Kieran tossed down his pen as June came over to the breakfast table with the coffee pot to refill their cups, reversed the sheet of paper that he had been writing on, and slid it next to the copy of the petition list that June had left laying out. “What do you think?” he asked. The paper showed his own renderings of the last six names to have been added.
June studied them. Each signature was reproduced flawlessly in its own distinctive style, as if photocopied. “Scary,” she pronounced. “Remind me not to leave my checkbook laying around while you’re here.”
“The secret with forging a name is to do it upside down,” Kieran informed her. “That way, the eye interprets it simply as a graphic. You don’t see words, and so the letter-writing part of your brain isn’t jumping in trying to write them its way.”
“Have you ever heard of handwriting being hereditary?” June asked as she sat down. “Mine’s practically the same as my mother’s, yet we went to school and grew up in totally different places. I’ve heard other people say the same thing too.”
“Hm. I really don’t know. . . . Can’t think of any obvious reason why it should be.”
“Neither can I. That’s why I was curious.”
“That’s something we should have asked Leo. It sounds like his department.” Kieran picked up his coffee mug and sat back. He looked at June, his eyes twinkling mirthfully. “Speaking of which, I wonder how much sense they’re managing to get out of Sarda-the-First back at the firm.” June would be going in to Quantonix that morning. The news from the day before was that the incoherence of the Sarda who had been collected from Balmer’s office, and his evident memory loss of practically everything that had happened since the experiment, were causing consternation. Everyone there naturally believed he was the one thought to have been transported through the process successfully, since none other was supposed to exist. It was generally assumed, therefore, that some calamitous flaw was revealing itself, and an air of gloom had settled over the project. Kieran hoped that his anonymous donation to the solvency fund would help make the gloom not quite as deep as it might otherwise have been.
“The last I heard, he was being thoroughly obnoxious and uncooperative,” he said. “It’s uncanny how different sides of him seem to have polarized into two different individuals. I wonder if—” A tone from Kieran’s comset announced an incoming call. He reached across to lift the unit off the breakfast bar and drew out the handpiece.
“Hello. Knightlife Enterprises.”
“Er, Dr. Thane?”
“This is he.”
“Walter Trevany.”
“Ah, Walter! Good morning, indeed!”
“The woman you sent me the picture of: Elaine. I’ve remembered something else. She was some kind of nurse. It’s not a lot, but I said I’d let you know if anything more occurred to me.”
“And I appreciate it. But actually, Walter, we’ve traced her. And a big part was thanks to you. I told you that what you said was more useful than you realized.”
“Oh—I’m glad to hear it. So how is Leo now? Has his memory improved at all?”
“Well, a lot of people are currently working to help him in that direction,” Kieran said truthfully. “Elaine was even more helpful than I’d hoped. We’ll see what happens. So how is the expedition to Tharsis shaping up? You must be getting close to leaving.”
A sigh came over the phone. “Oh . . . there’s a mechanical problem with the Juggernaut. We’re—”
“Juggernaut?”
“That’s what we’ve christened the mobile lab. We’re having trouble getting a part. Something always gets you at the last minute. I’m new here. Do you happen to know any good places to try?”
“Do you have Alazahad Machine on your list?”
“Yes, but I haven’t tried that one yet. Are they good?”
“It’s the place I rented the car from when I came out to see you. Mahom Alazahad, the owner, is an old friend of mine. He’s also a magician. If anyone in Lowell has your part, it’ll be him. Otherwise he’ll conjure you one out of thin air.”
“Thanks for the tip. We’ll give it a shot.”