Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

Twenty minutes later I got a call from Khan. He said thanks.

I rewrote the report I'd stored online, eliminating everything that implicated Wexler and his stooges and also anything that I thought would tend to spread panic. That latter part wasn't easy. But I'd used the term Thunderbolt to refer to the gamma-ray burst, and I got rid of that. I also tried to make the account a little less breathless. When I'd finished I directed the AI to deliver it to Peifer at one minute past midnight. Then to follow up and give it to the rest of the world three hours later. As I had earlier, I took precautions to ensure it couldn't be blocked. Then, for the first time in a while, I collapsed and slept through the afternoon. That evening we ate in the hotel dining room, which was filled with well-dressed patrons. They had candlelight and soft music, and it felt good to be together again. "I thought I'd lost you," I told him after the host had seated us by a corner window. We were on the ground floor. Outside, shoppers moved beneath glowing lamps, their arms filled with packages. We were approaching a local holiday in which it was customary to give gifts. There was a theater across the street, doing a musical, Late Night Out , which had been imported from Khaja Luan. I'd seen it two years before, enjoyed it thoroughly, and still remembered the show-stopper, "Go for Broke," at the end of the first act. A family trailing a boy and girl passed outside. The parents carried bags of packages, while the kids giggled and ran along beside them. The boy stopped and looked through the window. At us. Our eyes connected, and he waved. I waved back. He'd be about ten when the gamma rays came. The Thunderbolt. "I feel guilty sitting here," I said. "I'm anxious to hand it over to Rob. Get it over with." "I know." "We're talking twelve hundred light-years, Alex. I didn't think novas could do any damage this far away."

We both had a soup appetizer. He tried his, but didn't react to it. "It's a hyper nova." "The worst kind." "Yes." Alex cupped his chin in his hands and closed his eyes. "Callistra is- was -a hypergiant. It's been on the verge of collapse for thousands of years. The people here knew that. Everybody knew it. There was a time, a couple of thousand years ago, when they kept instruments out there. Monitors. But the instruments had to be maintained, nothing ever happened, and eventually people got used to it. And forgot about it. "I found some reports that the current administration was going to restart the program. But they had other priorities. So it never happened." "Other priorities." "Yes. No wonder Vicki did the mind wipe. She knew, and she couldn't warn anybody. She did it because it looked like the only chance she had to get a warning back to Salud Afar. She sacrificed herself." "Gutsy woman. Alex, I hate seeing Wexler walk away from this." He looked ambivalent. "You know, he's not entirely wrong about the worldwide reaction. I'd just as soon not be here when the news gets out." "I hate this, Alex." "Me, too, babe."

Peifer found us first. We'd just gotten back to our suite. "Chase?" His hologram barged into the room. "You got Alex back?"

"Yes, he's here." "Thanks." His voice rasped. "I really appreciate your letting me know." "I was going to call."

"What happened?"

I glanced over at Alex, who was out of Peifer's field of vision. Reading a book about the missing civilization that Ivan had described. He shook his head no. I don't want to talk to him. "I got lucky," I said.

"Yeah. Good. How about some details?"

"Umm- "

"Forget it. Let me talk to Alex."

"He's not here."

"Come on, Chase, you just said he was there." "I was speaking metaphorically. I meant here as in out . Free. " "Who was holding him? Was it Wexler?"

"Rob, I'm not able to talk about it now, okay? You'll have the entire story later tonight." "Me and who else?" He looked skeptical. "You'll have a three-hour head start."

"Okay. I can live with that. When?"

"When what?"

"When will I get the story? I don't live up here, you know."

"Midnight."

"Great. That's good planning, Chase. How about a preview? You can trust me."

"First I need a favor."

"You may always ask."

"I want you to keep Wexler's name out of it." "So he is involved." "A favor to me, Rob."

"Oh. And when did I accumulate this debt?"

"Rob, this story is bigger than Wexler. Believe me."

"I'll think about it."

"I made a deal to get Alex back."

"I didn't make the deal."

"Please, Rob."

"You're a hard woman, Chase."

"Only when you get to know me."

"By the way, I've another question for you."

"Go ahead."

"Do you know anything about the crazy woman who took a taxi up to Samuels a few days ago? And then disappeared? The description sounded a bit like you."

Minutes later someone knocked on the door. When we didn't immediately respond, a male voice announced he was CSS. "Here we go again," said Alex. "Please open up." More knocking. There wasn't really anywhere to go, so I complied. There were three of them, two men and a woman. The woman was not Krestoff. "Chase Kolpath?" The question came from the older of the men. "Yes." "The Administrator would like to speak with you." He glanced over at Alex. "And with Mr. Benedict." "Don't you guys ever give up?" I said. He frowned. Looked puzzled, put his official look back on. "Please come along." He stepped aside to make room. "Before you do this, the original transmission, the one implicating Wexler, is scheduled to go out unless I stop it." "I don't know anything about that, Ms. Kolpath," the agent said. "But I would appreciate it if you and Mr. Benedict would come with us." I got a jacket out of the closet. A look of utter resignation crossed Alex's face. He got up and grumbled something indiscernible. We walked out into the corridor, they closed in around us, and we went up to the roof, where another white skimmer waited, identical to the one that Krestoff had used to haul us around. Moments later we lifted off. I was relieved to see that we turned in the direction of the Seawalk and not toward the gray building on the edge of the city. Nobody said much. One of the agents asked whether I was comfortable. And the pilot spoke softly to his control. We were approaching Number 17 Parkway, the executive mansion. "It looks as if it really is the Administrator," said Alex. "I guess." I was not comfortable. "Do we know whether he's involved?" "I've no idea how high it went." The building and the grounds were enclosed by an iron fence. We descended onto a pad off the east wing. The agents opened up, and there was a brief exchange with security people. When they were satisfied, we were escorted across a wide lawn and into the mansion. The building itself was of recent vintage, relatively small and unobtrusive, standing among the architectural giants erected by the Cleevs. "It sends the right message," Alex commented. Once inside, we passed through an elaborate security arrangement and were given IDs. Then we were taken to a waiting room. "He'll want us to cancel," I said, when we were alone. "Of course. But I'd be surprised if we see him personally. He'll have somebody else lean on us. They've probably disposed of Wexler." The room was filled with bookcases, but the volumes were all in sets and showed no sign of use. There were portraits of stern men and women who appeared to be looking off at a horizon, and a picture of a waterfall, and another of a structure with columns and porticoes set against the sea. Alex was looking through the books when an aide came in and asked us to follow her. She led the way down a corridor lined with more pictures of still more severe people. I wondered whether anyone in power ever smiled for a portrait? A large office occupied the space at the end of the