Would all the other people on Dosadi remain unaware of such a thing, though?  That was a matter to question.

"But you must be McKie," Havvy said.  "Jedrik's still working out of . . ."  He broke off.

"You must've provided her with some amusement by your bumbling," McKie said.  "I assure you, however, that BuSab is not amused."

A gloating look came over Havvy's face.

"No, she hasn't made the transfer yet."

"Transfer?"

"Haven't you figured out yet how Pcharky's supposed to buy his freedom?"

McKie felt off balance at this odd turn.

"Explain."      "

"He's supposed to transfer your identity into Jedrik's body and her identity into your body.  I think she was going to try that with me once, but . . ."

Havvy shrugged.

It was like an explosion in McKie's newly sensitized awareness.  Rejected!  Contaminated!  Body exchange!  McKie was accusatory!

"Broey sent you!"

"Of course."  Offensive.

McKie contained his anger.  The Dosadi complexities no longer baffled him as once they had.  It was like peeling back layer upon layer of concealment.  With each new layer you expected to find the answer.  But that was a trap the whole universe set for the unwary.  It was the ultimate mystery and he hated mystery.  There were those who said this was a necessary ingredient for BuSab agents.  You eliminated that which you hated.  But everything he'd uncovered about this planet showed him how little he'd known previously about any mystery.  Now, he understood something new about Jedrik.  There was little doubt that Broey's Human messenger told the truth.

Pcharky had penetrated the intricacies of PanSpechi ego transfer.  He'd done it without a PanSpechi as his subject, unless . . . yes . . . that expanded the implications in Tria's history.  Their PanSpechi experiment had assumed even more grotesque proportions.

"I will speak directly to your Caleban monitor," McKie said.

"My what?"

It was such obvious dissimulation that McKie only snorted.  He leaned forward.

"I will speak directly to Aritch.  See that he gets this message without any mistakes."

Havvy's eye's became glassy.  He shuddered.

McKie felt the inner tendrils of an attempted Caleban contact in his own awareness, thrust them aside.

"No!  I will speak openly through your agent.  Pay close attention, Aritch.  Those who created this Dosadi horror cannot run far enough, fast enough, or long enough to escape.  If you wish to make every Gowachin in the universe a target for violence, you are proceeding correctly.  Others, including BuSab, can employ mass violence if you force it upon them.  Not a pleasant thought.  But unless you adhere to your own Law, to the honored relationship between Legum and Client, your shame will be exposed.  Innocent Gowachin as well as you others whose legal status has yet to be determined - all will pay the bloody price."

Havvy's brows drew down in puzzlement.

"Shame?"

"They plan to blast Dosadi out of existence."

Havvy pressed back into the chair, glared at McKie.

"You're lying."

"Even you, Havvy, are capable of recognizing a truth.  I'm going to release you, pass you back through the lines to Broey.  Tell him what you learned from me."

"It's a lie!  They're not going to . . ."

"Ask Aritch for yourself."

Havvy didn't ask "Aritch who?"  He lifted himself from the chair.

"I will."

"Tell Broey we've less than sixty hours.  None of us who can resist mind erasure will be permitted to escape."

"Us?"

McKie nodded, thinking:  Yes, I am Dosadi now.  He said:

"Get out of here."

It afforded him a measure of amusement that the door was opened by the sub-commander just as Havvy reached it.

"See to him yourself," McKie said, indicating Havvy.  "I'll be ready to go in a moment."

Without any concern about whether the sub-commander understood the nature of the assignment, McKie closed his eyes in thought.  There remained the matter of Mrreg, who'd sent twenty Gowachin from Tandaloor to get his people off the planet.  Mrreg.  That was the name of the mythical monster who'd tested the first primitive Gowachin people almost to extinction, setting the pattern of their deepest instincts.

Mrreg?

Was it code, or did some Gowachin actually use that name?  Or was it a role that some Gowachin filled?

Less than an hour after closing down at Gate Eighteen, McKie and his escort arrived back at Jedrik's headquarters building. He led them to the heavily guarded side entrance with its express elevator, not wanting to pass Pcharky at this moment.  Pcharky was an unnecessary distraction.  He left the escort in the hallway with instructions to get food and rest, signaled for the elevator.  The elevator door was opened by a small Human female of about fifteen years who nodded him into the dim interior.

McKie, his natural distrust of even the young on this planet well masked, nevertheless kept her under observation as he accepted the invitation.  She was a gamin child with dirty face and hands, a torn grey single garment cut off at the knees.  Her very existence as a Dosadi survivor said she'd undoubtedly sold her body many times for scraps of food.  He realized how much Dosadi had influenced him when he found that he couldn't raise even the slightest feeling of censure at this knowledge.  You did what the conditions around you demanded when those conditions were overwhelming.  It was an ultimate question:  this or death?  And certainly some of them chose death.

"Jedrik," he said.

She worked her controls and he found himself presently in an unfamiliar hallway.  Two familiar guards stood at a doorway down the hall, however.  They betrayed not the slightest interest in him as he opened the door between them swiftly and strode through.

It was a tiny anteroom, empty, but another door directly in front of him.  He opened this with more confidence than he felt, entered a larger space full of projection-room gloom with shadowed figures seated facing a holographic focus on his left.  McKie identified Jedrik by her profile, slipped into a seat beside her.

She kept her attention on the h-focus where a projection of Broey stood looking out at something over their shoulders.  McKie recognized the subtle slippage of computer simulation.  That was not a flesh-and-blood Broey in the focus.

Someone on the far side of the room stood up and crossed to sit beside another figure in the gloom.  McKie recognized Gar as the man moved through one of the projection beams.

McKie whispered to Jedrik, "Why simulation?"

"He's beginning to do things I didn't anticipate."

The suicide missions.  McKie looked at the simulation, wondered why there was no sync-sound.  Ahhh, yes.  They were lip-reading, and it was silent to reduce distractions, to amplify concentration.  Yes, Jedrik was reworking the simulation model of Broey which she carried in her head.  She would also carry another model, even more accurate than the one of Broey, which would give her a certain lead time on the reactions of one Jorj X. McKie.

"Would you really have done it?" he asked.

"Why do you distract me with such nonsense?"

He considered.  Yes, it was a good question.  He already knew the answer.  She would have done it:  traded bodies with him and escaped outside the God Wall as McKie.  She might still do it, unless he could anticipate the mechanics of the transfer.