McKie swallowed in a dry throat. “Fanny Mae,” he said, “have you explained this ultimate discontinuity prospect to Mliss Abnethe?”

“Problem explained,” the Caleban said. “Fellow Calebans attempt remedy of error. Abnethe fails of comprehension, or disregards consequences. Connectives difficult.”

“Connectives difficult,” McKie muttered.

“All connectives of single S’eye,” the Caleban said. “Master S’eye of self creates mutual problem.”

“Don’t tell me you understand that,” Furuneo objected.

“Abnethe employs Master S’eye of self,” the Caleban said. “Contract agreement gives Abnethe right of use. One Master S’eye of self. Abnethe uses.”

“So she opens a jumpdoor and sends her Palenki through it,” Furuneo said. “Why don’t we just wait here and grab her?”

“She could close the door before we even got near her,” McKie growled. “No, there’s more to what this Caleban’s saying. I think she’s telling us there’s only one Master S’eye, the control system, perhaps, for all the jumpdoors . . . and Fanny Mae here is in control of it, or the channel operation or . . .”

“Or something,” Furuneo snarled.

“Abnethe control S’eye by right of purchase,” the Caleban said.

“See what I mean?” McKie said. “Can you override her control, Fanny Mae?”

“Terms of employment require not interfere.”

“But can’t you still use your own S’eye doors?” McKie pressed.

“All use,” the Caleban said.

“This is insane!” Furuneo snapped.

“Insanity defines as lack of orderly thought progression in mutual acceptance of logical terms,” the Caleban said. “Insanity frequent judgment of one species upon other species. Proper interpretation otherwise.”

“I think I just had my wrist slapped,” Furuneo said.

“Look,” McKie said, “the other deaths and insanity around Caleban disappearances substantiate our interpretation. We’re dealing with something explosive and dangerous.”

“So we find Abnethe and stop her.”

“You make that sound so simple,” McKie said. “Here are your orders. Get out of here and alert the Bureau. The Caleban’s communication won’t show on your recorder, but you’ll have it all down in your memory. Tell them to scan you for it.”

“Right. You’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“What’ll I say you’re doing?”

“I want a look at Abnethe’s companions and her surroundings.”

Furuneo cleared his throat. Gods of the underworld, it was hot! “Have you thought of, you know, just bang?” He made the motion of firing a raygen.

“There’s a limit on what can go through a jumpdoor and how fast,” McKie chided. “You know that.”

“Maybe this jumpdoor’s different.”

“I doubt it.”

“After I’ve reported in, what then?”

“Sit tight outside there until I call you—unless they give you a message for me. Oh, and start a general search on Cordiality . . . just in case.”

“Of course.” Furuneo hesitated. “One thing—who do I contact at the Bureau? Bildoon?”

McKie glanced up. Why should Furuneo question whom to call? What was he trying to say?