"BuSab makes its own decisions about interference!" McKie said.
"Your jurisdiction has limits!" she countered.
McKie heard the beginnings of many actions in that statement: hired operatives, gigantic sums spent as bribes, doctored agreements, treaties, stories planted with the visos on how this good and proud lady had been mistreated by her government, a wide enlistment of personal concern to justify - what? Violence against his person? He thought not. More likely to discredit him, to saddle him with onerous misdeeds.
Thought of all that power made McKie wonder suddenly why he made himself vulnerable to it. Why had he chosen BuSab? Because I'm difficult to please, he told himself. I'm a Saboteur by choice. There was no going back on that choice now. BuSab appeared to walk down the middle of everywhere and always wound up on the high road.
And this time BuSab appeared to be carrying most of the sentient universe on its shoulders. It was a fragile burden perched there. fearful and feared. It had sunk stark claws into him.
"Agreed, we have limits," McKie growled, but I doubt you'll ever see them. Now, what's going on here?"
"You're not a police agent!" Abnethe barked.
"Perhaps I should summon police," McKie said.
"On what grounds?" She smiled. She had him there and knew it. Her legal staff had explained to her the open association clause in the ConSentient Articles of Federation: "When members of different species agree formally to an association from which they derive mutual benefits, the contracting parties shall be the sole judges of said benefits, providing their agreement breaks no law, covenant, or legative article binding upon said contracting parties; provided further that said formal agreement was achieved by voluntary means and involves no breach of the public peace."
"Your actions will bring about the death of this Caleban," McKie said. He didn't hold out much hope for this argument, but it bought a bit more time.
"You'll have to establish that the Caleban concept of discontinuity interprets precisely as death," Abnethe said. "You can't do that, because it's not true. Why do you interfere? This is just harmless play between consenting ad -"
"More than play," the Caleban said.
"Fanny Mae!" Abnethe snapped. "You are not to interrupt! Remember our agreement."
McKie stared in the direction of the Caleban's unpresence, tried to interpret the spectrum-flare that rejected his senses.
"Discern conflict between ideals and structure of government," the Caleban said.
"Precisely!" Abnethe said. "I'm assured that Calebans cannot suffer pain, that they don't even have a term for it. If it's my pleasure to stage an apparent flogging and observe the reactions of . . ."
"Are you sure she suffers no pain?" McKie asked.
Again a gloating smile came over Abnethe's face. "I've never seen her suffer pain. Have you?"
"Have you seen her do anything?"
"I've seen her come and go."
"Do you suffer pain, Fanny Mae?" McKie asked.
"No referents for this concept," the Caleban said.
"Are these floggings going to bring about your ultimate discontinuity?" McKie asked.
"Explain bring about," the Caleban said.
"Is there any connection between the floggings and your ultimate discontinuity?"
"Total universe connectives include all events," the Caleban said.
"I pay well for my game," Abnethe said. "Stop interfering, McKie."
"How're you paying?"
"None of your business!"
"I make it my business," McKie said. "Fanny Mae?"
"Don't answer him!" Abnethe snapped.
"I can still summon police and the officers of a Discretionary Court," McKie said.
"By all means," Abnethe gloated. "You are, of course, ready to answer a suit charging interference with an open agreement between consenting members of different species?"
"I can still get an injunction," McKie said. "What's your present address?"
"I decline to answer on advice of counsel."
McKie glared at her. She had him. He could not charge her with flight to prevent prosecution unless he had proved a crime. To prove a crime he must get a court to act and serve her with the proper papers in the presence of bonded witnesses, bring her into a court, and allow her to face her accusers. And her attorneys would tie him in knots every step of the way.
"Offer judgment," the Caleban said. "Nothing in Abnethe contract prohibits revelation of payment. Employer provides educators."
"Educators?" McKie asked.
"Very well," Abnethe conceded. "I provide Fanny Mae with the finest instructors and teaching aids our civilization can supply. She's been soaking up our culture. Anything she requested, she's got. And it wasn't cheap."
"And she still doesn't understand pain?" McKie demanded.
"Hope to acquire proper referents," the Caleban said.
"Will you have time to acquire those referents?" McKie asked.
"Time difficult concept," the Caleban said. "Statement of instructor, to wit: 'Relevancy of time to learning varies with species.' Time possesses length, unknown quality termed duration, subjective and objective dimension. Confusing. "
"Let's make this official," McKie said. "Abnethe, are you aware that you're killing this Caleban?"
"Discontinuity and death are not the same," Abnethe objected. "Are they, Fanny Mae?"
"Wide disparity of equivalents exists between separate waves of being," the Caleban said.
"I ask you formally, Mliss Abnethe," McKie said, "if this Caleban calling herself Fanny Mae has told you the consequences of an event she describes as ultimate discontinuity."
"You just heard her say there are no equivalents!"
"You've not answered my question."
"You're quibbling!"
"Fanny Mae," McKie said, "have you described for Mliss Abnethe the consequences of . . ."
"Bound by contract connectives," the Caleban said.
"You see!" Abnethe pounced. "She's bound by our open agreement, and you're interfering." Abnethe gestured to someone not visible in the jumpdoor's vortal tube.
The opening suddenly doubled its diameter. Abnethe stepped aside, leaving half her head and one eye visible to McKie. A crowd of watching sentients could now be discerned in the background. Into Abnethe's place darted the turtle form of a giant Palenki. Its hundreds of tiny feet flickered beneath its bulk. The single arm growing from the top of its ring-eyed head trailed a long whip in a double-thumbed hand. The arm thrust through the tube, jerked the whip against jumpdoor resistance, lashed the whip forward. The whip cracked above the spoon bowl.
A crystalline spray of green showered the unseeable region of the Caleban. It glittered for a moment like a fluorescent explosion of fireworks, dissolved.
An ecstatic moan came through the vortal tube.
McKie fought an intense outpouring sensation of distress, leaped forward. Instantly, the S'eye jumpdoor closed, dumping a severed Palenki arm and whip onto the floor of the room. The arm writhed and turned, slower . . . slower. It fell still.
"Fanny Mae?" McKie said.
"Yes?"
Did that whip hit you?"
"Explain whip hit."
"Encounter your substance!"
"Approximately."
McKie moved close to the spoon bowl. He still sensed distress but knew it could be a side effect of angeret and the incident he had just witnessed.
"Describe the flogging sensation," he said.
"You possess no proper referents."
"Try me."
"I inhaled substance of whip, exhaled my own substance."
"You breathed it?"
"Approximately."
"Well . . . describe your physical reactions."
"No common physical referents."
"Any reaction, dammit!"
"Whip incompatible with my glssrrk."
"Your what?"