The Whipping Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

out for examination.
    Furuneo, watching McKie, began to wonder if the Saboteur Extraordinary had been mesmerized.  "You still thinking?" he whispered.
    McKie nodded, then, "Fanny Mae, where is your employer?"
    "Coordinates not permitted," the Caleban said.
    "Is she on this planet?"
    "Different connectives," the Caleban said.
    "I don't think you two are talking the same language," Furuneo said.  '
    "From everything I've read and heard about Calebans, that's the big problem," McKie said.  "Communication difficulty."
    Furuneo wiped sweat from his forehead.  "Have you tried calling Abnethe long distance?" he asked.
    "Don't be stupid," McKie said.  "That's the first thing I tried."
    "Well?"
    "Either the Taprisiots are telling the truth and can't make contact, or she's bought them off some way.  What difference does it make?  So I contact her.  How does that tell me where she is?  How do I invoke a monitor clause with someone who doesn't wear a monitor?"
    "How could she buy off the Taprisiots?"
    "How do I know?  For that matter, how could she hire a Caleban?"
    "Invocation of value exchange," the Caleban said.
    McKie chewed at his upper lip.
    Furuneo leaned against the wall behind him.  He knew what inhibited McKie here.  You walked softly with a strange sentient species.  No telling what might cause affront.  Even the way you phrased a question could cause trouble.  They should have assigned a Zeno expert to help McKie.  It seemed odd that they hadn't.
    "Abnethe offered you something of value, Fanny Mae?" McKie ventured.
    "I offer judgment," the Caleban said.  "Abnethe may not be judged friendly-good-nice-kindly . . . acceptable."
    "Is that . . . your judgment?" McKie asked.
    "Your species prohibits flagellation of sentients," the Caleban said.  "Fanny Mae orders me flagellated."
    "Why don't you . . . just refuse?" McKie asked.
    "Contract obligation," the Caleban said.
    "Contract obligation."  McKie muttered, glancing at Furuneo, who shrugged.
    "Ask where she goes to be flagellated," Furuneo said.
    "Flagellation comes to me," the Caleban said.
    "By flagellation, you mean you're whipped," McKie said.
    "Explanation of whipping describes production of froth," the Caleban said.  "Not proper term.  Abnethe orders me flogged."
    "That thing talks like a computer," Furuneo said.
    "Let me handle this," McKie ordered.
    "Computer describes mechanical device," the Caleban said.  "I live."
    "He meant no insult," McKie said.
    "Insult not interpreted."
    "Does the flogging hurt you?" McKie asked.
    "Explain hurt."
    "Cause you discomfort?"
    "Reference recalled.  Such sensations explained.  Explanations cross no connectives."
    Cross no connectives? McKie thought.  "Would you choose to be flogged?" he asked.
    "Choice made," the Caleban said.
    "Well . . . would you make the same choice if you had it to do over?" McKie asked.
    "Confusing reference," the Caleban said.  "If over refers to repetition, I make no voice in repetition.  Abnethe sends Palenki with whip, and flogging occurs."
    "A Palenki!" Furuneo said.  He shuddered.
    "You knew it had to be something like that," McKie said.  "What else could you get to do such a thing except a creature without much brain and lots of obedient muscle?"
    "But a Palenki!  Couldn't we hunt for .  .  ."
    "We've known from the first what she had to be using," McKie said.  "Where do you hunt for one Palenki?"  He shrugged.  "Why can't Calebans understand the concept of being hurt?  Is it pure semantics, or do they lack the proper nerve linkages?"
    "Understand nerves," the Caleban said.  "Any sentience must possess control linkages.  But hurt . . . discontinuity of meaning appears insurmountable."
    "Abnethe can't stand the sight of pain, you said," Furuneo reminded McKie.
    "Yeah.  How does she watch the floggings?"
    "Abnethe views my home," the Caleban said.
    When no further answer was forthcoming, McKie said, "I don't understand.  What's that have to do with it?"
    "My home this,"