The Devil's Eye (39 page)

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.

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?"

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?"

"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?"

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."

"I saw them."

"Yes."

The restaurant was about half-full. But I saw no familiar faces either inside or out in the concourse.

"Yes."

"That's correct."

"Yes."

"That's correct."

We sat looking at each other. "What do you think?" I said. "Well, they'll arrest them if they happen to run into them." While we tried our drinks and contemplated ordering some real food, I let the service people know that we'd changed our plans and they should route our bags to the hotel.

An hour or so later we strolled into the lobby. This was the point at which my nerves began to work on me. They'd put us on the fourth floor and I remember half-expecting to find Wexler waiting inside the elevator, or around the corner, as we headed for our rooms. I dug the scrambler out in the hallway. We checked my room. With weapon drawn. We were not going to underestimate the good doctor. When we were satisfied, I put my bags away, turned on the HV, and left the lights on. Tried to make it look as if I was in. Then we went through a similar procedure in Alex's room. If it seems that we were overreacting, please keep in mind that we'd been through a lot. Anyhow, Alex said he had no doubt we'd have visitors within the next few hours.

He said hello to the AI, whose name was Aia. She had a soft female voice. "Aia," he said, "can you do an impersonation of Administrator Kilgore?"
"You mean,"
she said,
"can I reproduce his voice?"
"Yes."
"Of course."
She gave us a sample, claiming that liberty was a boon to all persons everywhere. She delivered it in his rich deep baritone. "Good," said Alex. "Perfect. I'm going to want you to do something for me."

The rooms were smaller than those you'd get in a hotel of a similar class groundside. But they were as attractive. Everything was done in silk and lavender. We even had a balcony overlooking the concourse. Above us, the overhead was transparent and provided a spectacular view of the outside. At the moment, we were looking out at the rim of the world, illuminated by a setting-or rising-sun. I wasn't sure which. I walked out through a glass door and inspected it. The balconies were connected by a narrow ledge. I looked at it for a long time and decided even Krestoff would not have been able to negotiate it. I went back inside, closed the glass door, and drew the curtains. We talked for a while. Watched a report on the evacuation. Everybody was excited by the help coming in from the Confederacy and the Assemblage. The shield barely made an appearance in the conversations, other than as an example of the desperation of world leaders.
"It was never plausible, Jay,"
said one commentator.
"They'd have had to pull the entire evacuation fleet to work on it, with next to no chance of success. I think the route they've chosen, moving as many people off-world as they can, and concentrating on building shelters, is the way to go."

We didn't talk much, and when we did, we kept our voices down. We did not want anyone outside the door to realize there was a second person in the room. We didn't really expect to fool Wexler, but it could do no harm. I eventually drifted off to sleep in my chair. When I woke, Alex pointed out that it was early morning on the station, but we were in dinner mode. "Sure," I said. He picked up the hotel guide. "Maybe we should have it sent up." "Why? I thought we decided we were safer in public places." "We have to go out in the corridor and take the elevator. If they're going to try anything, I want them to have to come to us." "Okay." "And we might try just ordering one dinner. Mine." "Because I'm in my room." "Good. Yes." He called down. Ordered the special, with a glass of white wine, and a cinnamon bun. We waited, heard the sound of the elevator, heard footsteps in the hall. Then a door opened somewhere, and everything was quiet again. We went through another false alarm before finally getting a gentle tap at the door. Alex signaled me to move to the bathroom. When I was out of sight, he opened the door. "Good evening, sir." The voice was not Wexler's. Alex moved back out of the way. An attendant carried a tray and a small bottle of wine into the room. He left the door ajar behind him, and I angled myself to watch. He set the tray on the coffee table, opened the wine bottle, and produced a glass, which he filled. He set down a cloth napkin and the silverware. Alex tipped him, he said thank you, and was gone, closing the door behind him. Alex sat down in front of it. "Well," he said, "that didn't work." "No, it didn't." He looked down at the dinner. Steaming fish, a vegetable, and toast. "I'll split it with you." "Or perhaps with
me
." The voice came from the far end of the room. Krestoff.