The Devil's Eye

that is good. But the reality is that we love the night. It is where all women are beautiful, where the imagination has free rein, where plots are hatched and terrible things happen. And we would have it no other way.

- Love You to Death

Boldinai Point was best known for its cemetery. Maybe it was the only claim to fame the place had. It was located in an area called the Outland, on a large island a quarter of the way around the globe. We caught a morning flight and landed three hours later in a coastal city. From there we rode a gravity train inland to Boraka. We stayed there overnight, and in the morning rented a skimmer, sat back, and let the AI take us the rest of the way to Boldinai Point. It was rough country. Dry, flat, sandy, with lots of rock. To the west, a chain of mountains cut across the horizon. The Point itself is a town of about four thousand. I couldn't imagine how the term Point had

gotten into the name. It was located in the middle of nowhere. It had a distinction, though. It was one of the few places where people had been relatively free under the Bandahriate. Though it had been part of Cleev's domain, it was a long way from the center of power, and so small as to be apparently not worth worrying about. So it was the place where, for three centuries, rebels and malcontents and renegade scientists had retreated. It looked remote enough that they wouldn't have been able to cause any trouble, so the dictator might have been just as happy. Salud Afar did not have-and still does not have, so far as I know-the minimum payout system that allows a citizen to loaf for a lifetime if he so desires. No one in power on that world had thought it was a good idea, so they never incorporated it. There, you worked or you became dependent on the charity of others. Or worse. As Alex and I descended into that lonely place, I wondered how the inhabitants made their living. The Point was a collection of weatherworn buildings erected along a small series of cross streets. Its celebrated cemetery was located north of town. From the air, it had looked like every other cemetery I'd seen, just a collection of markers inside an iron fence. Outside the fence, the land was flat and gray and ran unimpeded to the horizon. The hotel and the restaurant were crowded. 'I guess it's a fairly prosperous tourist spot,' said Alex. 'Is there something I'm missing?' I asked. 'Or is it just the cemetery?' 'I think it's just the cemetery,' he said. 'And don't get that look on your face. It's not every town that has an unquiet grave.' The elderly owner of a souvenir store told us the story: 'Peter Cleev started it.' 'Cleev?' Alex said. 'One of the dictators?' 'Four centuries ago. He got upset because some of his enforcers were being killed by rebels. So he launched a program to develop a better enforcer. Somebody you couldn't take down with just a shot or two from a scrambler. He wanted something that wouldn't feel pain.' 'Are you serious?' asked Alex. 'Do I look as if I'd lie to you?' The shopkeeper laughed and showed us a print of Peter Cleev. Long, thin guy with a pointed beard and satanic eyes. The evil emperor right out of an over-the-top HV. 'He didn't want anybody to know about it because it would undermine his image. The Cleevs thought the rest of us were damn fools. Thought we believed they were compassionate, easygoing types who only had the welfare of their people at heart. 'It's why they always had to have people around them who smiled a lot. The world, under the Bandahr, was relentlessly happy. Or else. 'So he sent a team out here to produce his-' He tried to think of the term. '-Android,' said Alex. 'Android, yes. And the townspeople watched as a lab and support facility were set up on Route One.' 'Route One?' I said. 'That's it running through the center of town.' 'It's the only road you have.' 'That's right. Route One. You know, if you're going to keep interrupting-' 'No. Please. Go on.' 'Okay. Anyhow, when they got everything built, the lights burned all night, and they started burying stuff in unmarked graves at the back of the cemetery.' 'Experiments gone wrong?' asked Alex. The shopkeeper nodded solemnly, as if the truth was to go no further than the three of us. As if it were something for which the world was not yet ready. 'Yes,' he said. 'That's exactly what they were burying. They brought prisoners in at night and did their goddam experiments. And they stayed at it until they succeeded. Or thought they had. 'Forrest Barryman was a high-school history teacher when they grabbed him and brought him here. He'd said something in one of his classes. Or somebody thought he did, and that was enough. They made him proof against most small weapons. Made him so he didn't feel pain. But Forrest, he didn't like what they'd done to him, so he got loose one night and tore up the lab. And tore up some of his tormentors,

too. 'Then he took out the security people and disappeared into the woods. By then he'd gone crazy. One night he came into town and went on a rampage, strangling and beating everybody he saw. They couldn't stop him. Eventually, an enraged mob was able to drive him out. They tracked him into the nearby hills, took a few more casualties, and finally brought him down with a plasma shell. 'They buried him in the cemetery, along with their own dead. Members of his family were notified, and several came for the service. They were horrified to hear what had happened. Forrest had simply vanished. Nobody had known what had happened to him. When it got out that he was behind it, Cleev had been so worried he went public and denied the story. Claimed it was renegade scientists. Within a week of the burial, somebody descended on the ruined lab and removed everything that could connect it with the government.' 'My God,' I said. 'Is that really true? Did that actually happen?' The shopkeeper's eyes were gray. His hair was also gray, and his skin was sallow. I remember thinking that he needed to get away from the souvenir shop. Get away from the cemetery. 'It gets worse,' he said. 'What else happened?' asked Alex. 'Several weeks after they took down the lab, something attacked the town again. They didn't know what it was. But they started finding bodies. Beaten to death. Clubbed. Strangled. Witnesses swore it was Barryman. A reporter went out to the cemetery.' 'The grave was empty,' said Alex. 'Yes.' That part of the story I'd heard before we left Marinopolis. 'They asked for help from the authorities. But they just laughed. And so did the media, which, in those days, wasn't worth a damn anyhow. So the town got up an action committee. They went out after him, tracked him down a second time, and killed him again. Everybody agreed it was the same person. This time, they encased the body in concrete before putting it in the ground. They brought in a priest to perform an exorcism ceremony, and they put a stone block on top of the burial site to keep him in his grave.' Had the shopkeeper by any chance seen Vicki Greene? Had she actually come to town? 'Who?' he asked. So we moved on. To one of the town's two restaurants. The hostess was tall and looked a bit too sensible to be living in a place like Boldinai Point. I doubted the town had much in the way of prospects. As we were getting seated, I asked whether there was anything to the Barryman story, no kidding, and she said sure, where had I been all my life? 'I'll tell you something else,' she added. 'There's a connection of some sort with Callistra.' 'With Callistra?' 'Most times you go out there, everything's quiet. But do it at night, when the star's directly overhead, and you can feel that thing trying to break out of its tomb.' Welcome to Boldinai Point.

We picked a hotel, but it was full. 'Try the Hamel,' they said. The Hamel was okay, but it wasn't the luxurious kind of place Alex liked. They didn't have suites available, so we checked into separate rooms. During the process, Alex asked the AI whether she knew who Vicki Greene was. 'Oh, yes, sir,' she said. 'She's very popular at the Point.' 'Can you tell me whether she showed up here during the past year?' 'That's private information, sir,' she said. 'I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to speak of such matters. I can check to see whether she's staying at this hotel now, if you like.' We tried calling the Point Man , which was the local journal. She had been here, had in fact stayed at the Hamel, had 'starred at a special event for delighted visitors,' during which she'd spoken about why people want to believe in the supernatural. She'd signed books, including some bound collector's

editions, and had 'joined a number of her readers at a raucous party.' She'd also submitted to an interview, which the Point Man made available. As before, she looked fine.

Q: Ms. Greene, why have you come to the Point?

A: It's a special place, Henry. I've always wanted to come here.

Q: Are you working on your next book?

A: I'm always working on my next book. (Laughs.)

Q: Would you want to tell us what it's about?

A: It's still in its early stages.

Q: Can you give us the title?

A: The working title is The Devil's Eye .

Q: You're visiting the Point?

A: Yes. That seems to be true.

Q: Can I guess that means you're writing about Forrest Barryman?