"What's going to happen to Bong?" I asked. Kilgore looked at me, startled. I got the impression he'd forgotten I was there. "Who?" he asked. "Bong. The guy in the picture." "We haven't decided yet." He lowered his voice. "I guess it's safe to say he'll be pretty much the last guy off the planet." He picked up a pen, scribbled himself a note, and put it in his pocket. "Well, the truth is, I'm not going to ask you to hide what you know." "Really?" "There's no way I can keep it quiet now. Too many people know about it. The leaks have already started. So it's best if the news comes from us. If we handle it right, we should be able to avoid widespread disruptions." "I think you're underestimating your people, Mr. Administrator." "I wasn't aware you were a psychologist, Alex. But I hope you're right. When are you releasing the story?" "At midnight." He wiped his forehead. "God." Nobody said anything. "All right." Kilgore took a deep breath. "This is going to sound politically motivated." "Okay." "It's essential that people not lose complete faith in their government at a time when they most need leadership. It will be chaotic enough as it is. What I would like, what I beg from you, is that you let me make the announcement. Hold back on what you were planning. It can do you no harm. Just until tomorrow morning." "When did you intend to let them know?" "Tomorrow. I've scheduled an address." His gaze shifted to me. "I need you to stay quiet until then. And it is essential that you not mention Wexler and his part in all this. If people discover there was a group within their government that knew about this in advance, that tried to use it for their own benefit, they will not trust us again. So I need you to tell the media how you found out, and I will see that you get full credit. You'll even get medals. But leave it at that. Okay?" "Sir," said Alex, "Rob Peifer already knows part of the story." "Peifer." The Administrator's brow wrinkled. Alex glanced at me. "Global." "How much does he know?" "He knows," I said, "that Alex was held by Wexler. And I'm pretty sure he'll be able to put the rest together. But I think I've persuaded him not to say anything about that aspect." "Okay." Kilgore's eyes slid shut. "I can't promise anything." "It's okay. I'll talk to his editor." He was in agony. "There's no way the Wexler business won't come out eventually. But the gamma-ray jet will be enough bad news for one day." We sat for a long time, staring at one another. "It's hard to believe it's really happening," said Circe. "So what are you going to do, Mr. Administrator? Try to evacuate?" "It's hopeless, Alex. We'll get as many people off as we can. But-" He shook his head. "How much damage will it do?" I asked. "The gamma-ray bolt?" Circe answered: "It'll kill anything that's exposed. It'll be possible for some people to get into shelters. But afterward we won't be able to grow our own food supply." Alex sat motionless. "We can't run a mass evacuation," said Kilgore. "We have about a hundred ships. They'll carry an average of fifteen people. Not quite fifteen. Chase, twenty-eight million babies will be born on Salud Afar by the end of this year. Does anyone seriously think that the entire human fleet could transport even our new arrivals?"
I called Peifer and told him the story would be delayed again. "Until tomorrow morning."
"Come on, Chase. Give me a break. I'm already starting to hear pieces of it from other sources."
I explained why we needed him to cooperate and not jump the gun. He wasn't happy, so I appealed to his patriotism. That went nowhere. I said something about being his slave for the rest of my life if he'd go along quietly. He complained that we'd caved in. He told me he'd thought Alex and I had a reasonable degree of integrity, and now we were letting a politician cover his tracks. "Kilgore says he had nothing to do with it," I said.
"Right. And if you can't trust a politician, who can you trust?"
In the end I promised to give him the inside story and a lengthy interview. Finally, it was time to go back to Rimway. I reserved seats on the next day's afternoon shuttle.
Neither of us was sleepy that night, so we went down to the lounge. It was called the Skylark, and it featured a woman doing dreamy stuff on a keyboard and drinks I'd never heard of, straight-ups and colbies and something that looked like liquid silver and left me feeling as if nothing mattered but the moment. We settled into a table near the keyboard and toasted Salud Afar. Long may she wave. There were maybe twelve other people in the place, and human service rather than bots, which gave it a warm touch. A good-looking young guy came over, told us his name was Max, and said he'd be our server. He was maybe twenty-two on a Rimway calendar. I wondered whether he was married. It was hard to tell. Men on Salud Afar don't wear rings. It has something to do with their masculinity. I never quite figured out what. But he felt unattached. Maybe it was the way he looked at me. Maybe it was my imagination. I thought about his chances of getting off-world when the news got out and two billion people started scrambling for the gates. Poor Max. If he left now, tonight, that moment, he could get passage on one of the two liners that departed weekly for Rimway and Toxicon. The lady at the keyboard was singing "Lost Hours" while she writhed. There was a young couple at a table near us, laughing and toasting the evening, and a group on the far side celebrating something. I watched a young man trying to manage a pickup with an obviously reluctant woman at the bar, and I found myself hoping he'd succeed. But she got up and moved to another place. Our drinks came. Something called a quibble-really-for Alex. I got a Valo delight, which was the slow silver. We whiled away what was left of the night, talking about carpe diem, how you should live for the present because you never really know what the next day will bring, what might even happen on the walk home. Except on this very unusual occasion, we knew . After about an hour, Alex said he'd had enough and wandered off. I sat awhile longer, nursing my drinks. And finally I smiled at the guy who'd been trying to do the pickup at the bar. When he came over, I encouraged him, and eventually went home with him. Not sure how Max made out. But that evening I was rooting for everybody.
THIRTY-ONE
Yes, there are occasional human monsters who show up and create havoc, but the real day-to-day damage is usually done by people who mean well.
- Midnight and Roses
Kilgore was right. The story had leaked during the night, and in the morning the news spread around the world. By the time the media were announcing an address by the Administrator, it had already become a matter of containing a growing panic. Before Kilgore got anywhere close to his audience, there were announcements that every seat on every flight to Rimway and Toxicon had been sold out for the next year, which was as far ahead as they took reservations. Prices on the carriers spiked, allegedly because nobody would be coming to Salud Afar, and, therefore, the carriers had to cover their costs. In addition, a new interstellar transport company was reported to be forming. It didn't yet have a name, but it would, according to the experts, begin carrying people off-world within the next few months. The four manufacturers of interstellars were already swamped with orders. Buyers were reporting that prices had skyrocketed with the start of business. Meantime, the real-estate market crashed. The online networks overflowed with terror. Was it really true the world would be destroyed? Why had we not been keeping watch on something so dangerous? Rumors were everywhere that the Cleevs had known for centuries that Callistra had gone nova. True believers announced that the end times had arrived. We heard stories that stars had exploded in the Confederacy as well, that the Mute worlds, filled as they were with infidels, were also going down. Experts were everywhere, illustrating the dire effects of a gamma-ray burst with holos showing the burst itself striking Salud Afar, bathing it in radiation, soaking it, submerging it. They depicted people trying to shelter themselves, hiding in caves and basements, often escaping the radiation only to die of starvation. Or freezing to death, as weather cycles became disrupted. Ivan got interviewed and used the term Thunderbolt . It immediately became official terminology. Some experts actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. If there were skeptics anywhere, they must have bought in when Number 17 Parkway announced that the Administrator would be making an address later that morning. And as the various time zones woke up to the story, they got on board, too. Ailos Johansen, who hosted the interview show Imkah with Johansen, was already calling for a vote of no confidence against the Administrator. The vote, if there were to be one, would have to be approved by the Legislature. If they agreed, the voting public would make the decision.