Jack McDevitt - The Devil's Eye

We came out of jump about forty hours from Salud Afar. It was actually good to see the nearly empty skies again. Varesnikov and Naramitsu were both visible. And the galactic rim. And, off to port, Callistra. Blue and brilliant and happy as if nothing had happened. Belle's comm lights came on. "We have traffic." "More than one?"

"Still coming in. One from the Administrator. Other than that, no end in sight at the moment."

I called Alex up front. "Put the Administrator on," I told Belle reluctantly. "Let's see what he has to say." A Kilgore avatar, of course. He was in his office, and I knew as soon as I saw him that something very good had happened. "Congratulations, Chase," he said. "We didn't get anywhere with the Confederacy, but it looks as if every Mute who can beg, buy, or borrow a ship, is on the way. We're in your debt." He looked over at Alex. "You, too, Alex." "What happened?" he asked. Again, of course, there was the inevitable delay as the transmission traveled to Salud Afar, and the reply came back. In the meantime, the avatar simply froze.

"We've also been informed," he said, "that several corporations in the Assemblage have suspended other activities and are now in the process of turning out superluminals specially designed to help us."

"Chase's interview?" asked Alex. He was beaming. "Who knows? It certainly didn't hurt." His features melted into a grin. It was the first time I'd seen him look happy. "So," I asked, "will there be enough? Ships, I mean?"

"We'll be able to move a substantially larger portion of the population than we expected. Maybe as much as five percent. We've gotten some resistance, by the way. A lot of people don't want to ride with Mutes."

"Mr. Administrator, I'm sure that part of the problem will sort itself out. But I was talking about the shield. What's happening with the shield?"

"Ah. The shield. No. Unfortunately, everything we project indicates that we will still come up short. Even if the Confederates were willing to forget about the eleven ships and send their entire fleet instead, which they aren't, it would still be a hit-or-miss proposition. We've had to make a decision. Waste valuable time and resources on a project that is unlikely to come together, or use everything we can get our hands on to move people off-world. Anyhow, I wanted to let you know we appreciate your help."

We started working our way through the other transmissions. They came from mothers, grandparents, politicians, owners of bars, kids in classrooms, almost all saying thanks. They'd heard the sound version of the interview and were giving me credit for the improvised fleet from Borkarat and the Assemblage, which was already en route. Universities wanted to bestow academic credentials, somebody was going to name a foundation for me, and several towns offered real estate if I would consent to move there. There would be a Chase Kolpath Park in a place called Dover Cliff, and a historical site on Huanko Island, provided I agreed to visit. I was offered endorsement for lines of clothing, perfumes, and games. And I should mention upward of two hundred messages from guys who wanted to take me to dinner. There were also a few crank messages accusing me of treason, of consorting with the enemy, of encouraging alien lunatics who wanted nothing more than to destroy the human race and carry off our children. It was usually Alex who got all the attention. This time, though, nobody mentioned him. Nobody extended him any credit in the proceedings. Nobody proposed to him. Nobody even threatened him. "It's the way it is with celebrity," I said, magnanimously. "Up one day, down the next." He laughed. "You earned it." There was also a newswrap from Fenn Redfield on Rimway. Some administration officials at home were saying I'd been disloyal and were calling for an investigation. "Maybe I should look at some of the local real estate after all," I said. Alex laughed. "You're a hero. Before this is over, it's Whiteside who's going to have to get out of town."

It was three hours after midnight on shipboard when we docked at Samuels. We locked down, opened the hatch, walked out into the egress tube, and were greeted by a small crowd that applauded when they saw us. Among them I counted half a dozen Mutes. It was a good feeling. Maybe we were making progress. We waved and signed a few autographs. Then, when we were walking away, one of the Ashiyyur came up beside me. A female. I stopped and looked up at her. She said, "Chase-" It was too loud. "Yes?" She fiddled with the voice box. "Sorry. I can't control the volume on this thing." "It's okay. What can I do for you?" "There was a man back there. Who wants you dead. 'You' being both of you, but especially your friend, Alex."

Behind us, the crowd was dispersing. We didn't see anybody we recognized. "Who was it?" Alex asked. "Did you get a name?" "No. Couldn't read it." She turned and looked. "He's gone now. He had a cane. Walked with a limp."

It had to be Wexler. Alex and I exchanged glances. "I guess he's still upset," said Alex. "You really think he's out to kill us?" "I don't know. What's the best possible construction you could put on what she told us?"

We started making our way out of the area when I heard someone sobbing. The sounds came from the crowd directly ahead. They were gathered around a boarding tube. We saw a few men and women and a lot of kids, and everybody was hugging everybody else. A couple of operational people were trying to move them up the tube. Move the kids up the tube. I asked a bystander what was going on. "It's part of the evacuation program," she said. "They're taking the kids to Sanctum." "Parents stay here?" I asked. "Pretty much. Two or three mothers go along, depending on the capacity of the ship." Some of the younger children were trying to hang on to the adults. They had to be pried loose. We listened to promises about how Mommy and Daddy will see you soon, go along with the nice lady, Jan, and everything will be fine. Some of them descended into hysterics. The struggle was still going on as we left the area. "What do we do about Wexler?" I asked, grateful to be able to change our focus. "There's a security office down on the lower level." "Not a good idea." "Why not?" "If he's watching us, and I'd be surprised if he isn't, he'll see us go in. If that happens, we'll lose our advantage." "Which is what?" "He doesn't know we've been warned. We should let the security office know, but do it by link." "Okay." "Try to look happy, Chase." I smiled and started whistling. "Happy," he said. "Not goofy." "Right. What else do we do?" "Where's the restaurant?" "Sandstone's is just up ahead." "Okay. Let's go in. We'll do it from there." "Wouldn't it be a better idea just to get on the shuttle and get away from here?" "We're going to have to deal with him at some point. Once we start running, we'll be doing it

permanently." "Okay. But I'm not sure it's a good idea to sit in Sandstone's, where he can get a clean shot at us. Why not at least get out of sight?" "Wexler's a survivor. He'll want to take us down, then have time to take the shuttle groundside. That means he'll try to get to us in a private place." It made sense. "You think Krestoff is with him?" I was looking around, trying to do it surreptitiously. Not easy. "We better assume she is." We went into Sandstone's and got a table back in the corner, away from the windows. No booth, because we might need to move quickly. "You still have the scrambler, Chase?" he asked. It was in the utility bag slung over one shoulder. "All right. Let's get a reservation at the hotel." "We'll have to use our real names." The secondary account had lapsed. "That's okay. Maybe it's just as well to make it easy for the lunatics to find us." He braced his chin on one hand while he considered the problem. I called the hotel. They had a suite available. "No," said Alex. "Two rooms." He ordered drinks. Then he called the security office. He identified himself and told them there were two wanted criminals running loose on the station. "And who are these criminals?" asked a female voice. Its owner sounded skeptical. "Mikel Wexler." He spelled it for her. "And Maria Krestoff."