Jack McDevitt: The Devil's Eye

That finished the drinking, at least for me. We sat in desultory silence, contemplating a bleak future. Three years hauling refugees for me, and God knew what for Alex. While the world slowly tumbled toward oblivion. When the time came, we said good-bye. I left him alone in the Pilots' Club, the guy who'd figured it out and warned the world, who'd made the rescue effort possible. He wouldn't be allowed back in without me to escort him. I went back to my room and got my gear, much of which, fortunately, I hadn't unpacked. I sent it down to the loading dock and checked out of the hotel. Then I headed for the operations center. If I was going to be taking people to Sanctum, it seemed like a good idea to find out where the place was. Fourteen thousand light-years, in the general direction of the galactic rim. It was one of eleven worlds in the system, and its sun was a yellow dwarf. Of course, at that range, it was invisible to the naked eye. I got my vectoring data and headed for the ship, which was waiting at the dock when I arrived. A technician assured me the Belle-Marie was all set to go, that they'd made some adjustments inside, and stored food and water for the flight. Each boarding area was designed to service two ships. A second vehicle was also preparing for departure. It was small, smaller even than the Belle-Marie , but it bore Ashiyyurean markings. I stood for a minute, watching while four kids were separated from a small group of adults and led on board by a young woman. A female Mute stood off to one side. The captain, I suspected. The last of the five passengers disappeared into the tube, and the Mute hesitated. She and the remaining adults regarded one another with caution. And uncertainty. Then she raised one long arm in farewell. Or good luck. Or God bless. The humans waved back. A scene like that, a few months earlier, would have been unthinkable. We boarded the Belle-Marie , and the technician showed me six additional acceleration couches, doubling Belle 's carrying capacity. And they'd upgraded life support. "When you get back," he said, "we'll put in an extra washroom. In the meantime, you'll have to get by as best you can. Let us know"-he didn't crack a smile-"if we can do anything else." He checked something in his notebook, said Okay, that's good to no one in particular, and started for the hatch. He put one foot into the tube, stopped, and turned. "By the way, your AI will have the names of your passengers, and the time of their arrival, which I think will be just a few minutes now. It'll also have contact information for when you reach Sanctum." He left and I sat down and said hello to Belle. "Hi, Chase," she said.

I was expecting another load of children. I was relieved when a group of technicians and engineers showed up. I know that sounds hard-hearted, but the prospect of riding all the way to Sanctum with kids in a state of near hysteria was just more than I wanted to deal with. I wondered how the Mute in the other ship, who'd be even more tuned in to it than I would, could handle it. It occurred to me for the first time that maybe they had an off switch. My passengers piled in, and I introduced myself. We could all see that privacy would be at a minimum and we'd have to live with make-do accommodations. Within a few minutes we were on our way. And I discovered this flight would be as painful, in its way, as the shipload of kids I'd anticipated. My passengers were all leaving behind families, lovers, friends, for whom there was no room on the Belle-Marie , or probably on any other ship during the next three years. The kids, and the adults who cared for them, were getting all the priority. Nobody could argue with that, but that didn't alleviate the pain. So my passengers would go out to Sanctum and do their assignments. Afterward, they'd have a choice: They could stay, and be clear of the Thunderbolt. Or they could go back to Salud Afar with next to no hope of being evacuated later, and take their chances. They were, understandably, being encouraged to stay at Sanctum. It was a long flight. We had to establish a sleeping schedule to provide accommodations for everyone. Despite the supplementary life-support setup, the air became oppressive. There were always two people sitting on the bridge. The rest-other than those logging sack time-were spread around the common room, a few relegated to using the deck because there wasn't enough seating. The electronic game systems didn't work too well under crowded conditions, and I made a mental note to bring some cards next time. They took it in stride. Everybody understood that the stakes were high, but the narrow bulkheads pressed on us all. We scheduled the entertainment, one show in the afternoon, one in the evening. We ran musicals, comedies, and thrillers. Nothing heavy. Strictly lightweight stuff. We even resurrected bingo, which, Alex tells me, was invented by the Dellacondans more than two thousand years ago. And might even be older than that. (In fact, Rainbow Enterprises had recently sold a bingo set from that era for a small fortune.) And we talked. Before we were finished, everybody's life story came out and got put on the table. One woman had been abandoned by her parents, one of the guys had lost a son in an accident at sea. One of the structural foundations techs started having breathing problems halfway across. It was a scary business, but fortunately extra oxygen tanks had been put on board, and we were able to bring him out of it. But he was a concern the rest of the way. When, on the thirteenth day, we jumped out into Sanctum space, everybody cheered. I could have arranged to have a patrol vehicle pick up the foundations tech, but he insisted he was okay, and he wanted to stay with the Belle-Marie . I went along with it, and he had another spell the next day. We got him into the hands of the medics okay, but it threw a scare into everybody. While I was in orbit around Sanctum, we picked up a transmission from Number 17 Parkway, in which Kilgore thanked his friends in the Confederacy for the support they'd been sending. He included the fleet, but he was really talking about the private citizens who had swarmed to his aid. I wondered if he'd been smart enough to send a similar message to the Assemblage. Sanctum was, of course, a work in progress. Even the space station was still under construction. The world didn't have a moon, so it was unlikely to become a permanent habitat. But it had oceans and open plains and forests. The only look I got at groundside was from orbit, though, so I didn't see much. Lights were visible on the dark side. And they downloaded a tour of the place for me. Although I never did anything more than take a cursory glance. You've seen one forest, you've seen them all. I'd have liked to stay a couple of days. Get out of the ship for a while. But I had become part of the official schedule, and there were passengers waiting for me back at Samuels. So they serviced Belle while I stretched out for a couple of hours on a real bed. Then I was on my way back to Salud Afar. For the people hauling refugees out to Sanctum, it would be an endless stream. For three years, I expected there would be nothing else in my life, two weeks in a jammed ship, two weeks in an empty one, hauling people who were leaving behind everything, and often every one , they loved.

I wondered whether Wexler might not have been right.

When I got back to Samuels, there was no trace of Alex. I left a message saying hello, sorry to have missed you, catch you next time. They gave me almost three hours to relax, then I was back at the boarding area to pick up my next set of passengers. They were kids this time. All four years of age or under, plus two mothers. They screamed and cried their farewells, and we finally got them all on board. I took a deep breath, and we launched. The kids cried round the clock. The mothers did what they could, and showed, I thought, endless patience. I tried to help to the extent I could. But none of us knew how to calm the ongoing hysteria. By the third day, they both had bloodshot eyes. "Got to be a better way to do this," I told them. I decided a couple of cats might help, and I made a mental note to put in a request. The older of the two mothers, an attractive blonde, commented that they only had to put up with it for two weeks. And the other one immediately dissolved into tears. After I delivered them, I sent a message to the people running the evacuation, ordering my cats, and informing them that, even though I understood the reasoning behind trying to save the kids first, separating children from their mothers was cruel. I knew that if they responded at all, which was unlikely, they'd ask me for an alternative. And of course I wouldn't have one. It didn't matter. They never asked.