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: âConSentient 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 valueâa 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.”
“Your?”
“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.”