Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

"We took several steps as soon as we became aware of what was happening. First, we have informed all the worlds of the Confederacy of our situation. We have asked their help. That message went out immediately. It will be almost three weeks before we can hope to hear from them. But I'm confident they will offer assistance. "Second, in collaboration with all the states of the Coalition, we are moving to devote every resource we have to the manufacture of interstellars. It will take a while to get everything up and running because we need several orbital facilities. Work has already started on those. "We have vastly increased funding for shelters. We are digging into the earth wherever conditions permit, and will be manufacturing modular units that can shield small communities. Soon, we will have shielding that can be applied to individual houses. "Unfortunately, we cannot shield the planet, and therein lies our greatest hazard. When the gamma-ray burst has passed, every exposed life-form will be gone. But we will survive, and when it's over, we'll plant new forests and restore its wildlife."

"That's not likely to happen," I said. "The place will have to be abandoned." Alex shrugged. "It's good politics, though. Right now, it's what people need to hear."

"We've located a new world, Sanctum, which will serve as a place to relocate evacuees. At first, we'd been concerned we would have to haul people all the way to the Confederacy, which would have been a terribly slow process. Sanctum is less than half the distance to the nearest Confederate world. Engineers, biotechs, and farmers are already on their way. Others will be leaving within the next twenty hours. We are calling this effort Operation New World. "At this critical time, Salud Afar needs all of us, working together. To begin, we need volunteers. Especially those with technical specialties. Consult the Coalition Bulletin Board and, please, volunteer where you can." He came around in front of the rostrum, found a chair, and sat down. "I will not understate the situation. We are at a crossroads, and we can only succeed with your help. We all need to start immediately conserving supplies. Store them in places where they'll be shielded from the gamma rays. Information on that can also be found at the Coalition Bulletin Board. You should be aware that we have impounded every private and commercial space vehicle that is not part of the overall relief effort. Some are being used to construct new orbiting stations. Others will carry evacuees. Compensation is available. "One final thing: We mean to evacuate as many people to Sanctum as we possibly can. We want to lower the population on Salud Afar. That is not because of any lack of confidence that we will come through this emergency. But the amount of supplies necessary after the event will be reduced." He leaned forward, every bit a protective uncle. "We've had a replacement birth rate on this world for a long time now. I have to tell you that, at this historic moment, that is too many. I will not ask anyone to choose abortion. But we need everybody to take measures to prevent conception from this day forward, until we can declare the emergency over. I understand this is a highly personal matter. But it's entirely possible that every new birth will cost an innocent person his life. And if that suggests how serious our situation is, we must take it to heart." He stopped and stared straight out at us. "I know that you will do your part. Thank you, and good night."

Kilgore's image had just blinked off when a group of experts appeared to discuss the situation. One, a calm guy with marquee looks spoiled by a too-neat mustache, thought the Administrator was responding with brilliant leadership to the emergency. "We're fortunate to have the right guy in the job," he said. "The people who want him out are crazy. You can't really blame him when a star explodes, but he's doing everything you could reasonably expect to counteract the effects." "We've known about this for decades," said another, an angry-looking academic type. "The Greene story confirms it." And another, a young woman who was visibly seething: "Greene aside, we've always known Callistra was a candidate for a supernova. Or something bigger. We should have been watching it. How we could have failed to do that, I'll never understand." The moderator addressed himself to her: "Dr. Bjorg, did you ever recommend that we do a study?" "Not my field," she said. "So whose is it?" demanded Alex.

"Alex," I said, "you're talking to the holograms again." He does that when he gets upset.

We'd have fought the impoundment of the Belle-Marie , but there was nobody to fight. Whoever we called referred us to someone else. I was proud of Alex during that period. He refused to get angry, refused to blame me for not having left when we had the chance. We made several more efforts during the next few days to get through to Kilgore. The result was always the same: We were placed in his in-box. We checked on the compensation we'd get for the Belle-Marie , which, it turned out, would be considerably less than the ship was worth. That brought up another problem: The value of Coalition funds off-world would be crashing. The money we got would never buy anything for us. We called Bentley DeepSpace, which was the transport system that ran the liners to Rimway and Toxicon. They were weekly flights, and they'd been reported filled. But we tried anyway. "I'd like passage for two to Rimway," I told them, "on the next available flight. The voice on the other end belonged to an AI. "I'm sorry, ma'am. The flights are full." "How long's the waiting list?"

"We're booked to the end of the year."

"Is that really the best you can do?"

"We've requested assistance from several transport companies in the Confederacy. So we expect we'll be able to help you shortly."

"Can we get on the waiting list?"

"Yes, ma'am. What's your name, please?"

Alex waved me off. "Let it go," he said. "If we have to, we'll get in touch with somebody at home and have them come get us." "Who did you have in mind?" "To be honest, I don't know any pilots other than you. But we should be able to lease somebody." He stared out at the night sky. "This trip has had its downside."

There was a confirmed report of a shoot-out between Confederate and Ashiyyurean warships. This time, a Mute vessel had broken open, and there'd been fatalities. Each side was claiming encroachment by the other, and issuing warnings. Each side was threatening war. It was obviously an outbreak waiting to happen. Alex commented that, like so many conflicts through the ages, it would be a war neither side wanted. More like a train wreck. But both sides had politicians who were solidifying their positions by stirring up antagonism. That often secured election, but it had the effect of backing them into a corner. It struck me that Kassel hadn't been entirely honest when he claimed that Mutes couldn't deceive one another. Meanwhile, Kilgore's optimism had to be crumbling. Mathematicians were doing most of the damage. They showed up on every conceivable talk show and blew gaping holes in the government strategy. There wouldn't be enough space in the shelters. Not nearly enough. The quantities of materials needed to protect private homes would overwhelm production facilities. Tens of millions would die during the initial blast. The survivors would quickly run out of food and other necessities. The capability to bring adequate resupplies in from the Confederacy was, at best, doubtful. And if war broke out with the Mutes, as seemed increasingly likely, that capability would probably go to zero. "There just isn't time to do everything that needs to be done." We heard that refrain over and over. We'd been in the hotel on Samuels for about a week when the AI announced an incoming call. Alex, gloomier than I'd ever seen him, asked sardonically whether I thought it might be Kilgore. Then he told the AI to put it through. It was Wexler. "Hello, Benedict," he said. "I hope you're satisfied." He was outside somewhere, leaning against a stone wall, dressed in a white pullover and the sort of slacks you'd wear for a walk in the woods. He ignored me, looked straight at Alex. "I assume," he said, "you understand now how much damage you've caused."