McKie noted that she spoke to Gar with a familiar teaching emphasis. It was the curiously weighted manner she'd once used with McKie, but no longer found necessary. His recognition of this amused her.
"Come along, McKie. We haven't much time."
***
Does a population have informed consent when that population is not taught the inner workings of its monetary system, and then is drawn, all unknowing, into economic adventures?
For almost an hour after the morning meal, Aritch observed Ceylang as she worked with the McKie simulator. She was pushing herself hard, believing Wreave honor at stake, and had almost reached the pitch Aritch desired.
Ceylang had set up her own simulator situation: McKie interviewing five of Broey's Gowachin. She had the Gowachin come to McKie in surrender, hands extended, the webbed fingers exposed to show that the talons were withdrawn.
Simulator-McKie merely probed for military advantages.
"Why does Broey attack in this fashion?"
Or he'd turn to some places outside the h-focus of the simulator.
"Send reinforcements into that area."
Nothing about the Rim.
Earlier, Ceylang had tried the issue with a prisoner simulation where the five Gowachin tried to confuse McKie by presenting a scenario in which Broey massed his forces at the corridor. The makings of a breakout to the Rim appeared obvious.
Simulator-McKie asked the prisoners why they lied.
Ceylang cleared the simulator and sat back. She saw Aritch at the observation window, opened a channel to him.
"Something has to be wrong in the simulation. McKie cannot be led into questioning the purposes of the Rim."
"I assure you that simulation is remarkable in its accuracy. Remarkable."
"Then why . . ."
"Perhaps he already knows the answer. Why don't you try him with Jedrik? Here. . ." Aritch operated the controls at the observer station. "This might help. This is a record of McKie in recent action on Dosadi."
The simulator presented a view down a covered passage through a building. Artificial light. Darkness at the far end of the passage. McKie, two blocky guards in tow, approached the viewers.
Ceylang recognized the scene. She'd watched this action at Gate Eighteen from several angles, had seen this passage empty before the battle, acquainting herself with the available views. As she'd watched it then, the passage had filled with Human defenders. There was a minor gate behind the viewer and she knew the viewer itself to be only a bright spot, a fleck of glittering impurity in an otherwise drab brick over the gate's archway.
Now, the long passage seemed strange to Ceylang without its throng of defenders. There were only a few workmen along its length as McKie passed. The workmen repaired service pipes in the ceiling. A cleanup crew washed down patches of blood at the far end of the passage, the high-water mark of the Gowachin attack. An officer leaned against a wall near the viewer, a bored expression on his face which did not mislead Ceylang. He was there to watch McKie. Three soldiers squatted nearby rolling hexi-bones for coins which lay in piles before each man. Every now and then, one of the gamblers would pass a coin to the watching officer. A repair supervisor stood with his back to the viewer, notebook in hand, writing a list of supplies to complete the job. McKie and his guards were forced to step around these people. As they passed, the officer turned, looked directly into the Viewer, smiled.
"That officer," Ceylang said. "One of your people?"
"No."
The viewpoint shifted, looking down on the gate itself, McKie in profile. The gatekeeper was a teenager with a scar down his right cheek and a broken nose. McKie showed no signs of recognition, but the youth knew McKie.
"You go through on request."
"When did she call?"
"Ten."
"Let us through."
The gate was opened. McKie and his guards went through, passed beyond the viewer's focus.
The youthful gatekeeper stood up, smashed the viewer. The h-focus went blank.
Aritch looked down from his observation booth for a moment before speaking.
"Who called?"
"Jedrik?" Ceylang spoke without thinking.
"What does that conversation tell you? Quickly!"
"That Jedrik anticipated his movements, was observing him all the time."
"What else?"
"That McKie . . . knows this, knows she can anticipate him."
"She carries a better simulation of him in her head than we have . . . there."
Aritch pointed at the h-focus area.
"But they left so much unspoken!" Ceylang said.
Aritch remained silent.
Ceylang closed her eyes. It was like mind reading. It confused her.
Aritch interrupted her musings.
"What about that officer and the gatekeeper?"
She shook her head.
"You're wise to use living observers there. They all seem to know when they're being watched. And how it's done."
"Even McKie."
"He didn't look at the viewers."
"Because he assumed from the first that we'd have him under almost constant observation. He's not concerned about the mechanical intrusions. He has built a simulation McKie of his own who acts on the surface of the real McKie."
"That's your assumption?"
"We arrived at this from observation of Jedrik in her dealings with McKie. She peels away the simulation layers one at a time, coming closer and closer to the actuality at the core."
Another observation bothered Ceylang.
"Why'd the gatekeeper shut down that viewer just then?"
"Obviously because Jedrik told him to do that."
Ceylang shuddered.
"Sometimes I think those Dosadi play us like a fine instrument."
"But of course! That's why we sent them our McKie."
***
The music of a civilization has far-reaching consequences on consciousness and, thus, influences the basic nature of a society. Music and its rhythms divert and compel the awareness, describing the limits within which a consciousness, thus fascinated, may operate. Control the music, then, and you own a powerful tool with which to shape the society.
It was a half-hour before Jedrik and McKie found themselves in the hallway leading to her quarters. McKie, aware of the effort she was expending to conceal a deep weariness, watched her carefully. She concentrated on presenting a show of vitality, her attention glued on the prospect ahead. There was no way of telling what went on in her mind. McKie did not attempt to break the silence. He had his own worries.
Which was the real Jedrik? How was she going to employ Pcharky? Could he resist her?
He knew he was close to a solution of the Dosadi mystery, but the prospect of the twin gambles he was about to take filled him with doubts.
On coming from the projection room, they'd found themselves in a strange delaying situation, as though it were something planned for their frustration. Everything had been prepared for their movement - guards warned, elevator waiting, doors opened. But every time they thought the way clear, they met interference. Except for the obvious importance of the matters which delayed them, it was easy to imagine a conspiracy.
A party of Gowachin at Gate Seventy wanted to surrender, but they demanded a parley first. One of Jedrik's aides didn't like the situation. Something about the assessment of the offer bothered her, and she wanted to discuss it with Jedrik. She stopped them halfway down the first hall outside the projection room.