Kenmuir walked over to Bolly. Sweat sheened on his visage. He breathed deeply and his smell was— powerful, male, Aleka thought as dizziness rushed through her head. Yet his movements were easy and his words calm. “I believe that takes care of the matter. Release the woman.”
Bolly did. He stared and stared.
“I’ll take that stick of yours, if you please,” Kenmuir said. He plucked it from unresisting fingers. “I’m not interested in anything else hereabouts, of course. Why don’t you help your master?” To Aleka: “Can you fetch our luggage?”
She could. She did. Not until she returned did she understand, clear-minded once more, that they were free.
Kenmuir had been talking further to the guard, who crouched over the fallen and pawed unskiUruUy. Aleka arrived in time to see the staff twirl. Kenmuir must have demonstrated he could use it, too, if need be. He nodded at her and took his suitcase. “Let’s be on our way,” he said.
His pace was brisk but not hasty. Not to show fear, Aleka realized. Their escape depended on an emotional equilibrium that could break at any instant. The walk to the airfield went on and on. Wind moaned, lightning blinked, thunder muttered.
They were in her volant and airborne.
Uncontrollable shivering seized her. He held her close, stroked her hair, murmured. At last she could sit beside him and whisper, ‘Tm sorry. That was ch-childish.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “A very natural reaction. You were in trouble more foul than I was, and stayed in charge of yourself. That always carries a price.”
She glanced at him. By now they were above the clouds. His profile was etched against a sky going pale and the last few stars. “You don’t seem shook up,” she said low.
He turned to smile at her. “Oh, I am. Exhausted. Let’s stop over somewhere and sleep the sun down.”
Her body ached, but the clarity within had come back, sharper still. “No, better not. Every place we could be noticed is an extra danger. Have the flyer cruise around a few hours while we rest, then make straight for Prajnaloka.”
He slapped his forehead. “Q! You’re right. The Overburg service sophotect will hear of the set-to, investigate, report; and it’s met me, we talked.” That brain could project the moving, speaking image of him into the database.
At least it had not seen her. By lucky chance—some luck was about due, Aleka thought—she had given her name to nobody in the town. True, it would come to light that a second outsider had been there. After that, a check with Traffic Control could reveal that the vehicle had been hers, and its present whereabouts.
But why should the authorities take that kind of trouble over an incident with no particular consequences, in a society that as a matter of policy was pretty much left to itself? They didn’t know that a few among them were covertly hunting Kenmuir. They’d have no reason of their own to track him down. If he wanted to file charges, he’d call them; otherwise, itwas logical just to leave what the sophotect related in the file. Maybe in due course that file would hold enough entries of this kind to make them take a closer look at Bramland. Aleka hoped so. But it wouldn’t likely happen soon.
Her companion was smiling again, with what she guessed was an effort, and adding, “You see, you are in full command of your wits.”
“You—“ she marveled, “when you challenged him, I thought you were—pupule—crazy, suicidal.”
He shrugged. “Spacers have to spend a great deal of time exercising, if they’re to stay fit. Martial arts are a favorite program of mine. When I’m alone, I work against a generated image, which does wonders for developing the reflexes. Not that I ever expected to use them violently, but I’ve-done fairly well in competitions. Bruno’s knowledge is rudimentary. I’d ascertained that in conversation.” Just in case he might find need for the knowledge, Aleka decided. A forethoughtful man. “Besides, he was drunk. I had no serious worry.
“He was stupid from the beginning, when he tried to kick. That’s powerful but slow, and by itself it leaves you open to several different counterattacks. My problem was simply to keep him at a distance, unable to grapple or land a real blow, while I demolished him. And, yes, I had to try not to kill him, especially when under the circumstances that could well have been irreversible.”