The Devil's Eye (25 page)

Kara's eyes found me. They were afraid. "Okay. Let me think about it for a minute." Math wasn't my strong suit. "Ask Rachel to move us, the asteroid, to where its position would have been thirty-three years ago, when they were putting the monument down. And move Moria to where it will be in another three years." "How'd you get that?" "Thirty-three from thirty-six. Okay? Now draw the line again from Callistra." "Done." The line from Callistra went directly through the asteroid and touched Moria. Touched Salud Afar. Ivan's mouth opened, and his head fell back against his seat. Kara took a deep breath. "My God," she said. Ivan shook his head. "I don't believe it. I can't believe they'd know about something like this and keep it quiet." "Alex thinks they knew as far back as Aramy Cleev." "So what's next?" "Let's go take a look."

We knew it would be somewhere along the vector, approximately three light-years out from Salud Afar. That was a pretty big target area. The problem was we didn't really know precisely when the
Lantner
encountered its problem. So we were guessing. We jumped to within two light-years of Salud Afar but kept well off the vector. We were dealing with a thunderbolt, and we didn't want to come out directly in front of it. Callistra was back in the sky. Brilliant and beautiful. Queen of the Night. Or a satanic spectacle. Take your choice. We burned a ton of fuel turning around. Then we started back, jumping out every few seconds, well wide of the vector. At each stop we looked for Callistra, and each time were relieved to find it still floating serenely ahead. Then, finally, it was gone. Ivan delivered a string of profanities, starting under his breath and ending in a scream. Other than that, we were quiet a long time. Finally, he turned to his wife. "Start packing, babe," he said. "We'll be leaving as soon as we get home." "A nova," Kara said. "But it's too far. It can't affect us." I could feel my heart beating while I sat there, listening to a conversation that was going to play out on a global scale. What would happen when two billion people found out what was coming?

We jumped again. Back toward Salud Afar. Only a few light-weeks. Callistra reappeared. Then back toward the star. And forward again. We finally found it. The bright blue star beginning to look a bit
too
bright. Beginning to expand. To swell like a poisoned fruit. "You sure we're out of the way?" asked Kara. "We don't want to go like the
Lantner.
" Ivan relayed the question to me. "How big is it?" he asked. I had no idea. So we stayed in place, cruising through the void, watching while Callistra got brighter. And bigger. It took over the sky. Ivan switched to manual. If we had to leave in a hurry, it would be quicker just to do it rather than instruct Rachel to do it. It would have been smarter to make one more jump back toward the star, to get behind what was coming. But the thing was mesmerizing. Ivan began reading off Callistra's statistics. Its mass, surface temperature, diameter. It was 120 times the mass of Moria, their sun. Normally 1.2 million times as bright. God knew what it was at that moment. No. Not at that moment. Twelve hundred years ago, when this had actually happened. When it had blown apart and flung jets of radiation and God knew what else into the night.

"Its stability index was always low," said Ivan. "At least that's what it says here. If they didn't know already, they should have seen it coming." The star grew blindingly bright. "Uh-oh," said Ivan. "We'd better get out of here." "I think we're okay," I said. "If we'd been in its path, we'd be dead already."

It took a while to find what we were looking for. When we did, it appeared harmless enough: a splash of gauzy light against the empty sky. "Part of the explosion?" Ivan asked. "A gamma-ray burst, I think." "Does it blow everything away?" "No. But it irradiates everything." "That can't be right." "Why?" "It wouldn't explain why the two ships disappeared at the asteroid. Or the people at the ceremony. Unless it just blew them away." I told them what Alex had told me. How Cleev probably fabricated everything to maintain his hold on power. "What a son of a bitch." "It also explains why they had to kill off Jennifer Kelton and Edward Demery." "Why
did
they have to do that?" "Because Demery figured it out. He figured it out the way Vicki did, and the way Alex did. Except Alex couldn't bring himself to believe what he was seeing." I was trying to visualize the sequence of events. Demery suspected that the star might have blown. That part of it had taken out the monitors at Seepah. That another part, centuries later, destroyed the monument celebration at the asteroid. It had taken several hundred years because Seepah was that much closer to Callistra. Demery would have gone to Jennifer for confirmation. She agreed, and made the mistake-or possibly
he
did-of showing it to someone in authority. That got them killed. "I know about that," said Kara. "But as I understand it, seventeen or eighteen families were killed that night. They couldn't all have been in on it." Think like Alex. "They'd have killed the others to cover what they were doing. To prevent attention from being drawn to Demery." "It makes sense," she said. The burst was small in the viewports. It looked like a distant comet. "When Vicki went out to the asteroid," he said, "she just wanted to see whether the star was there. Right?" "Sure." "I guess," said Ivan, "it also explains why Haley Khan disappeared." "Yes," I said. "He would have known, too." "But," Kara said, "Cleev's long gone." "I know. But there are still people in power." Kara's eyes had closed. "How much damage do you think this thing will do?" "Rachel?"

He opened a channel to Samuels. "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Start warning people." "No, Ivan."
"No?"
His face contorted into a snarl. "Hell, Chase, why not?"

"Ivan, if you start making noise, you're going to create a stampede." "What do you suggest? We just keep quiet so we can save our own damned skins?" "No. Look: I'm not sure yet. I'm like you. I'm just a pilot. I don't have any experience with stuff like this. But I'm pretty sure that just getting out there and screaming about it isn't the right way to go." "What is?" "Somebody that people respect is going to need to step up and take charge." He rolled his eyes. "You've lost your mind, Chase. Who's going to do anything like that? Your buddy the antique dealer? Assuming you could get him loose?" How the hell would I know? "Look, I don't have any better ideas than you do right now. But let's just keep calm and try to figure it out. Okay?"

We made the jump back to Salud Afar and emerged about thirty hours from Samuels. We looked out at the calm sky, at the galactic rim, at Callistra, bright and benevolent over the edge of the world. We were in the common room. We were all talking too much, and all talking about the same thing. There was nothing else. How did you evacuate two billion people in three years? And what were we going to do? "You know," Ivan said, "they may pick all three of us up as we come off the ship." "You think they'd do that?" asked Kara. The question was directed at me. "Yes," I said. "I've no doubt." "We should program Rachel," Kara said. "Have her break the news unless we tell her not to." "If they're onto us," I said, "it's already too late to do that. They wouldn't have a problem blocking a transmission from a single ship whose location is known." Ivan nodded. "That's right." He looked at Kara. "I'm sorry I got you into this, love." "We need to split up," Kara said. "That's exactly what I've been thinking. Look: I'm the one they'll be looking for. How about we use the lander? To drop me off somewhere?" "Absolutely," said Ivan. "Exactly what I was going to suggest." "And when you guys get back to your quarters, call me."

I'd have liked to launch the lander from far out. Maybe a couple of million klicks. But we couldn't because it didn't have the braking power. And had we begun braking the
Borden
too soon, it would have attracted attention. So I launched close in, hoping no one would notice. On the theory that we should try every channel open to us, I prepared a transmission to Rob Peifer, laying out everything we'd found. I recorded it in my link, and on the lander's commsystem. It would go out at my direction, or automatically from both sources in thirty hours unless I specified otherwise. I rode the lander down into the atmosphere and made directly for the plateau, hoping that Wexler would have put Alex there again. But it was empty. Landers are easy to find. Especially when they're operating without clearance in crowded skies. I left the plateau and set down in a wooded area.

Before leaving the lander, I tried to call Ivan. He would have been docked by then. But an unfamiliar male voice answered.
"Sloan,"
it said. I broke off. I walked seven kilometers to a small train station, waited about an hour, and caught a local toward Marinopolis. During the trip, I read everything I could find about Administrator Kilgore. I listened to his speeches and press conferences. He
looked
like a chief executive. He was tall and deliberate, with silver hair and gray eyes that were at once intelligent and sensitive. He was relaxed, casual, the guy in charge. When he was there, you knew everything was under control. It was hard to believe he could be part of a conspiracy to maintain secrecy while a radiation bolt was coming this way. He did a live broadcast while I was on a train soaring through a mountain range. It originated from his office at Number 17 Parkway, which was the seat of the executive wing of the government. He was at his desk, a fireplace flickering and crackling in the background. He talked about general matters, about his concern that relations with the Mutes had deteriorated so severely, about a recent scandal involving one of his aides, and about several new programs he was instituting, the primary one being a response to a series of skimmer crashes.
"It's not supposed to happen, and I promise you we will do what's necessary to stop it."

He spoke for about thirty-five minutes, and I found myself hard-pressed not to like him. I resisted the impulse to conclude he was involved.

The train wasn't going all the way into the capital, so I got off in a mid-sized city and decided I'd complete the journey the next day. I checked into a hotel, showered and changed, and went across the street to the Paranova, which had a small band and good drinks. I'm not usually much of a drinker, but it had been a rugged few days, and I only had to pay for the first one. After that there was always somebody anxious to pick up the tab. I spent a couple of hours in the place, declined an invitation to join a party, met two or three guys who would have made interesting companions for the evening. But I kept thinking I needed a heroic type. Somebody who could break down doors and take out the bong thrower. The band had two people on stringed instruments, a third on a horn, and a female singer. They called themselves The Big Five. And I know, there were only four. Don't ask me to explain it. The music was moody. The sort of stuff they were doing during the last century on Rimway. But it was effective nonetheless, or maybe it was just my state of mind. The songs were about lost lovers, roads not taken, and being away from home. A blond guy with great looks but no sense of humor was at my table going on about something, while I sipped a drink that tasted of lemon and rum, and The Big Five played on. Suddenly I became aware of the lyrics:

Drinking too much usually gives me a false sense of bravado. I always come out of those evenings with the notion I can take on anybody. But I think that had dissipated by the time I got off the train in Marinopolis and caught a taxi out to the Marikoba University campus. The register told me that Professor Mikel Wexler specialized in Bandahriate history and that his office was located on the second floor of the Fletcher Building. But it was locked, and the people up there said he "did not come in at this time of the week." I tried his home code and got an AI.
"Professor Wexler's residence. Please leave a message."
I recalled that he was an "occasional advisor to Administrator Kilgore." I called the executive branch information board. They were sorry, but they had no way to reach him, nor could they advise me where he was. So I wandered into the faculty room in the Fletcher Building and started a conversation with anyone who came in. Nobody questioned my right to be there, and I decided this was the time to take a chance and mention my affiliation with Alex. "Marvelous," they said. "The man who got the truth about Christopher Sim." And "the guy who found Margolia."

The
Polaris
story never surfaced, but it didn't need to. As people went out to take care of classes, others came in, asking what I was doing there, could I be persuaded to talk to this or that class, what was Benedict working on now? I was pleasantly surprised to discover that most of them knew
me
. What was I doing there? Every time the question was asked, I replied that I'd been hoping to locate Mikel Wexler. "I'm sorry to have missed him." "Ah," said one portly woman dressed entirely in black, "I might have known Mikel would know Alex Benedict." "Do you have any idea where I might find him?" There were two or three others in the room. We were all seated around a table. "I suppose it would be all right," she said. She lowered her voice even though it didn't matter. Everyone could hear what she said. "He's at the Cobblemere Building. He has an office over there. He claims they do historical research for the government, but I think they just screw around. Did you want me to call him?" The others looked disapprovingly at her. One shrugged. "No," I said. "I'd like to surprise him if I can."

The Cobblemere was a nondescript gray three-story structure set on a tree-lined avenue about two kilometers from the university. Corporate offices lined both sides of the street, along with the National Biolab Foundation. A small metal plate identified it as the COALITION RESEARCH AGENCY. I walked in the front door, strolled through an empty lobby, entered a corridor, and stopped outside an open office door. A desk lamp was on, but nobody was home. A tall, thin kid came out of an adjoining room, carrying a piece of electronic equipment. He stopped when he saw me. "Can I help you, ma'am?" "I'd like to see Dr. Wexler, please." "I'm sorry. He's not here at the moment. Would you care to leave a message?" "Sure," I said. "Tell him Kolpath is here. He has"-I glanced at the time-"an hour and fifty-seven minutes to get to me, or the gamma-ray story will go to every major media outlet on the planet." He looked puzzled. "Do you want me to write it down for you?" "Ma'am," he said, "you seem upset. May I suggest-?" "I suggest you get that message to him." I gave him my code. "Tell him to call." He stood with his mouth open, not sure what to do. I let the moment drag on and looked at the time again. "An hour and fifty-
six
minutes," I said. "What's your name?" "Eiglitz." "Mr. Eiglitz, I can assure you that Dr. Wexler will be extremely unhappy if he doesn't get that message promptly." He managed a rattled smile. "Yes, of course. I'll see what I can do." Another grin. "Why don't you wait here? Let me see what I can do. Please make yourself comfortable." He left the office, but moments later he was back. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you
did
say the name is-?" "Kolpath." I spelled it for him. "Of course." He hurried out. A few minutes later, an older man showed up. Tall, wide shoulders just starting to slump with age. Congenial features. Let's just take it easy attitude. "Ms. Kolpath," he said, "my name is Mark Hollinger. Can I help you?" His tone suggested he was speaking to a child. "Dr. Wexler is not here." "Thanks, Mr. Hollinger. You can see that Wexler gets my message. I think I'm done here." I turned around and started for the front door. Hollinger stayed with me. "I'm sorry. But he's really not available today. You're going to have to work through me." "Okay," I said. "Produce Alex." "Alex?" He tried to look puzzled. "Alex who?"