Polaris by Jack McDevitt Page A

we’d arrived, he’d remarked that the items connected with Maddy would be especially valuable. I had my doubts. “She was carrying celebrities,” I told him. “Historical figures.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” he said. “The captain is the tragic figure in this. Add to that the fact that she’s beautiful.”
    â€œWhite looked pretty good.”
    â€œWhite didn’t lose her passengers. Take my word for it, Chase.”
    He’d always been right before on such matters. So we added one of her uniform blouses (there were two available), and paused over a dark green platinum etui decorated with flowers and songbirds. It came with a certification that it had been the personal property of Madeleine English. Alex picked it up and opened it. Inside were a pen, a comb, a wallet, a string of artificial pearls, a set of uniform bars, and two pairs of earrings. “This all included?” he asked Windy.
    She nodded. “It had cosmetics in it, too,” she said. “But they were rotting out the interior.”
    They agreed on a price that I thought was high, but it was a nice package, and Alex smiled benignly, the way he did when he wanted you to think he’d paid too much and was already having regrets. He gave it to Windy, and she handed it over to the aide, who showed us that we’d used up our allotment.
    We wandered through displays of furniture and equipment across the back of the room. The captain’s chair, a conference table, display screens, even a vacuum pump. VR gear. But these kinds of items, except the chair, were impersonal and would provoke less interest.
    â€œYou got the pick of the lot,” Windy said. She looked as if she meant it.
    When we left, the Mazha was in the process of examining a wall plaque depicting the ship’s schematic. “How many is he getting?” I asked.
    She cleared her throat. “They didn’t put a limitation on him.”
    â€œThat doesn’t seem fair.”
    â€œHe’s a head of state.” She allowed herself a smile. “When you take over a government, we’ll do the same for you.”
    We headed finally into an adjoining room, followed by the young man with the case. He wasn’t much more than a kid. Nineteen, at most. While Windy tallied up the bill I asked him where he was from.
    â€œKobel Ti,” he said. West coast.
    â€œGoing to school here?”
    â€œAt the university.”
    While we talked, Alex transferred payment. The aide told me how happy he was to have met me, made a self-conscious pass, and handed over the items. I decided it was my night.
    Windy gazed down at the case and asked whether we wanted her to have it sent over to the office. “No,” Alex said, “thanks. We’ll take it with us.”
    I noticed the Mazha leave the exhibition room, surrounded by his people, and pass quickly into the corridor. He looked worried.
    We were starting for the exit when a security guard appeared in midair. A projection. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve received a warning that there may be a bomb in the building. Please evacuate. There is no cause for alarm.”
    Of course not. Why would anyone think there was cause for alarm? Suddenly I was being swept along by Alex. He had me in one arm and the container in the other. Windy, trailing behind us, called out that she was sure there was a mistake somewhere. Who would put a bomb in Proctor Union?
    It became a wild scramble. The exit was through a doorway that would accommodate no more than three people at a time. A few of the less mobile ones went down. Alex told me gallantly to have no fear, and when we stopped to try to help a woman who had fallen, the crowd behind us simply pushed us forward. I don’t know what happened to her.
    â€œStay calm,” the projection was saying. Easy enough for him. He was probably in another building.
    The crush in the passageway was a nightmare.