“You’ve thrown yourself into shock,” Pol said “The body won’t stand that kind of insult; throws metabolism into erratic patterns. Help him, azi.”
Max did so, caught him and set him down, grasped his arms. “What do we do?” Max asked of him. “He’s not armed. We saw to that.” Max tugged and pulled the clothes onto him, shook at his arms. “Warriors are all about. He can’t do any damage. Can he, Jim? He talks about her, about some trouble. What are we supposed to do? You’re to give the orders. What?”
He fought nausea, looked up at the Hald. “The first thing is not to trust him. He’s older and wiser than we.”
Pol grinned. “You’ve studied Raen’s tapes. Her mind-set. You reckon that, azi? That you are her mind-set?”
“The second thing,” Jim said, resisting the soft voice that unravelled him, “is to make doubly sure that he isn’t armed.”
Pol solemnly spread open his hands. “I swear.”
“And never believe him.” He was shaking, violently. He sat still, conserving the energy he had in him, tried to think past the pains in his joints and the contractions of his stomach. Blood pressure, a forgotten tidbit of information surfaced, explaining the intense feeling that his head was bursting. “You think you can take this house. You won’t.”
The Family would kill him, he thought If Raen were lost, he would die. If Raen survived, it was possible that she would kill him for what he had done. Neither was important at the moment. The necessity was not to let the Hald get control of the staff.
“Search him again, Max,” he said.
Pol bristled. Max approached him with deference—evidence of how little thorough that first search had been; but Pol submitted, and it was done, with great care.
“I’m not alone now,” Pol said, the while Max proceeded. “There’s another of the Family here. I have to contact the Meth-maren. You understand me. The time has come. He’ll be here. He’ll not be subtle; he’ll not need to be. The whole house is vulnerable.”
“Who?” Jim asked.
“Morn. Morn a Ren hant Hald.”
That name too he knew. First cousin to Pol. Travelling companion. Experienced in assassination.
“You often appear together,” Jim said. “You make jokes. He kills.”
Pol’s face reacted, to Max’s searching or to an azi’s presumption. He frowned and nodded slowly. “Morn is nothing to trifle with. You understand that at least. I’ll get her out of here. You listen to me, azi.”
“Jim.”
“I can get her off this world. Elsewhere. Out of the Family’s hands. I have a ship waiting at the port. I have to reach her in time.”
Jim shook his head slowly.
“You know,” Pol said, as Max finished; he brushed distastefully at his clothing. “You know where she is.”
“No, ser. You know well she wouldn’t tell me.”
“She would have established other contacts. Other points. Numbers, records. Names.”
“She wouldn’t have confided them to me.”
‘There had to be records.”
“Max!” Jim said. “Have Warrior keep a guard about the comp centre. Now. Do it! Warrior!”
Max moved, drew his gun: Pol’s instant move was stopped cold. The Hald stepped back, then.
And there was a shadow in the door, that filled it, moiré eyes that swept them. “This-unit guardsss,” it said.
“This stranger,” Jim said, “must not go near the comp”
“Understandss. Comp centre: many-machine. Sssafe.”
Pol’s eyes hooded. “You’ve killed us all. Morn won’t hesitate at wiping out this whole house. Do you understand that?”
“I understand it very well. We’re only azi.”
Perhaps Pol caught that sarcasm. He gave him a long and penetrating look. “It’s Raen’s mind-set,” he said. “Male, she’s no different.”
Jim swallowed at the sickness in his throat. Calm, calm, an old tape kept insisting somewhere. And: Distraction is argument that needs no logic, another advised him, Kontrin. Pol was skilled in the tactic. Jim painted a smile on his face and tucked a corner of the blanket about him against a tendency to chill, reckoning that what happened would at least be quick, unless Pol or Morn directly laid hands on him. “The staff,” he said, “will make you comfortable, ser. But you’ll stay away from the computer.”