Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

That night, while Alex paged through Churchill, I sat by the window and looked out at Callistra. Vicki's star. Bright and solid. The anchor of the heavens. It was the kind of star people write fairy tales about. That they take their kids into the backyard to see. Blue and beautiful. A beacon of assurance that all's right with the world.

In the morning, I told Alex I was going out to the utility shed. "Why?" "I want to get a shovel. In case somebody else flies over today, I'd like to be able to make it clear we need rescuing." "How are you going to do that?" "You can help, if you want." "Sure," he said. "We can use an idea or two." We went out to the shed. "I can't just sit around here," I told him, "knowing we don't have any way to defend ourselves, and Agent Krestoff might be back anytime. With Corel. And somebody to stick pins in

our heads." "They don't do it that way." "Good. I'm much relieved." We got the shovels and picked a spot in front of the villa. It was still cold, but not as brutal as it had been. We began moving snow. Alex admitted it was a good idea, and within a few minutes we'd spelled HELP. In very large letters. But it didn't look as if they'd be very visible from the air, so we tore up some bushes and branches and laid them in the letters. When we'd finished, half-frozen, we went back inside. We took the shovels with us. They'd be the weapons of last resort.

I hobbled into the washroom, filled the tub with hot water, climbed in, and sat there until I got some feeling back. That night I made us a hot supper. First cooking I'd done in a long time. We had meat loaf with a garlic flavor, a green vegetable, and mashed potatoes. Potatoes had originated on Earth, had spread across the worlds of the Confederacy, and had even made it to that far-off place. It was a good meal. That night we settled in again to watch news accounts from around the world. People in places we'd never heard of were arguing about the cost of education. Others were angry that their neighbors were buying things like skimmers in other areas instead of shopping locally. Townspeople in a place named Shay Gaionne objected to ordinances requiring better maintenance of houses. Juvenile delinquents were a problem in some areas. And gangs. A large city on a coast somewhere was trying to decide whether gambling should be allowed near churches. Still others complained about the quality of entertainment. There were reports of another incursion by the Mutes. "They fired on a Coalition patrol boat," said the reporter. "Fortunately, there appear to have been no injuries." "What do you think, Alex?" "About the attack? I don't believe it. The Mutes are nowhere near here." The Coalition government was entering its political season, and there was an ongoing debate about banning involuntary mind wipes. Some candidates called it murder; others insisted it constituted a fresh start for people they referred to as psychologically disabled. Alex fell asleep during an interview of a long-winded legislative candidate. I watched for a few minutes. Then I shut it down, turned off some of the lamps, and took a seat by the windows. The world beyond the pale illumination cast by our lights was utterly dark. Callistra must have been in a different part of the sky. Or maybe it was cloudy. At night, you never could tell. There was nothing out there, no sign of an aircraft. No artificial lights anywhere. I rearranged the cushions and decided they smelled vaguely of pine. I wondered about Ben and asked myself what he might be doing at that moment and whether he ever thought about me. He'd always maintained that Alex was deranged and that I shouldn't be working for him. Sitting in the villa on that night, wondering when the bad guys would come to get us, I suspected he might be right. A lineal block. The prospect of losing part of myself, of going back to Rimway after they'd taken my freedom of action from me, drove me into a rage. I promised myself I wasn't going down without a fight. I would at the very least take out that nitwit female agent. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have an idea locked away, a memory that was still there but that I could not act on. They had done it to Vicki, and she'd become so desperate that she'd gone on to a complete mind wipe. Get rid of it. Get rid of everything she remembered about her life. What a price to pay. What was it about? ULY447? The Calient mission? And a religious service that just didn't matter anymore?

Alex woke me early next morning. "Got work to do." "What?" I said. "What is it?" I remembered the sign in the snow.

"Did somebody come?" "No. The wind filled it in during the night." "Oh." "I don't think it had much of a chance anyhow. We don't get a lot of traffic here." "It was worth a try. So what's the work we have to do?" "Get dressed," he said. "I'll show you." He leaned back and smiled. "Agent Krestoff and the mad doctor could come at any time. We want to be ready." Twenty minutes later I went downstairs into the living room and found the extension ladder leaning against one wall. Snow had been tracked through the doorway when he brought it in from the shed. "Problem?" I asked. "No. Why?" "The ladder." "No. No problem." He was standing by one of the windows. The sun was just climbing into the sky. "This place makes me dizzy," I said. "Of course." He pointed at the tree that hung out over the edge of the precipice. "Look," he said. "Yeah. It's hanging on for its life." "Doesn't it give you any ideas?"

We plowed back out into the snow. "I don't think there's an imager anywhere inside," he said. "I've gone over the first floor pretty thoroughly. They might be able to hear us, but I doubt they're getting a picture." "Okay." He opened the door to the utility shed and picked up the ax. I laughed. "They're going to have guns," I said. "I doubt we'd have much chance with that." "That's true, Chase. But we're low on firewood." "Ah." "I'm going to get some." "Good idea." "Meantime, I want you to paint the living room." "Paint the living room?" "Yes. I'll explain later." "Alex-" "Trust me." "This is why the extension ladder's in there." "Of course." "You want me to paint the ceiling, too?" "No. You won't have to do that." "Then we've got the wrong ladder." I indicated the step ladder. "This is the one we want." "We might need both." I picked up one of the paint cans. "It's frozen." "It'll thaw." "You know, working with you can be frustrating at times." "You've said that before." "Okay. What color did you want me to use?" There were two cans. The labels described them as forest green and sunrise gold. "Gold," he said. "Do the gold." "Okay." "I'll be in to help in a few minutes." "All right." "I put some cable inside, too. By the fireplace. We'll want to paint them also." "We want to paint the cables ?"

"Of course." "They get the green paint, right?" "Nope. Same color. Gold."

By the end of the day, the living room looked resplendent in its new coat of gold paint, as did the cables. We spent the evening and most of the night getting set up. At one point, we heard a skimmer pass overhead, and our hearts sank. I ran outside and, when I saw it wasn't the government vehicle, I waved like a crazy person. But I don't think they saw me at all. We were up early next morning to begin working on the overhead. I began to think we might actually have a chance to pull it off. But the final preparations were difficult, and I spent a lot of time on the extension ladder, inserting ceiling hooks into the overhead dome, stringing cable, attaching and finally loading the blankets. When I'd finished, I climbed down and put the ladder back in the shed. Then I went back inside, glad to feel the warmth again. Alex walked me right back outside. "We need to get them in the middle of the living room," he said. "That shouldn't be hard." We went back onto the deck and looked inside through an open door. Speaking barely above a whisper, he said, "They'll need a table to do the procedure." "The lineal block?" "Yes." There were two side tables, a coffee table, and a dining table. "We don't want them using the dining table," he said. Absolutely. It was out of the target area. "When we go back in, we'll pile dishes on it. Glasses. The toaster. Laundry. Hardware. And anything else we can find." "Okay." He looked around the living room. "Let's give them the coffee table." "It's not exactly in the target area." "I know. And you're right." He thought about it. "Okay, we can load that up, too. That leaves one of the side tables." "Isn't it going to be a little obvious if you pull one of them out into the center of the room?" "Get the chess set," he said. He removed a lamp from the side table and pulled the table into the target area. Then he put the chessboard on it and set up the pieces to create a game in progress. We took the two chairs from the dining table and put them on either side. When it was finished, he looked around the room. He didn't say anything, but he looked happy. We went back outside. "Anything else, Alex?" I asked. He studied me and bit his lower lip. "Can you cut your hair a little shorter? To look like Krestoff's?" It would take more than cutting it shorter. Krestoff was sporting a local style that apparently emphasized taking advantage of wind resistance. "Sure," I said. "Do it." He sighed. "Pity we don't have some dye." "So I could go blond?" "Yes."