"Was it asking a question?" Furuneo asked.

"Be still a minute," McKie snapped. "I want to think."

Seconds ticked past. Furuneo felt perspiration running down his neck, under his collar. He could taste it in the corners of his mouth.

McKie sat silently staring at the giant spoon. The Caleban employed by Abnethe. He still felt the aftermath of the emotional melange. Some lost memory demanded his attention, but he couldn't bring it out for examination.

Furuneo, watching McKie, began to wonder if the Saboteur Extraordinary had been mesmerized. "You still thinking?" he whispered.

McKie nodded, then, "Fanny Mae, where is your employer?"

"Coordinates not permitted," the Caleban said.

"Is she on this planet?"

"Different connectives," the Caleban said.

"I don't think you two are talking the same language," Furuneo said. '

"From everything I've read and heard about Calebans, that's the big problem," McKie said. "Communication difficulty."

Furuneo wiped sweat from his forehead. "Have you tried calling Abnethe long distance?" he asked.

"Don't be stupid," McKie said. "That's the first thing I tried."

"Well?"

"Either the Taprisiots are telling the truth and can't make contact, or she's bought them off some way. What difference does it make? So I contact her. How does that tell me where she is? How do I invoke a monitor clause with someone who doesn't wear a monitor?"

"How could she buy off the Taprisiots?"

"How do I know? For that matter, how could she hire a Caleban?"

"Invocation of value exchange," the Caleban said.

McKie chewed at his upper lip.

Furuneo leaned against the wall behind him. He knew what inhibited McKie here. You walked softly with a strange sentient species. No telling what might cause affront. Even the way you phrased a question could cause trouble. They should have assigned a Zeno expert to help McKie. It seemed odd that they hadn't.

"Abnethe offered you something of value, Fanny Mae?" McKie ventured.

"I offer judgment," the Caleban said. "Abnethe may not be judged friendly-good-nice-kindly . . . acceptable."

"Is that . . . your judgment?" McKie asked.

"Your species prohibits flagellation of sentients," the Caleban said. "Fanny Mae orders me flagellated."

"Why don't you . . . just refuse?" McKie asked.

"Contract obligation," the Caleban said.

"Contract obligation." McKie muttered, glancing at Furuneo, who shrugged.

"Ask where she goes to be flagellated," Furuneo said.

"Flagellation comes to me," the Caleban said.

"By flagellation, you mean you're whipped," McKie said.

"Explanation of whipping describes production of froth," the Caleban said. "Not proper term. Abnethe orders me flogged."

"That thing talks like a computer," Furuneo said.

"Let me handle this," McKie ordered.

"Computer describes mechanical device," the Caleban said. "I live."

"He meant no insult," McKie said.

"Insult not interpreted."

"Does the flogging hurt you?" McKie asked.

"Explain hurt."

"Cause you discomfort?"

"Reference recalled. Such sensations explained. Explanations cross no connectives."

Cross no connectives? McKie thought. "Would you choose to be flogged?" he asked.

"Choice made," the Caleban said.

"Well . . . would you make the same choice if you had it to do over?" McKie asked.

"Confusing reference," the Caleban said. "If over refers to repetition, I make no voice in repetition. Abnethe sends Palenki with whip, and flogging occurs."

"A Palenki!" Furuneo said. He shuddered.

"You knew it had to be something like that," McKie said. "What else could you get to do such a thing except a creature without much brain and lots of obedient muscle?"

"But a Palenki! Couldn't we hunt for . . ."

"We've known from the first what she had to be using," McKie said. "Where do you hunt for one Palenki?" He shrugged. "Why can't Calebans understand the concept of being hurt? Is it pure semantics, or do they lack the proper nerve linkages?"

"Understand nerves," the Caleban said. "Any sentience must possess control linkages. But hurt . . . discontinuity of meaning appears insurmountable."

"Abnethe can't stand the sight of pain, you said," Furuneo reminded McKie.

"Yeah. How does she watch the floggings?"

"Abnethe views my home," the Caleban said.

When no further answer was forthcoming, McKie said, "I don't understand. What's that have to do with it?"

"My home this," the Caleban said. "My home contains . . . aligns? Master S'eye. Abnethe possesses connectives for which she pays."

McKie wondered if the Caleban were playing some sarcastic game with him. But all the information about them made no reference to sarcasm. Word confusions, yes, but no apparent insults or subterfuges. Not understand pain, though?

"Abnethe sounds like a mixed-up bitch," McKie muttered.

"Physically unmixed," the Caleban said. "Isolated in her own connectives now, but unified and presentable by your standards - so say judgments made in my presence. If, however, you refer to Abnethe psyche, mixed-up conveys accurate description. What I see of Abnethe psyche most intertwined. Convolutions of odd color displace my vision-sense in extraordinary fashion."

McKie gulped. "You see her psyche?"

"I see all psyche."

"So much for the theory that Calebans cannot see," Furuneo said. "All is illusion, eh?"

"How . . . how is this possible?" McKie asked.

"I occupy space between physical and mental," the Caleban said. "Thus your fellow sentients explain in your terminology. "

"Gibberish," McKie said.

"You achieve discontinuity of meaning," the Caleban said.

"Why did you accept Abnethe's offer of employment?" McKie asked.

"No common referent for explanation," the Caleban said.

"You achieve discontinuity of meaning," Furuneo said.

"So I surmise," the Caleban said.

"I must find Abnethe," McKie said.

"I give warning," the Caleban said.

"Watch it," Furuneo whispered. "I sense rage that's not connected with the angeret."

McKie waved him to silence. "What warning, Fanny Mae?"

"Potentials in your situation," the Caleban said. "I allow my . . . person? Yes, my person. I allow my person to entrap itself in association which fellow sentients may interpret as non-friendly."

McKie scratched his head, wondered how close they were to anything that could validly be called communication. He wanted to come right out and inquire about the Caleban disappearances, the deaths and insanity, but feared possible consequences.

"Non-friendly," he prompted.

"Understand," the Caleban said, "life which flows in all carries subternal connectives. Each entity remains linked until final discontinuity removes from . . . network? Yes, linkages of other entities into association with Abnethe. Should personal discontinuity overtake self, all entities entangled share it."

"Discontinuity?" McKie asked, not sure he followed this but afraid he did.

"Tanglements come from contact between sentients not originating in same linearities of awareness," the Caleban said, ignoring McKie's question.

"I'm not sure what you mean by discontinuity," McKie pressed.

"In context," the Caleban said, "ultimate discontinuity, presumed opposite of pleasure - your term."

"You're getting nowhere," Furuneo said. His head ached from trying, to equate the radiant impulses of communication from the Caleban with speech.

"Sounds like a semantic identity situation," McKie said. "Black and white statements, but we're trying to find an interpretation in between."

"All between," the Caleban said.

"Presumed opposite of pleasure," McKie muttered.

"Our term," Furuneo reminded him.

"Tell me, Fanny Mae," McKie said, "do we other sentients refer to this ultimate discontinuity as death?"