The Dosadi Experiment

As though it knew his thoughts, the DS said:

"I'm still a machine.  You are inefficient, but as you have correctly stated you have ways of arriving at accuracy which machines do not understand.  We can only . . . guess, and we are not really programmed to guess unless specifically ordered to do so on a given occasion.  Trust yourself."

"But you'd rather I were not killed?"

"That is my program."

"Do you have any more helpful suggestions?"

"You would be advised to waste as little time us possible here.  There was a tone of urgency in Bildoon's voice."

McKie stared at the nearest voder. Urgency in Bildoon's voice? Even under the most urgent necessity, Bildoon had never sounded urgent to McKie.  Certainly, Dosadi could be an urgent matter, but . . .  Why should that sound a sour note?

"Are you sure he sounded urgent?"

"He spoke rapidly and with obvious tensions."

"Truthful?"

"The tone-spikes lead to that conclusion."

McKie shook his head.  Something about Bildoon's behavior in this matter didn't ring true, but whatever it was it escaped the sophisticated reading circuits of the DS.

And my circuits, too.

Still troubled, McKie ordered the DS to assemble a full travel kit and to read out the rest of the schedule.  He moved to the tool cupboard beside his bath baffle as the DS began reeling off the schedule.

His day was to start with the Taprisiot appointment.  He listened with only part of his attention, taking care to check the toolkit as the DS assembled it.  There were plastipiks. He handled them gently as they deserved.  A selection of stims followed.  He rejected these, counting on the implanted sense/muscle amplifiers which increased the capabilities of senior BuSab agents.  Explosives in various denominations went into the kit - raygens, pentrates.  Very careful with these dangerous items.  He accepted multilenses, a wad of uniflesh with matching mediskin, solvos, miniputer.  The DS extruded a life-monitor bead for the Taprisiot linkage.  He swallowed it to give the bead time to anchor in his stomach before the Taprisiot appointment.  A holoscan and matching blanks were accepted, as were ruptors and comparators.  He rejected the adapter for simulation of target identities.  It was doubtful he'd have time or facilities for such sophisticated refinements.  Better to trust his own instincts.

Presently, he sealed the kit in its wallet, concealed the wallet in a pocket.  The DS had gone rambling on:

". . . and you'll arrive on Tandaloor at a place called Holy Ru

Holy Ru

McKie riveted his attention to this datum.  A Gowachin saying skittered through his mind:  The Law is a blind guide, a pot of bitter water.  The Law is a deadly contest which can change as waves change.

No doubt of what had led his thoughts into that path.  Holy Ru

And now, McKie suspected he knew which Gowachin Phylum had summoned him.  It could be any one of five Phyla at Holy Ru

McKie addressed his DS:

"Send in my breakfast.  Please record that the condemned person ate a hearty breakfast."

The DS, programmed to recognize rhetoric for which there was no competent response, remained silent while complying.

***

All sentient beings are created unequal.  The best society provides each with equal opportunity to float at his own level.

By mid-afternoon, Jedrik saw that her gambit had been accepted.  A surplus of fifty Humans was just the right size to be taken by a greedy underling.  Whoever it was would see the possibilities of continuing - ten here, thirty there - and because of the way she'd introduced this flaw, the next people discarded would be mostly Humans, but with just enough Gowachin to smack of retaliation.

It'd been difficult carrying out her daily routine knowing what she'd set in motion.  It was all very well to accept the fact that you were going into danger.  When the actual moment arrived, it always had a different character.  As the subtle and not so subtle evidence of success accumulated, she felt the crazy force of it rolling over her.  Now was the time to think about her true power base, the troops who would obey her slightest hint, the tight communications linkage with the Rim, the carefully selected and trained lieutenants.  Now was the time to think about McKie slipping so smoothly into her trap.  She concealed elation behind a facade of anger.  They'd expect her to be angry.

The evidence began with a slowed response at her computer terminal.  Someone was monitoring.  Whoever had taken her bait wanted to be certain she was expendable.  Wouldn't want to eliminate someone and then discover that the eliminated someone was essential to the power structure.  She'd made damned sure to cut a wide swath into a region which could be made non-essential.

The microsecond delay from the monitoring triggered a disco

In the next stage, people averted their faces as they walked past her office doorway.

Ahhh, the accuracy of the rumor-trail.

The avoidance came so naturally:  a glance at a companion on the other side, concentration on material in one's hands, a brisk stride with gaze fixed on the corridor's ends.  Important business up there.  No time to stop and chat with Keila Jedrik today.

By the Veil of Heaven!  They were so transparent!

A Gowachin walked by examining the corridor's blank opposite wall.  She knew that Gowachin:  one of the Elector's spies.  What would he tell Elector Broey today?  Jedrik glared at the Gowachin in secret glee.  By nightfall, Broey would know who'd picked up her gambit, but it was too small a bite to arouse his avarice.  He'd merely log the information for possible future use.  It was too early for him to suspect a sacrifice move.

A Human male followed the Gowachin.  He was intent on the adjustment of his neckline and that, of course, precluded a glance at a Senior Liaitor in her office.  His name was Drayjo.  Only yesterday, Drayjo had made courting gestures, bending toward her over this very desk to reveal the muscles under his light grey coveralls.  What did it matter that Drayjo no longer saw her as a useful conquest.  His face was a wooden door, closed, locked, hiding nothing.

Avert your face, you clog!

When the red light glowed on her terminal screen, it came as anticlimax.  Confirmation that her gambit had been accepted by someone who would shortly regret it.  Communication flowed across the screen:

"Opp SD22240268523ZX."

Good old ZX!

Bad news always developed its own coded idiom.  She read what followed, anticipating every nuance:

"The Mandate of God having been consulted, the following supernumerary functions are hereby reduced.  If your position screen carries your job title with an underline, you are included in the reduction.

"Senior Liaitor."

Jedrik clenched her fists in simulated anger while she glared at the underlined words.  It was done. OppOut, the good old Double-O.  Through its pliable arm, the DemoPol, the Sacred Congregation of the Heavenly Veil had struck again.