"I'll depend on you for that. Don't think I should show at Central for a bit."

"Mmm. See what you mean. She'll try to tie you up with a countersuit."

"Or I miss my guess. Now, here's what I saw. When she opened the door, she practically filled it, but I could see what appeared to be a window in the background. If it was a window, it opened onto a cloudy sky. That means daylight."

"Cloudy?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's been cloudy here all morning."

"You don't think she's . . . no, she wouldn't."

"Probably not, but we'll have Central scoured just to be sure. With her money, no telling who she might've bought."

"Yeah . . . well, the Palenki. Its shell carried an odd design - triangles, diamonds in red and orange, and a rope or snake of yellow wound all the way around and through it.

"Phylum identification," Siker said.

"Yes, but what Palenki family?"

"Well, we'll check it. What else?"

"There was a mob of sentients behind her during the actual flogging. I saw Preylings, couldn't miss those wire tentacles. There were some Chithers, a few Soborips, some Wreaves . . ."

"Sounds like her usual patch of sycophants. Recognize any of them?"

"I'll try for ID's later, but I couldn't attach any names to this mob. But there was one, a PanSpechi, and he was stage-frozen or I miss my guess."

"You sure?"

"All I know is what I saw, and I saw the scars on his forehead - ego surgery, sure as I'm sniggering."

"That's against every PanSpechi legal, moral, and ethical . . ."

"The scars were purple," McKie said. "That checks, doesn't it?"

"Right out in the open, no makeup or anything to cover the scars?"

"Nothing. If I'm right, it means he's the only PanSpechi with her. Another would kill him on sight."

"Where could she be where there'd be only one PanSpechi?"

"Beats me. Oh, and there were some humans, too - green uniforms."

"Abnethe house guards."

"That's the way I made it."

"Quite a mob to be hiding away."

"If anyone can afford it, she can."

"One more thing," McKie said. "I smelled yeast."

"Yeast?"

"No doubt about it. There's always a pressure differential through a jumpdoor. It was blowing our way. Yeast."

"That's quite a bag of observations."

"Did you think I was getting careless?"

"No more than usual. Are you absolutely sure about that PanSpechi?"

"I saw the eyes."

"Sunken, the facets smoothing over?"

"That's the way it looked to me."

"If we can get a PanSpechi to make an official observation of this fellow, that'd give us a lever. Harboring a criminal, you know."

"Apparently, you haven't much experience with PanSpechi," McKie said. "How'd you get to be Director of Discretion?"

"All right, McKie, let's not . . ."

"You know damn well a PanSpechi would blow up if he saw this fellow. Our observer would try to dive through the jumpdoor and . . ."

"So?"

"Abnethe would close it on him. She'd have half of our observer, and we'd have the other half."

"But that'd be murder!"

"An unfortunate accident, no more."

"That woman does swing a lot of weight, I admit, but . . ."

"And she'll have our hides if she can make it stick that she's a private citizen and we're trying to sabotage her."

"Messy," Siker agreed. "I hope you made no official sounds in her direction."

"Ah, but I did."

"You what?"

"I put her on official notice."

"McKie, you were told to handle this with dis -"

"Look, we want her to start official action. Check with Legal. She can try a countersuit against me personally, but if she moves against the Bureau, we can ask for a seratori hearing, a personal confrontation. Her legal staff will advise her of that. No, she'll try to get at . . ."

"She may not go into court against the Bureau," Siker said, "but she's certain to set her dogs on us. And it couldn't come at a worse time. Bildoon has just about used up his ego-time. He'll be going into the creche any time now. You know what that means."

"The Bureau Director's chair up for grabs," McKie said. "I've been expecting it."

"Yes, but things'll be in a real uproar around here."

"You're eligible for the seat, Siker."

"So are you, McKie."

"I pass."

"That'll be the day! What I'm worried about is Bildoon. He'll blow when he hears about this ego-frozen PanSpechi. That might be all it takes to . . ."

"He'll handle it," McKie said, putting more confidence into the statement than he felt.

"And you could be wrong. I hope you know I'm not passing."

"We all know you want the job," McKie said.

"I can imagine the gossip."

"Is it worth it?"

"I'll let you know."

"I'm sure you will."

"One thing," Siker said. "How're you going to keep Abnethe off your back?"

"I'm going to become a schoolteacher," McKie said.

"I don't think I want that explained," Siker said. He broke the contact.

McKie found himself still seated in the purple gloom of the Beachball. Sweat bathed his body. The place was an oven. He wondered if his fat was actually being reduced by the heat. Water loss, certainly. The instant he thought of water, he sensed the dryness in his throat.

"You still there?" he rasped.

Silence.

"Fanny Mae?"

"I remain in my home," the Caleban said.

The sensation that he heard the words without hearing grated on McKie, fed on the angeret in his system, stirred a latent rage. Damn superior stupid Caleban! Got us into a real mess!

"Are you willing to cooperate with us in trying to stop these floggings?" McKie asked.

"As my contract permits."

"All right. Then you insist to Abnethe that you want me as your teacher."

"You perform functions of teacher?"

"Have you learned anything from me?" McKie asked.

"All mingled connectives instruct."

"Connectives," McKie muttered. "I must be getting old."

"Explain old," the Caleban said.

"Never mind. We should've discussed your contract first thing. Maybe there's a way to break it. Under what laws was it executed?"

"Explain laws."

"What honorable system of enforcement?" McKie blared.

"Under natural honor of sentient connectives."

"Abnethe doesn't know what honor means."

"I understand honor."

McKie sighed. "Were there witnesses, signatures, that sort of thing?"

"All my fellow Calebans witness connectives. Signatures not understood. Explain."

McKie decided not to explore the concept of signatures. Instead he asked, "Under what circumstances could you refuse to honor your contract with Abnethe?"

After a prolonged pause the Caleban said, "Changing circumstances convey variable relationships. Should Abnethe fail in her connectives or attempt redefinition of essences, this could produce linearities open for my disentanglement."

"Sure," McKie said. "That figures."

He shook his head, studied the empty air above the giant spoon. Calebans! You couldn't see them, couldn't hear them, couldn't understand them.

"Is the use of your S'eye system available to me?" McKie asked.

"You function as my teacher."

"Is that a yes?"

"Affirmative answer."

"Affirmative answer," McKie echoed. "Fine. Can you also transport objects to me, sending them where I direct?"

"While connectives remain apparent."

"I hope that means what I think it does," McKie said. "Are you aware of the Palenki arm and whip over there on your floor?"

"Aware."

"I want them sent to a particular office at Central. Can you do that?"

"Think of office," the Caleban said.

McKie obeyed.

"Connectives available," the Caleban said. "You desire sending to place of examination."

"That's right!"

"Send now?"

"At once."

"Once, yes. Multiple sending remains outside our capabilities."