God damn you, Park thought, but before she could reply she saw the younger businessman nod to the older one, who was now off the phone. There was a crowd of people in the schoolyard, now: students who hadn’t gone far and who had returned when they’d heard the commotion, excited laborers and office workers on their routes home from work. Someone said, “Turn it off, the switch is in its throat,” and Park could feel her body drifting in front of Glenn’s, stiff, solid, as if she were a glacier. Glenn said quietly, “What is the usual procedure in such a case?”

“I don’t know,” Park said. She couldn’t turn to look at him. People were approaching them, hesitantly, trying to see how to move her neatly out of the way.

“Self-defense is required,” Glenn said, prompting.

“Yes,” Park said. “It always is.”

Glenn stepped out from behind her then. There was suddenly something small and black in his hand; Park couldn’t see it clearly from her periphery. He said calmly, “Please let us exit peacefully. Now.”

That was all he said. But everyone stopped. A kind of hard, frozen silence fell over the crowd. No one moved. Even Alexia stopped crying; she only stared at Glenn, then Park, with that classic round-eyed look, like a startled infant. Glenn put his hand on Park’s back, with infinite gentleness, and said, “Thank you. We will leave now.”

And then they left. The crowd parted for them like water flowing around a rock. Park could feel her shoulders tensing as they passed through, expecting a surprise blow to the face, a hot flash of pain in the back. But there was nothing. No one even turned to watch them go.

“Why?” Park said, when they’d made it a block or two away. She looked behind them, but no one was following; the streets were now empty. She hadn’t realized how fast her blood had been thudding that entire time; she could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. Glenn’s left hand was still on her back.

“It was this,” he said, and he showed her his right hand briefly. Park felt the blood drain out of her head. Glenn was holding an electrolaser gun.

“Where,” she asked after a moment, through stiff lips, “did you get that?”

“Here,” Glenn said, and dropped it into her hand. Park nearly yelped, not from fear, but from the surprise of feeling how light it was. She turned it over in her hands, felt the rough grooves and fixtures.

“It’s fake,” she said, after a moment.

“A prop,” Glenn said mildly. “Little better than a toy, though convincing enough at a distance. You can order them easily enough online.”

She looked at him with wonder. “When did you get it?”

Glenn gave her an indecipherable look. “A long time ago,” he said. “During the worst of the riots. The day Dataran approached you.”