McKie was surprised by the abject deference in her voice.  This woman considered herself to be far below Jedrik.  The man took the same tone, gesturing to chairs.

"Sit down, please.  This chart is our summation."

As the woman turned toward him, McKie caught a strong whiff of something pungent on her breath, a not unfamiliar smell.  He'd caught traces of it several times in their passage through the Warrens.  She went on speaking as Jedrik and McKie slipped into chairs.

"This is not unexpected."  She indicated the design on the paper.

The man intruded.

"We've been telling you for some time now that Tria is ready to come over."

"She's trouble," Jedrik said.

"But Gar . . ."

It was the woman, arguing, but Jedrik cut her off.

"I know:  Gar does whatever she tells him to do.  The daughter runs the father.  He thinks she's the most wonderful thing that ever happened, able to . . ."

"Her abilities are not the issue," the man said.

The woman spoke eagerly.

"Yes, it's her influence on Gar that . . ."

"Neither of them anticipated my moves," Jedrik said, "but I anticipated their moves."

The man leaned across the table, his face close to Jedrik's.  He appeared suddenly to McKie like a large, dangerous animal - dangerous because his actions could never be fully predicted.  His hands twitched when he spoke.

"We've told you every detail of our findings, every source, every conclusion.  Now, are you saying you don't share our assessment of . . ."

"You don't understand," Jedrik said.

The woman had drawn back.  Now, she nodded.

Jedrik said:

"It isn't the first time I've had to reassess your conclusions.  Hear me:  Tria will leave Broey when she's ready, not when he's ready.  It's the same for anyone she serves, even Gar."

They spoke in unison:

"Leave Gar?"

"Leave anyone.  Tria serves only Tria.  Never forget that.  Especially don't forget it if she comes over to us."

The man and woman were silent.

McKie thought about what Jedrik had said.  Her words were another indication that someone on Dosadi might have other than personal aims.  Jedrik's tone was unmistakable:  she censured and distrusted Tria because Tria served only selfish ambition.  Therefore, Jedrik (and this other pair by inference) served some unstated mutual purpose.  Was it a form of patriotism they served, species-oriented?  BuSab agents were always alert for this dangerous form of tribal madness, not necessarily to suppress it, but to make certain it did not explode into a violence deadly to the ConSentiency.

The white-smocked woman, after mulling her own thoughts, spoke:

"If Tria can't be enlisted for . . . what I mean is, we can use her own self-serving to hold her."  She corrected herself.  "Unless you believe we cannot convince her we'll overcome Broey."  She chewed at her lip, a fearful expression in her eyes.

A shrewd look came over Jedrik's face.

"What is it you suspect?"

The woman pointed to the chart on the table.

"Gar still shares in the major decisions.  That shouldn't be, but it is. If he . . ."

The man spoke with subservient eagerness.

"He has some hold on Broey!"

The woman shook her head.

"Or Broey plays a game other than the one we anticipated."

Jedrik looked at the woman, the man, at McKie.  She spoke as though to McKie, but McKie realized she was addressing the air.

"It's a specific thing.  Gar has revealed something to Broey.  I know what he's revealed.  Nothing else could force Broey to behave this way."  She nodded at the chart.  "We have them!"

The woman ventured a question.

"Have we done well?"

"Better than you know."

The man smiled, then:

"Perhaps this is the time to ask if we could have larger rooms.  The damn' children are always moving the furniture.  We bump . . ."

"Not now!"

Jedrik arose.  McKie followed her example.

"Let me see the children," Jedrik said.

The man turned to the open portal.

"Get out here, you!  Jedrik wants you!"

Three children came scurrying from the other room.  The woman didn't even look at them.  The man favored them with an angry glare.  He spoke to Jedrik.

"They've brought no food into this house in almost a week."

McKie studied the children carefully as he saw Jedrik was doing.  They stood in a row just inside the room and, from their expressions, it was impossible to tell their reaction to the summons.  They were two girls and a boy.  The one on the right, a girl, was perhaps nine; on the left, another girl, was five or six.  The boy was somewhat older, perhaps twelve or thirteen.  He favored McKie with a glance.  It was the glance of a predator who recognizes ready prey, but who already has eaten.  All three bore more resemblance to the woman than to the man, but the parentage was obvious:  the eyes, the set of the ears, nose . . .

Jedrik had completed her study.  She gestured to the boy.

"Start sending him to the second training team."

"About time," the woman said.  "We'll be glad to get him out of here."

"Come along, McKie."

In the hall, Jedrik said:

"To answer your question, they're pretty typical."

McKie, who had only wondered silently, swallowed in a dry throat.  The petty goals of these people:  to get a bigger room where they could live without bumping into furniture.  He'd sensed no affection for each other in that couple.  They were companions of convenience.  There had been not the smallest hint of emotion for each other when they spoke.  McKie found it difficult to imagine them making love, but apparently they did.  They had produced three children.

Realization came like an explosion in his head.  Of course they showed no emotion!  What other protection did they have?  On Dosadi, anything cared for was a club to beat you into somebody else's line.  And there was another thing.

McKie spoke to Jedrik's back as they went down the stairs.

"That couple - they're addicted to something."

Surprisingly, Jedrik stopped, looked back up at him.

"How else do you think I hold such a pair?  The substance is called dis.  It's very rare.  It comes from the far mountains, far beyond the . . . far beyond.  The Rim sends parties of children as bearers to obtain dis for me.  In a party of fifty, thirty can expect to die on such a trek.  Do you get the measure of it, McKie?"

Once more, they headed down the stairs.

McKie, realizing she'd taken the time to teach him another lesson about Dosadi, could only follow, stunned, while she led him into a room where technicians bleached the sun-darkened areas of his skin.

When they emerged, he no longer carried the stigma of Pylash Gate.

''It is no longer classifiable as rioting," the aide said.  He was a short Gowachin with pinched features, and he looked across the room to where Broey sat facing a dead communicator.  There was a map on the wall behind the aide, its colors made brilliant by harsh morning light coming in the east windows.  Below the map, a computer terminal jutted from the wall.  Occasionally it clicked.

Gar came into the room from the hall, peered around as though looking for someone, left.

Broey noted the intrusion, glanced at the map.

"Still no sign of where she's gone to ground?"

"Nothing certain."

"The one who paraded McKie through the streets . . ."

"Clearly an expendable underling."

"Where did they go?"

The aide indicated a place on the map, a group of buildings in the Warrens to the northwest.