Polaris (18 page)

He sounded worried, and I figured out why he'd really called. “Good,” I said. “I'm doing fine.”

“Good.”
A sprinkle of rain fell across the windscreen.
“You have anything yet on the guy who's trying to steal the artifacts?”

“I didn't say anyone was trying to
steal
them, Vlad.”

“The implication's clear enough.”

“Actually we're not sure what's happening. We just want you to be careful.”

“Well, I wanted you to know there've been no strangers around here.”

“Good,” I said.

“If I see anybody, I'll let you know.”

It was my night, I guess. When I got home the AI told me that Ida Patrick was on the line.

Ida was the sort of middle-aged, well-educated, precise woman you
might find playing orinoco and sipping fruit juice on weekday afternoons down at the club. Nothing roused her indignation quite like improper behavior. For Ida, the world was a clean, well-lighted place, decorum the supreme virtue, and anyone who was uncomfortable with those standards should simply apply elsewhere. Her indignation had soared when I suggested there might be a thief abroad. Nevertheless, she loved intrigue.

“Chase,”
she said.
“I've had a call.”
She dropped her voice conspiratorially.

“About the jumpsuit?”

“Yes.”
She drew out the aspirate.

“From whom?”

“He said he was an historian. He tells me he's writing a book about the
Polaris,
and wanted to know if he could take a look.”

“What's his name?”

She consulted a piece of paper.
“Kiernan,”
she said.
“I think the first name was Marcus.”

Marcus Kiernan. I ran a quick search.

Two Marcus Kiernans came back. One was halfway around the globe; the other was in Tiber, which was twenty klicks west of Andiquar, close to Ida's residence. The local one had written two popular histories, both on famous disasters of the last century.
Palliot
reconstructed the loss of the celebrated airship that went down in 1362, taking with it 165 passengers, including the literary giant Albert Combs; and
Windjammer
traced the disappearance of Baxter Hollin and his show business passengers, who sailed into the Misty Sea in 1374 and vanished without a trace. The second Kiernan was seventy.

“What's he look like, Ida?”

“Reddish hair. Good-looking. Young.”

“How tall is he?”

“I can't tell. I haven't seen him in person. On the circuit he looks about average.”

“When's he coming?”

“Tomorrow evening. At seven. He wanted to come tonight, but I told him I was busy.”

We checked out the other Marcus Kiernan, just to cover our bases. Despite the name, it turned out to be a woman.

We could have simply alerted Fenn. But Alex wanted to see who this individual was and hear what he had to say. “For the moment,” he told me, “there might be more to this than Fenn would be prepared to deal with.”

Ida lived alone in a magnificent old-world house outside Margulies, on Spirit Lake, eighty kilometers west of Andiquar. The house had directional windows and a domed roof and a wraparound upper deck. A glass tower guarded the eastern wing. Inside, the furnishings were eclectic. Whatever caught her eye. A modern split-back chair sitting next to an Altesian sofa and a mahogany table. It wasn't the kind of décor I'd have wanted, but in Ida's house it seemed correct.

Alex had arranged to have a replica of the jumpsuit made up, and we brought it with us. He handed it to Ida, who compared it with the original. “Marvelous,” she said. “Can't tell one from the other. Do you expect him to try to grab it?”

“No.” Alex sounded reassuring. “I don't think anything like that will happen. But if he does, don't try to stop him.”

“Is he dangerous?” she asked.

“I'm sure he's not, Ida. Chase will be with you, though, so you'll be safe.” (Yes, indeed!) “And I'll be right behind the curtains. The thing you should be aware of, though, is that he isn't who he says.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, let me put it this way: If he's the person we think he is, he uses a different name every time we hear from him.” He suggested she have the AI make a visual recording of the entire conversation.

We had decided that Alex should stay out of sight because of the possibility our visitor would know him. He was a public figure and easily recognizable. So it came down to me, which was probably just as well.

Ida appeared to be having second thoughts. “What
do
you expect him to do?”

“I think he'll look at the jumpsuit, tell you how much he admires it, and possibly make an offer.”

“If he does, how do I respond?” Her voice suggested she was getting seriously into the spirit of the occasion.

Alex thought it over. “I'd like you to tell him thanks, but you can't accept it. The jumpsuit isn't for sale.”

“Okay.” We went into the study, opened the glass cabinet in which she kept Maddy's suit. As at our place, Maddy's stenciled name was prominently displayed. She removed it and inserted the substitute, arranging it as lovingly as if it were the original. “This is exciting,” she said.

She folded the original carefully and put it inside a chest under a quilt. “Actually, I'm disappointed you don't think he'll try to grab it and run.”

“I'm sorry,” Alex said. “Maybe we could persuade him—”

“—In case he tries anything,” she continued, “I'm equipped with sonosound.”

“Isn't that illegal?” he asked. Her AI could take down an intruder with a directed sonic strike. It had been known to be fatal, and owners had been charged with manslaughter.

“If there's a problem,” she said, “I'd rather be the one in court answering the charges.”

Marcus Kiernan descended onto the pad promptly at seven in an unpretentious gray Thunderbolt. A three-year-old model. The kids who'd seen our stuff get dropped into the river hadn't gotten a good look at the skimmer because it was dark. But they'd said it was gray.

I watched the cabin hatch open, watched our guy literally bounce out. He looked around at the manicured grounds and the lake, and started up the brick pathway to the house.

Ida and I had returned to the living room and were seated beneath some artwork by a painter I'd never heard of. Alex retreated behind the curtains. The AI, whose name was Henry, announced that Dr. Kiernan had arrived. Ida instructed Henry to let him in, the front door opened, and we heard him enter. He traded comments with the AI, then came into the room.

He wasn't as tall as I am. In fact, I'm taller than a lot of guys. But Kiernan didn't reach my ears. He looked clean-cut and law-abiding, someone you could instinctively trust. My first thought was that we'd been
wrong about him, that this was not the man we were looking for. But then I remembered how I'd liked the Mazha.

Kiernan reminded me of somebody. I couldn't think who. He had an ingenuous smile and amicable green eyes, set a bit far apart. “Ms. Patrick,” he said, “good evening. This is a lovely house.”

Ida extended her hand. “Thank you, Doctor. Chase, this is Dr. Kiernan. Doctor, Chase Kolpath, my houseguest.”

He bowed, smiled, and said how pleased he was to meet two such beautiful women at the same time. I reacted about the way you'd expect. And I got an association with the
Polaris
convention. He'd been there, but I still couldn't place him.

We shook hands and sat down. Ida served tea, and Kiernan asked me what I did for a living.

“I pilot superluminals,” I said, deciding that my connection with antiquities would be best left unmentioned.

“Really?” He looked impressed. “That must mean you've been all over the Confederacy.”

He was smarter than I was. I realized it immediately, but it didn't help. I started rattling off names of ports of call, trying to impress him. And I knew that Alex, listening behind the curtains, would be sneering. But I couldn't help myself. And when he nodded and said, yes, I've been there, some beautiful places, have you seen the Loci Valley, the Great Falls, I began to feel a connection with him.

I wouldn't want you to think I get swept away by every good-looking young male who shows up. But there was something inherently likable about Kiernan. His eyes were warm, he had a great smile, and when anyone spoke to him, he paid strict attention.

“So tell us about the book,” said Ida, who was also impressed, and was making surreptitious signals to me, indicating no, this guy is a sweetheart, he just couldn't be up to any harm.

“The title will be
Polaris,
” he said. “I've interviewed over a hundred people who were connected with it in one way or another.”

“And do you have a theory as to what happened?” she asked.

He looked nonplussed. “Everybody has a theory, Ida. Is it okay if I call you Ida?”

“Oh, yes, by all means, Marcus.”

“But what happened out there isn't the thrust of the book.”

“It isn't?” she said.

“No. In fact, what I'm doing is examining the political and social consequences of the event. For example, did you know that spending on armaments during the eight years following the incident increased twelve percent? That formal attendance at religious worship around the globe went up by almost a
quarter
during the next six months? Twenty-five percent of three billion people is a substantial number.”

“It certainly is.”

“The statistics elsewhere in the Confederacy were similar.”

“That doesn't mean,” I said, “that the
Polaris
had anything to do with it.”

“I don't think there's any question it was a reaction to the
Polaris,
Chase. The public mood changed during that period. You can document it in a lot of ways. People began storing food and survival equipment. There was a surge in the sales of personal weapons of all kinds. As if you could fight off an advanced alien technology with a scrambler.” A smile touched the corners of his lips. But there was something sad about it. “Even the Mutes were affected, though to a lesser degree. Some aspects of the reaction were only temporary, of course. But even today ships going beyond the bounds of known space frequently take a small armory with them.”

We gabbled on for about half an hour. Finally, Ida apologized that we were taking so much of his time and no doubt he'd like to see the jumpsuit.

“It's a pleasure, ladies,” he said. “But yes. I would like to take a look, if I may.” We got up and headed for the study. Alex would have to watch the rest of the show on a monitor. He'd be only a room away if needed, but everything seemed under control.

We walked down the long central hallway, Ida in front, Kiernan bringing up the rear. The passageway was lined with original oils, mostly landscapes, and he stopped twice to admire the work and compliment Ida on her taste. He seemed quite knowledgeable, and Ida was clearly struck by him.

Eventually we reached the study, and she told Henry to unlock the display cabinet.

“You keep it
here,
” he said, “in this room? I assumed you'd have it inside a vault somewhere.” It was a joke, but his tone suggested he was serious.
It's precious. Take care of it. There are unprincipled persons about.

“Oh, it's perfectly safe, Marcus.” She opened the top of the case and removed the duplicate jumpsuit, lifting it by the shoulders and letting it fall out full length. It was dark blue, the color of the sea at night. The
Polaris
patch was on the left shoulder, and
ENGLISH
stenciled in white over the right-hand breast pocket.

Kiernan approached it as one might a relic. “Magnificent,” he said.

Unaccountably, I felt a pang of guilt.

He reached out with his fingertips and touched it. Touched the embroidered name.

ENGLISH

Maddy. I think, in that moment, I understood why passengers riding the
Sheila Clermo
felt the presence of Mendoza and Urquhart and White and the others. And especially Maddy. Poor tragic Maddy. Nothing worse can happen to a captain than to lose the people who travel with her, who depend on her to bring them safely through whatever obstacle might arise. Ida must have felt it, too. Her eyes were damp.

Kiernan stood as if drawing strength from the garment, and finally he took it in his own hands. “I can hardly believe it,” he said.

“Marcus,” I asked, “have you been on board the ship?”

“The
Clermo?
Oh, yes. I've been on it.” His expression changed, became troubled. “Years ago.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking that Survey should never have sold it.”

“I agree,” said Ida, with indignation.