For the Gowachin, to stand alone against all adversity is the most sacred moment of existence.

- The Gowachin, a BuSab analysis

The eight prisoners were dumped on the arena floor, bound and shackled.  McKie stopped near them, waiting for Ceylang to arrive.  It was not yet dawn.  The ceiling above the arena remained dark.  A few of the transmitter eyes around the upper perimeter glittered to reveal that they were activated.  More were coming alive by the moment.  Only a few of the witness seats were occupied, but people were streaming in as word was passed.  The judicial bench remained empty.

The outer areaway was a din of Courtarena security forces coming and going, people shouting orders, the clank of weapons, a sense of complete confusion there which gradually resolved itself as Broey led his fellow judges up onto their bench.  The witness pen was also filling, people punching sleep from their eyes, great gaping yawns from the Gowachin.

McKie looked to Broey's people, the ones who'd brought in the prisoners.  He nodded for the captors to leave, giving them a Dosadi hand signal to remain available.  They left.

Ceylang passed them as she entered, still fastening her robe.  She hurried to McKie's side, waited for the judges to be seated before speaking.

"What is the meaning of this?  My attendants . . ."

Broey signaled McKie.

McKie stepped forward to address the bench, pointed to the eight bound figures who were beginning to stir and push themselves upright.

"Here you see my client."

Parando started to speak, but Broey silenced him with a sharp word which McKie did not catch.  It sounded like "frenzy."

Bildoon sat in fearful fascination, unable to wrest his attention from the bound figures, all of whom remained silent.  Yes, Bildoon would recognize those eight prisoners.  In his limited, ConSentient fashion, Bildoon was sharp enough to recognize that he was in personal danger.  Parando, of course, knew this immediately and watched Broey with great care.

Again, Broey nodded to McKie.

"A fraud has been perpetrated upon this court," McKie said.  "It is a fraud which was perpetrated against those great and gallant people, the Gowachin.  Both Prosecution and Defense are its victims.  The Law is its ultimate victim."

It had grown much quieter in the arena.  The observer seats were jammed, all the transmitter eyes alive.  The faintest of dawn glow touched the translucent ceiling.  McKie wondered what time it was.  He had forgotten to put on any timepiece.

There was a stir behind McKie.  He glanced back, saw attendants belatedly bringing Aritch into the arena.  Oh, yes - they would have risked any delay to confer with Aritch.  Aritch was supposed to be the other McKie expert.  Too bad that this Human who looked like McKie was no longer the McKie they thought they knew.

Ceylang could not hold her silence.  She raised tendril for attention.

"This Tribunal . . ."

McKie interrupted.

". . . is composed of three people. Only three."

He allowed them a moment to digest this reminder that Gowachin trial formalities still dominated this arena, and were like no other such formalities in the ConSentiency.  It could've been fifty judges up there on that bench.  McKie had witnessed Gowachin trials where people were picked at random off the streets to sit in judgment.  Such jurists took their duties seriously, but their overt behavior could lead another sentient species to question this.  The Gowachin chattered back and forth, arranged parties, exchanged jokes, asked each other rude questions.  It was an ancient pattern.  The jurists were required to become "a single organism."  Gowachin had their own ways of rushing that process.

But this Tribunal was composed of just three judges, only one of them visibly Gowachin.  They were separate entities, their actions heavy with mannerisms foreign to the Gowachin.  Even Broey, tainted by Dosadi, would be unfamiliar to the Gowachin observers.  No "single organism" here holding to the immutable form beneath Gowachin Law.  That had to be deeply disturbing to the Legums who advised Ceylang.

Broey leaned forward, addressed the arena.

"We'll dispense with the usual arguments while this new development is explored."

Again, Parando tried to interrupt.  Broey silenced him with a glance.

"I call Aritch of the Running Phylum," McKie said.

He turned.

Ceylang stood in mute indecision.  Her advisors remained at the back of the arena conferring among themselves.  There seemed to be a difference of opinion among them.

Aritch shuffled to the death-focus of the arena, the place where every witness was required to stand.  He glanced at the instruments of pain arrayed beneath the judicial bench, cast a wary look at McKie.  The old High Magister appeared harried, and undignified.  That hurried conference to explore this development must've been a sore trial to the old Gowachin.

McKie crossed to the formal position beside Aritch, addressed the judges.

"Here we have Aritch, High Magister of the Running Phylum.  We were told that if guilt were to be found in this arena, Aritch bore that guilt.  He, so we were led to believe, was the one who made the decision to imprison Dosadi.  But how can that be so?  Aritch is old, but he isn't as old as Dosadi.  Then perhaps his alleged guilt is to be found in concealing the imprisonment of Dosadi.  But Aritch summoned an agent of BuSab and sent that agent openly to Dosadi."

A disturbance among the eight shackled prisoners interrupted McKie.  Several of the prisoners were trying to get to their feet, but the links of the shackles were too short.

On the judicial bench, Parando started to lean forward, but Broey hauled him back.

Yes, Parando and others were recalling the verities of a Gowachin Courtarena, the constant reversals of concepts common throughout the rest of the ConSentiency.

To be guilty is to be innocent.  Thus, to be innocent is to be guilty.

At a sharp command from Broey, the prisoners grew quiet.

McKie continued.

"Aritch, conscious of the sacred responsibilities which he carried upon his back as a mother carries her tads, was deliberately named to receive the punishment blow lest that punishment be directed at all Gowachin everywhere.  Who chose this innocent High Magister to suffer for all Gowachin?"

McKie pointed to the eight shackled prisoners.

"Who are these people?" Parando demanded.

McKie allowed the question to hang there for a long count.  Parando knew who these eight were.  Did he think he could divert the present course of events by such a blatant ploy?

Presently, McKie spoke.

"I will enlighten the court in due course.  My duty, however, comes first.  My client's innocence comes first."

"One moment."

Broey held up a webbed hand.

One of Ceylang's advisors hurried past McKie, asked and received permission to confer with Ceylang.  A thwarted Parando sat like a condemned man watching this conversation as though he hoped to find reprieve there.  Bildoon had hunched forward, head buried in his arms.  Broey obviously controlled the Tribunal.

The advisor Legum was known to McKie, one Lagag of a middling reputation, an officer out of breeding.  His words to Ceylang were low and intense, demanding.

The conference ended, Lagag hurried back to his companions.  They now understood the tenor of McKie's defense.  Aritch must have known all along that he could be sacrificed here.  The ConSentient Covenant no longer permitted the ancient custom where the Gowachin audience had poured into the arena to kill with bare hands and claws the innocent defendant.  But let Aritch walk from here with the brand of innocence upon him; he would not take ten paces outside the arena's precincts before being torn to pieces.

There'd been worried admiration in the glance Lagag had given McKie in passing.  Yes . . . now they understood why McKie had maneuvered for a small and vulnerable judicial panel.

The eight prisoners began a new disturbance which Broey silenced with a shout.  He signaled for McKie to continue.

"Aritch's design was that I expose Dosadi, return and defend him against the charge that he had permitted illegal psychological experiments upon an unsuspecting populace.  He was prepared to sacrifice himself for others."

McKie sent a wry glance at Aritch.  Let the High Magister try to fight in half-truths in that defense!

"Unfortunately, the Dosadi populace was not unsuspecting.  In fact, forces under the command of Keila Jedrik had moved to take control of Dosadi.  Judge Broey will affirm that she had succeeded in this."

Again, McKie pointed to the shackled prisoners.

"But these conspirators, these people who designed and profited from the Dosadi Experiment, ordered the death of Keila Jedrik!  She was murdered this morning on Tutalsee to prevent my using her at the proper moment to prove Aritch's innocence.  Judge Broey is witness to the truth of what I say.  Keila Jedrik was brought into this arena yesterday only that she might be traced and killed!"

McKie raised both arms in an eloquent gesture of completion, lowered his arms.

Aritch looked stricken.  He saw it.  If the eight prisoners denied the charges, they faced Aritch's fate.  And they must know by now that Broey wanted them Gowachin-guilty.  They could bring in the Caleban contract and expose the body-exchange plot, but that risked having McKie defend or prosecute them because he'd already locked them to his actual client, Aritch.  Broey would affirm this, too.  They were at Broey's mercy.  If they were Gowachin-guilty, they walked free only here on Tandaloor.  Innocent, they died here.

As though they were one organism, the eight turned their heads and looked at Aritch.  Indeed!  What would Aritch do?  If he agreed to sacrifice himself, the eight might live.  Ceylang, too, focused on Aritch.

Around the entire arena there was a sense of collective held breath.

McKie watched Ceylang.  How candid had Aritch's people been with their Wreave?  Did she know the full Dosadi story?

She broke the silence, exposing her knowledge.  She chose to aim her attack at McKie on the well-known dictum that, when all else failed, you tried to discredit the opposing Legum.

"McKie, is this how you defend these eight people whom only you name as client?" Ceylang demanded.

Now, it was delicate.  Would Broey go along?

McKie countered her probe with a question of his own.

"Are you suggesting that you'd prosecute these people?"

"I didn't charge them!  You did."

"To prove Aritch's innocence."

"But you call them client.  Will you defend them?"

A collective gasp arose from the cluster of advisors behind her near the arena doorway.  They'd seen the trap.  If McKie accepted the challenge, the judges had no choice but to bring the eight into the arena under Gowachin forms.  Ceylang had trapped herself into the posture of prosecutor against the eight.  She'd said, in effect, that she affirmed their guilt.  Doing so, she lost her case against Aritch and her life was immediately forfeit.  She was caught.

Her eyes glittered with the unspoken question.

What would McKie do?

Not yet, McKie thought.  Not yet, my precious Wreave dupe.

He turned his attention to Parando.  Would they dare introduce the Caleban contract?  The eight prisoners were only the exposed tip of the shadowy forces, a vulnerable tip.  They could be sacrificed.  It was clear that they saw this and didn't like it.  No Gowachin Mrregs here with that iron submission to responsibility!  They loved life and its power, especially the ones who wore Human flesh.  How precious life must be for those who'd lived many lives!  Very desperate, indeed.

To McKie's Dosadi-conditioned eyes, it was as though he read the prisoners' thoughts.  They were safest if they remained silent.  Trust Parando.  Rely on Broey's enlightened greed.  At the worst, they could live out what life was left to them here on Tandaloor, hoping for new bodies before the flesh they now wore ran out of vitality.  As long as they still lived they could hope and scheme.  Perhaps another Caleban could be hired, more Pcharkys found . . .

Aritch broke, unwilling to lose what had almost been his.

The High Magister's Tandaloor accent was hoarse with protest.

"But I did supervise the tests on Dosadi's population!"

"To what tests do you refer?"

"The Dosadi . . ."

Aritch fell silent, seeing the trap.  More than a million Dosadi Gowachin already had left their planet.  Would Aritch make targets of them?  Anything he said could open the door to proof that the Dosadis were superior to non-Dosadis.  Any Gowachin (or Human, for that matter) could well become a target in the next few minutes.  One had only to denounce a selected Human or Gowachin as Dosadi.  ConSentient fears would do the rest.  And any of his arguments could be directed into exposure of Dosadi's real purpose.  He obviously saw the peril in that, had seen it from the first.

The High Magister confirmed this analysis by glancing at the Ferret Wreaves in the audience.  What consternation it would create among the secretive Wreaves to learn that another species could masquerade successfully as one of their own!

McKie could not leave matters where they stood, though.  He threw a question at Aritch.

"Were the original transportees to Dosadi apprised of the nature of the project?"

"Only they could testify to that."

"And their memories were erased.  We don't even have historical testimony on this matter."

Aritch remained silent.  Eight of the original designers of the Dosadi project sat near him on the arena floor.  Would he denounce them to save himself?  McKie thought not.  A person deemed capable of performing as The Mrreg could not possess such a flaw.  Could he?  Here was the real point of no return.

The High Magister confirmed McKie's judgment by turning his back on the Tribunal, the ages-old Gowachin gesture of submission.  What a shock Aritch's performance must have been for those who'd seen him as a possible Mrreg.  A poor choice except at the end, and that'd been as much recognition of total failure as anything else.

McKie waited, knowing what had to happen now. Here was Ceylang's moment of truth.

Broey addressed her.

"You have suggested that you would prosecute these eight prisoners.  The matter is in the hands of Defense Legum."

Broey shifted his gaze.

"How say you, Legum McKie?"

The moment to test Broey had come.  McKie countered with a question.

"Can this Courtarena suggest another disposition for these eight prisoners?"

Ceylang held her breath.

Broey was pleased.  He had triumphed in the end over Jedrik.  Broey was certain in his mind that Jedrik did not occupy this Legum body on the arena floor.  Now, he could show the puppet masters what a Dosadi-born could do.  And McKie saw that Broey intended to move fast, much faster than anyone had expected.

Anyone except Jedrik, and she was only a silent (memory?) in McKie's awareness.

Having given the appearance of deliberation, Broey spoke.

"I can order these eight bound over to ConSentient jurisdiction if McKie agrees."

The eight stirred, subsided.

"I agree," McKie said.  He glanced at Ceylang.  She made no protest, seeing the futility.  Her only hope now lay in the possible deterrent presence of the Ferret Wreaves.

"Then I so order it," Broey said.  He spared a triumphant glance for Parando.  "Let a ConSentient jurisdiction decide if these eight are guilty of murder and other conspiracy."

He was well within the bounds of the Covenant between the ConSentiency and Gowachin, but the Gowachin members of his audience didn't like it.  Their Law was best!  Angry whistlings could be heard all around the arena.

Broey rose half-out of his seat, pointed at the instruments of pain arrayed beneath him.  Gowachin in the audience fell silent.  They, better than anyone, knew that no person here, not even a member of the audience, was outside the Tribunal's power.  And many understood clearly now why those bloody tools had been displayed here.  Thoughtful people had anticipated the problem of keeping order in this arena.

Responding to the silent acceptance of his authority, Broey sank back into his seat.

Parando was staring at Broey as though having just discovered the presence of a monster in this Gowachin form.  Many people would be reassessing Broey now.

Aritch held his attitude of complete submission.

Ceylang's thoughts almost hummed in the air around her.  Every way she turned, she saw only a tangle of unmanageable tendrils and a blocked passage.

McKie saw that it was time to bring matters to a head.  He crossed to the foot of the judicial bench, lifted a short spear from the instruments there.  He brandished the barbed, razor-edged weapon.

"Who sits on this Tribunal?"

Once, Aritch had issued such a challenge.  McKie, repeating it, pointed with the spear, answered his own question.

"A Gowachin of my choice, one supposedly wronged by the Dosadi project.  Were you wronged, Broey?"

"No."

McKie faced Parando.

"And here we have a Human from Lirat.  Is that not the case, Parando?"

"I am from Lirat, yes."

McKie nodded.

"I am prepared to bring a parade of witnesses into this arena to testify as to your occupation on Lirat.  Would you care to state that occupation?"

"How dare you question this Tribunal?"

Parando glared down at McKie, face flushed.

"Answer his question."

It was Broey.

Parando looked at Bildoon, who still sat with face concealed in his arms, face down on the bench.  Something about the PanSpechi repelled Parando, but he knew he had to have Bildoon's vote to overrule Broey.  Parando nudged the PanSpechi.  Inert flesh rolled away from Parando's hand.

McKie understood.

Facing doom, Bildoon had retreated into the creche.  Somewhere, an unprepared PanSpechi body was being rushed into acceptance of that crushed identity.  The emergence of a new Bildoon would require considerable time.  They did not have that time.  When the creche finally brought forth a functioning persona, it would not be heir to Bildoon's old powers in BuSab.

Parando was alone, exposed.  He stared at the spear in McKie's hand.

McKie favored the arena with a sweeping glance before speaking once more to Parando.

"I quote that renowned expert on Gowachin Law, High Magister Aritch:  'ConSentient Law always makes aristocrats of its practitioners.  Gowachin Law stands beneath that pretension.  Gowachin Law asks:  Who knows the people?  Only such a one is fit to judge in the Courtarena.'  That is Gowachin Law according to High Magister Aritch.  That is the law in this place."

Again, McKie gave Parando a chance to speak, received only silence.

"Perhaps you are truly fit to judge here," McKie suggested.  "Are you an artisan?  A philosopher?  Perhaps you're a humorist?  An artist?  Ahhh, maybe you are that lowliest of workmen, he who tends an automatic machine?"

Parando remained silent, gaze locked on the spear.

"None of these?" McKie asked.  "Then I shall supply the answer.  You are a professional legalist, one who gives legal advice, even to advice on Gowachin Law.  You, a Human, not even a Legum, dare to speak of Gowachin Law!"

Without any muscular warning signal, McKie leaped forward, hurled the spear at Parando, saw it strike deeply into the man's chest.

One for Jedrik!

With bubbling gasp, Parando sagged out of sight behind the bench.

Broey, seeing the flash of anger in McKie's effort, touched the blue box in front of him.

Have no fear, Broey.  Not yet.  I still need you.

But now, more than Broey knew it was really McKie in this flesh.  Not Jedrik.  Those members of the shadow force watching this scene and able to plot would make the expected deduction because they did not know how freely and completely Jedrik and McKie had shared.  To the shadow force, McKie would've known Parando's background.  They'd trace out that mistake in short order.  So this was McKie in the arena.  But he'd left Dosadi.  There could be only one conclusion in the plotters' minds.

McKie had Caleban help!

They had Calebans to fear.

And McKie thought:  You have only McKie to fear.

He grew aware that grunts of Gowachin approval were sounding all around the arena.  They accepted him as a Legum, thus they accepted his argument.  Such a judge deserved killing.

Aritch set the precedent.  McKie improved on it.

Both had found an approved way to kill a flawed judge, but McKie's act had etched a Gowachin precedent into the ConSentient legal framework.  The compromise which had brought Gowachin and ConSentient Law into the Covenant of shared responsibility for the case in this arena would be seen by the Gowachin as a first long step toward making their Law supreme over all other law.

Aritch had half-turned, looking toward the bench, a glittering appraisal in his eyes which said the Gowachin had salvaged something here after all.

McKie strode back to confront Ceylang.  He faced her as the forms required while he called for judgment.

"Bildoon?"

Silence.

"Parando?"

Silence.

"Broey?"

"Judgment for Defense."

The Dosadi accent rang across the arena.  The Gowachin Federation, only member of the ConSentiency which dared permit a victim to judge those accused of victimizing him, had received a wound to its pride.  But they'd also received something they would consider of inestimable value - a foothold for their Law in the ConSentiency, plus a memorable court performance which was about to end in the drama they loved best.

McKie stepped to within striking distance of Ceylang, extended his right hand straight out to the side, palm up.

"The knife."

Attendants scurried.  There came the sound of the blue box being opened.  Presently, the knife handle was slapped firmly into McKie's palm.  He closed his fingers around it, thinking as he did so of all those countless others who had faced this moment in a Gowachin Courtarena.

"Ceylang?"

"I submit to the ruling of this court."

McKie saw the Ferret Wreaves rise from their seats as one person.  They stood ready to leap down into the arena and avenge Ceylang no matter the consequences.  They could do nothing else but carry out the role which the Gowachin had designed for them.  Few in the arena had misunderstood their presence here.  No matter the measurement of the wound, the Gowachin did not suffer such things gladly.

An odd look of camaraderie passed between Ceylang and McKie then.  Here they stood, the only two non-Gowachin in the ConSentient universe who had passed through that peculiar alchemy which transformed a person into a Legum.  One of them was supposed to die immediately, and the other would not long survive that death.  Yet, they understood each other the way siblings understand each other.  Each had shed a particular skin to become something else.

Slowly, deliberately, McKie extended the tip of his blade toward Ceylang's left jowl, noting the myriad pocks of her triad exchanges there.  She trembled but remained firm.  Deftly, with the swiftest of flicking motions, McKie added another pock to those on her left jowl.

The Ferret Wreaves were the first to understand.  They sank back into their seats.

Ceylang gasped, touched a tendril to the wound.  Many times she had been set free by such a wound, moving on to new alliances which did not completely sunder the old.

For a moment, McKie thought she might not accept, but the increasing sounds of approval all around the arena overcame her doubts.  The noise of that approval climbed to a near deafening crescendo before subsiding.  Even the Gowachin joined this.  How dearly they loved such legal nuances!

Pitching his voice for Ceylang alone, McKie spoke.

"You should apply for a position in BuSab.  The new director would look with favor upon your application."

"You?"

"Make a Wreave bet on it."

She favored him with the grimace which passed for a smile among Wreaves, spoke the traditional words of triad farewell.

"We were well and truly wed."

So she, too, had seen the truth in their unique closeness.

McKie betrayed the extent of his esoteric knowledge by producing the correct response.

"By my mark I know you."

She showed no surprise.  A good brain there, not up to Dosadi standards, but good.

Well and truly wed.

Keeping a firm lock on his emotions (the Dosadi in him helped), McKie crossed to confront Aritch.

"Client Aritch, you are innocent."

McKie displayed the fleck of Wreave blood on the knife tip.

"The forms have been obeyed and you are completely exonerated.  I rejoice with all of those who love justice."

At this point in the old days, the jubilant audience would've fallen on the hapless client, would've fought for bloody scraps with which to parade through the city.  No doubt Aritch would've preferred that.  He was a traditionalist.  He confirmed that now.

"I am glad to quit these times, McKie."

McKie mused aloud.

"Who will be the Mrreg now that you're . . . disqualified?  Whoever it is, I doubt he'll be as good as the one he replaces.  It will profit that next Mrreg to reflect upon the fragile and fugitive value to be gained from the manipulation of others."

Glowering, Aritch turned and shambled toward the doorway out of the arena.

Some of the Gowachin from the audience already were leaving, no doubt hoping to greet Aritch outside.  McKie had no desire to witness that remnant of an ancient ritual.  He had other concerns.

Well and truly wed.

Something burned in his eyes.  And still he felt that soft and sleeping presence in his awareness.

Jedrik?

No response.

He glanced at Broey who, true to his duty as a judge, would be the last to leave the arena.  Broey sat blandly contemplating this place where he'd displayed the first designs of his campaign for supremacy in the ConSentiency.  He would accept nothing less short of his own death.  Those shadowy puppet masters would be the first to feel his rule.

That fitted the plan McKie and Jedrik had forged between them.  In a way, it was still the plan of those who'd bred and conditioned Jedrik for the tasks she'd performed so exquisitely.

It was McKie's thought that those nameless, faceless Dosadis who stood in ghostly ranks behind Jedrik had made a brave choice.  Faced with the evidence of body exchange all around, they'd judged that to be a deadly choice - the conservatism of extinction.  Instead, they'd trusted sperm and ova, always seeking the new and better, the changed, the adapted.  And they'd launched their simultaneous campaign to eliminate the Pcharkys of their world, reserving only that one for their final gamble.

It was well that this explosive secret had been kept here.  McKie felt grateful to Ceylang.  She'd known, but even when it might've helped her, she'd remained silent.  BuSab would now have time to forge ways of dealing with this problem.  Ceylang would be valuable there.  And perhaps more would be learned about PanSpechi, Calebans, and Taprisiots.  If only Jedrik . . .

He felt a fumbling in his memories.

"If only Jedrik what?"

She spoke laughingly in his mind as she'd always spoken there.

McKie suppressed a fit of trembling, almost fell.

"Careful with our body," she said.  "It's the only one we have now."

"Whose body?"

She caressed his mind.

"Ours, love."

Was it hallucination?  He ached with longing to hold her in his arms, to feel her arms around him, her body pressed to him.

"That's lost to us forever, love, but see what we have in exchange."

When he didn't respond, she said:

"One can always be watching while the other acts . . . or sleeps."

"But where are you?"

"Where I've always been when we exchanged.  See?"

He felt her parallel to him in the shared flesh and, as he voluntarily drew back, he came to rest in contact with her mutual memories, still looking from his own eyes but aware that someone else peered out there, too, that someone else turned this body to face Broey.

Fearful that he might be trapped here, McKie almost panicked, but Jedrik gave him back the control of their flesh.

"Do you doubt me, love?"

He felt shame.  There was nothing she could hide from him.  He knew how she felt, what she'd been willing to sacrifice for him.

"You'd have made their perfect Mrreg."

"Don't even suggest it."

She went pouring through his arena memories then and her joy delighted him.

"Oh, marvelous, McKie.  Beautiful!  I couldn't have done it better.  And Broey still doesn't suspect."

Attendants were taking the eight prisoners out of the arena now, all of them still shackled.  The audience benches were almost empty.

A sense of joy began filtering through McKie.

I lost something but I gained something.

"You didn't lose as much as Aritch."

"And I gained more."

McKie permitted himself to stare up at Broey then, studying the Gowachin judge with Dosadi eyes and two sets of awareness.  Aritch and the eight accused of murder were things of the past.  They and many others like them would be dead or powerless before another ten-day.  Broey already had shown the speed with which he intended to act.  Supported by his troop of Jedrik-chosen aides, Broey would occupy the seats of power, consolidating lines of control in that shadow government, eliminating every potential source of opposition he could touch.  He believed Jedrik dead and, while McKie was clever, McKie and BuSab were not a primary concern.  One struck at the real seats of power.  Being Dosadi, Broey could not act otherwise.  And he'd been almost the best his planet had ever produced.  Almost.

Jedrik-within chuckled.

Yes, with juggernaut certainty, Broey would create a single target for BuSab.  And Jedrik had refined the simulation pattern by which Broey could be anticipated.  Broey would find McKie waiting for him at the proper moment.

Behind McKie would be a new BuSab, an agency directed by a person whose memories and abilities were amplified by the one person superior to Broey that Dosadi had ever produced.

Standing there in the now silent arena, McKie wondered:

When will Broey realize he does our work for us?

"When we show him that he failed to kill me!"

In the purest obedience to Gowachin forms, without any sign of the paired thoughts twining through his mind, McKie bowed toward the surviving jurist, turned, and left.  And all the time, Jedrik-within was planning . . . plotting . . . planning . . .