A second Taprisiot was herded into the room, its needles squeaking complaints. It was hoisted onto the table, objecting all the way. "You have Taprisiot! Why you disturb?"
Bildoon turned back to the table, studied the scene, but remained silent, withdrawn. No one had ever been brought back from the long-distance trap.
McKie faced the new Taprisiot. "Can you contact this other Taprisiot?" he demanded.
"Putcha, putcha . . ." the second Taprisiot began.
"I'm sincere!" McKie blared.
"Ahseeda day-day," the second Taprisiot squeaked.
"I'll stack you with somebody's firewood if you don't get cracking," McKie snarled. "Can you make contact?"
"Who you call?" the second Taprisiot asked.
"Not me, you fugitive from a sawmill!" McKie roared. "Them!" He pointed at Tuluk and the first Taprisiot.
"They stuck to Caleban," the second Taprisiot said. "Who you call?"
"What do you mean, stuck?" McKie demanded.
"Tangled?" the Taprisiot ventured.
"Can either of them be called?" McKie asked.
"Untangle soon, then call," the Taprisiot said.
"Look!" Siker said.
McKie whirled.
Tuluk was flexing his facial slit. A mandibular extensor came out, withdrew.
McKie held his breath.
Tuluk's facial slit opened wide, and he said, "Fascinating."
"Tuluk?" McKie said.
The slit widened. Wreave eyes stared out. "Yes?" Then, "Ah, McKie. You made it."
"You call now?" the second Taprisiot asked.
"Get rid of him," McKie ordered.
Squeaking protests - "If you not call, why disturb?" - the Taprisiot was removed from the room.
"What happened to you, Tuluk?" McKie asked.
"Difficult to explain," the Wreave said.
"Try."
"Embedment," Tuluk said. "That has something to do with planetary conjunctions, whether the points linked by a call are aligned with each other across open space. There was some problem with this call, discontinuous through a stellar mass, perhaps, And it was contact with a Caleban . . . I don't appear to have the proper words."
"Do you understand what happened to you?"
"I think so. You know, I hadn't realized where I lived."
McKie stared at him, puzzled. "What?"
"Something's wrong here," Tuluk said. "Oh, yes: Furuneo."
"You said something about where you lived," McKie prodded.
"Space occupancy, yes," Tuluk said. "I live in a place with many . . . ahh, synonymous? yes, synonymous occupants."
"What're you talking about?" McKie asked.
"I was actually in contact with the Caleban during my call to you," Tuluk said. "Very odd, McKie. It was as though my call went through a pinhole in a black curtain, and the pinhole was the Caleban."
"So you contacted the Caleban," McKie prompted.
"Oh, yes. Indeed I did." Tuluk's mandibular extensors moved in a pattern indicative of emotional disturbance. "I saw! That's it. I saw . . . ahhh, many frames of parallel films. Of course, I didn't really see them. It was the eye."
"Eye? Whose eye?"
"That's the pinhole," Tuluk explained. "It's our eye, too, naturally."
"Do you understand any of this, McKie?" Bildoon asked.
"My impression is he's talking like a Caleban," McKie said. He shrugged. "Contaminated, perhaps. Entangled?"
"I suspect," Bildoon said, "that Caleban communication can be understood only by the certifiably insane."
McKie wiped perspiration from his lip. He felt he could almost understand what Tuluk had said. Meaning hovered right at the edge of awareness.
"Tuluk," Bildoon said, "try to tell us what happened to you. We don't understand you."
"I am trying."
"Keep at it," McKie said.
"You contacted the Caleban," Bildoon said. "How was that done? We've been told it's impossible."
"It was partly because the Caleban seemed to be handling my call to McKie," Tuluk said. "Then . . . McKie ordered me to call the Caleban. Perhaps it heard."
Tuluk closed his eyes, appeared lost in reverie.
"Go on," Bildoon said.
"I . . . it was. . . ." Tuluk shook his head, opened his eyes, stared pleadingly around the room. He met curious, probing eyes on all sides. "Imagine two spider-webs," he said. "Natural spiderwebs, now, not the kind they spin at our command . . . random products. Imagine that they must . . . contact each other . . . a certain congruity between them, an occlusion."
"Like a dental occlusion?" McKie asked.
"Perhaps. At any rate, this necessary congruity, this shape required for contact, presumes proper connectives."
McKie expelled a harsh breath. "What the devil are connectives?"
"I go now?" the first Taprisiot interrupted.
"Damn!" McKie said. "Somebody get rid of this thing!"
The Taprisiot was hustled from the room.
"Tuluk, what are connectives?" McKie demanded.
"Is this important?" Bildoon asked.
"Will you all take my word for it and let him answer?" McKie asked. "It's important. Tuluk?"
"Mmmmmm," Tuluk said. "You realize, of course, that artificiality can be refined to the point where it's virtually indistinguishable from original reality?"
"What's that have to do with connectives?"
"It's precisely at that point where the single distinguishing characteristic between original and artificial is the connective," Tuluk explained.
"Huh?" McKie said.
"Look at me," Tuluk said.
"I am looking at you!"
"Imagine that you take a food vat and produce in it an exact fleshly duplicate of my person," Tuluk said.
"An exact fleshly . . ."
"You could do it, couldn't you?" Tuluk demanded.
"Of course. But why?"
"Just imagine it. Don't question. An exact duplicate down to and including the cellular message units. This flesh would be imbued with all my memories and responses. Ask it a question you might ask me, and it would answer as I might answer. Even my mates wouldn't be able to distinguish between us."
"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.