularly on what the committee was doing, and told us that while it wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that the people of the world would rise to the occasion. “Let us then go forward together. Let our response in the trying days ahead become our legacy to our sons and daughters. And if Salud Afar endures for a million years, they will say this was her finest hour.”

  Then he was gone.

  “You know,” said Alex, “the guy read the book after all.”

  “Which book?”

  He looked at me and shook his head. “Let it go, Chase.”

  I was due at Global to do my interview with Peifer. When I went up to the roof to get a taxi, a small crowd had gathered, and they were talking in hushed voices about the end of the world. “The Administrator said it’s going to happen.”

  “That can’t be right. What the hell’s he know?”

  “—Never got it straight before—”

  “—All going to die—”

  “—Crazy—”

  “—We’re going to my cousin’s. Voka’s. He’s in a safe place away from here—”

  Down in the street it sounded as if people were yelling at one another.

  Twenty minutes later I arrived at Global. It’s a ground-level pad, and the same thing was happening. Everybody was scared, and nobody was talking about anything else.

  Peifer was waiting for me in the executive offices. Staff members were running around, peering into displays, talking into their links.

  “Looks busy,” I said.

  “You kidding? This is the biggest story ever. Why the hell didn’t you and Alex tell me what you were onto?”

  “We didn’t know. I didn’t know until I looked up and saw that empty sky.”

  “Empty sky? What empty sky?

  “From the asteroid.”

  He escorted me to his office. Somebody came in and took pictures. Lots of pictures. Most of them had me standing, looking up at the Lantner monument and the sky beyond. “You know,” he said, “when the critical information comes from looking up and seeing nothing, it really doesn’t work well for pictures.”

  “I’ll try to do better next time, Rob.”

  “You should have brought Alex along,” he said.

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “I didn’t know we were looking at anything like this. I thought it was about corruption. I thought the bastards knew a major downturn was coming, and they were in collusion with—” He stopped and stared at me. “Never mind. I’ve got a few questions for you.”

  “What kind of reaction is the Administrator getting?”

  “Right now,” he said, “they want to hang him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “He deserves what he gets. He stood by and let his friends run things. As long as you were loyal to the bastard, you couldn’t do anything wrong. Anyhow, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was privy to it from the beginning.”

  Somebody knocked on the door. He said, “Come in.”

  A middle-aged woman, looking frazzled. “Rob,” she said, “check the stream.”

  Peifer turned on the HV. It was tuned to Global. We got pictures of a riot in a time zone on the far side of the planet. “—And several hundred arrested.” The voice was a baritone. “It started in midafternoon, more than an hour before the Administrator spoke. So far, there are seventeen known dead, and forty or fifty known injured, John.”

  Peifer brought up the location. It was Baranda, a place I’d never heard of before. “No big deal,” he said. “People there are always rioting about something.”

  They went back and showed a recorded clip of a man throwing a child from a rooftop ten or eleven stories high. Then jumping himself.

  And there was a report that the Coalition Data Collection Agency was overwhelmed with protests.

  Around the world, action committees were already forming, prayer meetings were being scheduled, and politicians in the Administrator’s opposition party began to argue that either Kilgore had been negligent or we were overreacting. “Well,” Peifer said, “it looks as if you and your partner have had an impact.”

  When it was over, I headed for the spaceport, where Alex had said he would wait. I’d expected an angry crowd, but the place was, if anything, deserted. Alex was waiting in the departure area.

  The shuttle, though, was full. A woman on the flight told me she and her family were leaving the next day for Toxicon. “We got our tickets weeks ago. It was going to be a vacation. I think we were lucky.”

  Two families were leaving on one of the tour ships. For Rimway.

  “Thank God we have Belle,” I told Alex. “I wouldn’t want to be trying to go anywhere on public transportation.”

  Alex was looking out as we passed through the cloud cover. “I guess bad news is always good for somebody. Your buddy Ivan will make a fortune.”

  “Starlight Tours will.”

  We watched the newscasts during the ascent. They were filled with reports of people talking about leaving Salud Afar, of scientists disputing the government’s claims, and of political commentators demanding that Kilgore be removed from office. Others maintained it was a conspiracy to drive prices down and allow some wealthy individuals to expand their holdings. Or to allow Kilgore to establish dictatorial powers. Some people said they didn’t give a damn what was coming, nobody was going to chase them out of their homes.

  Angry editorials were showing up: The explosion happened 1200 years ago, and we’re just finding out about it now?

  And: Kilgore may have known.

  And: Time to build space arks.

  Only Star in the Sky, and Nobody Noticed.

  Time for New Leadership.

  Celebrities and politicians were pleading for unity. This was a time to put aside our differences and work together to achieve the best outcome, whatever that might be. There were calls for worldwide prayer, and the various religions that, Peifer had told me, had always been at one another’s throats, suddenly found themselves with a common cause.

  Somebody was starting a Kids Off-world Campaign. They were arguing that all available space on departing vehicles be made available to children. They are the future. Anyone with the means to leave Salud Afar on his own was urged to volunteer help. Take some children with you.

  Save the kids.

  Number 17 Parkway announced that the Administrator would
speak again that night and would outline a plan of action.

  There was a sense of unreality about it all. Despite the frenzied activity, I doubted if the reality of the situation had taken hold. People seemed to be reacting as if a bad storm were coming. The question became how best to get through it. We were not yet on the Korinbladt, the crippled liner that had, only the year before, gotten dragged into a sun along with its more than seven hundred well-done passengers.

  I looked down through drifting white clouds at a lush green landscape, filled with trees and bushes and rolling hills. And I could not believe this entire world was going to be irradiated in three years. That it would become uninhabitable for decades or more.

  I couldn’t help sympathizing with Kilgore, who had to face the reality that his lack of curiosity was going to cost a world full of lives. But I wondered how he could have been paying so little attention that he’d missed what was going on? But at least he seemed now to be engaged. Tonight, he’d announce a strategy.

  “Good luck on that one,” said Alex.

  Physicists were being interviewed. Evan Carbacci of the Nakamura Institute commented that they’d always known that Callistra was unstable, and plans had been made just last month for a mission to check its status. “If it seems a bit late,” he said, “you have to remember that these things tend to happen on scales of millions of years. I don’t think it occurred to any of us that an explosion was imminent. In human terms. Let alone that it had already happened.”

  When pressed, he got angry: “Look, let’s be honest here. The truth is that we’ve simply been terribly unlucky. We knew that even if the damned thing blew, the chances of our getting in the way were remote. Who’d have thought—?”

  Families were mounting pleas for anyone leaving Salud Afar to take their kids. Several watchdog organizations wanted investigations to determine who was at fault. Conspiracy theorists were arriving in force. Not only had Cleev and Kilgore known—pick one—but some maintained that a secret society had known but kept it quiet for religious purposes. (The religious purposes never became clear.) Other groups argued that in fact there was no threat from Callistra, that it was a cover-up, that the real threat was the time-space rift, which was about to descend on the planet and swallow it whole.

  Despite everything, the public response was less frantic than Wexler or Kilgore had expected. It was, after all, three years away. And, as politicians always say, a lot can happen in three years.

  Meantime, we got fresh reports of growing tension between the Confederacy and the Mutes, including at least two incidents in which warships had fired on each other. Someone had forgotten to turn the fabrication machine off.

  I was beginning to feel guilty.

  “Why, Chase?”

  “We should have called that service,” I said. “Gotten a group of children to take out of here with us.”

  Alex sighed. “I’m not anxious to spend the next four weeks with a bunch of kids, but you’re right. When we get upstairs, let’s check with them. But make sure we get a couple of mothers, too, okay?” He bit his lip. “I wish we had more capacity.”

  On the space station, we stopped for sandwiches at Sandstone’s. While Alex stared at his coffee, I contacted Operations.

  “You’re ready to go,” the watch officer said. He allowed a note of derision to creep into his voice. “A lot of people outbound today. When do you want to leave?”

  “We thought we’d take some kids with us,” I said. “The ones they’re trying to evacuate.”

  “Yeah. Well, none of them are here yet.”

  “When are you expecting them?”

  “Don’t know. But we can have you ready for launch in ninety minutes, if that works for you.”

  “You have no idea at all?”

  “Negative. You want to hang around, that’s okay. Maybe they’ll come up tomorrow. I think you’re supposed to make the arrangement before you come.”

  “All right. We’ll get back to you.”

  “Call them,” said Alex.

  I tried. The AIs were overwhelmed. When we did get through, the responses weren’t helpful. Nobody knew anything. Everyone referred us to someone else. They weren’t ready yet. Not online. Still setting it up. Please leave your code, and we’ll get back to you.

  “It’s people with kids,” Alex said. “They apparently didn’t think to set up a separate code for people offering transport.”

  We left our code and waited around. Two hours later, we called again, and the situation hadn’t changed. We checked into a hotel. “This could take forever,” Alex said.

  We eventually wound up in the hotel lobby, waiting to hear what Kilgore had to say. “Do we really want to hang around here until the bureaucracies sort it out?” Alex asked.

  No. I didn’t.

  “Let’s do it this way,” Alex said. “Let’s get out of here and go home. Once we get home, Belle’s yours. If you want to come back and do rescues, it’s your call.”

  Damn.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get moving.”

  I called Ops again. Same officer. He looked harassed. “I guess you haven’t heard,” he said. “The Belle-Marie’s been impounded. They’ve all been impounded.”

  “All the ships?”

  “Yes.”

  “By whom?”

  “By the government.”

  “For how long?”

  “Indefinitely. They really didn’t give us any details. But I assume they’re going to use them to move people out.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Sorry. Wish I could help.”

  Alex was wearing a tired smile. “We should have anticipated that.” He spoke into his link: “Connect me with Number 17 Parkway, please.” He gave a code we’d gotten from the staff.

  “They can’t just take Belle,” I said.

  Alex got through and a male voice answered, basso profundo. “Executive Office.”

  A few people seated around us heard. They turned in our direction and stared. Alex dialed the volume down. “This is Alex Benedict,” he said softly. “I was there the other day, speaking with the Administrator.” That got a reaction from our fellow patrons. Smiles, people nodding sure you did, eyes rolling skyward. “I’m calling from Samuels. We’re trying to get home.”

  “Okay. Is there a problem?”

  “Our ship has been impounded. By you folks.”

  “Ah.” He took a breath. “Hold a minute, please.”

  Alex looked at me, shook his head, closed his eyes.

  The basso profundo came back. “Yes, sir. The directive came from the top, but compensation will be made. Instructions on how to apply are available at—”

  “I don’t want compensation. I want my ship.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr.—Who did you say you were again, please?”

  “Alex Benedict.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Benedict. The directive explicitly states ‘no exceptions. ’”

  “May I speak with your supervisor?”

  “I am sorry, sir. She’s not available at the moment.”

  “May I speak with Dr. Belhower, please?”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Circe Belhower.”

  There was another pause. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no one with that name on the staff.”

  I reminded Alex she was a consultant.

  “I don’t suppose,” Alex said, “the Administrator is available?”

  “I can put you on the list.” He sounded as if he did this all the time.

  “Can you get a message to him?”

  “Of course.”

  “I need my ship back. It’s the Belle-Marie. I’m trying to go home.”

  “I’ll see that your message is placed in his box.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  No garden is complete, my dear, without a snake.

  —Love You to Death

  I called Ivan, and we met in the Pilots’ Club. “I guess we stirred something up,” he said.

  “Looks like.” He sat
down, smiled, looked smug. “What?” I said.

  “Business is booming. They’ve located a world where conditions are reasonable. A place where they can start moving people. They’ve already got some engineers en route. It’s thirteen thousand light-years from here. In toward the rim. Not exactly next door, but not like going all the way into Rimway.”

  “You’re going there?”

  “Leaving tonight. With a full load. So what can I do for you? You don’t want to go back to the monument, do you?”

  I couldn’t tell whether he was serious. He ordered some appetizers and soft drinks for us. “They’ve confiscated our ship.”

  “They’ve taken everybody’s.”

  “You know any way we can get it back?”

  He shook his head. “Chase,” he said, “I hate to say this, but I think you’re here for the duration.”

  While I was sitting with Ivan, Peifer ran the interview we’d recorded and, during the wrap-up, revealed what he had on Vicki Greene. Vicki had known months ago. Someone had tried to silence her. Who else could that be except the administration?

  Hours later we heard there was a crack in the Coalition. Strictly behind the scenes, of course. The public image of world leaders working together to save a desperate situation was coming apart. Rumors had it that they believed Kilgore had known all along. Even if he hadn’t, he should have. Reportedly, they wanted him to step aside.

  The Administrator’s second address came from the World Library in Marinox. He stood behind a rostrum and, in one of the great understatements of the age, started by commenting that he knew everybody was concerned about the gamma-ray burst. “I want to remind you that it is three years away. That gives us time to implement several courses of action. But first I want to assure you that we are in this together. Neither I nor any of my staff will set foot off this world as long as anyone who wants to leave is still here.”