He answered nothing, and there was knowledge in his mind, memory of the Family, what he could expect of Halds.

“She ordered this? She set you to suicide?”

“Not suicide.” The accusation that touched her, stung him. “No. I. My choice. To learn.”

“And what have you learned, azi?”

“My name is Jim.”

“You have, haven’t you?”

He thought that Pol would kill him. He expected so, but there was nothing he could do about it; he tried to move, and Pol helped instead of hindering, hauled him forward to sit on the edge, put a glass into his hand. He expected water and got juice, gagged on it. “Drink it,” Pol snapped at him, and when he had done so, dragged him bodily into the bath and into the shower, turned the water on him. He sank down, too weak to stand, and leaned against the glass.

It was Max who pulled him from it. Max’s strong hands lifted him, half-carried him to the bed.

“Pol,” he objected. “Where is he?”

“Downstairs.” The guard-azi looked at him in anguish. “He came to the gate outside—said she’sin trouble. What do we do? What orders?”

Max was asking him. He stared at the azi. Nothing made sense. There was only the single word. She.

He snatched at his abandoned clothing, looked up suddenly at a move in the open doorway. Pol stood there, a shape among shadows.

“The mind’s working now, isn’t it? More than these that could be argued into letting the likes of me into the house.”

It was. Jim looked reproach at Max, and suddenly realised a gulf between. He did not know what he should and knew more than gave him comfort. His knees went out from under him and he had to lean, caught wildly at the chair.

“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’tdo 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 areher 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’reonly 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.”

“You realise a direct strike could wipe this house out That with the stakes I fear she’s playing-the Family may not care that betas or a Kontrin die in the process.” Pol’s mouth twisted as though the words choked him. “I don’t care for a few betas or a houseful of azi and majat But she’sanother matter with me. You hear me. I’ll not be taken down by a houseful of azi.”

“There are majat.”

The Kontrin went stone-faced.

“The staff,” Jim repeated, “will make you comfortable in this room. But you’ll not leave it.”

Pol folded big arms.

“She’ll come back,” Jim said.

Pol shook his head. “I doubt that she can, azi. The shuttle was never meant for landing elsewhere. She’ll die, if she’s not dead already.”

It undermined his confidence of things. He could not keep that from his face.

“You know,” Pol said reasonably, “that she admitted me here herself. She’d never have let an enemy that close to her. You have her mind. You know that better than anyone would. She wouldn’t have let me in the door to see the lay of things, if she didn’t know that I wasn’t the enemy.”

“I don’t try to think as she does.” Jim hugged the blanket about him, stared bleakly at the Hald. “I don’t know enough. I only know what she told me, which was to stay and hold this house. You can say what you wish, ser. It may entertain you. It won’t make any difference.”

Pol cursed him, and Warrior stirred in the doorway.

“Green-hive,” Warrior moaned.

“That is another reason,” Jim said. “We simply wait for her. Maybe she’ll tell me then that I was wrong.”

“She’s never going to have the chance.”

Jim shrugged, tucked his feet up, cross-legged on the bed. “How shall we pass the time, ser? I am passably skilled at Sej.”

v

The queasiness of docking upset the child. Wes Itavvy hugged her against him, looked at his wife, mute, full of things he should have said. They held Meris between them, clasping her hands, saying nothing. The shuttle made this run nearly empty: they three, a family of five from Upcoast, whose faces were no less worried. The port had been a-bristle with police. ID’s were checked, and Itavvy had endured that in terror, expecting at any moment there would be someone who knew his face, who could detect the false numbers, the lies behind the precious tickets.