Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

Kassel announced he would go back to the capital with us and would stay until we were safely on board the Belle-Marie . "Wouldn't want you to get lost," he said. Circe also accompanied us on the flight to New Volaria, where we met Giambrey and had lunch. He was discouraged. "Idiots in charge on both sides," he said. "They couldn't even tell you what they're fighting about. It's reflexive." "I'm sorry to hear it," said Alex. "What frustrates me is that if we could pick a few halfway-rational people out of the streets on both sides, and put them in power, they could probably settle it. And it would be over." "You may be underestimating the intensity of the problem," said Alex. But when Giambrey wanted to turn it into a debate, Alex changed the subject. Circe would stay in New Volaria with the ambassador. We said our good-byes and went up to the rooftop pad to get a taxi. And a strange thing happened: A group of Mutes recognized me and came over to signal their support. They applauded . A human gesture. We got into our taxi and made for the spaceport. While we were en route, Kassel took a call from somewhere. Then he twisted around in his seat to look at me. "Bon Selvan wants to meet you, Chase." "Who's Bon Selvan?" "She's one of the proctors." His eyes closed. And opened. "You should go." "Kassel, what's a proctor?" "There are seven of them. They're the advisors to the executive board. It's hard to explain. But she's a very high-level VIP."

"Okay. Is there a point to it?" "Yes, there's a point. She doesn't approve of the way relations with the Confederates have been handled. You want to take a first step toward creating a settlement, give her something to work with."

Bon Selvan was seated in a garden, in the shade of a small tree, surrounded by clusters of bright red and yellow flowers. Birds sang, and I saw a snake slithering over the black iron fence that surrounded the enclosure. The proctor was clothed in an orange robe, with a dark brown hood draped over her shoulders. I entered through a glass door. She rose, my escort bared fangs, used his voice box to inform me who she was, and withdrew, closing the door. Bon Selvan studied me for a long moment. "Chase Kolpath, I take it you are not impressed with our leadership." "I don't wish to be impolite-" "You cannot be impolite around us, child." She showed me to a seat. And, yes: I was thinking that it was hard to understand how, after thousands of years, two species that call themselves intelligent could not manage their affairs without resorting to butchering each other. "You are absolutely right, Chase. There are reasonable individuals, but they have not yet learned how to form groups, governments, that behave in a rational way. I must admit I do not know why that is." While I thought about it, she told me she was pleased to meet me. "And I am glad to meet you," I said. I was about to frame my next question: Could she help find a way to ease the rising tensions? Could she conceive of a way to head off the approaching war? "You think war is coming, Chase?" "Yes, I do." "I'm not so sure. This relatively low level of combat has intensified in recent days, but I think it is an aberration. My real fear is not for a war." "What then?" "It is that we will go on for years as we are now, with the bloodshed and the waste of resources and, yes, the risk of all-out war." I've said elsewhere that Mutes do not do nonverbals. That they do not have faces, in the human sense. Rather the lack of animation suggests a mask. But there was something in Bon Selvan's eyes, and in her mask, that was utterly bleak. "I see," she said, "that you wonder why I asked you to come. I wanted to have you in front of me, to know whether the passion I detected in that interview last evening was real." "It was real." "I have never known a human up close. I've had a lifetime of listening to those who think humans are malevolent, dishonest, savage. That they, you, operate on a lower plane. Even your good friend Selotta thinks you and your friend Benedict are aberrations." "I know." "I see that you are returning to Salud Afar." "Yes." "When you get there, please assure Administrator Kilgore that there is a faction here, not only on Borkarat, but across the Assemblage, that is not happy with our current posture. We will do what we can to create a more flexible policy toward the Confederates. He must understand, though, that we cannot be seen as encouraging the Confederacy to go to the rescue of Salud Afar. Such a tactic on our part would surely be misread by them. But let him know we will do what we can." "I will." "Very good. One more thing you should be aware of: Your comments, which are being distributed throughout the Assemblage will be, for the majority of our citizens, their first opportunity to experience rapport with a human. I don't know how this will play out, but I think we could not have done better." She looked around at the flowers. "Are they not lovely?"

It was good to see the Belle-Marie again. We got in, closed the hatch, and she said, "Hello, Chase." I said hello back, went up onto the bridge, and climbed into my seat. It was a marvelous feeling to sit in a

chair designed for my body size. "Chase," she said. "I have a text message from station ops." I suspected we were going to get an escort out of the system. "Let's see it," I said. She put it on the board: CAPTAIN KOLPATH, THE BELLE-MARIE WILL BE THE THIRD PRIVATE VESSEL TO LEAVE TODAY FOR SALUD AFAR. ONE MORE IS SCHEDULED OUT LATER THIS AFTERNOON, AND THREE TOMORROW. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW. SIRIAN KOSLO. "Koslo," said Belle, "is the chief of operations." A few minutes later we had a text message granting clearance to depart. I acknowledged, and asked that my regards be passed to Mr. Koslo. Then I alerted Alex and waited for him to get into the harness. When the green lamp came on, I released the clamps and we moved away from the dock. Forty-six minutes later we lined up with Moria and Salud Afar and made our jump.

I didn't enjoy the flight back. By the time we arrived, Kilgore would know that the talks had gone nowhere. The Confederacy was sending a few warships to help, and a handful of Mutes were coming. That was it. I made up my mind that I'd upgrade my license when I got to Salud Afar; it was for class-C interstellars. They were the smallest category, usually yachts like the Belle-Marie , and commercial vehicles that hauled a few VIPs around. I'd want to be able to handle some of the larger cargo ships. So, while we charged back through interdimensional space, I spent much of my time studying. Alex, as usual, pored through archeological records and artifact inventories. I've mentioned before that he was not difficult to ride with. And he hadn't changed. When things went badly, he didn't descend into morose self-pity as I think I did. I can recall his reminding me that we didn't yet really know the results of the diplomatic effort, and that it hadn't been my responsibility in any case. Not that it mattered whose responsibility it was. My part of the mission had been to handle transportation. In any case, the ride was interminable. The weeks dragged by, and I felt caught within the narrow confines of the ship. I wandered through its spaces, inspecting the cargo area every other day and checking the supplies in the lander. I spent extra time in the workout room. With Alex, I toured ancient palaces and historic structures. We floated down the Kiev canal, and drifted through Jovian skies, on approach to Che Jolla Base, during the days when it housed Markum Pierce, the poet-physicist whose diaries provided a brilliant record of the early colonies. He took to asking me regularly if I was okay, if there was anything he could do. "Don't give up," he said. "It might still work out." Hard to see how, I thought, barring divine intervention. Finally, on the thirty-third day of the flight, it was over.