And she realized why the Valiant had been taken. And by whom.
Ten minutes later she was back outside Interstellar’s main offices. She opened the door, hoping to see only Mary, but prepared with a story in the event she ran into Ben again.
The assistant was alone at her desk. She looked up as Kim went in.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Brandywine. Did you forget something?”
“A pen,” she said, making a show of examining the couch she’d sat in when she’d first arrived. “Oh yes, here it is.” She produced one out of her sleeve and held it up where it could be seen.
“Well,” Mary said, “that was easy enough.”
“Yes.” Kim was walking slowly toward the door, apparently fumbling to return the pen to its normal place in a breast pocket. She paused in front of the desk. “Mary, I wonder if you could tell me something?”
“Yes, if I can.”
“The business with Mr. Tripley’s decorative starship. Is there a security problem here?”
“Oh, no. Not that I’m aware of. That’s the first time I’ve heard of anything being taken. I’m sure it’ll show up. Somebody probably moved it during cleaning or something.”
“The cleaning crew comes in at—?”
“—Night.”
Finally, everything was beginning to make sense. It was all a matter of perception, and she’d been as blind as Tripley. Who would have thought?
She rode the lift down in high spirits, and caught the train to Blanchet Preserve. From there she took a cab to Tempest, giving it Sheyel’s address. On the way, she rehearsed what she would say, a mixture of admonition and congratulations. She was in a blissful mood and ready to celebrate, half expecting to see him stride triumphantly out of the house during her approach. He’d know once he saw her coming that she’d figured it out, and he’d be anxious to show her the trophy.
There was, of course, an ethical problem in all this, but she put it aside as the taxi glided through the warm afternoon sunlight. Time enough to think about that later. Anyway it wouldn’t be a question of stealing anything. Sheyel, like herself, just wanted to solve a long-standing puzzle. And make a point.
And by God were they ever going to make a point!
The treetops opened up and she was circling his house. Inside, the AI would be informing him of the approaching visitor, of the descending cab, but the doors stayed shut.
She settled to earth, paid up, and got out.
The taxi lifted off.
She strode up to the front entrance. The house stared silently back at her. “Sheyel,” she said. “Congratulations.”
The afternoon was pleasant and still. Insects hummed and a blue jay watched her curiously from the lip of a fountain.
“Sheyel?”
A gentle breeze sighed in the treetops.
She looked at the empty windows. The jay took off and landed on the roof.
Kim tried her commlink. A female voice came on the line: “I’m sorry. Dr. Tolliver is not available at the moment. If you wish to leave him a message, please do so.”
“This is Kim Brandywine,” she told the AI. “I’m doing some work for Dr. Tolliver. He’ll want to know about it forthwith. Can you please put me in touch with him?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Brandywine. But he does not like to be disturbed. When he calls in, I’ll be certain to tell him you’ve been trying to contact him.”
And it shut off.
Where was he? She should have called before coming all the way out here, but she’d assumed he’d be home, and she’d wanted to take him unawares. And to help him celebrate his coup properly. In person.
She walked around the house, but saw no one, inside or out.
Where would he have gone?
Only one place she could think of.
Sheyel had always maintained that few actions are driven by reason. People act out of emotion, perception, prejudice. They will believe what they’ve always believed, filtering out all evidence to the contrary. Until they go too far and run onto the rocks of reality.
If she was guessing right about Sheyel, he was about to run onto a few rocks himself.
She called Shep on the commlink.
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, Kim.”
“I want you to design an entity.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Consider it an intellectual exercise.” She described everything she knew about the intruder. And the creature in the lake. Apparent incorporeity. Green eyes. Green tinge. Electrical fields. Free hydrogen molecules. Methane. Oxygen.
“I can give you a model,” Shep said after a few minutes, “but I do not think it would be a lifeform that would evolve naturally.”
Kim had summoned another cab, and she was watching it approach. “Doesn’t matter. What have you got?”
“Uneven charge distribution in individual cells.”
“Explain.”
“A living system need not be contained within a coherent sheath. A skin cover or shell. It is possible that regions of opposite charges, enclosed for example by a pocket of ionized gases, could function quite effectively by manipulating each other within the system.”
“It sounds as if you’re talking about a living battery.”
“That’s an oversimplification. Let me explain in more detail—”
“No. That’s okay. Might such a system achieve intelligence?”
“I’m not sure how to define intelligence. But I think it could perform fairly sophisticated tasks.”
“Like piloting a starship?”
“Probably.”
“Where would it get energy?”
“You indicated a greenish tint. Green eyes. That might indicate the presence of chloroplasts. That would allow it to convert light.”
She directed the flyer to take off. “How would you combat such a creature?”
“Lure it into an area of extremely high winds. Separate the molecules. Put enough external pressure on it that it becomes unable to maintain its integrity.”
“Blow it apart.”
“Yes. Precisely.”
“I might not have a hurricane handy. What else?”
“It would also be vulnerable, I would think, to short circuiting.”
She took the cab back into town, to a tech shop, tended by an aging woman in a trim black suit. Her hair was silver and her expression placid. She looked out of place, the sort of culturally resplendent woman one might expect to find discussing art while presiding over a salon. “Can I assist you?” she asked, with perfect diction.
“Yes,” Kim said. “I wonder if anyone has recently asked you to make a model starship?” She showed her a picture of the Valiant. “It would have looked like this.”
The woman studied the picture. “Why, yes,” she said. “We did do something very much like that. In fact, we still have the template.”
Gotcha, Sheyel. “Would you be willing,” asked Kim, “to make one for me?”
“The same model?”
“Please.”
“If you like.” She brought up a schedule on her screen. “Tomorrow at about this time?”
“Oh,” said Kim. “That won’t do, I’m afraid. I’m just passing through. Out on the next train. I hoped you might be able to do it while I wait.”
The woman nodded to herself, consulted the screen again. “I’ll need about an hour,” she said.
“Good. Do it. I’ll be back.”
“There’s an extra charge.”
The third edition of the Valiant looked as good as either of the others. When this was all over, she promised herself, it would make a fine souvenir.