Guarding the luggage, as she had told him.
For an instant she hesitated, not knowing what he might do; but he did not fire . . . likely could not fire. She approached him quietly and disengaged the gun from his hands, realised Warrior’s presence at her shoulder and bade it and its companion stay back. She knelt, put her hand on Jim’s rigid arm.
“We need to get out of here. Come on, Jim.”
He nodded. Out of near-catatonia, it was a wonder that he could do that much. She patted his shoulder and waited, and he wiped at his face and began to make small movements toward rising, shaking convulsively.
She thought then of the other two azi, who had been in the shuttle with them, who had heard what was said. She flung herself to her feet and pushed past Warrior, past the counter.
The two azi stared at her; they had not moved. But by now Security police, betas ITAK-badged, had arrived on the scene, and some of them started gingerly forward
“You,” she said, rounding on-the two azi, “belong to me. Is that clear? I’m transferring your contract. The formalities will be taken care of. You say nothing . . . nothing, hear me? I’m buying you out only because I don’t like terminating azi.”
The two seemed to believe her. She turned then and faced the police, who had hesitated at a safe distance—the majat were still near her—and now started forward again.
“There’s been enough commotion,” she said, turning toward them her hand, that, with her cloak, was identification enough. “This was a hive-matter and that’s enough said. It’s settled.” She walked to Merek Eln’s body, bent and took from his pocket the identity card she had seen at customs. There was, as she had expected, an address. It seemed to be in an ITAK executive district. “I want some manner of transport for myself, three azi, our baggage and two Warriors at once; and an armed officer or two for escort, thank you.”
Possibly they thought that this had to go through channels; they stood still a moment. But then the senior gave orders to one of the officers, who left, running.
“Chances are,” Raen said, “that the matter is confined to the hives; but you’ll kindly call and put this number under immediate surveillance. And you can escort us to that vehicle.”
The officer looked at the ID, made a call on his belt unit, . . . would have retained the card, but that Raen held out her hand and insisted. She turned, pocketing it, and gestured to the two guard azi to take charge of the baggage. Jim was leaning on the counter, seeming to have recovered himself, although he was still shaken. She returned the gun to him and he hastily put it in his pocket, missing the opening several times in his agitation. He walked well enough. Warrior and companion stalked along with them, and the shop personnel and the terminal employees and others who had reason to be in the cordoned area stared at them uneasily as they sought the door.
“The car will be there,” the senior officer said. “There’s an executive from the Hoard coming out to meet you, Kontrin; we’re profoundly embarrassed—”
“My sincere regrets for the next of kin. I want a list of the names and citizen numbers and relatives of those killed. There will be compensation and burial expenses. Relay the information to that address. As for the executive, I’m more interested in settling myself at the moment. There’s another call I want you to make. I understand there’s an Outsider trade mission in the City. I want someone from that mission . . . I don’t care who . . . at that address as quickly as possible.”
“Sera—”
“I wouldn’t advise you to consult with ITAK on it. Or to fail to do it.”
Outer doors opened. She heard the officer behind her speaking urgently on the matter through his belt unit; it would be relayed. An ITAK police personnel transport waited outside, armoured officers with rifles ringed about it. Raen kept her hand near her own weapon, trusting no one.