“Sign off, Siker,” McKie said. “I’m going over your head to Bildoon.”

Silence.

“Break his contact!” McKie ordered.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Won’t it?”

“I’ll put the agents onto Abnethe at once. I see your point. If we assume that . . .”

“We assume,” McKie said.

“The orders will be issued in your name, of course,” Siker said.

“Keep your skirts clean any way you like,” McKie said. “Now, have our people start probing into the Beautybarbers of Steadyon. She’s been there, and recently. Also, I’ll be sending along a whip she . . .”

“A whip?”

“I just witnessed one of the flagellations. Abnethe cut the connection while her Palenki still had an arm through the S’eye door. Cut the arm right off. The Palenki will grow another arm, and she can hire more Palenkis, but the whip and arm could give us a lead. Palenkis don’t practice gene tagging, I know, but it’s the best we have at the moment.”

“I understand. What’d you see during the . . . incident?”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Hadn’t you better come in and put your report directly onto a transcorder?”

“I’ll depend on you for that. Don’t think I should show at Central for a bit.”

“Mmm. See what you mean. She’ll try to tie you up with a countersuit.”

“Or I miss my guess. Now, here’s what I saw. When she opened the door, she practically filled it, but I could see what appeared to be a window in the background. If it was a window, it opened onto a cloudy sky. That means daylight.”

“Cloudy?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s been cloudy here all morning.”

“You don’t think she’s . . . no, she wouldn’t.”

“Probably not, but we’ll have Central scoured just to be sure. With her money, no telling who she might’ve bought.”

“Yeah . . . well, the Palenki. Its shell carried an odd design—triangles, diamonds in red and orange, and a rope or snake of yellow wound all the way around and through it.”

“Phylum identification,” Siker said.

“Yes, but what Palenki family?”

“Well, we’ll check it. What else?”

“There was a mob of sentients behind her during the actual flogging. I saw Preylings, couldn’t miss those wire tentacles. There were some Chithers, a few Soborips, some Wreaves . . .”

“Sounds like her usual patch of sycophants. Recognize any of them?”

“I’ll try for ID’s later, but I couldn’t attach any names to this mob. But there was one, a Pan Spechi, and he was stage-frozen or I miss my guess.”

“You sure?”

“All I know is what I saw, and I saw the scars on his forehead—ego-surgery, sure as I’m sniggering.”

“That’s against every Pan Spechi legal, moral, and ethical . . .”

“The scars were purple,” McKie said. “That checks, doesn’t it?”

“Right out in the open, no makeup or anything to cover the scars?”

“Nothing. If I’m right, it means he’s the only Pan Spechi with her. Another would kill him on sight.”