'We're booked to the end of the year.'
'Is that really the best you can do?'
'We've requested assistance from several transport companies in the Confederacy. So we expect we'll be able to help you shortly.'
'Can we get on the waiting list?'
'Yes, ma'am. What's your name, please?'
Alex waved me off. 'Let it go,' he said. 'If we have to, we'll get in touch with somebody at home and have them come get us.' 'Who did you have in mind?' 'To be honest, I don't know any pilots other than you. But we should be able to lease somebody.' He stared out at the night sky. 'This trip has had its downside.'
There was a confirmed report of a shoot-out between Confederate and Ashiyyurean warships. This time, a Mute vessel had broken open, and there'd been fatalities. Each side was claiming encroachment by the other, and issuing warnings. Each side was threatening war. It was obviously an outbreak waiting to happen. Alex commented that, like so many conflicts through the ages, it would be a war neither side wanted. More like a train wreck. But both sides had politicians who were solidifying their positions by stirring up antagonism. That often secured election, but it had the effect of backing them into a corner. It struck me that Kassel hadn't been entirely honest when he claimed that Mutes couldn't deceive one another. Meanwhile, Kilgore's optimism had to be crumbling. Mathematicians were doing most of the damage. They showed up on every conceivable talk show and blew gaping holes in the government strategy. There wouldn't be enough space in the shelters. Not nearly enough. The quantities of materials needed to protect private homes would overwhelm production facilities. Tens of millions would die during the initial blast. The survivors would quickly run out of food and other necessities. The capability to bring adequate resupplies in from the Confederacy was, at best, doubtful. And if war broke out with the Mutes, as seemed increasingly likely, that capability would probably go to zero. 'There just isn't time to do everything that needs to be done.' We heard that refrain over and over. We'd been in the hotel on Samuels for about a week when the AI announced an incoming call. Alex, gloomier than I'd ever seen him, asked sardonically whether I thought it might be Kilgore. Then he told the AI to put it through. It was Wexler. 'Hello, Benedict,' he said. 'I hope you're satisfied.' He was outside somewhere, leaning against a stone wall, dressed in a white pullover and the sort of slacks you'd wear for a walk in the woods. He ignored me, looked straight at Alex. 'I assume,' he said, 'you understand now how much damage you've caused.'
Alex bristled. 'At least something's being done. You were prepared to sit by and watch everybody die.'
'Something's being done. You really think this government can do anything but talk? There are too many people. They'll save a few million, but we'd have saved almost as many. And given everybody else three relatively peaceful years. All you've accomplished is to create chaos.'
'Kilgore doesn't think so.'
'Kilgore's a politician. What else would you expect him to say? He believes what he's telling the voters, but this is exactly the reason we didn't want him to know. The people around him understand what's coming. So does every physicist on the planet. But they won't say anything. Other than the idiots who want to see themselves on the news shows.' He bit his lip and actually wiped a tear from his cheek. 'But everybody knows what's really going to happen when the tide comes in. 'The gamma-ray burst itself will pass quickly enough. But there'll be a particle shower, and it'll go on for days. Everything green will die off. The ozone layer will be swept away. Ultraviolet light will make Salud Afar a death trap for years to come. Nothing will grow. They'll probably try to put together some shielded greenhouses, but that won't do any more than delay the inevitable.' He shook his head, made a rumbling noise in his throat. 'Well done, Mr. Benedict.'
There was still no word on child evacuations. Not that it mattered anymore. Polls indicated that pessimism was growing. Eighteen percent of those surveyed described the situation as hopeless. Peifer showed up on Capital Round Table to discuss the severe inflation that had set in. The Administrator was on every other night. He usually sat in the room with the fireplace, and he went back to dressing casually. He spoke in generalities, praising his audience for their patience and their courage, dismissing the polls, which showed confidence steadily shrinking. The message was always the same: We are working to save each other. One way or another we will get the job done. His critics kept after him. He was tightening seat belts on the Korinbladt . But Kilgore always managed to get the last word. 'If I took them seriously,' he said, 'then yes, of course they'd turn out to be right. But my critics lack imagination. They want to give up. They underestimate what we, you and I together, can do. We won't let them cause us to lose hope. We will find a way forward. Together.'
Interviews with people around the globe depicted the anguish, despair, frustration. A farmer who described his earnings as 'average,' asked how he could be expected to get his wife and kids to a safe place. 'If you want to get to Sanctum, you have to be able to buy your way on,' he said. 'I think the politicians who let this happen should be turned out of office and jailed. At the very least.'
A schoolteacher from, of all places, Boldinai Point, wondered what would happen to her students.
'Nobody's going to get off-world unless they know somebody. You can bet your life Kilgore and his friends won't be here when the crunch comes. Thank God for Benedict, or they never would have told us.'
And a dark-haired woman described by the interviewer as being on the list of the world's one hundred wealthiest citizens: 'I keep hearing you have to have money to get clear. I wish somebody would tell me who to pay off.'
We'd been nine days on Samuels when we got a call from Kids Off-world. They were bringing the first batch of children next day. 'You said you could take six?' We'd called to let them know we no longer had a ship. But the message had gotten lost somewhere. An hour later we had another call. 'Please hold for the Administrator.' I would have sworn his hair had whitened since the last time we'd seen him. 'I'm glad to see you're still here.' Someone handed him a sheet of paper. He glanced at it, nodded, and turned back to us. 'Hello, Chase,' he said. 'How are you?' 'I'm fine, sir. Thank you.'
'I understand we took your ship.'
'That's correct,' said Alex.
'I apologize. I wouldn't have wanted to let that happen. I've just had too much on my mind.'
'I understand, sir.' 'I never thought of it.' He got interrupted again, a notebook. He frowned. Shook his head no. Came back to us again. 'Alex-?' 'Yes, sir?'
'Actually, I'm relieved you haven't left. I'll provide transportation out if you wish. And I know this has been a severe inconvenience. But I want to ask you to stay on for a while. There might be a way you can help.'
'How, sir?'
'Let's leave that for the moment. You're staying at the Samuels Hotel?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Very good. Make yourselves comfortable. We'll pick up the tab. But be prepared to go on short notice. I'll call you when we're ready.'
