Worlds of IF (March 1970) (Modified) by Galaxy Publishing Corporation

Author:Galaxy Publishing Corporation
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mckie, tuluk, daniels, caleban, bildoon, creature, hwat, taprisiot, jake, pan spechi, whipping star, science fiction, zoo morenull, tanab gon, small voice, planetary zoo, morenull iii, mckie felt, love thy
Published: 1970-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

The words, uttered through the mumbling of the sniggertrance, were barely audible to the others around the table.

Speaking as calmly as he could, McKie said, “McKie will not be here in about thirty seconds unless you call Furuneo and have him order that Caleban to free me—”

“What’s wrong?” Tuluk asked.

“I’m staked out and a Palenki is on its way to kill me. I can see it against the firelight. It’s carrying what appears to be an axe. It’s going to chop me up. You know how they—”

“I can’t call Furuneo. He’s . . .”

“Then call the Caleban!”

“You know you can’t call a Caleban.”

“Doit, you oaf!”

Because McKie had ordered it, suspecting that he might know such a call could be made, Tuluk broke the contact, sent a demand at the Taprisiot. It was against reason—all the data said Taprisi-ots could not link sentients and Calebans.

To the observers in the conference room the more obvious mumbling and chuckling of the snigger-trance faded, made a brief return, disappeared. Bildoon almost barked a question at Tuluk, hesitated. The Wreave’s tubular body remained so—still.

“I wonder why the Tappy said he had to call through a Caleban?” Siker whispered.

Bildoon shook his head.

A Chither near Tuluk said, “You know, I could swear he ordered the Taprisiot to call the Caleban.”

“Nonsense,” Siker said.

“I don’t understand it,” the Chither said. “How could McKie go somewhere and not know where he

is?”

“Is Tuluk out of the snigger-trance or isn’t he?” Siker asked, his voice fearful. “He acts like nobody’s there.”

Every sentient around the table froze into silence. They all knew what Siker meant. Had the Wreave been trapped in the call? Was Tuluk gone, taken into that strange limbo from which the personality never returned?

“NOW!” someone roared.

The assembled sentients jerked back from the conference table as McKie came tumbling out of nowhere in a shower of dust and dirt. He landed flat on his back on the table directly in front of Bildoon, who lifted half out of his chair.

McKie’s wrists were bloody. His eyes were glazed. His red hair was a tangled, wild mop.

“Now,” McKie whispered. He turned to his side, saw Bildoon, and as though it explained everything, added: “The axe was descending.”

“What axe?” Bildoon demanded, sliding back into his chair.

“The one the Palenki was aiming at my head.”

“The—what?”

McKie sat up, massaged his torn wrists where the bindings had held him. Presently he shifted his ministrations to his ankles. He looked like a Gowachin frog deity.

“McKie, explain what’s going on here,” Bildoon ordered.

“I—ahhh—well, the nick of

WHIPPING STAR

97

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