Jack McDevitt - POLARIS

“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.