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."
THIRTY-THREE
Get out, child. Get out. Get as far from this dark place as you can. A spirit hangs over it, infests it, drifts along its passageways, and, ultimately, destroys all who live here.
- Midnight and Roses
The privately owned interstellars at Salud Afar, including the Belle-Marie , totaled eleven. Add eight commercial vessels, fifteen naval and patrol, and you had the sum total available to the Administrator for evacuating two billion people. The station was quiet, tense, frightened. By the end of the second week, twenty-six of the thirty-four ships were en route to Sanctum, or on the way back. The remaining eight were either having the quantum drive installed or being retrofitted in some way. The one-way trip would run about sixteen days. The old Armstrong drive would have taken months. And, finally, Kilgore announced electrifying news from the Confederacy: "A rescue fleet is forming," he told the world. "Some are already on the way." But he warned again there would not be enough ships for everyone. "Most of us will have to weather the storm on the ground. But we can do it. And we will."
He showed pictures of individual ships that were already en route to Salud Afar, or soon would be. Passenger vessels from Khaja Luan and Dellaconda, cargo ships being refitted off Toxicon to carry passengers, private vehicles coming from Abonai and Salusar. "We will survive," Kilgore said. When he'd finished, Alex sat quietly for several minutes. "What are you thinking?" I asked. "About what's missing." "Ummm-What's missing?" "The navy. If the Confederacy were serious, the navy would be leading the charge. That's where their real transport capabilities lie." "They can't come," I said. "They're virtually at war." "I know." "I'm not sure," I admitted, "I wouldn't do the same thing. You have to protect against the possibility of attack."
A few days later, Kilgore had more news. First he talked about a food-packaging plant he was visiting. Vitacon Nutrition was making an enormous contribution, he said, to the general effort. Then he singled out a few more people for special notice. And finally the big story: "The first wave of private and commercial spacecraft are approaching Salud Afar. We're setting up a lottery system to ensure fairness in selecting those who will, if they wish, be evacuated. Details are posted on the Coalition Bulletin Board. "Also, I'm pleased to announce the first new shuttles have rolled off the line at Grimsley."
There was an explosion the next day. Helmut Orr was a physicist who was fairly well-known primarily as a media figure. He sat on panels in which scientific issues were discussed, oversaw a program explaining the latest technological advances, and insisted that breaking through to alternate universes would be possible in the near future. He loved doing shows in which he explained what would happen if ice melted at a slightly lower temperature, or if gravity was a bit stronger or the electroweak force a bit weaker. Or in which the speed of light was slower, say two thousand kilometers per hour. The situations he picked all resulted in chaos. In addition, Orr loved bad news. Anything that allowed him to point out other people's failings. He was also a regular panelist in On the Spot , which blended science, politics, and entertainment. He was small, inevitably dwarfed by anyone, even the women, who appeared with him. But he was a dynamo. He got passionate about everything, about mirror matter and the interiors of stars and brown dwarfs. He was in love with the cosmos. And the day after the Administrator spoke at Vitacon Nutrition, he appeared on a panel to discuss the preparations being made to withstand the Thunderbolt. The moderator asked him if not having the assistance of the Confederate Navy would be a serious blow to the rescue effort. He looked directly at me. "The rescue effort," he said, "is a hoax. You know what it really is? It's a distraction, nothing up this sleeve, nothing up that one. It's intended to keep us from realizing the truth, which is that we're all dead. Bring the navy if you want. Bring six navies. They'll get a few more people off the planet. But not very many. What your government isn't telling you is that in three years, we'll all be dead. All except a very small fraction. But they want us to keep cool and not make a lot of noise. "Well, I say we're entitled to make some noise. We've known for centuries that Callistra was unstable. And, okay, I wouldn't have expected the Bandahriate to do anything. But they've been gone a long time now. Some of us have been pleading for a mission to Callistra, send some people out and find out what was going on, see if there's any danger. "But they didn't. Couldn't be bothered. Hell, you can look up there every night and see it in the sky. But you watch: When that thing starts getting close, and people are getting rattled, the same guys who told us not to worry will be the first ones out of town."