Polaris

TEN

A day or two after I’d looked through Boland’s background, we took several clients to dinner. When it was over, and they’d left, Alex and I stayed for a nightcap at the Top of the World. We were just finishing when I got a call from Marcia Cable.

“Chase, you told me to get in touch if anything unusual happened about Maddy’s blouse?”

We were sitting looking out over the vast tableau that Andiquar presents at night, the sky teeming with traffic, the two rivers filled with lights, the city aglow. “Yes,” I said, not quite focused yet. “What’s going on?”

“There was a guy just left here who came to look at it. It was the damnedest thing.”

“How do you mean?” I asked. Alex signaled for me to turn up the volume so he could hear.

“He told me he wanted to buy it. Offered a barrel of money. Damned near three times what I paid for it.”

“And-?”

“I’m not sure whether I’d have sold it or not. I’ll be honest, Chase. I was tempted. But after he looked at it he changed his mind.”

Marcia came from money. She’d gone to the best schools, married more money, was a skilled equestrienne, and specialized in taking over failing companies and turning them around. She had red hair, dark eyes, and a low tolerance for opposing opinions.

“He withdrew the offer?” I said.

“Yes. He said it wasn’t quite what he expected and that he’d decided it wouldn’t go well with his collection after all. Or words to that effect. Thanked me for my time, turned around, and left.”

Alex said hello and apologized for breaking in. “Marcia,” he said, “you say he looked at it. Did he handle it?”

“Yes, Alex. He did.”

“Any chance he could have done a switch?”

“No. After what Chase told me, I never took my eyes off him. My husband was there, too.”

“Okay. Good. What was his name?”

She paused, and I heard the bleep of a secretary. “Bake Toomy.”

Alex shook his head. The name was not familiar. “Did you ask how he came to know you had the blouse?”

“I think everybody knew. I told most of my friends, and I was on the Terry MacIlhenny Show with it.”

“That’s the one you sent us?” I said. I’d noticed it in the queue, but hadn’t really gotten around to watching it.

“Yes.” She was trying to decide whether she should be worried. “I was wondering if he was trying to pin down where we keep it. Maybe he’s going to try to steal it.” I told Alex, out of range of the link, that I hoped we weren’t getting people upset for no reason. “I asked him,” Marcia continued, “if he knew you, Alex. He said he did.”

“What did he look like?” Alex asked.

“He’s a young guy. Not very big. Midtwenties. Auburn hair cut short. Sort of old-fashioned style.”

“Did he leave contact information?”

“No.”

“Okay. Marcia, I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure. Alex, what’s this about anyhow?”

“Probably nothing. Just that somebody’s showing unusual interest in the Polaris artifacts. We don’t know what’s going on. But if you hear from him again, try to find out where he can be reached and get in touch with us. Right away.”

Young. Not very big. Midtwenties. Auburn hair cut short. Old-fashioned style.

“Maybe he’s legitimate,” I said. “Just wanted to look and changed his mind. No big deal about that.”

A call to Paul Calder confirmed that Davis, the purchaser of Maddy’s vest, fit the description of Bake Toomy. It seemed to be the same person.

Marcia lived in Solitaire, on the northern plains. Paul was a local. “Whoever this guy is,” Alex said, “he gets around.” He instructed the AI to check the listings in Solitaire for anyone named Toomy. “Can’t be many,” he said. “The population’s only a few thousand.”

“Negative result,” said the AI.

“Try the general area. Anywhere within a six-hundred-klick radius.”

“I have eighteen listings.”

“Anybody named Bake, or any variation like that?”

“Barker.”

“Any others?”

“Barbara. But that’s it.”

“What do we have on Barker Toomy?”

“He’s a physician. Eighty-eight years old. Attended medical school-”

“That’s enough.”

“Not our guy, Alex.”

“No.”

“Bake Toomy might be unlisted.”

“He might. But that would be unusual for a collector. Or a dealer. Check our clients. You won’t find any of them who aren’t listed.”

“Alex,” I said, “you think this is the same guy who did the break-in?”

“I don’t think it’s much of a leap.”

“I wonder if he’s connected with the woman who gave the bogus award to Diane?”

“I suspect so. Maybe not directly, but they’re after the same thing.”

“Which is-?”

“Ah, my sweet, there you have hold of the issue. Let me ask a question. Why did our intruder find it necessary to open the display case, but not the bookcase?”

I watched a taxi rise past the window and swing out toward the east. “I have no idea. Why?”

“Because the glass was in the bookcase. And you can’t hide anything in a glass.”

“You think somebody hid something in one of the artifacts?”

“I don’t think there’s any question about it.”

I was trying to digest it. “Then the thief took the coins and books-”

“-As a diversion.”

“But why not keep them? It’s not as if they weren’t valuable.”

“Maybe he didn’t know that,” he said. “Maybe he doesn’t know anything about collectibles.”

“That can’t be,” I said. “This whole thing is about collectibles.”

“I don’t think it is. This whole thing is about something else entirely, Chase.”

We sat looking at one another. “Alex, if there’d been something in the pockets of the jacket, Maddy’s jacket, do you think we’d have noticed?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I always inspect the merchandise. I even examined it for the possibility that something had been sewn into it. In any case, we know they didn’t find what they wanted at the house, or they wouldn’t still be hunting for it.”

My apartment building is a modest place, a privately owned three-story utilitarian structure that’s been there a hundred years. It has four units on each floor and an indoor pool that’s inevitably deserted in the late evening. We came in over the river and drifted down onto the pad. I heard music coming from somewhere, and a peal of laughter. It seemed out of place. We sat in the soft glow of the instrument lights.

“You looked through the Bible?” he said.

“Yes. There was nothing there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, I didn’t check every page.”

“Call Soon Lee and ask her to look. Let’s be certain.”

“Okay.”

“And talk to Ida. She has the jumpsuit, right?”

“Yes.”

“Tell her to look in the pockets. And check the lining. Let us know if she finds anything. Anything at all.”

I opened the door and got out. Something flapped in the trees. Alex joined me.

He’d walk me to the door and see that I got safely home. Ever the gentleman. “So who,” I asked him, “had access to the artifacts? Somebody at Survey?”

He pulled his jacket around him. It was cold. “I checked with Windy a day or two after the burglary. She insists they’d been secured since the Trendel Commission, until the vault was opened a few weeks ago and they were inventoried for the auction.

That means, whatever they’re looking for, it had to have been placed during the period of time between the opening of the vault and the attack. Or during the first months of the investigation, in 1365.”

“There’s another possibility,” I said.

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to be the first to say it.” Someone on the Polaris might have left something.

Soon Lee called to report there was nothing in the Bible. She said she’d gone through it page by page. There was no insert of any kind, and she could find nothing written on its pages that seemed out of place. Ida assured me there was nothing hidden in the jumpsuit.

The only thing we had in our inventory with a direct connection to any of the Polaris victims was a copy of Pernico Hendrick’s Wilderness of Stars. It had once belonged to Nancy White. I had some time on my hands, so I dug it out and began to page through it. It was a long history, seven hundred-plus pages, of environmental efforts undertaken by various organizations during the sixty years or so preceding publication, which took it back to the beginning of the fourteenth century.

There weren’t many notations. White was more inclined to underline sections that caught her interest and draw question or exclamation marks in the margins. Population is the key to everything, Hendrick had written. Unless we learn to control our own fertility, to stabilize growth, all environmental efforts, all attempts to build stable economies, all efforts at eliminating civil discord, all other courses, are futile. Three exclamation marks. This was the precursor to a long series of citations by the author. Despite advanced technology, people still bred too much. Hardly anybody denied that. The effects were sometimes minimal: There might be too much traffic, not enough landing pads. At other times, states collapsed, famines struck, civil wars broke out, and off-world observers found themselves unable to help. It doesn’t matter how big the fleet is, you can’t ship enough food to sustain a billion people. The book detailed efforts to save endangered species across the hundred worlds of the Confederacy, to preserve the various environments, to husband resources, to slow population growth. It described resistance by government and by corporate and religious groups, the indifference of the general public (which, Hendrick maintains, never recognizes a problem until it’s too late). He likened the human race to a cancerous growth, spreading through the Orion Arm, infecting individual worlds.

More exclamation marks.

It was hair-raising stuff, and somewhat overheated. The author never settled for a single adjective where two or three could be levered in.

But the book was well thumbed, and it was obvious that Nancy White was more often than not in agreement. She quibbled now and then on factual information and technical points, but she seemed to accept the conclusion: A lot of people died, or were thrust into poverty, and kept there, for no very good reason other than that the species couldn’t, or wouldn’t, control its urge to procreate.

I showed it to Alex.

“The guy’s an alarmist,” he said. “So is she, apparently.”

I stared at the book, depressed. “Maybe that’s what we need.”

He looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were a Greenie wacko.”

I was on my way home the following day, approaching the junction between the Melony and Narakobo Rivers when Vlad Korinsky called. Vlad owned the Polaris mission plaque. Ultimately, I thought it might prove to be the most valuable of the artifacts that survived the explosion. There was no way to know where it had actually been located in the ship, but if Maddy had adhered to tradition, it would have occupied a prominent position on the bridge. Vlad was a traveler and adventurer.

He’d been to Hokmir and Morikalla and Jamalupe and a number of other archeological sites on- and off-world. His walls were decorated with pictures showing him standing beside the shattered ruins of half a dozen ancient civilizations. He’d had a little too much sun over the years, and the winds of a dozen worlds had etched their lines into his face.

He was shopping. Refurbishing his den. He’d been looking through our catalog.

Was there anything new in the pipeline? “You called at exactly the right moment, Vlad,” I said. “It happens that I can put my hands on a comm link from Aruvia. Four thousand years old, but it’s in excellent condition. It was lost during the Battle of Ephantes.”

We talked it over, and he told me he’d think about it. I knew his tone, though. He was hooked, but he didn’t want to look like an easy sell.

I liked Vlad. We’d been out together a few times, in violation of the general principle that you don’t get involved in personal entanglements with clients. Alex knew about it and looked pained whenever Vlad’s name came up. But he didn’t say anything, relying, I suppose, on my discretion. Or good sense. I hope not on my virtue. “How are you doing, Chase?” he asked.

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 decor 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.

“It’s of immense historical value.”

I looked at the jumpsuit. And at him. He had to raise it a bit to keep it off the floor. Maddy had also been taller than he was.

We all gazed at it. At the smooth dark blue cloth, at the shoulder patch, at the pockets. Six in all, breast pockets outlined in white trim, back and cargo pockets plain.

“Nothing in them, I suppose?” he said.

“No,” said Ida. “I should have been so lucky.”

Casually, as if it were an afterthought, he looked. Opened each pocket and peeked in, smiling the whole time, saying how you never know, shaking his head sadly that no scrap of Polaris history had drifted forward inside the suit. He had me almost believing it was the original. “Pity,” he said, when he’d finished. “But it’s enough that we have this.” He refolded the jumpsuit and gave it back. “Thank you, Ida.” He looked at the time. “It’s gotten late. I really must go. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ida. And you, Chase.”

He started toward the door.

“You’ve come a long way, Marcus,” said Ida. In fact we weren’t at all sure how far he’d come. “Can I offer you anything before you leave?”

“No,” he said. “Thank you, but I really must be on my way.”

Bows to both of us, and then we were all walking toward the front door. It opened, and he swung out into the sunset, waved, climbed aboard his skimmer, and rose into the evening sky.

I collected the duplicate jumpsuit, and I was putting it carefully into a plastene bag when Alex charged into the study.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“Ida.” He beamed at her. “You were exquisite.” And, glancing at me, “Both of you.” We were headed toward the front door. “Thanks, Ida. I’ll get back to you. Let you know what happens.” He took the duplicate jumpsuit and put it under his arm. If nothing else, we had “Kiernan’s” DNA.

We paused in the shelter of the house to watch the skimmer moving out over the treetops. Gave it a moment to get clear. “He seems like such a nice young man,” said Ida.

When we thought it was safe to do so, we climbed into our own vehicle. “What’s the plan?” I asked him.

“Let’s see if we can find out where he lives.” We lifted off, and Alex opened a link to Ida. “Probably best, Ida,” he said, “if you don’t mention this to anybody.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Just a precaution. Until we find out what it’s about.”

“What do you want me to do if he contacts me again-?”

“Let us know right away.”

“And keep the doors locked,” I said.

I asked Alex whether he thought she was actually in any kind of danger.

“No,” he said. “Kiernan got what he wanted-”

“-An opportunity to search the jumpsuit-”

“Exactly. There’s no reason for him to come back. But it’s just as well to be safe.”

“Your notion that they’re looking for something-”

“Yes?”

“-Looks as if it’s on target.”

We could see Kiernan in the fading sunlight, headed east toward Andiquar.

“Follow it,” he instructed the AI. We rose above the trees and began to accelerate. He turned in my direction. “What did you think of him?”

“Actually, he seemed like a nice guy.”

He smiled. “I’m willing to bet you and Ida were just talking to the man who set the bombs at Proctor Union. Or knows who did.”

I had to run that through a second time. “What makes you say that?” I asked.

“Why would Kiernan try to kill the Mazha?”

“He didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Alex; I’m not following the conversation.”

“What I’m saying is that he took advantage of the Mazha’s presence to destroy the collection and make it look like something else.”

That was hard to believe. “You don’t think it was an assassination attempt?”

“No, I don’t. And they got away with it, Chase. The investigators are looking for an assassin. Not a Polaris conspirator.”

“But I still don’t see-”

“They didn’t want anyone to realize what was really happening. They don’t want people asking a lot of questions. It was a perfect opportunity. They find out the Mazha’s visiting, and nobody is surprised when assassins try to finish him off.”

“That’s incredible. But why? If there’s something they’re trying to find, why destroy everything?”

“Maybe they just want to be sure that whatever’s there-” He hesitated.

“-Doesn’t fall into somebody else’s hands,” I finished.

“Yes. Now think about the bombs again.”

“They turned the artifacts to slag.”

“It’s obvious Kiernan doesn’t know where to find the thing he’s looking for. It might have been in Maddy’s jacket. Or in her jumpsuit. Or in her blouse.”

“It’s always Maddy,” I said.

“That might be an illusion. Most of the stuff we took from the exhibition belonged to Maddy. So we need to withhold judgment a bit.”

The sky was getting dark. Below us, lights were coming on. “But what could it be?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How’d they find out the Mazha was coming? There must be a leak someplace.”

“I suspect there were leaks in a lot of places. Organizations like Survey aren’t used to keeping secrets. That’s why he came with a small army of bodyguards.” He jabbed an index finger at Kiernan’s aircraft. “They didn’t want to kill anyone, so they called in the bomb threat minutes before it went off.”

“It was a close thing.”

“Yes. Whatever they’re looking for, they’re willing to risk killing a few people if that’s what it takes to find it. Or to make sure no one else does.”

“Hey, that means Tab Whatzis-name is involved.”

“Everson.”

“Yes. Everson.” The guy who’d bought the debris, incinerated it, and launched the ashes toward the sun.

“Are we beginning to see a pattern?”

“But what could be that important?”

He looked at me. “Think about it, Chase.”

“The Polaris. There’s something that would tell us what happened.”

“That’s my guess.”

“You think somebody wrote a note? Left a message of some sort?”

“Maybe. It may not be that clear-cut. But there’s something that somebody’s afraid of.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Even if there had been some sort of conspiracy, everybody who could have been involved in it is long dead or out of power.”

Kiernan was still headed east. We were gaining on him, trying to get closer without being spotted. “Let’s go to manual, Chase. Move up, but stay in traffic.”

I disabled the AI and activated the yoke. “We’re in legal jeopardy here,” I said.

Going to manual wasn’t strictly an offense, but God help you if you did it and then got involved in an accident.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Easy for you to say.”

Kiernan’s Thunderbolt joined the east-west stream along 79, over the Narakobo.

It was the middle of the week; traffic was moderate and moving steadily. “I still think we should call Fenn,” I said.

“What do they charge him with? Fondling Maddy’s jumpsuit?”

“At the very least, they ought to be able to bring some sort of charges against a man who wanders around the countryside gaining entrance to people’s homes while using false identities.”

“I’m not sure that’s illegal,” he said. “Anyhow, all it would do is let him know we’re onto him. If we want to find out what this is about, we need to give him a chance to show us.”

Ahead, we could see the lights of Andiquar on the horizon. The Thunderbolt rolled into the northeast corridor and headed toward the estuary.

“He’s going out to one of the islands,” I said.

The night was alive with moving lights. Aside from the air traffic, some were on the river, others on the walkways. Compared to most Confederate capitals, Andiquar is a horizontal city. There are towers at its four corners, and the Spiegel and Lumen towers downtown, but otherwise the tallest buildings run to about six stories. It’s a beautifully designed amalgam of parks and piers, monuments and elevated walkways, fountains and gardens.

It was a cold, still evening, no wind, the moon not yet up. We passed a hot-air balloon.

“Late in the season for that,” said Alex.

Kiernan was staying with the flow, doing nothing to draw attention to himself as he passed over Narakobo Bay and headed out to sea. There are hundreds of islands within an hour’s flying time of Andiquar, and in fact they hold almost half the capital’s population.

As we drew abreast of the city, we started picking up heavy traffic. “Let’s get a bit closer,” said Alex. Most of the aircraft were running between altitudes of one and two thousand meters. The long-range stuff was higher. I dropped down to about eight hundred and moved in behind the Thunderbolt.

“Good,” said Alex.

I should have realized immediately something was wrong because a sleek yellow Venture that had been down at the same altitude now pulled up behind us.

Alex hadn’t noticed. “He’s talking to somebody,” he said.

“You mean there’s someone else in the skimmer?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’s on the circuit.”

The Venture swung to starboard and began to crowd me.

Alex’s attention was riveted on the Thunderbolt. “I’d love to hear what he’s saying.”

The hatch on the Venture popped open. That never happens in flight. Not ever.

Unless somebody wants a clear shot. “Heads up, Alex-!”

I swerved to port but it was too late. There was a flash of light, and, in that instant, I felt the downward jolt of normal weight slamming back, and we began to fall.

Alex yelped. “What are you doing?”

I tried accelerating to provide more lift for the wings. Skimmers, of course, are designed to function with antigrav pods. During operation, the aircraft weigh about eleven percent normal. So it doesn’t take much wingspan, or much thrust, to keep them airborne. Consequently, the wings are modest, and the vehicles are slow. You’re not going to get past 250 kph with any of them. And that’s just not enough to keep you in the air when you’re carrying full weight.

We were sinking toward the ocean. I fought the controls but couldn’t get any lift.

“Going into the water,” I told him. “Get ready.”

“What happened?”

“The Venture,” I said. It was accelerating away, pulling out of the traffic as we fell.

A male voice broke in over the circuit: “You okay in there? We saw what happened.”

And another, a woman: “Try to get down. We’ll stay with you.”

I got on the link to the Patrol. “Code White,” I told them. “I’m in free fall.” That wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough.

The surface looked dark, cold, and hard. “Hang on,” I said.

We got a voice from the Patrol. “I see you.” I love how those guys keep calm when somebody else is falling out of the sky. “We are en route.”

I didn’t have enough velocity even to get the nose up. “Try to keep loose,” I told Alex. He managed to laugh. I had to give the guy credit.

Water can be hard. We blasted down, bounced, flipped, turned sideways, and crashed into a wave. The roof tore away. Skimmers are routinely driven by AIs, and they never collide, either with each other or with anything else. Furthermore, the lighter they are, the more efficiently they run. Consequently, they’re not built to withstand impact. Even the seat belts are intended only as a precaution against rough weather.

Water poured in on us. I had a glimpse of lights, then we went under. I could feel myself rising against my harness.

I checked what was left of the overhead to make sure we had clear passage to the surface. When I saw that we did, I released my restraints, but held on, and twisted around to see how Alex was making out. At that moment, the power failed, and the lights went off.

He was struggling with his belt. He didn’t know where the manual release was.

That was no surprise; he’d probably never had to use it before. It was located in the center of the aircraft on the board between the seats. But I had to push his hand out of the way to get at it. It was a bad situation because at that moment he thought he was going down with the skimmer and was fumbling desperately and in no mind to accept help. I literally had to rip his hand clear before I could thumb the release. Then I pushed him up. He went out through the top, and I followed.

The Patrol picked us up within minutes and wanted to know what had happened. I told them. An unknown person in a late-model yellow Venture had taken a shot at us.

Apparently she had hit the antigrav pods.

“You say she. Did you know who it was?”

“No idea,” I said.

The interviewing officer was a woman. We were seated on the deck of the rescue vehicle. “Why would she do that?”

“Don’t know,” I said. “No idea.”

“But it was a woman?”

“I think so.” Not much help there.

We were both drenched and shivering with the cold and wrapped in blankets.

They gave us coffee. When the Patrol officer allowed us a moment alone, Alex asked whether I’d thought to rescue the duplicate jumpsuit.

“No,” I said. “I thought you had it.”

He looked at me and sighed.