Part 53 (1/2)

”How's it going?”

McKinley looked about as tired as Winward had ever seen a man; but his voice was brisk enough. ”Pretty good, overall. Even without the computer a.n.a.lysis I can see the stress levels changing pretty much as predicted.”

”Good. You about to close down this phase for the evening?”

”Got one more to do. If you'd like, you could stay and watch.”

Winward eyed the Cobra guard standing silently against the wall. He, too, looked tired, though just as far from admitting it as McKinley was. ”Alek, why don't you go ahead and get some dinner,” he told the other. ”I'll stay here while Dr.

McKinley finishes up.”

”I'd appreciate that,” Alek nodded, heading for the door. ”Thanks.”

McKinley waited until he was gone, then touched a b.u.t.ton on his translator pendant. ”Okay; send in number forty-two.”

A moment later Winward's enhanced hearing picked up two sets of footsteps approaching; and the door opened to admit another Cobra and a tense-looking

Qasaman male. The Cobra left, and McKinley gestured to the low chair facing his appropriated desk. ”Sit down, please.”

The Qasaman complied, throwing a suspicious glance at Winward. His mojo, Winward noted, was almost calm by comparison, although it seemed to be rippling its feathers rather frequently. ”Let's begin with your name and occupation,”

McKinley said. ”Just speak clearly toward the recorder here,” he added, waving at the rectangular box perched on a corner of the desk.

The man answered, and McKinley moved on to general questions concerning his interests and life in the village. Gradually the tone and direction of the questioning s.h.i.+fted, though, and within a few minutes McKinley was asking about the man's relations.h.i.+ps with friends, his frequency of intercourse with his wife, and other highly personal matters. Winward watched the Qasaman closely, but to his untrained eye the other seemed to be taking McKinley's prying with reasonable grace. The stress indicators built into the recorder and the man's chair, of course, would deliver a more scientific a.s.sessment.

McKinley was halfway through a question about the man's childhood when he broke off and, as he'd done forty-one times already that day, pretended to listen with annoyance to something coming through his earphone. ”I'm sorry,” he told the

Qasaman, ”but apparently your mojo's flapping noises are interfering with the recording. Uh-” He glanced around the room, pointed to a large cus.h.i.+on in the far corner. ”Would you mind putting him over there?”

The other grimaced, glancing again at Winward. Then, body language eloquent with protest, he complied. ”Good,” McKinley said briskly as the Qasaman seated himself again. ”Let's see; I guess I should backtrack a bit.”

He launched into a repeat of an earlier question, and Winward s.h.i.+fted his attention to the mojo sitting in its corner. Sitting; but clearly not happy with its banishment. The head movements and feather ruffling Winward had noted earlier had increased dramatically, both in frequency and magnitude. Nervous at being separated from its protector? the Cobra wondered. Or upset because it can't influence things as well at this distance? The whole idea of the mojos having some subliminal power over the Qasamans made Winward feel decidedly twitchy. Alone among all he'd talked to, he still hoped Jonny Moreau's theory was wrong.

”d.a.m.n.”

Winward turned his attention back to the interrogation to find McKinley scowling into s.p.a.ce. ”I'm sorry, but the recorder's still picking up too much noise. I guess we're going to have to put your mojo out of the room entirely.

Kreel?-would you come in here a minute. Bring something talon-proof with you.”

”Wait,” the Qasaman said, half rising from his seat. ”You cannot take my mojo away from here.”

”Why not?” McKinley asked. ”We won't hurt it, and you'll have it back in a few minutes.” The door opened and the Cobra who'd earlier escorted the Qasaman in stepped into the room, a thick cloth bunched in his hand.

”You must not take him,” the Qasaman repeated, the first hint of anger beginning to show through his stoicism. ”I have cooperated fully-you have no right to treat me this way.”

”Seven more questions-that's all,” McKinley said soothingly. ”Five minutes or less, and you'll have it back. Look, there's an empty office across the hall;

Kreel can just stand there in the middle of the room with your mojo on his arm, and when we're done you can open the door and get it back. No harm will come to it-I promise.”

Provided it behaves itself, Winward added silently. Kreel would have another