Had someone else said it, it might not have mattered. But everybody knew Helmut's name. He was perceived as the voice of reason. The newscasts picked up the comment and went with it. Had something else happened during the following days, a scandal in the capital, or a celebrity doing something stupid, the spotlight might have gone elsewhere and the story dropped off the public's sensors. But the Callistra story was the only one in town. So it ran over and over, and it served to intensify feelings through a population becoming increasingly nervous. One popular data site ran the headline: DEATH SENTENCE FOR THE WORLD? The Thunderbolt-the term was in common use by then-was everywhere. Comedians worked it into their routines. ("They're offering a two-for-one special on funerals if you come early, before the rush.") The insurance industry reported that sales were off sharply. Incoming classes at colleges, medical schools, and law schools were well below normal. Deepsea, Inc., which had provided undersea rides for a generation, had sold out for an end-of-the-world special three-day submerged tour. Two manufacturers of seagoing vessels announced that they were creating modular hulls that could be purchased, hauled inland, and assembled as shelters against radiation. Suicides were up. Weddings were taking place at an unusually high rate. Organizations that catered to kids, the Wilderness Troop, Girl Riders, Face Forward, and so on, brought in counselors to talk to their charges. Church attendance was up across the board. Reports surfaced that older people were most affected by the situation, fearing that they would have an especially difficult time in the after-math of the Thunderbolt. Governments around the world encouraged volunteer groups whose task it would be to step in after the event and provide emergency supplies to those in need. Salud Afar was rallying. People appeared every day on the HV to assure viewers that "we" would come through this. Support for the Administrator was consolidating. A week earlier it had appeared that he would be forced out of office. But his approval ratings were moving steadily up. Meantime, the shuttles continued hauling passengers to Samuels, which filled with kids and baggage. Ships from the Confederacy began to arrive, first in ones and twos, then in squadrons. It was now the shuttles that became the bottleneck. People could not be moved to the station quickly enough. Alex suggested I recommend they use taxis.
We began to think that Kilgore had forgotten about us. Then one evening we got a call from the hotel lobby. A woman in business dress to see us. "Mr. Benedict," she said, "the Administrator would like to talk with you."
"Okay."
"Your transportation has been arranged. Please report to the shuttle launch area within the hour." She was apparently trying to figure out who I was. "Miss, will you be going down, too?"
Number 17 was a beehive. Reporters overflowed the press room, shouting questions at someone I couldn't see. Staff members were everywhere, and I recognized Helmut Orr among a group of people being herded into an elevator. "It's always like this now," said one of the staff secretaries. They were expecting only Alex. My name had been called in on the flight down. I thought I'd been cleared, but there was still a delay while they checked to make sure I wasn't going to say something disrespectful to the Administrator. Then, when everyone seemed satisfied, Alex and I were hustled inside and delivered to his secretary. "He's waiting for you," she said. She took us back to the north wing and opened his office door. Kilgore was inside, huddled with half a dozen people. One was Circe. Heads turned our way. The Administrator looked up, gave us a strained smile, and pointed to a group of chairs against one wall. We sat down, and the conversation resumed. Have to do something about the shelters. Move faster. Get a program together that we can live with. I'm tired of the infighting. Got no time for that nonsense now. The shelters will hold a hell of a lot of people. We need to get that out to the public. Need to reassure everyone that they have a decent chance. That it's not as dark as the goddam media are saying. And there must be something more we can do. What about the gear coming in from Rimway? It broke up after a few minutes. The participants filed out, save Circe and a tall, aristocratic-looking man with neatly combed silver hair. Kilgore waved us over and welcomed us with a smile and a handshake. "You know Circe." Turning to the aristocrat, he said, "This is Giambrey DeVrio. "Giambrey is a member of the diplomatic staff. He was once the Bandahriate's ambassador to Rimway." He was well into his second century, about average size, clean-shaven, sharp blue eyes. He shook hands with Alex and bowed to me. "I've heard a great deal about you," he said, looking me in the eye. The Administrator came out from behind his desk. "It's good to see you two again. Alex, would you like a job?" "What did you have in mind, sir?" "Mine." We laughed for a moment, but the atmosphere quickly sobered. "I imagine it's been a difficult time," said Alex.
Kilgore smiled politely and signaled for some imkah . Then he plunged ahead. "The goddam world's coming apart. I assume you've seen that idiot Orr. Just when we were getting everything calmed down, he jumps in. The goddam thing's all over the media. People are desperate. Alex, they're demanding to know what I'm going to do. Most of them are behaving as if it's my fault." He caught himself and sighed. "It probably is. But that doesn't change where we are now. It's difficult enough figuring out a rational course without trying to deal with all these distractions. I tell you, I'm tempted to resign. Step down. Let them find somebody else if they think I'm screwing it up. But a change in leadership at this point-?" He shook his head. "If I could be sure they wouldn't put Bergen in charge, I'd probably do it-" I had no idea who Bergen was. I learned later he was the chief executive in one of the other Coalition states. "They think I've arranged transportation for myself and my family. They think I've known about this all along. That what's going to happen is that everybody will wake up one morning and the government will simply be gone. Son of a bitch, what have I ever done to deserve that?" "You're a politician, sir," said DeVrio smoothly. "It happens." Eventually he calmed down. "Well," he said, "maybe they'd like to have Cleev back." "So what are you going to do?" Alex asked. "Keep moving people off-world, as best we can. Keep building shelters. Move supplies in. We're stocking everywhere. Providing manuals for people telling them how to prepare. We're building interstellars as quickly as we can. Big ones. Liners, like the Callistra . Isn't that a hoot? The biggest interstellar we've got is named after the star that blew up. "But we have to face reality. The people who are saying we can't even begin a planetary evacuation are right. We're currently turning out star-ships at full capacity. We've asked for help from the Confederacy. Alex, we're doing everything we can." "But-?" "We've done the projections. The losses will be apocalyptic." "How many?" The Administrator signaled DeVrio. "We estimate," DeVrio said, "with reasonable help from the Confederacy, and if we can get the anticipated production from home industry, we'll be able to evacuate about six million. As to those who stay behind, they'll survive for a while. Some of them will." He didn't seem to be focused on anyone. "We've asked the Confederacy to send the fleet." "What did they say?" Kilgore got up slowly. His eyes narrowed. "They say they can't, Alex. They say they have the goddam Mutes to deal with, and they can't leave themselves exposed." He glanced at a picture on the wall. It was a middle-aged man standing on the capitol steps. He saw me following his eyes. "It's Lowry," he said. His predecessor. Died in office of a heart attack. Still a relatively young man. Kilgore smiled. "He was lucky." Alex cleared his throat. "It's why you called us." "Yes. What sort of influence have you with the Mutes?" "With the Mutes ? I thought you were going to ask us to try to do something on Rimway." "No, no, no, no." Kilgore looked over at DeVrio. "We have that covered. We need someone who can deal with the Ashiyyur." He took a deep breath. "Alex, they're so hard to stomach, there's nobody anywhere with any connections. We have no diplomatic ties. No connections whatever. The Confederacy broke relations with them a half century ago. Longer than that, really. And never restored them. We haven't done very well either. "So there's nobody . At a time when we most need to talk to them, there's no one . Except you." Alex grunted and shook his head. No, no. Not possible. I was shocked myself. "I have no influence with the Ashiyyur," he said. "Alex." No nonsense now. We have to make this work. "We need you. We need to persuade them to declare, unequivocally, unilaterally, and immediately, a state of nonaggression. We want them to announce, publicly, that they will not attack Confederate worlds, or move into Confederate space, while the emergency lasts." He took a deep breath. "Who knows, if we can persuade them to do it, it might