The Devil's Eye

TWELVE

They took us back to where we'd started. We spent two days filling out forms for both the Shore Watch and Reliable Transport. Then we booked our crossing with a commercial carrier. We were waiting next morning for our flight to leave when Rob Peifer called. "I heard you guys were in an accident." "Skimmer went down," said Alex.

"You okay?"

"We're fine. Got a little wet."

"I don't guess you got any pictures?"

"No, Rob. Sorry. I never thought about it."

"Okay. We have some file shots we can use."

Alex's eyes rolled skyward. "Why not just let it go, Rob? It's not worth reporting."

"Are you kidding me? 'Alex Benedict Down at Sea.' 'Benedict Rides Skimmer into Ocean near Maillot.'"

"Where's Maillot?" Alex asked.

"I'd like to do an interview, Alex. But the setting's not right. I wonder if you and what's-her-name, Chase, would want to go somewhere where we could get the ocean in the background? One of the hotels, maybe?"

"Rob, we're on the run at the moment. We have a flight to catch."

"Okay. Sure. We can fill in the background later. Listen, Alex, why don't you tell me how you were feeling as you hit the water?"

Alex took a deep breath. "Scared, Rob."

We made it safely across the Crystal Sea on our second try, and landed at Port Arbor. From there we boarded a train to Packwood, which was a coastal town whose principal claim to fame was Packwood University. It was one of the sites where Vicki had spoken. According to one of the history teachers, she'd spent a day there, won over the crowds, and even some skeptical literature teachers with her wit and charm. They ran the presentation for us, and she was as energetic as ever.

Vicki had traveled to the Haunted Forest by canoe, so of course we did the same. We set off downriver at dawn. The countryside was wide-open, mostly plains with periodic patches of forest, a few scattered houses, and an occasional town. The river was narrow for the most part, and generally calm, with almost no rough water. Neither of us was in shape to do nonstop paddling, so for long periods of time we simply

allowed the current to carry us. Eventually it carried us to the edge of the Haunted Forest. We plunged ahead. The birds in the area were deafening. They screamed and squawked, and something threw nuts and deadwood down at us. There was also a creature with the biggest wingspan I've ever seen. Mostly it simply glided back and forth overhead, watching something we couldn't see. I thought for a while it was going to target us, so despite local assurances that there were no predators, I sat for long periods with the scrambler handy. It never bothered us though. There was also something that looked like a flying beanbag. It drifted just above the treetops, sometimes touching down and apparently feeding on dead leaves, then casting loose again. When the sun went down, we got off the river, broke out our sleeping bags, and built a fire. We spent the night in a clearing. Alex tried reading, but he drew too many bugs. With not much else to do, we simply sat and talked and watched Callistra climb the sky. A cool breeze showed up after a while and drove off the insects. Sophora was also in the sky. Its paleness underscored the brilliance of the star. "You know," I said, "if I were a writer and I wanted to come here to get my creative juices flowing, the major reason would be that sky." He looked up at it. "Especially if you wrote horror." "I wonder what kind of star it is?" "I don't know." I consulted my link. "It's a giant blue variable," it said, "approximately 1.2 million times as bright as Salud Afar's sun. It's farther out from the galactic rim than Salud Afar. Range from Salud Afar-"

I heard thunder in the west.

"- twelve hundred light-years."

"How much brighter?" he asked. "One point two million." "Oh," he said. "That's different. I thought you said one point three ."

We'd heard several different opinions about what haunted the forest. There were claims for animated vegetation, mists that moved of their own accord, voices in the trees. I lay there thinking how easily people can be persuaded to believe such things. And I won't deny it was an opportunity to relish my own superiority. I knew better. The fire had died out, and Callistra was about to sink into the trees. The temperature was dropping, so I didn't want to get out of my sleeping bag and play with the logs. But my imagination took hold. Branches creaked a bit too much; occasionally I could hear a squishy sort of sound, like something walking through a marsh. Except that the ground was solid. And, yes, I know ordinarily that's no big deal, but it was an utterly still night. There was zero wind, and aside from the vegetative slooshing and cracking, and the squishes, the only sounds came from insects and the river. It didn't really scare me. But I've slept better.

Neither of us was very big on food rations, the kind they pack in containers and that cook themselves. Alex had lived on the things in the old days when he'd gone to excavations with Gabe, but he'd since become accustomed to life's more ample luxuries. Moreover, he was having second thoughts about the wisdom of traveling by canoe. But it was late to think about that. Anyhow, we skipped breakfast, packed everything up, and headed downriver, looking for a place where we could get the local equivalent of ham and eggs. The first town we came to-I don't recall its name-had a caf just off the pier. We beached the canoe, went inside, and got a table by the window where we could keep an eye on our means of transport. It was a small place, maybe eight tables and booths, but the bacon and fries smelled good. We ordered the coffee-equivalent and sat back to relax. There were maybe five other people in the place. The mood was subdued, as if someone had died. The

waiters were all bots. Alex got up and walked over to one of the other tables. There were two men, guys who worked on the river probably. One was massive enough to sink our canoe. The other wasn't much more than a kid. He asked them if something was wrong. "Goddam Mutes again," the big one said. "What happened?" "They're shooting at us." "At Kumpallah," added the kid. Kumpallah was a Confederate world, thirty thousand light-years away. "Well," he said, "at least you don't have to worry about them out here." They looked at one another. "Where you been, bud?" said the big one. "They've been here." Alex angled himself so he could face away from the sun. "I've heard about that." "It's just a matter of time before we'll have to take the sons of bitches on. Isn't it, Par?" "Looks like," Par said. "They keep coming. Starting trouble." "Kilgore keeps telling us," said the big one, "we shouldn't get excited. That they won't bother us. But

Eventually we pulled up in front of a marker:

BESSARLIK Oldest Settlement on Salud Afar Believed to Be Nonhuman 2,000 B.A.

The place was fenced off. There were more signs: ABSOLUTELY NO CAMPING. And OPEN DAWN TO DUSK. And CAMPING PROHIBITED EXCEPT IN DESIGNATED AREAS. The date, of course, referred to two thousand years before the arrival of the Aquila . The trees were thick, and if there'd ever been a city there, no part of it remained. "We should have brought a scanner," I said. Alex shook his head. "It's another scam." "How do you know?" "I've done the research. This place was pulled together three centuries ago to make money for the locals." I was getting annoyed. "Then why'd we bother coming?" "Because Vicki came. And I'd be surprised if she didn't know the history of the place, too. Chase, it's entertainment. You come and let your imagination take over. That's what it's all about. Nobody's serious about any of this stuff." We'd arrived in the early evening. There was a boat-rental operation at the end of a pier, and a campground. Along the riverbank were a sandwich shop, a souvenir store, and an inn. This, collectively, was the Hub. A few visitors were walking around, taking pictures. A tourist boat pulled up while we were there. Everybody got off and piled into the inn. We followed and found a young lady watering plants. I got the assignment to ask the questions, since Alex thought my chemistry with her would be better. Had she ever heard of Vicki Greene? "Who?" "The horror writer." She shook her head. "If you ask at the desk, they can tell you whether she's here." "She wouldn't be here now." I showed her a hologram. Vicki dressed for a day in the woods-baggy white slacks, gray pullover reading UNIVERSITY OF KHARMAIN, and a green cap like the one Downhome Smith wears in the sims.

She took a long look and shook her head. "Sorry," she said. We'd made a mistake allowing the people from the tour boat to get in first. So we waited awhile, and finally I got to the service desk. The clerk was a middle-aged woman with a distinct sense that the hotel's visitors were people with too much leisure time on their hands. Unlike her, a busy workingwoman. "We have a friend who may have stayed here," I said. "About five or six months ago. Vicki Greene? Could you look her up and tell me whether she was ever at the inn?" She gave me a polite smile. "I'm sorry. It's against the privacy laws. We're not permitted to reveal that kind of information without the consent of the subject." She talked as if that should have been obvious. "It's important that we find her," I said. "I'm sorry. I can't help you." I showed her some money. "I'd make it worth your while." "If something happened, I'd get in trouble. Now, if you decide you want a room, let me know. Excuse me." And she turned away. Alex had been listening, and I saw disapproval in his eyes. "You sounded like a politician." "You do it next time." He looked across the lobby. "We shouldn't have bothered with this place," he said. "Let's go." "What's the plan?" "It's a safe assumption that she wouldn't come all the way out here and stay at an inn." "Why?" "We know she came for the atmosphere. She rented a canoe when she could have flown in." He shook his head. "She stayed outside." "In the campground?" "No. And for the same reason she wouldn't stay here ." The young lady with the watering can caught my attention. "Miss," she said, "I couldn't help overhearing. We don't recommend camping outside other than in the official areas." "Why not?" asked Alex. She was embarrassed. "It might be dangerous." "Why?" "Well, people say there's something out there-" "More advertising," Alex said. The woman stopped. "Pardon?" "It's okay. Thanks for the warning." The doors opened, and we went out into the fading sunlight. An hour later we were camped just off the northern edge of the preserve. We built a fire and sat poking at it and drinking coffee. "You know," I said, "if we're really trying to duplicate her experience, we've got it wrong." "How do you mean, Chase?" "I can't answer for you , but I think the trip down this river would feel a lot different if I were alone." "I know. But I don't think we need to reproduce everything exactly. Just figure out what her frame of mind might have been." "Ready to go home," I said. "You're not much of a camper, are you, Chase?"

So we fell asleep for the second successive evening under the blue star. Eventually I woke up, thinking I'd heard something. But the night was quiet. The last log was still burning. I lay listening to the river, and the wind, and the quiescent hum of insects. Occasionally, wings fluttered above me, in the branches. I pulled my blanket a bit higher, adjusted the jacket I was using for a pillow, and was about to close my eyes again when I saw a light in the trees. On the other side of the river. I watched while it floated along the bank. It was a gauzy, dull glow, vaguely resembling a long cloak. I woke Alex. "What?" he said. I pointed. "Look."

He half rolled over. "It's an animal of some kind," he said. "Ignore it." "It doesn't look like any animal I've ever seen." "You're on another world, Chase. What do you expect?"