The Devil's Eye

full. A woman on the flight told me she and her family were leaving the next day for Toxicon. 'We got our tickets weeks ago. It was going to be a vacation. I think we were lucky.' Two families were leaving on one of the tour ships. For Rimway. 'Thank God we have Belle ,' I told Alex. 'I wouldn't want to be trying to go anywhere on public transportation.' Alex was looking out as we passed through the cloud cover. 'I guess bad news is always good for somebody. Your buddy Ivan will make a fortune.' 'Starlight Tours will.' We watched the newscasts during the ascent. They were filled with reports of people talking about leaving Salud Afar, of scientists disputing the government's claims, and of political commentators demanding that Kilgore be removed from office. Others maintained it was a conspiracy to drive prices down and allow some wealthy individuals to expand their holdings. Or to allow Kilgore to establish dictatorial powers. Some people said they didn't give a damn what was coming, nobody was going to chase them out of their homes. Angry editorials were showing up: The explosion happened 1200 years ago, and we're just finding out about it now? And: Kilgore may have known. And: Time to build space arks. Only Star in the Sky, and Nobody Noticed. Time for New Leadership.

Celebrities and politicians were pleading for unity. This was a time to put aside our differences and work together to achieve the best outcome, whatever that might be. There were calls for worldwide prayer, and the various religions that, Peifer had told me, had always been at one another's throats, suddenly found themselves with a common cause. Somebody was starting a Kids Off-world Campaign. They were arguing that all available space on departing vehicles be made available to children. They are the future. Anyone with the means to leave Salud Afar on his own was urged to volunteer help. Take some children with you. Save the kids.

Number 17 Parkway announced that the Administrator would speak again that night and would outline a plan of action. There was a sense of unreality about it all. Despite the frenzied activity, I doubted if the reality of the situation had taken hold. People seemed to be reacting as if a bad storm were coming. The question became how best to get through it. We were not yet on the Korinbladt , the crippled liner that had, only

the year before, gotten dragged into a sun along with its more than seven hundred well-done passengers. I looked down through drifting white clouds at a lush green landscape, filled with trees and bushes and rolling hills. And I could not believe this entire world was going to be irradiated in three years. That it would become uninhabitable for decades or more. I couldn't help sympathizing with Kilgore, who had to face the reality that his lack of curiosity was going to cost a world full of lives. But I wondered how he could have been paying so little attention that he'd missed what was going on? But at least he seemed now to be engaged. Tonight, he'd announce a strategy. 'Good luck on that one,' said Alex. Physicists were being interviewed. Evan Carbacci of the Nakamura Institute commented that they'd always known that Callistra was unstable, and plans had been made just last month for a mission to check its status. 'If it seems a bit late,' he said, 'you have to remember that these things tend to happen on scales of millions of years. I don't think it occurred to any of us that an explosion was imminent. In human terms. Let alone that it had already happened.' When pressed, he got angry: 'Look, let's be honest here. The truth is that we've simply been terribly unlucky. We knew that even if the damned thing blew, the chances of our getting in the way were remote. Who'd have thought-?'

Families were mounting pleas for anyone leaving Salud Afar to take their kids. Several watchdog organizations wanted investigations to determine who was at fault. Conspiracy theorists were arriving in force. Not only had Cleev and Kilgore known-pick one-but some maintained that a secret society had known but kept it quiet for religious purposes. (The religious purposes never became clear.) Other groups argued that in fact there was no threat from Callistra, that it was a cover-up, that the real threat was the time-space rift, which was about to descend on the planet and swallow it whole. Despite everything, the public response was less frantic than Wexler or Kilgore had expected. It was, after all, three years away. And, as politicians always say, a lot can happen in three years. Meantime, we got fresh reports of growing tension between the Confederacy and the Mutes, including at least two incidents in which warships had fired on each other. Someone had forgotten to turn the fabrication machine off. I was beginning to feel guilty. 'Why, Chase?' 'We should have called that service,' I said. 'Gotten a group of children to take out of here with us.' Alex sighed. 'I'm not anxious to spend the next four weeks with a bunch of kids, but you're right. When we get upstairs, let's check with them. But make sure we get a couple of mothers, too, okay?' He bit his lip. 'I wish we had more capacity.'

On the space station, we stopped for sandwiches at Sandstone's. While Alex stared at his coffee, I contacted Operations. 'You're ready to go,' the watch officer said. He allowed a note of derision to creep into his voice. 'A lot of people outbound today. When do you want to leave?'

'We thought we'd take some kids with us,' I said. 'The ones they're trying to evacuate.'

'Yeah. Well, none of them are here yet.'

'When are you expecting them?'

'Don't know. But we can have you ready for launch in ninety minutes, if that works for you.'

'You have no idea at all?'

'Negative. You want to hang around, that's okay. Maybe they'll come up tomorrow. I think you're supposed to make the arrangement before you come.'

'All right. We'll get back to you.' 'Call them,' said Alex. I tried. The AIs were overwhelmed. When we did get through, the responses weren't helpful. Nobody knew anything. Everyone referred us to someone else. They weren't ready yet. Not online. Still setting it up. Please leave your code, and we'll get back to you.

'It's people with kids,' Alex said. 'They apparently didn't think to set up a separate code for people offering transport.'

We left our code and waited around. Two hours later, we called again, and the situation hadn't changed. We checked into a hotel. 'This could take forever,' Alex said. We eventually wound up in the hotel lobby, waiting to hear what Kilgore had to say. 'Do we really want to hang around here until the bureaucracies sort it out?' Alex asked. No. I didn't. 'Let's do it this way,' Alex said. 'Let's get out of here and go home. Once we get home, Belle 's yours. If you want to come back and do rescues, it's your call.' Damn. 'Okay,' I said. 'Let's get moving.' I called Ops again. Same officer. He looked harassed. 'I guess you haven't heard,' he said. 'The Belle-Marie 's been impounded. They've all been impounded.' 'All the ships?'

'Yes.'

'By whom?'

'By the government.'

'For how long?'

'Indefinitely. They really didn't give us any details. But I assume they're going to use them to move people out.'

'Thanks,' I said.

'Sorry. Wish I could help.'

Alex was wearing a tired smile. 'We should have anticipated that.' He spoke into his link: 'Connect me with Number 17 Parkway, please.' He gave a code we'd gotten from the staff. 'They can't just take Belle ,' I said. Alex got through and a male voice answered, basso profundo. 'Executive Office.' A few people seated around us heard. They turned in our direction and stared. Alex dialed the volume down. 'This is Alex Benedict,' he said softly. 'I was there the other day, speaking with the Administrator.' That got a reaction from our fellow patrons. Smiles, people nodding sure you did, eyes rolling skyward. 'I'm calling from Samuels. We're trying to get home.'

'Okay. Is there a problem?'

'Our ship has been impounded. By you folks.' 'Ah.' He took a breath. 'Hold a minute, please.' Alex looked at me, shook his head, closed his eyes. The basso profundo came back. 'Yes, sir. The directive came from the top, but compensation will be made. Instructions on how to apply are available at-'

'I don't want compensation. I want my ship.'

'I'm sorry, Mr.-Who did you say you were again, please?'

'Alex Benedict.' 'I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict. The directive explicitly states 'no exceptions. '' 'May I speak with