"So?" McKie said.
"Would there be any difference between us?" Tuluk asked.
"But you said . . ."
"There'd be one difference, wouldn't there?"
"The time element, the . . ."
"More than that," Tuluk said. "One would know it was a copy. Now, that chairdog in which Ser Bildoon sits is a different matter, not so?"
"Huh?"
"It's an unthinking animal," Tuluk said.
McKie stared at the chairdog Tuluk had indicated. It was a product of genetic shaping, gene surgery and selection. What possible difference could it make that a chairdog was an animal - however remotely descended? '
"What does the chairdog eat?" Tuluk asked.
"The food tailored for it, what else?" McKie turned back to the Wreave, studied him.
"But neither the chairdog nor its food is the same as their ancestral flesh," Tuluk said. "The vat food is an endless, serial chain of protein. The chairdog is flesh which is ecstatic in its work."
"Of course! That's the way it was . . . made." McKie's eyes went wide. He began to see what Tuluk was explaining.
"The differences, these are the connectives," Tuluk said.
"McKie, do you understand this gibberish?" Bildoon demanded.
McKie tried to swallow in a dry throat. "The Caleban sees only these . . . refined differences?" he asked.
"And nothing else," Tuluk said.
"Then it doesn't see us as . . . shapes or dimensions or . . ."
"Or even as extensions in time the way we understand time," Tuluk said. "We are, perhaps, nodes on a standing wave. Time, for the Caleban, isn't something squeezed out of a tube. It's more like a line which your senses intersect."
"Hahhhhh," McKie breathed.
"I don't see where this helps us one bit," Bildoon said. "Our major problem is to find Abnethe. Do you have any idea, McKie, where that Caleban sent you?"
"I saw the constellations overhead," McKie said. "Before I leave, we'll get a mindcord on what I saw and have a computer check on the star patterns."
"Provided the pattern's in the master registry," Bildoon said.
"What about that slave culture McKie stumbled on?" one of the legal staff asked. "We could ask for a . . ."
"Haven't any of you been listening?" McKie asked. "Our problem is to find Abnethe. I thought we had her, but I'm beginning to think this may not be that easy. Where is she? How can we go into a court and say, 'At some unknown place in an unknown galaxy, a female believed to be Mliss Abnethe, but whom I didn't really see, is alleged to be conducting . . .' "
"Then what do we do?" the legal staffer growled.
"With Furuneo dead, who's watching Fanny Mae?" McKie asked.
"We have four enforcers inside, watching . . . where she is, and four outside, watching them," Bildoon said. "Are you sure you've no other clue to where you were?"
"None."
"A complaint by McKie would fail now," Bildoon said. "No - a better move might be to charge her with harboring a" - he shuddered - "a PanSpechi fugitive."
"Do we know who that fugitive is?" McKie asked.
"Not yet. We haven't decided the proper course yet." He glanced at a Legal Department representative, a human female seated near Tuluk. "Hanaman?"
Hanaman cleared her throat. She was a fragile-looking woman, thick head of brown hair in gentle waves, long oval face with soft blue eyes, delicate nose and chin, wide full mouth.
"You think it advisable to discuss this in council now?" she asked.
"I do, or I wouldn't have called on you," Bildoon said.
For an instant McKie thought the reproof might bring real tears to Hanaman's eyes, then he saw the controlled downtwist at the corners of her mouth, the measuring stare she swept around the conference room. She had brains, he saw, and knew there were those here susceptible to her sex.
"McKie," she said, "is it necessary for you to stand on the table? You're not a Taprisiot. "
"Thanks for reminding me," he said. He jumped down, found a chairdog opposite her, stared back at her with a bland intensity.
Presently she focused on Bildoon, said, "To bring everyone up to date, Abnethe with one Palenki tried to flog the Caleban about two hours ago. Acting on our orders, an enforcer prevented the flogging. He cut off the Palenki's arm with a raygen. As a result, Abnethe's legal staff is already seeking an injunction."
"Then they were prepared ahead of time," McKie said.
"Obviously," she agreed. "They're alleging outlaw sabotage, misfeasance by a bureau, mayhem, misconduct, malicious mischief, felonious misprision . . ."
"Misfeasance?" McKie demanded.
"This is a robo-legum case, not a Gowachin jurisdiction," Hanaman said. "We don't have to exonerate the prosecutor before entering the . . ." She broke off, shrugged. "Well, you know all that. BuSab is being held to answer for collective responsibility in the consequences of unlawful and wrongful acts committed by its agents in pursuance of the authority permitted them . . ."
"Wait a minute!" McKie interrupted. "This is bolder than I expected from that crowd."
"And they charge," Hanaman went on, "that the Bureau is guilty of a felony by criminal neglect in its failure to prevent a felony from being committed and in not bringing to justice the offender after such commission."
"Have they named names, or is it all John Does?" McKie asked.
"No names."
"If they're this bold, they're desperate," McKie said. "Why?"
"They know we aren't going to sit idly by and allow our people to be killed," Bildoon said. "They know we have copies of the contract with the Caleban, and it gives Abnethe sole control of the Caleban's jumpdoor. No one else could've been responsible for Furuneo's death, and the perpetrator . . ."
"No one except the Caleban," McKie said.
A profound silence settled over the room.
Presently Tuluk said, "You don't seriously believe . . ."
"No, I don't," McKie said. "But I couldn't prove my belief to a robo-legum court. This does present an interesting possibility, though."
"Furuneo's head," Bildoon said.
"Correct," McKie said. "We demand Furuneo's head."
"What if they contend the Caleban sequestered the head?" Hanaman asked.
"I don't intend asking them for it," McKie said. "I'm going to ask the Caleban."
Hanaman nodded, her gaze intent on McKie and with a light of admiration in her eyes. "Clever," she breathed. "If they attempt to interfere, they're guilty. But if we get the head . . ." She looked at Tuluk.
"What about it, Tuluk?" Bildoon asked. "Think you could get anything from Furuneo's brain?"
"That depends on how much time has passed between the death and our key-in, Tuluk said. "Nerve replay has limits, you know."
"We know," Bildoon said.
"Yeah," McKie said. "Only one thing for me to do now, isn't there?"
"Looks that way," Bildoon said.
"Will you call off the enforcers, or shall I?" McKie asked.
"Now, wait a minute!" Bildoon said. "I know you have to go back to that Beachball, but . . ."
"Alone," McKie said.
"Why?"
"I can give the demand for Furuneo's head in front of witnesses," McKie said, "but that's not enough. They want me. I got away from them, and they've no idea how much I know about their hidey hole."
"Exactly what do you know?" Bildoon asked.
"We've already been through that," McKie said.
"So you now see yourself as bait?"
"I wouldn't put it exactly that way," McKie said, "but if I'm alone, they might try bargaining with me. They might even . . ."
"They might even shorten you!" Bildoon snarled.
"You don't think it's worth the try?" McKie asked. He stared around the room at the attentive faces.
Hanaman cleared her throat. "I see a way out of this," she said.
Everyone looked at her.