Sometimes by design.
He listened to the plashing of the fountain while the shadows thickened and the tiny border lights came on along the paths. The tops of the buildings beyond the park became a palette where the sunset laid out its final display of the day.
In that instant, the Caleban contact caught him and he felt his body slip into the helpless communications trance. The mental tendrils were immediately identified -- Fannie Mae. And he thought, as he often had, what an improbable name that was for a star entity. He heard no sounds, but his hearing centers responded as to spoken words, and the inward glow was unmistakable. It was Fannie Mae, her syntax far more sophisticated than during their earliest encounters.
"You admire one of us," she said, indicating his attention on the sun which had just set beyond the buildings.
"I try not to think of any star as a Caleban," he responded. "It interferes with my awareness of the natural beauty."
"Natural? McKie, you don't understand your own awareness, nor even how you employ it!"
That was her beginning -- accusatory, attacking, unlike any previous contact with this Caleban he'd thought of as friend. And she employed her verb form with new deftness, almost as though showing off, parading her understanding of his language.
"What do you want, Fannie Mae?"
"I consider your relationships with females of your species. You have entered marriage relationships which number more than fifty. Not so?"
"That's right. Yes. Why do you . . ."
"I am your friend, McKie. What is your feeling toward me?"
He thought about that. There was a demanding intensity in her question. He owed his life to this Caleban with an improbable name. For that matter, she owed her life to him. Together, they'd resolved the Whipping Star threat. Now, many Calebans provided the jumpdoors by which other beings moved in a single step from planet to planet, but once Fannie Mae had held all of those jumpdoor threads, her life threatened through the odd honor code by which Calebans maintained their contractual obligations. And McKie had saved her life. He had but to think about their past interdependence and a warm sense of camaraderie suffused him.
Fannie Mae sensed this.
"Yes, McKie, that is friendship, is love. Do you possess this feeling toward Human female companions?"
Her question angered him. Why was she prying? His private sexual relationships were no concern of hers!
"Your love turns easily to anger," she chided.
"There are limits to how deeply a Saboteur Extraordinary can allow himself to be involved with anyone."
"Which came first, McKie -- the Saboteur Extraordinary or these limits?"
Her response carried obvious derision. Had he chosen the Bureau because he was incapable of warm relationships? But he really cared for Fannie Mae! He admired her . . . and she could hurt him because he admired her and felt . . . felt this way.
He spoke out of his anger and hurt.
"Without the Bureau there'd be no ConSentiency and no need for Calebans."
"Yes, indeed. People have but to look at a dread agent from BuSab and know fear."
It was intolerable, but he couldn't escape the underlying warmth he felt toward this strange Caleban entity, this being who could creep unguarded into his mind and talk to him as no other being dared. If only he had found a woman to share that kind of intimacy . . .
And this was the part of their conversation which came back to haunt him. After months with no contact between them, why had she chosen that moment just three days before the Dosadi crisis burst upon the Bureau? She'd pulled out his ego, his deepest sense of identity. She'd shaken that ego and then she'd skewered him with her barbed question:
"Why are you so cold and mechanical in your Human relationships?"
