"Of course not. Don't be a fool. Would I inform, then wait to warn you? I did not know he had automatic alarms, and automatic cameras to make records of anyone who came into the—the place. It was the pictures. They were identified with your ident-card at the Central Police Bureau. And the robot-trackers are out."
Newlin and Songeen studied each other for a long moment of silence.
"I guess it doesn't matter now," Newlin said finally, "but I'm glad you didn't turn me in. I might almost as well give up and get the thing over with. There's no place to run. Not without money."
Songeen produced a small sack of platinum coins which jingled as she offered it.
"That's one reason I tried to find you. After the alarms, I knew I would only handicap your flight. I hid. Then I came here, because I thought you might come back. I'm sorry I have no more money, but the rest is all in credits. It would be no help to you in the wastelands."
"I see," muttered Newlin. "Why did you care? Were you afraid I'd talk if the Police caught me?"
Songeen shrugged coldly. "No, I hadn't thought of that. But I think I owe you something. Murderer's wages. I knew you couldn't fulfil your bargain when you made it. But, in a way, I am responsible for you."
"In a way," agreed Newlin bitterly. He snatched at the bag of coins. "This will do. Thanks for nothing."
"Don't blame me too much. I had no choice, and I did not know it would work out like this."