"Why?"

Tuluk tossed the metal onto the bench, racked the probe, faced McKie.

"Manufacture of swords such as this was a jealously guarded craft," he said. "It was handed down in families, father to son, for centuries. The irregularity of the hammer blows used by each artisan followed characteristic patterns to an extent that the maker can be identified without question by sampling that pattern. Collectors developed the method to verify authenticity. It's as definite as an eye print, more positive than any skin-print anomaly."

"So what did you find out?"

"I ran the test twice," Tuluk said, "to be certain. Despite the fact that cell revivification tests on lacquer and cord attachments show this sword to have been manufactured no more than eighty years ago, the steel was fashioned by an artisan dead more thousands of years than I care to contemplate. His name was Kanemura, and I can give you the index referents to verify this. There's no doubt who made that sword."

The interphone above Tuluk's bench chimed twice, and the face of Hanaman from Legal appeared on it. "Oh, there you are, McKie," she said, peering past Tuluk.

"What now?" McKie asked, his mind still dazed by Tuluk's statement.

"We've managed to get those injunctions," she said. "They lock up Abnethe's wealth and production on every sentient world except the Gowachin."

"But what about the warrants?" McKie demanded.

"Of course; those, too," Hanaman said. "That's why I'm calling. You asked to be notified immediately."

"Are the Gowachin cooperating?"

"They've agreed to declaration of a Consent emergency in their jurisdiction. That allows all Federation police and BuSab agencies to act there for apprehension of suspects."

"Fine," McKie said. "Now, if you could only tell me when to find her, I think we can pick her up."

Hanaman looked from the screen with a puzzled frown. "When?"

"Yeah," McKie snarled. "When."

***

The report on the Palenki phylum pattern was waiting for McKie when he returned to Bildoon's office for their strategy conference. The conference had been scheduled earlier that day and postponed twice. It was almost midnight at Central, but most of the Bureau's people remained on duty, especially the enforcers. Sta-lert capsules had been issued along with the angeret by the medical staff. The enforcer squad accompanying McKie walked with that edgy abruptness this mixture of chemicals always exacted as payment.

Bildoon's chairdog had lifted a footrest and was ripple-massaging the Bureau Chief's back when McKie entered the office. Opening one jeweled eye, Bildoon said, "We got the report on the Palenki - the shell pattern you holoscanned." He closed his eye, sighed. "It's on my desk there."

McKie patted a chairdog into place, said, "I'm tired of reading. What's it say?"

"Shipsong Phylum," Bildoon said. "Positive identification. Ahhh, friend - I'm tired, too."

"So?" McKie said. He was tempted to signal for a massage from the chairdog. Watching Bildoon made it very attractive. But McKie knew this might put him to sleep. The enforcers moving restlessly around the room must be just as tired as he was. They'd be sure to resent it if he popped off for a nap.

"We got warrants and picked up the Shipsong Phylum's leader," Bildoon said. "It claims every phylum associate is accounted for."

"True?"

"We're trying to check it, but how can you be sure? They keep no written records. It's just a Palenki's word, whatever that's worth."

"Sworn by its arm, too, no doubt," McKie said.

"Of course." Bildoon stopped the chairdog massage, sat up. "It's true that phylum identification patterns can be used illegitimately."

"It takes a Palenki three or four weeks to regrow an arm," McKie said.

"What's that signify?"

"She must have several dozen Palenkis in reserve."

"She could have a million of 'em for all we know."

"Did this phylum leader resent its pattern being used by an unauthorized Palenki?"

"Not that we could see."

"It was lying," McKie said.

"How do you know?"

"According to the Gowachin juris-dictum, phylum forgery is one of the eight Palenki capital offenses. And the Gowachin should know, because they were assigned to educate the Palenkis in acceptable law when R&R brought those one-armed turtles into the Consent fold."

"Huh!" Bildoon said. "How come Legal didn't know that? I've had them researching this from the beginning."

"Privileged legal datum," McKie said. "Interspecies courtesy and all that. You know how the Gowachin are about individual dignity, privacy, that sort of thing."

"You'll be read out of their court when they find out you spilled this," Bildoon said.

"No. They'll just appoint me prosecutor for the next ten or so capital cases in their jurisdiction. If the prosecutor accepts a case and fails to get a conviction, he's the one they execute, you know."

"And if you decline the cases?"

"Depends on the case. I could draw anything from a one-to-twenty sentence for some of them.

"One-to - you mean standard years?"

"I don't mean minutes," McKie growled.

"Then why'd you tell me?"

"I want you to let me break this phylum leader."

"Break him? How?"

"You any idea how important the mystique of the arm is to the Palenki?"

"Some idea. Why?"

"Some idea," McKie muttered. "Back in the primitive days, Palenkis made criminals eat their arms, then inhibited regrowth. Much loss of face, but even greater injury to something very deep and emotional for the Palenkis."

"You're not seriously suggesting . . ."

"Of course not!"

Bildoon shuddered. "You humans have a basically bloodthirsty nature. Sometimes I think we don't understand you."

"Where's this Palenki?" McKie asked.

"What're you going to do?"

"Question him! What'd you think?"

"After what you just said, I wasn't sure."

"Come off that, Bildoon. Hey, you!" McKie gestured to a Wreave enforcer lieutenant. "Bring the Palenki in here."

The enforcer glanced at Bildoon.

"Do as he says," Bildoon said.

The enforcer looped his mandibles uncertainly but turned and left the room, signaling half a squad to attend him.

Ten minutes later the Palenki phylum leader was herded into Bildoon's office. McKie recognized the snake-weaving pattern on the Palenki's carapace, nodded to himself: Shipsong Phylum, all right. Now that he saw it, he made the identification himself.

The Palenki's multiple legs winked to a stop in front of McKie. The turtle face turned toward him expectantly. "Will you truly make me eat my arm?" it asked.

McKie glanced accusingly at the Wreave lieutenant.

"It asked what kind of human you were," the Wreave explained.

"I'm glad you rendered such an accurate description," McKie said. He faced the Palenki. "What do you think?"

"I think not possible, Ser McKie. Sentients no longer permit such barbarities." The turtle mouth rendered the words without emotion, but the arm dangling to the right from its headtop juncture writhed with uncertainty.

"I may do something worse," McKie said.

"What is worse?" the Palenki asked.

"We'll see, won't we? Now! You can account for every member of your phylum, is that what you claim?"

"That is correct."

"You're lying," McKie said, voice flat.

"No!"

"What's your phylum name?" McKie asked.

"I give that only to phylum brothers!"

"Or to the Gowachin," McKie said.

"You are not Gowachin."

In a flat splatting of Gowachin grunts, McKie began describing the Palenki's probable unsavory ancestry, its evil habits, possible punishments for its behavior. He concluded with the Gowachin identification-burst, the unique emotion/word pattern by which he was required to identify himself before the Gowachin bar.