Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

"I don't think I have the right complexion for it." "In the dark, nobody's going to notice." After that, it became just a matter of waiting. That, of course, is when you start worrying. "You know," I said, "maybe they're just going to leave us here. Or maybe they're hoping we'll try to climb down and get ourselves killed." "No," said Alex. "If they'd wanted anything like that, they'd have pushed us off themselves. They would not be happy trying to explain how we turned up dead. Or missing. And for another thing, they don't know whether other people are aware why we came here." He kicked off his shoes and propped his feet on a stool. "The last thing they need is for something to happen to us."

We'd expected Krestoff to return within a day or two. But the days passed, and the skies remained empty. We saw a few aircraft, though they were too far or too high after that first time for us to have any realistic chance to signal for help. It presented a problem. We couldn't risk having them arrive, say, in the middle of the night. Or slip in when we were watching the HV and not paying attention. If they took us by surprise, our escape plan would evaporate. So we set up a system. Twelve-hour watches during which one or the other of us was constantly on the lookout. We rearranged the furniture and relaxed as best we could, with one of us always posted by the window or the front door. What do you do with your time when you know somebody's coming to pick apart your brain? For me, it was mostly watching stuff that didn't require my paying attention. Comedies where people fell down a lot and thrillers that were mostly chases. And light reading. Material that didn't require emotional input. I had no emotions left. We took our meals together, and in the early evenings we sat around the living room with the lights about halfway down. Alex was reading Their Finest Hour . He had the book on the coffee table and turned each page cautiously. He'd stop occasionally to read me a passage. He especially enjoyed doing Churchill's lines for me: Never before in the history of human conflict ... And, Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be ... "I wish we had him here," he said. "Which side was he on?" Alex rolled his eyes. "The civilized side." He grew thoughtful. "It's a pity they didn't have avatars. He was too early." On the ninth day, a monster storm hit and left us buried in snow. We opened the door when it was over and had to climb a snowbank just to get outside. I hoped that maybe Peifer would discover we'd gone missing and would be hot on the trail. But that was a long shot. When I mentioned it to Alex, he asked how Peifer could possibly track us to that lonely outpost. Since it was election season, we got to watch the various candidates going on about how they'd make life better for the world. Everybody made it a point to take a stand against the Mutes. They differed, of course, on the details. Some wanted to bring in the Confederacy. But the Confederacy wasn't all that popular on Salud Afar, where it was seen as a distant power that, given the chance, would happily make off with the world's resources. I got the impression politicians on Salud Afar made it a habit to run against the Confederacy, to paint it as a threat. Other news was generally inconsequential: the unexpected death of a well-known one-time beauty queen, the scandal caused by the discovery that a former world-class athlete was a bigamist, a show-business celebrity arrested for obscene behavior. Another entertainment icon was being accused of having thrown his wife down a staircase. He claimed someone had broken into the house and done the deed. There were reports of still another brush with Mute ships. "No shooting this time," said a young, enthusiastic male journalist, "but these incidents are becoming increasingly numerous. It looks as if we'd better prepare for the worst."

That evening, we picked up an interview with an economist who claimed that something unusual was happening. "A lot of the major corporations," he said, "especially the places heavily invested in real estate, are divesting themselves. Downsizing in an extraordinary way."

I looked at Alex. "That's what you were saying, except it sounds a bit bigger than you thought." "Why?" asked the interviewer. "Don't know," the economist said. "It could be coincidental, but I doubt it. I suspect a downturn is coming." "But the economy's strong, isn't it, Cary?" "It was a few weeks ago, Karm. But it's become pretty wobbly suddenly." "Why?" "I have no idea. The long-term trends are all up. The only thing I can think of, and I want to emphasize this is only a wild guess-" "Go ahead, Cary. Let's have it." "It may be that war is coming. War with the Mutes." "But wouldn't that be a spur to production? Wars historically are good for business." Cary nodded. "That's right, Karm. If you win them."

I must have been getting morose. Alex told me to cheer up, hang in, that we'd be all right. "We'll get out of here," he said. "And we'll get Belle and go out to the Lantner world and find out what's going on." In the evenings, sometimes, I wrapped up in a blanket, turned off the outside lights, and went out on the deck to look at the sky. At the haze that was the rim of the Milky Way. Or in the opposite direction at Callistra. On the evening that we heard the economist, Alex joined me. We stood for a while, standing in the darkness. "They should be here soon," he said.

The day after we'd watched the interview with the economist, they came. Alex was spread out on the sofa, reading a political history of the Korant Domain. He'd just finished commenting on what he would give to obtain something, anything , from that era. A Brokasian vase from the courtroom where they'd tried the whole family. What would that be worth? It was evening. We both heard the approaching skimmer long before we saw it. (It was my turn on watch.) We did a quick inspection of our setup to make sure everything was ready. Then we saw the lights overhead, and the vehicle began to descend. "Showtime," said Alex. A cable, painted gold, ran down the matching gold wall opposite the front door until it reached the floor behind the sofa. There it passed through a ceiling hook that we'd hammered into the floor. It then ran up the arm of the sofa and was secured so that anyone sitting on the sofa could reach it and release it. The arrangement was not particularly noticeable to visitors coming in the front door. We waited for the skimmer to set down. As it did, Alex sat up, released the end of the cable from the sofa arm, and tugged on it once or twice to make sure it wasn't stuck anywhere. He held it out of sight,

gripped in his right hand, which dangled casually over the sofa arm. I'd put a smooth gray rock on a side table about eight strides from the door. The table had an artificial plant on it. I'd made no effort to hide the rock. It was right out there where anyone could see it, like an innocent decoration. The engines shut off, and we heard the hatch open. Then voices. I took station by the window. "Three of them," I said. "Which ones?" "Krestoff and the bong thrower. Corel. And somebody else. Little, dumpy guy." "You don't mean the pilot?" "No. The pilot's still in the aircraft." "Okay. The dumpy guy will be the tech." "They've closed the hatch." We'd been pretty sure that would happen. The pilot had closed it when he'd delivered us. It was too cold out there to sit with it open. "Here they come." "Okay. We ready?" "Yes, sir. Krestoff will be first in the door. Bong is bringing up the rear." "Okay. The tech shouldn't be dangerous." "Let's hope." "Whoever can get to him first-" The voices had gotten louder. "Here they come." I waited by the door. Krestoff asked Kellie to open up. She waited a few seconds and tried again. I went over and opened the door for them. "We didn't trust Kellie," I said. Krestoff stood in the entrance, amused. But she had her scrambler in her hand. "She wasn't spying on you. Nobody's that interested. But it doesn't matter." She indicated I should back off a few steps, and came inside. She looked over at Alex, sitting lazily on the sofa. She was wrapped in a heavy jacket. A thick woolen hat was pulled down over her ears. I allowed myself to look scared. It didn't take much acting. "Hello," Alex said. "We were beginning to think you'd forgotten us." She signaled the others to come in. The dumpy little guy carried a black box. He had a straggly beard, just beginning to gray. Bong came in behind him, hauling a larger black box. He set it down on a chair and closed the door. He'd never looked bigger. Didn't even bother showing us a weapon. "We want to run an exam," Krestoff said. "Make sure you're okay. After we've done that, you'll be released." "Look," Alex said. "We know what this is about. Don't try to hide it from us." "What what is about?" "You're going to do a lineal block. On each of us." She hesitated. "Okay. I don't suppose there's any point hiding the truth. But you won't be harmed." "You're going to lock away what? Everything having to do with Vicki Greene?" Another pause. "Yes." "Before you do that, answer a question for me." "If I can?" "Who are you working for?" "The CSS." "I hope you're a rogue unit. That the entire organization hasn't been corrupted." She turned to the dumpy guy. "Doctor, do him first." "It's Wexler, isn't it?" That stopped her in her tracks. "No," she said finally. But her eyes delivered a different message. "And that's enough nonsense." She walked over to the table with the chess set and swept the pieces onto the floor. "Use this." I doubted the guy was a doctor. He did not look especially bright. Bong picked up the larger box, brought it over to the table, and set it down.