Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

passageway. Inside, a harried-looking male staff member sat at a desk next to a closed door. "Mr. Benedict and Ms. Kolpath," our escort said. The staff member flung a smile in our direction and spoke into a link. "They're here." He received a reply, nodded, and got up. "This way, please." He took us down another corridor. Then upstairs. And finally we confronted a large, paneled door. He opened it cautiously, looked inside, announced our presence, and stepped out of the way. It was like walking onto a stage. The overhead was vaulted, and tinted windows filtered the light. A large carved desk, with flags behind it, anchored the place. There were maybe a dozen chairs scattered around. A long sofa was set against one wall. A fireplace crackled happily. Somehow, they'd arranged things so that it felt like a place where history was routinely made. Behind the desk, rising as we entered, was Tau Kilgore. The Administrator. Himself. He was engaged in an earnest conversation with a heavyset guy who looked angry, and a middle-aged chestnut-haired woman who was carefully maintaining a neutral expression. "Can't be done," Kilgore was saying as he got to his feet. The woman spotted us and raised a hand for us to stay back. "Find a way," continued Kilgore. "I don't care how you do it. But find a way." He turned in our direction and signaled us to take seats. "When we first heard of this," he said, "first heard about Greene, we immediately sent out a mission. Which confirmed the story. The thing, the ray burst, whatever, is a little more than three years away, and we are directly in the crosshairs. And somehow nobody ever thought it would be a good idea to get the word up here." He looked like a guy carrying the world on his shoulders. "It was a rogue operation, sir," said the male. "They kept it to themselves." "How in hell could they possibly do that, Grom?" "We're looking into it, sir." "I would goddam well hope so. I want everybody who was involved. Then we are going to hang their sorry asses." "Yes, sir. I'll get back to you as soon as we have the details." He turned toward us, still apparently seething. I wasn't sure, though. It could have been an act, carried on for our benefit. We did a round of introductions. The woman was Dr. Circe Belhower. Her eyes were intense. Not a warm woman, I suspected, under the best of circumstances. She didn't look any happier than the Administrator. She was tall and prim and humorless. The teacher for whose classes nobody ever signed up. "Dr. Belhower," he said, "is a special consultant. She's going to try to help us deal with this"-he struggled for a word-"catastrophe." Kilgore addressed himself to Alex. "I understand you've been held a virtual prisoner, Mr. Benedict." "Yes, Mr. Administrator. Although 'virtual' is not the way I'd describe it." "How long?" "Several days." "Where?" "They called it a custody chamber. It was on an island somewhere." "How were you treated?" "Fine, sir. Other than being locked in. And a pistol held to my head." "Damn them," he said. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're okay, anyhow." He seemed barely able to contain himself. "We've just learned what's been going on. They're coming out of the woodwork now," he said. "Trying to save their asses by turning in their collaborators. I'll be honest with you, Alex-Is it okay if I call you that?" "Yes, sir." "I'll be honest with you, Alex-" He paused again, had second thoughts and waved away whatever he was going to say. "When you found out about this, why didn't you come directly to me ?" Tau Kilgore looked like a chief executive. He was tall and deliberate, with silver hair and gray eyes that were at once intelligent and compassionate. He was the kind of guy who inspires confidence. The word about him on the nets, though, wasn't flattering. He was described as a man who consulted only those who agreed with him, who was inflexible, who tended to confuse disagreement with disloyalty. Looking

at him, I had a hard time believing it. "We didn't really get a chance to, Mr. Administrator. As soon as we got close, they scooped us up." "I see." "I should add," he said, "that it was originally Vicki Greene who figured it out. And then sacrificed her life to give us reason to look into it." "Yes. I know about her. We owe her a considerable debt. Do you mind telling me how long you've known about all this?" "We weren't certain until a few days ago." He digested that and leaned forward. "And you are about to give the story to the media. Is that correct? "Yes, Mr. Administrator. We are." "Have you considered the consequences of such an act?" The guy was intimidating, but Alex went toe to toe with him. "By consequences I assume you mean the reaction of the voters." "Of everyone on the planet, Mr. Benedict. By releasing this information, you will ensure that we will spend the next three years living in a state of chaos." "That's more or less the reasoning the conspirators used to justify sitting on this for the last several months." "You mean Wexler." "You know about him?" "Of course I know, goddammit." The color drained from his face. "Please answer the question, Alex. Don't confuse me with Wexler." "Yes," said Alex. "We have considered the consequences. I think-" "I don't give a good goddam what you think. You're about to bring the walls down. Do you realize that? How am I supposed to deal with this if you tell the general public that there was a rogue operation in their government? Don't think they won't blame me. And I know exactly what's going through your mind. It's true that I deserve a substantial chunk of the blame. But it'll create a political firestorm. We don't have time for that. These people have to have a government they can believe in. And they have to have it now." "Maybe," said Alex, "you should have been more careful about the people you put in power." "I'll concede the point. But that's in the past now. It's irrelevant. You're about to impose a death sentence on two billion people. And you're going to tell them, either directly or by implication, that I was hiding the truth from them. And that I am therefore responsible." Alex's own temper began to rise. "I think there's some truth to that admission." "Look, I made the mistake of trusting the wrong people. God knows I regret that." "They were building shelters, Mr. Administrator. Making up bogus reports of Mute encroachments. How could you not have known?" Circe broke in. "Wexler and his friends were very good at keeping the truth quiet." "They knew," said Kilgore, "what would happen to commodity prices, to everything , if the word about Callistra got out. So they told nobody." "And what did you think the shelters were for?" "Goddammit, the reports about the Mutes took me in, too. They lied to me the way they lied to everyone else. Because they knew I wouldn't tolerate what they were doing." I'd never seen Alex angrier. His voice shook: "Where's Wexler now?" "We're looking for him." "And how'd you finally find out what's going on?" Kilgore showed us a photo. It was Bong. "Came forward yesterday," he said. "We'd always heard rumors that the reports of Mute incursions had been drummed up. And the experts were divided over the rift-in-space story. I should have looked into it. I can't believe now that I let it all go on." "You'll be lucky if you're not forced to step down." "If it comes to that, I won't hesitate, Alex. Meantime, I intend to do what I can for the people of this world."

"What's going to happen to Bong?" I asked. Kilgore looked at me, startled. I got the impression he'd forgotten I was there. "Who?" he asked. "Bong. The guy in the picture." "We haven't decided yet." He lowered his voice. "I guess it's safe to say he'll be pretty much the last guy off the planet." He picked up a pen, scribbled himself a note, and put it in his pocket. "Well, the truth is, I'm not going to ask you to hide what you know." "Really?" "There's no way I can keep it quiet now. Too many people know about it. The leaks have already started. So it's best if the news comes from us. If we handle it right, we should be able to avoid widespread disruptions." "I think you're underestimating your people, Mr. Administrator." "I wasn't aware you were a psychologist, Alex. But I hope you're right. When are you releasing the story?" "At midnight." He wiped his forehead. "God." Nobody said anything. "All right." Kilgore took a deep breath. "This is going to sound politically motivated." "Okay." "It's essential that people not lose complete faith in their government at a time when they most need leadership. It will be chaotic enough as it is. What I would like, what I beg from you, is that you let me make the announcement. Hold back on what you were planning. It can do you no harm. Just until tomorrow morning." "When did you intend to let them know?" "Tomorrow. I've scheduled an address." His gaze shifted to me. "I need you to stay quiet until then. And it is essential that you not mention Wexler and his part in all this. If people discover there was a group within their government that knew about this in advance, that tried to use it for their own benefit, they will not trust us again. So I need you to tell the media how you found out, and I will see that you get full credit. You'll even get medals. But leave it at that. Okay?" "Sir," said Alex, "Rob Peifer already knows part of the story." "Peifer." The Administrator's brow wrinkled. Alex glanced at me. "Global." "How much does he know?" "He knows," I said, "that Alex was held by Wexler. And I'm pretty sure he'll be able to put the rest together. But I think I've persuaded him not to say anything about that aspect." "Okay." Kilgore's eyes slid shut. "I can't promise anything." "It's okay. I'll talk to his editor." He was in agony. "There's no way the Wexler business won't come out eventually. But the gamma-ray jet will be enough bad news for one day." We sat for a long time, staring at one another. "It's hard to believe it's really happening," said Circe. "So what are you going to do, Mr. Administrator? Try to evacuate?" "It's hopeless, Alex. We'll get as many people off as we can. But-" He shook his head. "How much damage will it do?" I asked. "The gamma-ray bolt?" Circe answered: "It'll kill anything that's exposed. It'll be possible for some people to get into shelters. But afterward we won't be able to grow our own food supply." Alex sat motionless. "We can't run a mass evacuation," said Kilgore. "We have about a hundred ships. They'll carry an average of fifteen people. Not quite fifteen. Chase, twenty-eight million babies will be born on Salud Afar by the end of this year. Does anyone seriously think that the entire human fleet could transport even our new arrivals?"