“I’ll let you know.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“One thing,” Siker said. “How’re you going to keep Abnethe off your back?”

“I’m going to become a schoolteacher,” McKie said.

“I don’t think I want that explained,” Siker said. He broke the contact.

McKie found himself still seated in the purple gloom of the Beachball. Sweat bathed his body. The place was an oven. He wondered if his fat was actually being reduced by the heat. Water loss, certainly. The instant he thought of water, he sensed the dryness in his throat.

“You still there?” he rasped.

Silence.

“Fanny Mae?”

“I remain in my home,” the Caleban said.

The sensation that he heard the words without hearing grated on McKie, fed on the angeret in his system, stirred a latent rage. Damn superior stupid Caleban! Got us into a real mess!

“Are you willing to cooperate with us in trying to stop these floggings?” McKie asked.

“As my contract permits.”

“All right. Then you insist to Abnethe that you want me as your teacher.”

“You perform functions of teacher?”

“Have you learned anything from me?” McKie asked. “All mingled connectives instruct.”

“Connectives,” McKie muttered. “I must be getting old.”

“Explain old,” the Caleban said.

“Never mind. We should’ve discussed your contract first thing. Maybe there’s a way to break it. Under what laws was it executed?”

“Explain laws.”

“What honorable system of enforcement?” McKie blared.

“Under natural honor of sentient connectives.”

“Abnethe doesn’t know what honor means.”

“I understand honor.”

McKie sighed. “Were there witnesses, signatures, that sort of thing?”

“All my fellow Calebans witness connectives. Signatures not understood. Explain.”

McKie decided not to explore the concept of signatures. Instead he asked, “Under what circumstances could you refuse to honor your contract with Abnethe?”

After a prolonged pause the Caleban said, “Changing circumstances convey variable relationships. Should Abnethe fail in her connectives or attempt redefinition of essences, this could produce linearities open for my disentanglement.”

“Sure,” McKie said. “That figures.”

He shook his head, studied the empty air above the giant spoon. Calebans! You couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them, couldn’t understand them.

“Is the use of your S’eye system available to me?” McKie asked.

“You function as my teacher.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Affirmative answer.”

“Affirmative answer,” McKie echoed. “Fine. Can you also transport objects to me, sending them where I direct?”

“While connectives remain apparent.”

“I hope that means what I think it does,” McKie said. “Are you aware of the Palenki arm and whip over there on your floor?”

“Aware.”

“I want them sent to a particular office at Central. Can you do that?”

“Think of office,” the Caleban said.

McKie obeyed.

“Connectives available,” the Caleban said. “You desire sending to place of examination.”

“That’s right!”

“Send now?”

“At once.”

“Once, yes. Multiple sending remains outside our capabilities.”

“Huh?”

“Objects going.”

As McKie blinked, the arm and whip snapped out of his view accompanied by a sharp crack of exploding air.