Whipping Star Part 42

He shook his head at the fly-buzz of Taprisiot contact. d.a.m.n surveillance! This contact, however, failed to break off. It was Siker, the Laclac Director of Discretion. Siker had detected McKie's disturbed emotions and, instead of breaking contact, had locked in.

"No!" McKie raged. He felt himself stiffen into the mumbling sn.i.g.g.e.rtrance. "No, Siker! Break off!"

"But what's wrong, McKie?"

"Break off, you idiot, or I'm done for!"

"Well . . . all right, but you felt . . ."

"Break it!"

Siker broke the contact.

Once more aware of his body, McKie found himself dangling from a noose which had choked off his breath and was pulling him up into a small jumpdoor. He heard scrambling at the open port. There were shouts, but he couldn't respond. Fire encircled his neck. His chest burned. Panic filled his mind. He found he had dropped the raygen during the sn.i.g.g.e.rtrance. He was helpless. His hands clawed futilely at the noose.

Something grabbed his feet. Added weight tightened the noose.

Abruptly, the lifting force gave way. McKie, fell, sprawling in a tangle with whoever had grabbed his feet.

Several things happened at once. Enforcers helped him to his feet. A holoscan held by a Wreave was shoved past his face toward the jumpdoor, which closed with an electric snap. Groping hands and extensors removed the noose from his neck.

McKie inhaled a choking breath, gasped. He would have collapsed without the support of those around him.

Gradually, he became aware that five other sentients had entered the Beachball -- two Wreaves, Laclac, a PanSpechi and a human. The human and one of the Wreaves worked over McKie, clearing away the noose and supporting him. The holoscan operator was a Wreave, who was busy examining his instrument. The others were watching the s.p.a.ce all around them, raygens ready. At least three sentients were trying to talk at the same time.

"All right!" McKie husked, shutting off the babble. His throat hurt when he spoke. He grabbed the length of noose from the Wreave's extensors, examined it. The rope was a silvery material which McKie failed to recognize. It had been cut cleanly with a raygen.

McKie looked at the enforcer with the holoscan, said, "What did you get?"

"The attack was made by an ego-frozen PanSpechi, ser," the Wreave enforcer said "I got a good record of his face. We'll try for ID."

McKie tossed him the severed length of noose. "Get this thing back to the lab, too. Tell Tuluk to break it down to its basic structure. It may even have some of . . . Furuneo's cells on it. The rest of you . . ."

"Ser?" It was the PanSpechi among the enforcers.

"Yes?"

"Ser, we have orders. If an attempt is made on your life, we are to stay with you in here." He pa.s.sed a raygen to McKie. "You dropped this, I believe."

McKie pocketed it with an angry gesture.

Taprisiot contact filled McKie's mind. "Break it!" he snapped.

But the contact firmed. It was Bildoon in a no-nonsense mood. "What's going on there, McKie?"

McKie explained.

"There are enforcers around you right now?"

"Yes."

"Anyone see the attackers?"

"We got a holoscan. It was the ego-frozen PanSpechi."

McKie felt the emotional shudder from his Bureau chief. The sensation of horror was followed by a sharp command: "I want you back here at Central immediately."

"Look," McKie reasoned. "I'm the best bait we have. They want me dead for some . . ."

"Back, and now!" Bildoon said. "I'll have you brought in forcibly, if you make that necessary."

McKie subsided. He'd never before experienced such a black mood from a caller. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"You're bait wherever you are, McKie -- there or here. If they want you, they'll come for you. I want you here, where we can surround you with guards."

"Something's happened," McKie said.

"You're d.a.m.n right something's happened! All those bullwhips we were examining have disappeared. The lab is a shambles, and one of the Tuluk's a.s.sistants dead -- decapitated and . . . no head."

"Ahhhhh, d.a.m.n," McKie said. Then, "I'm on my way. "

All the wisdom of the universe cannot match the alert willingness to dodge a violent blow.

-Ancient folk saying

Cheo sat cross-legged on a bare stretch of floor in the anteroom of his quarters. A sharply defined orange crosslight from windows in the next room stretched his shadow beside him like something lifeless from the night. In his hands he held the length of noose which had remained after it had been cut in the closing of the jumpdoor.

d.a.m.nable interference! That big Laclac with the raygen had been fast! And the Wreave with the holoscan had made a record through the jumpdoor -- no doubt of that. They'd start hunting back along his trail now, asking questions, showing the holoscan of his face.

Not that it would do them any good.

Cheo's jeweled eyes glittered with shards of light. He could almost hear the BuSab operatives: "Do you recognize this PanSpechi?"

The PanSpechi equivalent of a chuckle, a rumbling grunt, shook him. Fat lot of good that search would do them! No friend or acquaintance from the old days would be likely to recognize his face, now that the medics had changed it. Oh, the bridge of the nose and the set of the eyes were similar, but . . .

Cheo shook his head. Why was he worrying? No one -- absolutely no one -- was going to stop him from destroying the Caleban! And after that, all these conjectures would be academic.

He sighed heavily. His hands were gripping the length of rope so tightly that his muscles ached. It took him several heartbeats of effort to release them. He climbed to his feet, threw the severed rope at a wall. A flailing end of it lashed a chairdog, which whimpered sibilantly through its atrophied vocal structure.

Cheo nodded to himself. They had to get the guards away from the Caleban or the Caleban away from the guards. He rubbed the scars on his forehead, hesitated. Was that a sound behind him? Slowly he turned, lowered his hand.

Miss Abnethe stood in the doorway to the outer hall. The orange light created embers in the pearl sheathing of her gown. Her face held back anger, fear, and the grievous murmurings of her psyche.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Why?" She stepped into the room, closed the door. "What've you been doing?"