The Devil's Eye (8 page)

She gave us a wide, self-satisfied smile. The world in her lap. "But you never heard from her again?" "No. Of course, there was really no business reason for her to contact me. And I assumed she was otherwise occupied." "What's Barryman's Tomb?" I asked. Kopaleski was delighted to tell us the story: "Forrest Barryman lived four centuries ago. He died in an experiment gone wrong, Chase. A treatment that was supposed to make him a supercop or something. But according to local tradition, he wouldn't
stay
dead. Eventually they put that rock over his grave to keep him in it." I looked at Alex. Alex smiled. "Okay." She maintained a neutral expression. "Don't be too sure. Boldinai Point is a strange place. Over the years, there've been other odd claims." "Like what?" I asked. "They have a beach that seems to encourage suicide. People with no reason to kill themselves go down there and walk into the water. It happened again just last year. The locals stay away from it. And then

there's a patch of forest-" "Hold on," said Alex. "Let's stay with Vicki. She said she'd see you when she got back. But she left without getting in touch." "That's correct. Next I heard she was back on Rimway." We sat looking at one another. "You didn't make any effort to contact her after the message from Boldinai Point? Do I have that right?" "Yes, that's correct. Alex, she's an important client. I didn't want to seem intrusive." "Of course. Did you try to get in touch with her after she'd left?" "No. I had no reason to. I knew if she needed me, she'd contact me." Alex got up. "Thanks, Cirilla. We appreciate your time." "I hope I've been some help." "Where's Boldinai Point?" She had the AI show us. "If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to contact me." She gave us her private code. "By the way," she added, "if you find out what this is all about, I'd appreciate it if you let me know."

I set up our trip to Boldinai Point. That evening, while Alex buried himself in a book, I went back to the ocean. When I was a kid, the big thrill in my life came every summer when we took the train to Seaside. We built sand castles and played in the surf with a beach ball. But I especially loved going out in the evening and seeing the ocean at night. I can still remember standing on a place they called Gorgon's Pier and looking at the stars. So that night, in that very distant place, I did it again. It was a way to feel at home, I suppose. But the sky above that ocean was different. There was only a single star. Callistra. I wondered what might have happened had a sentient race developed on that world. How they would have perceived that single bright light peering down at them? It was a beautiful star, its azure glow amplified by the dark night surrounding it. The eye of a compassionate deity, perhaps. I wondered whether Vicki Greene had stood out there, perhaps in the same place. What would she have thought? She with her vampires and demons, under so striking a sky?

Boldinai Point was best known for its cemetery. Maybe it was the only claim to fame the place had. It was located in an area called the Outland, on a large island a quarter of the way around the globe. We caught a morning flight and landed three hours later in a coastal city. From there we rode a gravity train inland to Boraka. We stayed there overnight, and in the morning rented a skimmer, sat back, and let the AI take us the rest of the way to Boldinai Point. It was rough country. Dry, flat, sandy, with lots of rock. To the west, a chain of mountains cut across the horizon. The Point itself is a town of about four thousand. I couldn't imagine how the term
Point
had

gotten into the name. It was located in the middle of nowhere. It had a distinction, though. It was one of the few places where people had been relatively free under the Bandahriate. Though it had been part of Cleev's domain, it was a long way from the center of power, and so small as to be apparently not worth worrying about. So it was the place where, for three centuries, rebels and malcontents and renegade scientists had retreated. It looked remote enough that they wouldn't have been able to cause any trouble, so the dictator might have been just as happy. Salud Afar did not have-and still does not have, so far as I know-the minimum payout system that allows a citizen to loaf for a lifetime if he so desires. No one in power on that world had thought it was a good idea, so they never incorporated it. There, you worked or you became dependent on the charity of others. Or worse. As Alex and I descended into that lonely place, I wondered how the inhabitants made their living. The Point was a collection of weatherworn buildings erected along a small series of cross streets. Its celebrated cemetery was located north of town. From the air, it had looked like every other cemetery I'd seen, just a collection of markers inside an iron fence. Outside the fence, the land was flat and gray and ran unimpeded to the horizon. The hotel and the restaurant were crowded. "I guess it's a fairly prosperous tourist spot," said Alex. "Is there something I'm missing?" I asked. "Or is it just the cemetery?" "I think it's just the cemetery," he said. "And don't get that look on your face. It's not every town that has an unquiet grave." The elderly owner of a souvenir store told us the story: "Peter Cleev started it." "Cleev?" Alex said. "One of the dictators?" "Four centuries ago. He got upset because some of his enforcers were being killed by rebels. So he launched a program to develop a better enforcer. Somebody you couldn't take down with just a shot or two from a scrambler. He wanted something that wouldn't feel pain." "Are you serious?" asked Alex. "Do I look as if I'd lie to you?" The shopkeeper laughed and showed us a print of Peter Cleev. Long, thin guy with a pointed beard and satanic eyes. The evil emperor right out of an over-the-top HV. "He didn't want anybody to know about it because it would undermine his image. The Cleevs thought the rest of us were damn fools. Thought we believed they were compassionate, easygoing types who only had the welfare of their people at heart. "It's why they always had to have people around them who smiled a lot. The world, under the Bandahr, was relentlessly happy. Or else. "So he sent a team out here to produce his-" He tried to think of the term. "-Android," said Alex. "Android, yes. And the townspeople watched as a lab and support facility were set up on Route One." "Route One?" I said. "That's it running through the center of town." "It's the only road you have." "That's right. Route One. You know, if you're going to keep interrupting-" "No. Please. Go on." "Okay. Anyhow, when they got everything built, the lights burned all night, and they started burying stuff in unmarked graves at the back of the cemetery." "Experiments gone wrong?" asked Alex. The shopkeeper nodded solemnly, as if the truth was to go no further than the three of us. As if it were something for which the world was not yet ready. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what they were burying. They brought prisoners in at night and did their goddam experiments. And they stayed at it until they succeeded. Or thought they had. "Forrest Barryman was a high-school history teacher when they grabbed him and brought him here. He'd said something in one of his classes. Or somebody thought he did, and that was enough. They made him proof against most small weapons. Made him so he didn't feel pain. But Forrest, he didn't like what they'd done to him, so he got loose one night and tore up the lab. And tore up some of his tormentors,

too. "Then he took out the security people and disappeared into the woods. By then he'd gone crazy. One night he came into town and went on a rampage, strangling and beating everybody he saw. They couldn't stop him. Eventually, an enraged mob was able to drive him out. They tracked him into the nearby hills, took a few more casualties, and finally brought him down with a plasma shell. "They buried him in the cemetery, along with their own dead. Members of his family were notified, and several came for the service. They were horrified to hear what had happened. Forrest had simply vanished. Nobody had known what had happened to him. When it got out that
he
was behind it, Cleev had been so worried he went public and denied the story. Claimed it was renegade scientists. Within a week of the burial, somebody descended on the ruined lab and removed everything that could connect it with the government." "My God," I said. "Is that really true? Did that actually happen?" The shopkeeper's eyes were gray. His hair was also gray, and his skin was sallow. I remember thinking that he needed to get away from the souvenir shop. Get away from the cemetery. "It gets worse," he said. "What else happened?" asked Alex. "Several weeks after they took down the lab, something attacked the town again. They didn't know what it was. But they started finding bodies. Beaten to death. Clubbed. Strangled. Witnesses swore it was Barryman. A reporter went out to the cemetery." "The grave was empty," said Alex. "Yes." That part of the story I'd heard before we left Marinopolis. "They asked for help from the authorities. But they just laughed. And so did the media, which, in those days, wasn't worth a damn anyhow. So the town got up an action committee. They went out after him, tracked him down a second time, and killed him again. Everybody agreed it was the same person. This time, they encased the body in concrete before putting it in the ground. They brought in a priest to perform an exorcism ceremony, and they put a stone block on top of the burial site to keep him in his grave." Had the shopkeeper by any chance seen Vicki Greene? Had she actually come to town? "Who?" he asked. So we moved on. To one of the town's two restaurants. The hostess was tall and looked a bit too sensible to be living in a place like Boldinai Point. I doubted the town had much in the way of prospects. As we were getting seated, I asked whether there was anything to the Barryman story, no kidding, and she said sure, where had I been all my life? "I'll tell you something else," she added. "There's a connection of some sort with Callistra." "With Callistra?" "Most times you go out there, everything's quiet. But do it at night, when the star's directly overhead, and you can
feel
that thing trying to break out of its tomb." Welcome to Boldinai Point.

We picked a hotel, but it was full.
"Try the Hamel,"
they said. The Hamel was okay, but it wasn't the luxurious kind of place Alex liked. They didn't have suites available, so we checked into separate rooms. During the process, Alex asked the AI whether she knew who Vicki Greene was.
"Oh, yes, sir,"
she said.
"She's very popular at the Point."
"Can you tell me whether she showed up here during the past year?"
"That's private information, sir,"
she said.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to speak of such matters. I can check to see whether she's staying at this hotel now, if you like."
We tried calling the
Point Man
, which was the local journal. She
had
been here, had in fact stayed at the Hamel, had "starred at a special event for delighted visitors," during which she'd spoken about why people want to believe in the supernatural. She'd signed books, including some bound collector's

editions, and had "joined a number of her readers at a raucous party." She'd also submitted to an interview, which the
Point Man
made available. As before, she looked fine.

A:
I'm always working on my next book.
(Laughs.)

A:
The working title is
The Devil's Eye
.

Q:
Would I be right?
A:
(Smiles.)
Honestly, Henry, it's in the air. I'm still making up my mind.

"She seems upbeat," I said. This Vicki bore little resemblance to the woman who'd sent that original transmission to us. "Whatever the problem is," Alex said, "it hasn't happened yet." We watched the rest of the interview. When asked what she planned to do while she was in town, Vicki said she just intended to look around.
"This is a nice place. I'd like to just take it easy." "Will you be visiting the Tomb?" "Oh, I don't think so, Henry. It's a bit scary out there."

There was a Barryman Museum. And Graveyard Books. And the Occult Transit Company, which provided virtual trips into the hereafter. You could get shirts with a picture of the monster on them. A sim that dramatized the event. A hologram of the monster itself stood in front of the gift shop. A family were getting their pictures taken beside it when we arrived. Everybody seemed to be doing a thriving business. We went looking for people who might have seen Vicki Greene. Everybody at the Point seemed to be a fan of horror fiction. Most of the locals we talked to said yes, they'd heard she'd been in town. Most said they'd seen her, and several even claimed to have talked with her. But nobody was particularly helpful. Several told us she'd been writing about the Barryman Monster. "Why else would she have come here?" one demanded. The word that she'd been lost hadn't gotten around, and her fans were reluctant to believe the news. On the whole, we had trouble finding reliable sources. The details didn't match. Vicki was described as wearing different clothes. Her hair was a different color. Sometimes she spoke with an accent, sometimes she didn't. We asked whether they believed that the Barryman story had any basis in fact. I thought we'd find some skepticism there, especially among the kids. But no. Of course it had happened. Ask anybody. Or go out to the cemetery when Callistra's in the sky.