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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18151-8.txt b/18151-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4fde330 --- /dev/null +++ b/18151-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4873 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Crime, by H. Beam Piper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Time Crime + +Author: H. Beam Piper + +Release Date: May 5, 2007 [EBook #18151] +[This file was first posted on April 11, 2006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME CRIME *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's note. + + This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction Magazine + February and March 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any + evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + TIME CRIME + + + BY H. BEAM PIPER + + +_First of Two Parts. The Paratime Police had a real headache this +time! Tracing one man in a population of millions is easy--compared +to finding one gang hiding out on one of billions of probability lines!_ + + Illustrated by Freas + + +[Illustration:] + + + + +ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION + + +Kiro Soran, the guard captain, stood in the shadow of the veranda +roof, his white cloak thrown back to display the scarlet lining. He +rubbed his palm reflectively on the checkered butt of his revolver and +watched the four men at the table. + +"And ten tens are a hundred," one of the clerks in blue jackets said, +adding another stack to the pile of gold coins. + +"Nineteen hundreds," one of the pair in dirty striped robes agreed, +taking a stone from the box in front of him and throwing it away. Only +one stone remained. "One more hundred to pay." + +One of the blue-jacketed plantation clerks made a tally mark; his +companion counted out coins, ten and ten and ten. + +Dosu Golan, the plantation manager, tapped impatiently on his polished +boot leg with a thin riding whip. + +[Illustration:] + +"I don't like this," he said, in another and entirely different +language. "I know, chattel slavery's an established custom on this +sector, and we have to conform to local usages, but it sickens me to +have to haggle with these swine over the price of human beings. On +the Zarkantha Sector, we used nothing but free wage-labor." + +"Migratory workers," the guard captain said. "Humanitarian +considerations aside, I can think of a lot better ways of meeting the +labor problem on a fruit plantation than by buying slaves you need for +three months a year and have to feed and quarter and clothe and doctor +the whole twelve." + +"Twenty hundreds of _obus_," the clerk who had been counting the money +said. "That is the payment, is it not, Coru-hin-Irigod?" + +"That is the payment," the slave dealer replied. + +The clerk swept up the remaining coins, and his companion took them +over and put them in an iron-bound chest, snapping the padlock. The +two guards who had been loitering at one side slung their rifles and +picked up the chest, carrying it into the plantation house. The slave +dealer and his companion arose, putting their money into a leather +bag; Coru-hin-Irigod turned and bowed to the two men in white cloaks. + +"The slaves are yours, noble lords," he said. + +Across the plantation yard, six more men in striped robes, with +carbines slung across their backs, approached; with them came another +man in a hooded white cloak, and two guards in blue jackets and red +caps, with bayoneted rifles. The man in white and his armed attendants +came toward the house; the six Calera slavers continued across the +yard to where their horses were picketed. + +"If I do not offend the noble lords, then," Coru-hin-Irigod said, "I +beg their sufferance to depart. I and my men have far to ride if we +would reach Careba by nightfall. The Lord, the Great Lord, the Lord +God Safar watch between us until we meet again." + +Urado Alatana, the labor foreman, came up onto the porch as the two +slavers went down. + +"Have a good look at them, Radd?" the guard captain asked. + +"You think I'm crazy enough to let those bandits out of here with two +thousand _obus_--forty thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units--of the +Company's money without knowing what we're getting?" the other +parried. "They're all right--nice, clean, healthy-looking lot. I did +everything but take them apart and inspect the pieces while they were +being unshackled at the stockade. I'd like to know where this +Coru-hin-Whatshisname got them, though. They're not local stuff. Lot +darker, and they're jabbering among themselves in some lingo I never +heard before. A few are wearing some rags of clothing, and they have +odd-looking sandals. I noticed that most of them showed marks of +recent whipping. That may mean they're troublesome, or it may just +mean that these Caleras are a lot of sadistic brutes." + +"Poor devils!" The man called Dosu Golan was evidently hoping that +he'd never catch himself talking about fellow humans like that. The +guard captain turned to him. + +"Coming to have a look at them, Doth?" he asked. + +"You go, Kirv; I'll see them later." + +"Still not able to look the Company's property in the face?" the +captain asked gently. "You'll not get used to it any sooner than now." + +"I suppose you're right." For a moment Dosu Golan watched +Coru-hin-Irigod and his followers canter out of the yard and break +into a gallop on the road beyond. Then he tucked his whip under his +arm. "All right, then. Let's go see them." + +The labor foreman went into the house; the manager and the guard +captain went down the steps and set out across the yard. A big +slat-sided wagon, drawn by four horses, driven by an old slave in a +blue smock and a thing like a sunbonnet, rumbled past, loaded with +newly-picked oranges. Blue woodsmoke was beginning to rise from the +stoves at the open kitchen and a couple of slaves were noisily +chopping wood. Then they came to the stockade of close-set pointed +poles. A guard sergeant in a red-trimmed blue jacket, armed with a +revolver, met them with a salute which Kiro Soran returned: he +unfastened the gate and motioned four or five riflemen into positions +from which they could fire in between the poles in case the slaves +turned on their new owners. + +There seemed little danger of that, though Kiro Soran kept his hand +close to the butt of his revolver. The slaves, an even hundred of +them, squatted under awnings out of the sun, or stood in line to drink +at the water-butt. They furtively watched the two men who had entered +among them, as though expecting blows or kicks; when none were +forthcoming, they relaxed slightly. As the labor foreman had said, +they were clean and looked healthy. They were all nearly naked; there +were about as many women as men, but no children or old people. + +"Radd's right," the captain told the new manager. "They're not local. +Much darker skins, and different face-structure; faces wedge-shaped +instead of oval, and differently shaped noses, and brown eyes instead +of black. I've seen people like that, somewhere, but--" + +He fell silent. A suspicion, utterly fantastic, had begun to form in +his mind, and he stepped closer to a group of a dozen-odd, the manager +following him. One or two had been unmercifully lashed, not long ago, +and all bore a few lash-marks. Odd sort of marks, more like +burn-blisters than welts. He'd have to have the Company doctor look at +them. Then he caught their speech, and the suspicion was converted to +certainty. + +"These are not like the others: they wear fine garments, and walk +proudly. They look stern, but not cruel. They are the real masters +here; the others are but servants." + +He grasped the manager's arm and drew him aside. + +"You know that language?" he asked. When the man called Dosu Golan +shook his head, he continued: "That's Kharanda; it's a dialect spoken +by a people in the Ganges Valley, in India, on the Kholghoor Sector of +the Fourth Level." + +Dosu Golan blinked, and his face went blank for a moment. + +"You mean they're from outtime?" he demanded. "Are you sure?" + +"I did two years on Fourth Level Kholghoor with the Paratime Police, +before I took this job," the man called Kiro Soran replied. "And +another thing. Those lash-marks were made with some kind of an +electric whip. Not these rawhide quirts the Caleras use." + +It took the plantation manager all of five seconds to add that up. The +answer frightened him. + +"Kirv, this is going to make a simply hideous uproar, all the way up +to Home Time Line main office," he said. "I don't know what I'm going +to do--" + +"Well, I know what I have to do." The captain raised his voice, using +the local language: "Sergeant! Run to the guardhouse, and tell +Sergeant Adarada to mount up twenty of his men and take off after +those Caleras who sold us these slaves. They're headed down the road +toward the river. Tell him to bring them all back, and especially +their chief, Coru-hin-Irigod, and him I want alive and able to answer +questions. And then get the white-cloak lord Urado Alatena, and come +back here." + +"Yes, captain." The guards were all Yarana people; they disliked +Caleras intensely. The sergeant threw a salute, turned, and ran. + +"Next, we'll have to isolate these slaves," Kiro Soran said. "You'd +better make a full report to the Company as soon as possible. I'm +going to transpose to Police Terminal Time Line and make my report to +the Sector-Regional Subchief. Then--" + +"Now wait a moment, Kirv," Dosu Golan protested. "After all, I'm the +manager, even if I am new here. It's up to me to make the decisions--" + +Kiro Soran shook his head. "Sorry, Doth. Not this one," he said. "You +know the terms under which I was hired by the Company. I'm still a +field agent of the Paratime Police, and I'm reporting back on duty as +soon as I can transpose to Police Terminal. Look; here are a hundred +men and women who have been shifted from one time-line, on one +paratemporal sector of probability, to another. Why, the world from +which these people came doesn't even exist in this space-time +continuum. There's only one way they could have gotten here, and +that's the way we did--in a Ghaldron-Hesthor paratemporal +transposition field. You can carry it on from there as far as you +like, but the only thing it adds up to is a case for the Paratime +Police. You had better include in your report mention that I've +reverted to police status; my Company pay ought to be stopped as of +now. And until somebody who outranks me is sent here, I'm in complete +charge. Paratime Transposition Code, Section XVII, Article 238." + +The plantation manager nodded. Kiro Soran knew how he must feel; he +laid a hand gently on the younger man's shoulder. + +"You understand how it is, Doth; this is the only thing I can do." + +"I understand, Kirv. Count on me for absolutely anything." He looked +at the brown-skinned slaves, and lines of horror and loathing appeared +around his mouth. "To think that some of our own people would do a +thing like this! I hope you can catch the devils! Are you transposing +out, now?" + +"In a few minutes. While I'm gone, have the doctor look at those +whip-injuries. Those things could get infected. Fortunately, he's one +of our own people." + +"Yes, of course. And I'll have these slaves isolated, and if Adarada +brings back Coru-hin-Irigod and his gang before you get back, I'll +have them locked up and waiting for you. I suppose you want to +narco-hypnotize and question the whole lot, slaves and slavers?" + +The labor foreman, known locally as Urado Alatena, entered the +stockade. + +"What's wrong, Kirv?" he asked. + +The Paratime Police agent told him, briefly. The labor foreman +whistled, threw a quick glance at the nearest slaves, and nodded. + +"I knew there was something funny about them," he said. "Doth, what a +simply beastly thing to happen, two days after you take charge here!" + +"Not his fault," the Paratime Police agent said. "I'm the one the +Company'll be sore at, but I'd rather have them down on me rather than +old Tortha Karf. Well, sit on the lid till I get back," he told both +of them. "We'll need some kind of a story for the locals. Let's +see--Explain to the guards, in the hearing of some of the more +talkative slaves, that these slaves are from the Asian mainland, that +they are of a people friendly to our people, and that they were +kidnaped by pirates, our enemies. That ought to explain everything +satisfactorily." + +On his way back to the plantation house, he saw a clump of local +slaves staring curiously at the stockade, and noticed that the guards +had unslung their rifles and fixed their bayonets. None of them had +any idea, of course, of what had happened, but they all seemed to +know, by some sort of ESP, that something was seriously wrong. It was +going to get worse, too, when strangers began arriving, apparently +from nowhere, at the plantation. + + * * * * * + +Verkan Vall waited until the small, dark-eyed woman across the +circular table had helped herself from one of the bowls on the +revolving disk in the middle, then rotated it to bring the platter of +cold boar-ham around to himself. + +"Want some of this, Dalla?" he asked, transferring a slice of ham and +a spoonful of wine sauce to his plate. + +"No, I'll have some of the venison," the black-haired girl beside him +said. "And some of the pickled beans. We'll be getting our fill of +pork, for the next month." + +"I thought the Dwarma Sector people were vegetarians," Jandar Jard, +the theatrical designer, said. "Most nonviolent peoples are, aren't +they?" + +"Well, the Dwarma people haven't any specific taboo against taking +life," Bronnath Zara, the dark-eyed woman in the brightly colored +gown, told him. "They're just utterly noncombative, nonaggressive. +When I was on the Dwarma Sector, there was a horrible scandal at the +village where I was staying. It seems that a farmer and a meat butcher +fought over the price of a pig. They actually raised their voices and +shouted contradictions at each other. That happened two years before, +and people were still talking about it." + +"I didn't think they had any money, either," Verkan Vall's wife, +Hadron Dalla, said. + +"They don't," Zara said. "It's all barter and trade. What are you and +Vall going to use for a visible means of support, while you're there?" + +"Oh, I have my mandolin, and I've learned all the traditional Dwarma +songs by hypno-mech," Dalla said. "And Transtime Tours is fitting Vall +out with a bag of tools; he's going to do repair work and carpentry." + +"Oh, good; you'll be welcome anywhere," Zara, the sculptress, said. +"They're always glad to entertain a singer, and for people who do the +fine decorative work they do, they're the most incompetent practical +mechanics I've ever seen or heard of. You're going to travel from +village to village?" + +"Yes. The cover-story is that we're lovers who have left our village +in order not to make Vall's former wife unhappy by our presence," +Dalla said. + +"Oh, good! That's entirely in the Dwarma romantic tradition," Bronnath +Zara approved. "Ordinarily, you know, they don't like to travel. They +have a saying: 'Happy are the trees, they abide in their own place; +sad are the winds, forever they wander.' But that'll be a fine +explanation." + +Thalvan Dras, the big man with the black beard and the long red coat +and cloth-of-gold sash who lounged in the host's seat, laughed. + +"I can just see Vall mending pots, and Dalla playing that mandolin and +singing," he said. "At least, you'll be getting away from police work. +I don't suppose they have anything like police on the Dwarma Sector?" + +"Oh, no; they don't even have any such concept," Bronnath Zara said. +"When somebody does something wrong, his neighbors all come and talk +to him about it till he gets ashamed, then they all forgive him and +have a feast. They're lovely people, so kind and gentle. But you'll +get awfully tired of them in about a month. They have absolutely no +respect for anybody's privacy. In fact, it seems slightly indecent to +them for anybody to want privacy." + +One of Thalvan Dras' human servants came into the room, coughed +apologetically, and said: + +"A visiphone-call for His Valor, the Mavrad of Nerros." + +Vall went on nibbling ham and wine sauce; the servant repeated the +announcement a trifle more loudly. + +[Illustration:] + +"Vall, you're being paged!" Thalvan Dras told him, with a touch of +impatience. + +Verkan Vall looked blank for an instant, then grinned. It had been so +long since he had even bothered to think about that antiquated title +of nobility-- + +"Vall's probably forgotten that he has a title," a girl across the +table, wearing an almost transparent gown and nothing else, laughed. + +"That's something the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabar never forgets," +Jandar Jard drawled, with what, in a woman, would have been +cattishness. + +Thalvan Dras gave him a hastily repressed look of venomous anger, then +said something, more to Verkan Vall than to Jandar Jard, about titles +of nobility being the marks of social position and responsibility +which their bearers should never forget. That jab, Vall thought, +following the servant out of the room, had been a mistake on Jard's +part. A music-drama, for which he had designed the settings, was due +to open here in Dhergabar in another ten days. Thalvan Dras would +cherish spite, and a word from the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabar +would set a dozen critics to disparaging Jandar's work. On the other +hand, maybe it had been smart of Jandar Jard to antagonize Thalvan +Dras; for every critic who bowed slavishly to the wealthy nobleman, +there were at least two more who detested him unutterably, and they +would rush to Jandar Jard's defense, and in the ensuing uproar, the +settings would get more publicity than the drama itself. + + * * * * * + +In the visiphone booth, Vall found a girl in a green blouse, with the +Paratime Police insigne on her shoulder, looking out of the screen. +The wall behind her was pale green striped in gold and black. + +"Hello, Eldra," he greeted her. + +"Hello, Chief's Assistant: I'm sorry to bother you, but the Chief +wants to talk to you. Just a moment, please." + +The screen exploded into a kaleidoscopic flash of lights and colors, +then cleared again. This time, a man looked out of it. He was well +into middle age; close to his three hundredth year. His hair, a +uniform iron-gray, was beginning to thin in front, and he was +acquiring the beginnings of a double chin. His name was Tortha Karf, +and he was Chief of Paratime Police, and Verkan Vall's superior. + +"Hello, Vall. Glad I was able to locate you. When are you and Dalla +leaving?" + +"As soon as we can get away from this luncheon, here. Oh, say an hour. +We're taking a rocket to Zarabar, and transposing from there to +Passenger Terminal Sixteen, and from there to the Dwarma Sector." + +"Well, Vall, I hate to bother you like this," Tortha Karf said, "but I +wish you'd stop by Headquarters on your way to the rocketport. +Something's come up--it may be a very nasty business--and I'd like to +talk to you about it." + +"Well, Chief, let me remind you that this vacation, which I've had to +postpone four times already, has been overdue for four years," Vall +said. + +"Yes, Vall, I know. You've been working very hard, and you and Dalla +are entitled to a little time together. I just want you to look into +something, before you leave." + +"It'll have to take some fast looking. Our rocket blasts off in two +hours." + +"It may take a little longer; if it does, you and Dalla can transpose +to Police Terminal and take a rocket for Zarabar Equivalent, and +transpose from there to Passenger Sixteen. It would save time if you +brought Dalla with you to Headquarters." + +"Dalla won't like this," Vall understated. + +"No. I'm afraid not." Tortha Karf looked around apprehensively, as +though estimating the damage an enraged Hadron Dalla could do to his +office furnishings. "Well, try to get here as soon as you can." + + * * * * * + +Thalvan Dras was holding forth, when Vall returned, on one of his +favorite preoccupations. + +"... Reason I'm taking such an especially active interest in this +year's Arts Exhibitions; I've become disturbed at the extent to which +so many of our artists have been content to derive their motifs, even +their techniques, from outtime art." He was using his vocowriter, +rather than his conversational, voice. "I yield to no one in my +appreciation of outtime art--you all know how devotedly I collect +objects of art from all over paratime--but our own artists should +endeavor to express their artistic values in our own artistic idioms." + +Vall bent over his wife's shoulder. + +"We have to leave, right away," he whispered. + +"But our rocket doesn't blast off for two hours--" + +Thalvan Dras had stopped talking and was looking at them in annoyance. + +"I have to go to Headquarters before we leave. It'll save time if you +come along." + +"Oh, no, Vall!" She looked at him in consternation. "Was that Tortha +Karf, calling?" She replaced her plate on the table and got to her +feet. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, Dras," he addressed their host. "I just had a +call from Tortha Karf. A few minor details that must be cleared up, +before I leave Home Time Line. If you'll accept our thanks for a +wonderful luncheon--" + +"Why, certainly, Vall. Brogoth, will you call--" He gave a slight +chuckle. "I'm so used to having Brogoth Zaln at my elbow that I'd +forgotten he wasn't here. Wait. I'll call one of the servants to have +a car for you." + +"Don't bother; we'll take an aircab," Vall told him. + +"But you simply can't take a public cab!" The black-bearded nobleman +was shocked at such an obscene idea. "I will have a car ready for you +in a few minutes." + +"Sorry, Dras; we have to hurry. We'll get a cab on the roof. Good-by, +everybody; sorry to have to break away like this. See you all when we +get back." + + * * * * * + +Hadron Dalla watched dejectedly as the green crags and escarpments of +the Paratime Building loomed above the city in front of them, and +began slipping under the aircab. She felt like a prisoner recaptured +at the moment when attempted escape was about to succeed. + +"I knew it," she said. "I knew he'd find something. He's trying to +break things up between us, the way he did twenty years ago.'" + +Vall crushed out his cigarette and said nothing. That hadn't been +true, and she knew it as well as he did. There had been many other +factors involved in the disintegration of their previous marriage, +most of them of her own contribution. But that had been twenty years +ago, she told herself. This time it would be different, if only-- + +"Really, Vall, he's never liked me," she went on. "He's jealous of me, +I think. You're to be his successor, when he retires, and he thinks +I'm not a good influence--" + +"Oh, rubbish, Dalla! The Chief has always liked you," Vall replied. +"If he didn't, do you think he'd always be inviting us to that farm of +his, on Fifth Level Sicily? It's just that this job of ours has no +end; something's always turning up, outtime." + +The music that the cab had been playing died away. "Paratime Building, +just below," it said, in a light feminine voice. "Which landing stage, +please?" Vall leaned forward and punched at the buttons in front of +him. Something in the cab's electronic brain gave a rapid series of +clicks as it shifted from the general Paratime Building beam to the +beam of the Paratime Police landing stage, then it said, "Thank you." +The building below seemed to rotate upward toward them as it settled +down. Then the antigrav-field snapped off, the cab door popped open, +and the cab said: "Good-by, now. Ride with me again, sometime." + +They crossed the landing stage, entered the antigrav shaft, and +floated downward; at the end of a hallway, below, Vall opened the door +of Tortha Karf's office and ushered her through ahead of him. + +Tortha Karf, inside the semicircle of his desk, was speaking into a +recording phone as they approached. He shut off the machine and waved, +a cigarette in his hand. + +"Come on back and sit down," he invited. "Be with you in a moment." +Then he switched on the phone again and went on talking--something +about prompter evaluation and transmission of reports and less +reliance on robot equipment. "Sign that up, my personal order, and see +it's transmitted to everybody down to and including Sector Regional +Subchief level," he finished, then hung up the phone and turned to +them. + +"Sorry about this," he said. "Sit down, if you please. Cigarettes?" + +She shook her head and sat down in one of the chairs behind the desk; +she started to relax and then caught herself and sat erect, her hands +on her lap. + +"This won't interfere with your vacation, Vall," Tortha Karf was +saying. "I just need a little help before you transpose out." + +"We have to catch the rocket for Zarabar in an hour and a half," Dalla +reminded him. + +"Don't worry about that; if you miss the commercial rocket, our police +rockets can give it an hour's start and pass it before it gets to +Zarabar," Tortha Karf said. Then he turned to Vall. "Here's what's +happened," he said. "One of our field agents on detached duty as guard +captain for Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs on a fruit plantation in +western North America, Third Level Esaron Sector, was looking over a +lot of slaves who had been sold to the plantation by a local slave +dealer. He heard them talking among themselves--in Kharanda." + +Dalla caught the significance of that before Vall did. At first, she +was puzzled; then, in spite of herself, she was horrified and angry. +Tortha Karf was explaining to Vall just where and on what paratemporal +sector Kharanda was spoken. + +"No possibility that this agent, Skordran Kirv, could have been +mistaken. He worked for a while on Kholghoor Sector, himself; knew the +language by hypno-mech and by two years' use," Tortha Karf was saying. +"So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and the +slave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal to +report. The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him in +charge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple of +detectives and a psychist." + +"When was this?" Vall asked. + +"Yesterday. One-Five-Nine Day. About 1500 local time." + +"Twenty-three hundred Dhergabar time," Vall commented. + +"Yes. And I just found out about it. Came in in the late morning +generalized report-digest; very inconspicuous item, no special urgency +symbol or anything. Fortunately, one of the report editors spotted it +and messaged Police Terminal for a copy of the original report." + +"It's been a long time since we had anything like that," Vall said, +studying the glowing tip of his cigarette, his face wearing the +curiously withdrawn expression of a conscious memory recall. "Fifty +years ago; the time that gang kidnaped some girls from Second Level +Triplanetary Empire Sector and sold them into the harem of some Fourth +Level Indo-Turanian sultan." + +"Yes. That was your first independent case, Vall. That was when I +began to think you'd really make a cop. One renegade First Level +citizen and four or five ServSec Prole hoodlums, with a stolen +fifty-foot conveyer. This looks like a rather more ambitious +operation." Dalla got one of her own cigarettes out and lit it. Vall +and Tortha Karf were talking cop talk about method of operation and +possible size of the gang involved, and why the slaves had been +shipped all the way from India to the west coast of North America. + +"Always ready sale for slaves on the Esaron Sector," Vall was saying. +"And so many small independent states, and different languages, that +outtimers wouldn't be particularly conspicuous." + +"And with this barbarian invasion going on on the Kholghoor Sector, +slaves could be picked up cheaply," Tortha Karf added. + +In spite of her determination to boycott the conversation, curiosity +began to get the better of her. She had spent a year and a half on the +Kholghoor Sector, investigating alleged psychic powers of the local +priests. There'd been nothing to it--the prophecies weren't +precognition, they were shrewd inferences, and the miracles weren't +psychokinesis, they were sleight-of-hand. She found herself asking: + +"What barbarian invasion's this?" + +"Oh, Central Asian nomadic people, the Croutha," Tortha Karf told her. +"They came down through Khyber Pass about three months ago, turned +east, and hit the headwaters of the Ganges. Without punching a lot of +buttons to find out exactly, I'd say they're halfway to the delta +country by now. Leader seems to be a chieftain called Llamh Droogh the +Red. A lot of paratime trading companies are yelling for permits to +introduce firearms in the Kholghoor Sector to protect their holdings +there." + +She nodded. The Fourth Level Kholghoor Sector belonged to what was +known as Indus-Ganges-Irriwady Basic Sector-Grouping--probability of +civilization having developed late on the Indian subcontinent, with +the rest of the world, including Europe, in Stone Age savagery or +early Bronze Age barbarism. The Kharandas, the people among whom she +had once done field-research work, had developed a pre-mechanical, +animal-power, handcraft, edge-weapon culture. She could imagine the +roads jammed with fugitives from the barbarian invaders, the conveyer +hidden among the trees, the lurking slavers-- + +Watch it, Dalla! Don't let the old scoundrel play on your feelings! + + * * * * * + +"Well, what do you want me to do, Chief?" Vall was asking. + +"Well, I have to know just what this situation's likely to develop +into, and I want to know why Vulthor Tharn's been sitting on this ever +since Skordran Kirv reported it to him--" + +"I can answer the second one now," Vall replied. "Vulthor Tharn is due +to retire in a few years. He has a negatively good, undistinguished +record. He's trying to play it safe." + +Tortha Karf nodded. "That's what I thought. Look, Vall; suppose you +and Dalla transpose from here to Police Terminal, and go to Novilan +Equivalent, and give this a quick look-over and report to me, and then +rocket to Zarabar Equivalent and go on with your trip to the Dwarma +Sector. It may delay you eight or ten hours, but--" + +"Closer twenty-four," Vall said. "I'd have to transpose to this +plantation, on the Esaron Sector. How about it, Dalla? Would you want +to do that?" + +She hesitated for a moment, angry with him. He didn't want to refuse, +and he was trying to make her do it for him. + +"I know, it's a confounded imposition, Dalla," Tortha Karf told her. +"But it's important that I get a prompt and full estimate of the +situation. This may be something very serious. If it's an isolated +incident, it can be handled in a routine manner, but I'm afraid it's +not. It has all the marks of a large-scale operation, and if this is a +matter of mass kidnapings from one sector and transpositions to +another, you can see what a threat this is to the Paratime Secret." + +"Moral considerations entirely aside," Vall said. "We don't need to +discuss them; they're too obvious." + +She nodded. For over twelve millennia, the people of her race and +Vall's and Tortha Karf's had been existing as parasites on all the +innumerable other worlds of alternate probability on the lateral +dimension of time. Smart parasites never injure their hosts, and try +never to reveal their existence. + +"We could do that, couldn't we, Vall?" she asked, angry at herself now +for giving in. "And if you want to question these slaves, I speak +Kharanda, and I know how they think. And I'm a qualified and licensed +narco-hypnotic technician." + +"Well, that's splendid, Dalla!" Tortha Karf enthused. "Wait a moment; +I'll message Police Terminal to have a rocket ready for you." + +"I'll need a hypno-mech for Kharanda, myself," Vall said. "Dalla, do +you know Acalan?" When she shook her head, he turned back to Tortha +Karf. "Look; it's about a four-hour rocket hop to Novilan Equivalent. +Say we have the hypno-mech machines installed in the rocket; Dalla and +I can take our language lessons on the way, and be ready to go to work +as soon as we land." + +"Good idea," Tortha Karf approved. "I'll order that done, right away. +Now--" + +Oddly enough, she wasn't feeling so angry, now that she had committed +herself and Vall. Come to think of it, she had never been on Police +Terminal Time Line; very few people, outside the Paratime Police, ever +had. And, she had always wanted to learn more about Vall's work, and +participate in it with him. And if she'd made him refuse, it would +have been something ugly between them all the time they would be on +the Dwarma Sector. But this way-- + + * * * * * + +The big circular conveyer room was crowded, as it had been every +minute of every day for the past ten thousand years. At the great +circular desk in the center, departing or returning police officers +were checking in or out with the flat-topped cylindrical robot +clerks, or talking to human attendants. Some were in the regulation +green uniform; others, like himself, were in civilian clothes; more +were in outtime costumes from all over paratime. Fringed robes and +cloth-of-gold sashes and conical caps from the Second Level Khiftan +Sector; Fourth Level Proto-Aryan mail and helmets; the short tunics +and kilts of Fourth Level Alexandrian-Roman Sector; the Zarkantha +loincloth and felt cap and daggers; there were priestly vestments +stiff with gold, and military uniforms; there were trousers and +jackboots and bare legs; blasters, and swords, and pistols, and bows +and quivers, and spears. And the place was loud with a babel of voices +and the clatter of teleprinters. + +[Illustration:] + +Dalla was looking about her in surprised delight; for her, the +vacation had already begun. He was glad; for a while, he had been +afraid that she would be unhappy about it. He guided her through the +crowd to the desk, spoke for a while to one of the human attendants, +and found out which was their conveyer. It was a fixed-destination +shuttler, operative only between Home Time Line and Police Terminal, +from which most of the Paratime Police operations were routed. He put +Dall in through the sliding door, followed, and closed it behind him, +locking it. Then, before he closed the starting switch, he drew a +pistollike weapon and checked it. + +In theory, the Ghaldron-Hesthor paratemporal transposition field was +uninfluenced by material objects outside it. In practice, however, +such objects occasionally intruded, and sometimes they were alive and +hostile. The last time he had been in this conveyer room, he had seen +a quartet of returning officers emerge from a conveyer dome dragging +a dead lion by the tail. The sigma-ray needler, which he carried, was +the only weapon which could be used, under the circumstances. It had +no effect whatever on any material structure and could be used inside +an activated conveyer without deranging the conductor-mesh, as, say, a +bullet or the vibration of an ultrasonic paralyzer would do, and it +was instantly fatal to anything having a central nervous system. It +was a good weapon to use outtime for that reason, also; even on the +most civilized time-line, the most elaborate autopsy would reveal no +specific cause of death. + +"What's the Esaron Sector like?" Dalla asked, as the conveyer dome +around them coruscated with shifting light and vanished. + +"Third Level; probability of abortive attempt to colonize this planet +from Mars about a hundred thousand years ago," he said. "A few +survivors--a shipload or so--were left to shift for themselves while +the parent civilization on Mars died out. They lost all vestiges of +their original Martian culture, even memory of their extraterrestrial +origin. About fifteen hundred to two thousand years ago, a reasonably +high electrochemical civilization developed and they began working +with nuclear energy and developed reaction-drive spaceships. But +they'd concentrated so on the inorganic sciences, and so far neglected +the bio-sciences, that when they launched their first ship for Venus +they hadn't yet developed a germ theory of disease." + +"What happened when they ran into the green-vomit fever?" Dalla asked. + +"About what you could expect. The first--and only--ship to return +brought it back to Terra. Of course, nobody knew what it was, and +before the epidemic ended, it had almost depopulated this planet. +Since the survivors knew nothing about germs, they blamed it on the +anger of the gods--the old story of recourse to supernaturalism in the +absence of a known explanation--and a fanatically anti-scientific cult +got control. Of course, space travel was taboo; so was nuclear and +even electric power. For some reason, steam power and gunpowder +weren't offensive to the gods. They went back to a low-order +steam-power, black-powder, culture, and haven't gotten beyond that to +this day. The relatively civilized regions are on the east coast of +Asia and the west coast of North America; civilized race more or less +Caucasian. Political organization just barely above the tribal +level--thousands of petty kingdoms and republics and principalities +and feudal holdings and robbers' roosts. The principal industries are +brigandage, piracy, slave-raiding, cattle-rustling and intercommunal +warfare. They have a few ramshackle steam railways, and some +steamboats on the rivers. We sell them coal and manufactured goods, +mostly in exchange for foodstuffs and tobacco. Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs has the sector franchise. That's one of the companies +Thalvan Dras gets his money from." + +They had run down through the civilized Second and Third Levels and +were leaving the Fourth behind and entering the Fifth, existing in the +probability of a world without human population. Once in a while, +around them, they caught brief flashes of buildings and rocketports +and spaceports and landing stages, as the conveyer took them through +narrow paratime belts on which their own civilization had established +outposts--Fifth Level Commercial, Fifth Level Passenger, Industrial +Sector, Service Sector. + +Finally the conveyer dome around them shimmered into visibility and +materialized; when they emerged, there were policemen in green +uniforms who entered to search the dome with drawn needlers to make +sure they had picked up nothing dangerous on the way. The room outside +was similar to the one they had left on Home Time Line, even to the +shifting, noisy crowd in incongruously-mixed costumes. + + * * * * * + +The rocketport was a ten minutes' trip by aircar from the conveyer +head; when they boarded the stubby-winged strato-rocket, Vall saw that +two of the passenger-seats had square metal cabinets bolted in place +behind them and blue plastic helmets on swinging arms mounted above +them. + +"Everything's set up," the pilot told them. "Dr. Hadron, you sit on +the left; that cabinet's loaded with language tape for Acalan. Yours +is loaded with a tape of Kharanda; that's the Fourth Level Kholghoor +language you wanted, Chief's Assistant. Shall I help you get fixed in +your seats?" + +"Yes, if you please. Here, Dalla, I'll fix that for you." + +Dalla was already asleep when the pilot was adjusting his helmet and +giving him his injection. He never felt the rocket tilt into firing +position, and while he slept, the Kharands language, with all its +vocabulary and grammar, became part of his subconscious knowledge, +needing only the mental pronunciation of a trigger-symbol to bring it +into consciousness. The pilot was already unfastening and raising his +helmet when he opened his eyes. Dalla, beside him, was sipping a cup +of spiced wine. + +On the landing stage of the Sector-Regional Headquarters at Novilan +Equivalent, four or five people were waiting for them. Vall recognized +the subchief, Vulthor Tharn, who introduced another man, in riding +boots and a white cloak, as Skordran Kirv. Vall clasped hands with him +warmly. + +"Good work, Agent Skordran. You got onto this promptly." + +"I tried to, sir. Do you want the dope now? We have half an hour's +flight to our spatial equivalent, and another half hour in +transposition." + +"Give it to me on the way," he said, and turned to Vulthor Tharn. +"Our Esaron costumes ready?" + +"Yes. Over there in the control tower. We have a temporary conveyer +head set up about two hundred miles south of here, which will take you +straight through to the plantation." + +"Suppose you change now, Dalla," he said. "Subchief, I'd like a word +with you privately." + +He and Vulthor Tharn excused themselves and walked over to the edge of +the landing stage. The SecReg Subchief was outwardly composed, but +Vall sensed that he was worried and embarrassed. + +"Now, what's been done since you got Agent Skordran's report?" Vall +asked. + +"Well, sir, it seems that this is more serious than we had +anticipated. Field Agent Skordran, who will give you the particulars, +says that there is every indication that a large and well-organized +gang of paratemporal criminals, our own people, are at work. He says +that he's found evidence of activities on Fourth Level Kholghoor that +don't agree with any information we have about conditions on that +sector." + +"Beside transmitting Agent Skordran's report to Dhergabar through the +robot report-system, what have you done about it?" + +"I confirmed Agent Skordran in charge of the local investigation, and +gave him two detectives and a psychist, sir. As soon as we could +furnish hypno-mech indoctrination in Kharanda to other psychists, I +sent them along. He now has four of them, and eight detectives. By +that time, we had a conveyer head right at this Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs plantation." + +"Why didn't you just borrow psychists from SecReg for Kholghoor, +Eastern India?" Vall asked. "Subchief Ranthar would have loaned you a +few." + +"Oh, I couldn't call on another SecReg for men without higher-echelon +authorization. Especially not from another Sector Organization, even +another Level Authority," Vulthor Tharn said. "Beside, it would have +taken longer to bring them here than hypno-mech our own personnel." + +He was right about the second point. Vall agreed mentally; however, +his real reason was procedural. + +"Did you alert Ranthar Jard to what was going on in his SecReg?" he +asked. + +"Gracious, no!" Vulthor Tharn was scandalized. "I have no authority to +tell people of equal echelon in other Sector and Level organizations +what to do. I put my report through regular channels; it wasn't my +place to go outside my own jurisdiction." + +And his report had crawled through channels for fourteen hours, Vall +thought. + +"Well, on my authority, and in the name of Chief Tortha, you message +Ranthar Jard at once; send him every scrap of information you have on +the subject, and forward additional information as it comes in to +you. I doubt he'll find anything on any time-line that's being +exploited by any legitimate paratimers. This gang probably work +exclusively on unpenetrated time-lines; this business Skordran Kirv +came across was a bad blunder on some underling's part." He saw Dalla +emerge from the control tower in breeches and boots and a white cloak, +buckling on a heavy revolver. "I'll go change, now; you get busy +calling Ranthar Jard. I'll see you when I get back." + + * * * * * + +"Are you taking over, Chief's Assistant?" Skordran Kirv asked, as the +aircar lifted from the landing stage. + +"Not at all. My wife and I are starting on our vacation, as soon as I +find out what's been happening here, and report to Chief Tortha. Did +your native troopers catch those slavers?" + +"Yes, they got them yesterday afternoon; we've had them ever since. Do +you want the whole thing just as it happened, Assistant Verkan, or +just a condensation?" + +"Give me what you think it indicates, remembering that you're probably +trying to analyze a large situation from a very small sample." + +"It's big, all right," Skordran Kirv said. "This gang can't number +less than a hundred men, maybe several hundred. They must have at +least two two-hundred-foot conveyers and several small ones, and bases +on what sounds like some Fifth Level Time line, and at least one air +freighter of around five thousand tons. They are operating on a number +of Kholghoor and Esaron time lines." + +Verkan Vall nodded. "I didn't think it was any petty larceny," he +said. + +"Wait till you hear the rest of it. On the Kholghoor Sector, this gang +is known as the Wizard Traders; we've been using that as a convenience +label. They pose as sorcerers--black robes and hood-masks covered with +luminous symbols, voice-amplifiers, cold-light auras, energy-weapons, +mechanical magic tricks, that sort of thing. They have all the Croutha +scared witless. Their procedure is to establish camps in the forest +near recently conquered Kharanda cities; then they appear to the +Croutha, impress them with their magical powers, and trade +manufactured goods for Kharanda captives. They mainly trade firearms, +apparently some kind of flintlocks, and powder." + +Then they were confining their operations to unpenetrated time lines; +there had been no reports of firearms in the hands of the Croutha +invaders. + +"After they buy a batch of slaves," Skordran Kirv continued, "they +transpose them to this presumably Fifth Level base, where they have +concentration camps. The slaves we questioned had been airlifted to +North America, where there's another concentration camp, and from +there transposed to this Esaron Sector time line where I found them. +They say that there were at least two to three thousand slaves in +this North American concentration camp and that they are being +transposed out in small batches and replaced by others airlifted in +from India. This lot was sold to a Calera named Nebu-hin-Abenoz, the +chieftain of a hill town, Careba, about fifty miles south-west of the +plantation. There were two hundred and fifty in this batch; this +Coru-hin-Irigod only bought the batch he sold at the plantation." + + * * * * * + +The aircar lost speed and altitude; below, the countryside was dotted +with conveyer heads, each spatially coexistent with some outtime +police post or operation. There were a great many of them; the western +coast of North America was a center of civilization on many +paratemporal sectors, and while the conveyer heads of the commercial +and passenger companies were scattered over hundreds of Fifth Level +time lines, those of the Paratime Police were concentrated upon one. +The anti-grav-car circled around a three-hundred-foot steel tower that +supported a conveyer head spatially coexistent with one on a top floor +of some outtime tall building, and let down in front of a low +prefabricated steel shed. A man in police uniform came out to meet +them. There was a fifty-foot conveyer dome inside, and a fifty-foot +red-lined circle that marked the transposition point of an outtime +conveyer. They all entered the dome, and the operator put on the +transposition field. + +"You haven't heard the worst of it yet." Skordran Kirv was saying. "On +this time line, we have reason to think that the native, +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, who bought the slaves, actually saw the slavers' +conveyer. Maybe even saw it activated." + +"If he did, we'll either have to capture him and give him a +memory-obliteration, or kill him," Vall said. "What do you know about +him?" + +"Well, this Careba, the town he bosses, is a little walled town up in +the hills. Everybody there is related to everybody else; this man we +have, Coru-hin-Irigod, is the son of a sister of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's +wife. They're all bandits and slavers and cattle rustlers and what +have you. For the last ten years, Nebu-hin-Abenoz has been buying +slaves from some secret source. Before the Kholghoor Sector people +began coming in, they were mostly white, with a few brown people who +might have been Polynesians. No Negroes--there's no black race on this +sector, and I suppose the paratime slavers didn't want too many +questions asked. Coru-hin-Irigod, under narco-hypnosis, said that they +were all outlanders, speaking strange languages." + +"Ten years! And this is the first hint we've had of it," Vall said. +"That's not a bright mark for any of us. I'll bet the slave population +on some of these Esaron time lines is an anthropologist's nightmare." + +"Why, if this has been going on for ten years, there must have been +millions upon millions of people dragged from their own time lines +into slavery!" Dalla said in a shocked voice. + +"Ten years may not be all of it," Vall said. "This Nebu-hin-Abenoz +looks like the only tangible lead we have, at present. How does he +operate?" + +"About once every ten days, he'll take ten or fifteen men and go a +day's ride--that may be as much as fifty miles; these Caleras have +good horses and they're hard riders--into the hills. He'll take a big +bag of money, all gold. After dark, when he has made camp, a couple of +strangers in Calera dress will come in. He'll go off with them, and +after about an hour, he'll come back with eight or ten of these +strangers and a couple of hundred slaves, always chained in batches of +ten. Nebu-hin-Abenoz pays for them, makes arrangements for the next +meeting, and the next morning he and his party start marching the +slaves to Careba. I might add that, until now, these slaves have been +sold to the mines east of Careba; these are the first that have gotten +into the coastal country." + +"That's why this hasn't come to light before, then. The conveyer comes +in every ten days, at about the same place?" + +"Yes. I've been thinking of a way we might trap them," Skordran Kirv +said. "I'll need more men, and equipment." + +"Order them from Regional or General Reserve." Vall told him. "This +thing's going to have overtop priority till it's cleared up." + +He was mentally cursing Vulthor Tharn's procedure-bound timidity as +the conveyer flickered and solidified around them and the overhead red +light turned green. + + * * * * * + +They emerged into the interior of a long shed, adobe-walled and +thatch-roofed, with small barred windows set high above the earth +floor. It was cool and shadowy, and the air was heavy with the +fragrance of citrus fruits. There were bins along the walls, some +partly full of oranges, and piles of wicker baskets. Another conveyer +dome stood beside the one in which they had arrived; two men in white +cloaks and riding boots sat on the edge of one of the bins, smoking +and talking. + +Skordran Kirv introduced them--Gathon Dard and Krador Arv, special +detectives--and asked if anything new had come up. Krador Arv shook +his head. + +"We still have about forty to go," he said. "Nothing new in their +stories; still the same two time lines." + +[Illustration:] + +"These people," Skordran Kirv explained, "were all peons on the estate +of a Kharanda noble just above the big bend of the Ganges. The Croutha +hit their master's estate about a ten-days ago, elapsed time. In +telling about their capture, most of them say that their master's wife +killed herself with a dagger after the Croutha killed her husband, +but about one out of ten say that she was kidnaped by the Croutha. Two +different time lines, of course. The ones who tell the suicide story +saw no firearms among the Croutha; the ones who tell the kidnap story +say that they all had some kind of muskets and pistols. We're making +synthetic summaries of the two stories." + +"We're having trouble with the locals about all these strangers coming +in," Gathon Dard added. "They're getting curious." + +"We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said. "Are the +interrogations still going on? Then let's have a look-in at them." + +The big double doors at the end of the shed were barred on the inside. +Krador Arv unlocked a small side door, letting Vall, Dalla and Gathon +Dard out. In the yard outside, a gang of slaves were unloading a big +wagon of oranges and packing them into hampers; they were guarded by a +couple of native riflemen who seemed mostly concerned with keeping +them away from the shed, and a man in a white cloak was watching the +guards for the same purpose. He walked over and introduced himself to +Vall. + +"Golzan Doth, local alias Dosu Golan. I'm Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs' manager here." + +"Nasty business for you people," Vall sympathized. "If it's any +consolation, it's a bigger headache for us." + +"Have you any idea what's going to be done about these slaves?" +Golzan Doth asked. "I have to remember that the Company has forty +thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units invested in them. The top office +was very specific in requesting information about that." + +Vall shook his head. "That's over my echelon," he said. "Have to be +decided by the Paratime Commission. I doubt if your company'll suffer. +You bought them innocently, in conformity with local custom. Ever buy +slaves from this Coru-hin-Irigod before?" + +"I'm new, here. The man I'm replacing broke his neck when his horse +put a foot in a gopher hole about two ten-days ago." + +Beside him, Vall could see Dalla nod as though making a mental note. +When she got back to Home Time Line, she'd put a crew of mediums to +work trying to contact the discarnate former plantation manager; at +Rhogom Institute, she had been working on the problem of return of a +discarnate personality from outtime. + +"A few times," Skordran Kirv said. "Nothing suspicious; all local +stuff. We questioned Coru-hin-Irigod pretty closely on that point, and +he says that this is the first time he ever brought a batch of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's outlanders this far west." + + * * * * * + +The interrogations were being conducted inside the plantation house, +in the secret central rooms where the paratimers lived. Skordran Kirv +used a door-activator to slide open a hidden door. + +"I suppose I don't have to warn either of you that any positive +statement made in the hearing of a narco-hypnotized subject--" he +began. + +"... Has the effect of hypnotic suggestion--" Vall picked up after +him. + +"... And should be avoided unless such suggestion is intended," Dalla +finished. + +Skordran Kirv laughed, opening another, inner door, and stood aside. +In what had been the paratimers' recreation room, most of the +furniture had been shoved into the corners. Four small tables had been +set up, widely spaced and with screens between; across each of them, +with an electric recorder between, an almost naked Kharanda slave +faced a Paratime Police psychist. At a long table at the far side of +the room, four men and two girls were working over stacks of cards and +two big charts. + +"Phrakor Vuln," the man who was working on the charts introduced +himself. "Synthesist." He introduced the others. + +Vall made a point of the fact that Dalla was his wife, in case any of +the cops began to get ideas, and mentioned that she spoke Kharanda, +had spent some time on the Fourth Level Kholghoor, and was a qualified +psychist. + +"What have you got, so far?" he asked. + +"Two different time lines, and two different gangs of Wizard +Traders," Phrakor Vuln said. "We've established the latter from +physical descriptions and because both batches were sold by the +Croutha at equivalent periods of elapsed time." + +Vall picked up one of the kidnap-story cards and glanced at it. + +"I notice there's a fair verbal description of these firearms, and +mention of electric whips," he said. "I'm curious about where they +came from." + +"Well, this is how we reconstructed them, Chief's Assistant," one of +the girls said, handing him a couple of sheets of white drawing paper. + +The sketches had been done with soft pencil; they bore repeated +erasures and corrections. That of the whip showed a cylindrical +handle, indicated as twelve inches in length and one in diameter, +fitted with a thumb-switch. + +"That's definitely Second Level Khiftan," Vall said, handing it back. +"Made of braided copper or silver wire and powered with a little +nuclear-conversion battery in the grip. They heat up to about two +hundred centigrade; produce really painful burns." + +"Why, that's beastly!" Dalla exclaimed. + +"Anything on the Khiftan Sector is." Skordran Kirv looked at the four +slaves at the tables. "We don't have a really bad case here, now. A +few of these people were lash-burned horribly, though." + +Vall was looking at the other sketches. One was a musket, with a wide +butt and a band-fastened stock; the lock-mechanism, vaguely flintlock, +had been dotted in tentatively. The other was a long pistol, similarly +definite in outline and vague in mechanical detail; it was merely a +knob-butted miniature of the musket. + +"I've seen firearms like these; have a lot of them in my collection," +he said, handing back the sketches. "Low-order mechanical or +high-order pre-mechanical cultures. Fact is, things like those could +have been made on the Kholghoor Sector, if the Kharandas had learned +to combine sulfur, carbon and nitrates to make powder." + +The interrogator at one of the tables had evidently heard all his +subject could tell him. He rose, motioning the slave to stand. + +"Now, go with that man," he said in Kharanda, motioning to one of the +detectives in native guard uniform. "You will trust him; he is your +friend and will not harm you. When you have left this room, you will +forget everything that has happened here, except that you were kindly +treated and that you were given wine to drink and your hurts were +anointed. You will tell the others that we are their friends and that +they have nothing to fear from us. And you will not try to remove the +mark from the back of your left hand." + +As the detective led the slave out a door at the other side of the +room, the psychist came over to the long table, handing over a card +and lighting a cigarette. + +"Suicide story," he said to one of the girls, who took the card. + +"Anything new?" + +"Some minor details about the sale to the Caleras on this time line. I +think we've about scraped bottom." + +"You can't say that," Phrakor Vuln objected. "The very last one may +give us something nobody else had noticed." + +Another subject was sent out. The interrogator came over to the table. + +"One of the kidnap-story crowd," he said. "This one was right beside +that Croutha who took the shot at the wild pig or whatever it was on +the way to the Wizard Traders' camp. Best description of the guns +we've gotten so far. No question that they're flintlocks." He saw +Verkan Vall. "Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. What do you make of them? +You're an authority on outtime weapons, I understand." + +"I'd have to see them. These people simply don't think mechanically +enough to give a good description. A lot of peoples make flintlock +firearms." + +He started running over, in his mind, the paratemporal areas in which +gunpowder but not the percussion-cap was known. Expanding cultures, +which had progressed as far as the former but not the latter. Static +cultures, in which an accidental discovery of gunpowder had never been +followed up by further research. Post-debacle cultures, in which a few +stray bits of ancient knowledge had survived. + +Another interrogator came over, and then the fourth. For a while they +sat and talked and drank coffee, and then the next quartet of slaves, +two men and two women, were brought in. One of the women had been +badly blistered by the electric whips of the Wizard Traders; in spite +of reassurances, all were visibly apprehensive. + +"We will not harm you," one of the psychists told them. "Here; here is +medicine for your hurts. At first, it will sting, as good medicines +will, but soon it will take away all pain. And here is wine for you to +drink." + +A couple of detectives approached, making a great show of pouring wine +and applying ointment; under cover of the medication, they jabbed each +slave with a hypodermic needle, and then guided them to seats at the +four tables. Vall and Dalla went over and stood behind one of the +psychists, who had a small flashlight in his hand. + +"Now, rest for a while," the psychist was saying. "Rest and let the +good medicine do its work. You are tired and sleepy. Look at this +magic light, which brings comfort to the troubled. Look at the light. +Look ... at ... the ... light." + +They moved to the next table. + +"Did you have hand in the fighting?" + +"No, lord. We were peasant folk, not fighting people. We had no +weapons, nor weapon-skill. Those who fought were all killed; we held +up empty hands, and were spared to be captives of the Croutha." + +"What happened to your master, the Lord Ghromdour, and to his lady?" + +"One of the Croutha threw a hatchet and killed our master, and then +his lady drew a dagger and killed herself." + +The psychist made a red mark on the card in front of him, and circled +the number on the back of the slave's hand with red indelible crayon. +Vall and Dalla went to the third table. + +"They had the common weapons of the Croutha, lord, and they also had +the weapons of the Wizard Traders. Of these, they carried the long +weapons slung across their backs, and the short weapons thrust through +their belts." + +A blue mark on the card; a blue circle on the back of the slave's +hand. + +They listened to both versions of what had happened at the sack of the +Lord Ghromdour's estate, and the march into the captured city of +Jhirda, and the second march into the forest to the camp of the Wizard +Traders. + +"The servants of the Wizard Traders did not appear until after the +Croutha had gone away; they wore different garb. They wore short +jackets, and trousers, and short boots, and they carried small weapons +on their belts--" + +"They had whips of great cruelty that burned like fire; we were all +lashed with these whips, as you may see, lord--" + +"The Croutha had bound us two and two, with neck-yokes; these the +servants of the Wizard Traders took off from us, and they chained us +together by tens, with the chains we still wore when we came to this +place--" + +"They killed my child, my little Zhouzha!" the woman with the horribly +blistered back was wailing. "They tore her out of my arms, and one of +the servants of the Wizard Traders--may Khokhaat devour his soul +forever!--dashed out her brains. And when I struggled to save her. I +was thrown on the ground, and beaten with the fire-whips until I +fainted. Then I was dragged into the forest, along with the others who +were chained with me." She buried her head in her arms, sobbing +bitterly. + +Dalla stepped forward, taking the flashlight from the interrogator +with one hand and lifting the woman's head with the other. She flashed +the light quickly in the woman's eyes. + +"You will grieve no more for your child," she said. "Already, you are +forgetting what happened at the Wizard Traders' camp, and remembering +only that your child is safe from harm. Soon you will remember her +only as a dream of the child you hope to have, some day." She flashed +the light again, then handed it back to the psychist. "Now, tell us +what happened when you were taken into the forest; what did you see +there?" + +The psychist nodded approvingly, made a note on the card, and +listened while the woman spoke. She had stopped sobbing, now, and her +voice was clear and cheerful. + +Vall went over to the long table. + +"Those slaves were still chained with the Wizard Traders' chains when +they were delivered here. Where are the chains?" he asked Skordran +Kirv. + +"In the permanent conveyer room," Skordran Kirv said. "You can look at +them there; we didn't want to bring them in here, for fear these poor +devils would think we were going to chain them again. They're very +light, very strong; some kind of alloy steel. Files and power saws +only polish them; it takes fifteen seconds to cut a link with an +atomic torch. One long chain, and short lengths, fifteen inches long, +staggered, every three feet, with a single hinge-shackle for the +ankle. The shackles were riveted with soft wrought-iron rivets, +evidently made with some sort of a power riveting-machine. We cut them +easily with a cold chisel." + +"They ought to be sent to Dhergabar Equivalent, Police Terminal, for +study of material and workmanship. Now, you mentioned some scheme you +had for capturing this conveyer that brings in the slaves for +Nebu-hin-Abenoz. What have you in mind?" + +"We still have Coru-hin-Irigod and all his gang, under hypno. I'd +thought of giving them hypnotic conditioning, and sending them back to +Careba with orders to put out some kind of signal the next time +Nebu-hin-Abenoz starts out on a buying trip. We could have a couple of +men posted in the hills overlooking Careba, and they could send a +message-ball through to Police Terminal. Then, a party could be sent +with a mobile conveyer to ambush Nebu-hin-Abenoz on the way, and wipe +out his party. Our people could take their horses and clothing and go +on to take the conveyer by surprise." + +"I'd suggest one change. Instead of relying on visual signals by the +hypno-conditioned Coru-hin-Irigod, send a couple of our men to Careba +with midget radios." + +Skordran Kirv nodded. "Sure. We can condition Coru-hin-Irigod to +accept them as friends and vouch for them at Careba. Our boys can be +traders and slave buyers. Careba's a market town; traders are always +welcome. They can have firearms to sell--revolvers and repeating +rifles. Any Calera'll buy any firearm that's better than the one he's +carrying; they'll always buy revolvers and repeaters. We can get what +we want from Commercial Four-Oh-Seven; we can get riding and pack +horses here." + +Vall nodded. "And the post overlooking or in radio range of Careba on +this time line, and another on PolTerm. For the ambush of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's gang and the capture of the conveyer, use anything you +want to--sleep-gas, paralyzers, energy-weapons, antigrav-equipment, +anything. As far as regulations about using only equipment appropriate +to local culture-levels, forget them entirely. But take that conveyer +intact. You can locate the base time line from the settings of the +instrument panel, and that's what we want most of all." + +Dalla and the police psychist, having finished with and dismissed +their subject, came over to the long table. + +"... That poor creature," Dalla was saying. "What sort of fiends are +they?" + +"If that made you sick, remember we've been listening to things like +that for the last eight hours. Some of the stories were even worse +than that one." + +"Well, I'd like to use a heat-gun on the whole lot of them, turned +down to where it'd just fry them medium-rare," Dalla said. "And for +whoever's back of this, take him to Second Level Khiftan and sell him +to the priests of Fasif." + +"Too bad you're not coming back from your vacation, instead of +starting out. Chief's Assistant Verkan," Skordran Kirv said. "This is +too big for me to handle alone, and I'd sooner work under you than +anybody else Chief Tortha sends in." + +"Vall!" Dalla cried in indignation. "You're not going to just report +on this and then walk away from it, are you?" + +"But, darling," Vall replied, in what he hoped was a convincing show +of surprise. "You don't want our vacation postponed again, do you? If +I get mixed up in this, there's no telling when I can get away, and by +the time I'm free, something may come up at Rhogom Institute that you +won't want to drop--" + +"Vall, you know perfectly well that I wouldn't be happy for an instant +on the Dwarma Sector, thinking about this--" + +"All right, then; let's forget about the vacation. You want to stay on +for a while and help me with this? It'll be a lot of hard work, but +we'll be together." + +"Yes, of course. I want to do something to smash those devils. Vall, +if you'd heard some of the things they did to those poor people--" + +"Well, I'll have to go back to PolTerm, as soon as I'm reasonably well +filled in on this, and report to Tortha Karf and tell him I've taken +charge. You can stay here and help with these interrogations; I'll be +back in about ten hours. Then, we can go to Kholghoor East India +SecReg HQ to talk to Ranthar Jard. We may be able to get something +that'll help us on that end--" + +"You may be able to have your vacation before too long, Dr. Hadron," +Skordran Kirv told her. "Once we capture one of their conveyers, the +instrument panel'll tell us what time line they're working from, and +then we'll have them." + +"There's an Indo-Turanian Sector parable about a snake charmer who +thought he was picking up his snake and found that he had hold of an +elephant's tail," Vall said. "That might be a good thing to bear in +mind, till we find out just what we have picked up." + +[Illustration:] + + * * * * * + +Coming down a hallway on the hundred and seventh floor of the +Management wing of the Paratime Building, Yandar Yadd paused to +admire, in the green mirror of the glassoid wall, the jaunty angle of +his silver-feathered cap, the fit of his short jacket, and the way his +weapon hung at his side. This last was not instantly recognizable as a +weapon; it looked more like a portable radio, which indeed it was. It +was, none the less, a potent weapon. One flick of his finger could +connect that radio with one at Tri-Planet News Service, and within the +hour anything he said into it would be heard by all Terra, Mars and +Venus. In consequence, there existed around the Paratime Building a +marked and understandable reluctance to antagonize Yandar Yadd. + +He glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes short of 1000, when he +had an appointment with Baltan Vrath, the comptroller general. +Glancing about, he saw that he was directly in front of the doorway of +the Outtime Claims Bureau, and he strolled in, walking through the +waiting room and into the claims-presentation office. At once, he +stiffened like a bird dog at point. + +Sphabron Larv, one of his young legmen, was in altercation across the +counter-desk with Varkar Klav, the Deputy Claims Agent on duty at the +time. Varkar was trying to be icily dignified; Sphabron Larv's black +hair was in disarray and his face was suffused with anger. He was +pounding with his fist on the plastic counter-top. + +"You have to!" he was yelling in the older man's face. "That's a +public document, and I have a right to see it. You want me to go into +Tribunes' Court and get an order? If I do, there'll be a Question in +Council about why I had to, before the day's out!" + +"What's the matter, Larv?" Yandar Yadd asked lazily. "He trying to +hold something out on you?" + +Sphabron Larv turned; his eyes lit happily when he saw his boss, and +then his anger returned. + +"I want to see a copy of an indemnity claim that was filed this +morning," he said. "Varkar, here, won't show it to me. What does he +think this is, a Fourth Level dictatorship?" + +"What kind of a claim, now?" Yandar Yadd addressed Larv, ignoring +Varkar Klav. + +"Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs--one of the Thalvan Interests +companies--just claimed forty thousand P.E.U. for a hundred slaves +bought by one of their plantation managers on Third Level Esaron from +a local slave dealer. The Paratime Police impounded the slaves for +narco-hypnotic interrogation, and then transposed the lot of them to +Police Terminal." + +Yandar Yadd still held his affectation of sleepy indolence. + +"Now why would the Paracops do that, I wonder? Slavery's an +established local practice on Esaron Sector; our people have to buy +slaves if they want to run a plantation." + +"I know that." Sphabron Larv replied. "That's what I want to find out. +There must be something wrong, either with the slaves, or the +treatment our people were giving them, or the Paratime Police, and I +want to find out which." + +"To tell the truth, Larv, so do I." Yandar Yadd said. He turned to the +man behind the counter. "Varkar, do we see that claim, or do I make a +story out of your refusal to show it?" he asked. + +"The Paratime Police asked me to keep this confidential," Varkar Klav +said. "Publicity would seriously hamper an important police +investigation." + +Yandar Yadd made an impolite noise. "How do I know that all it would +do would be to reveal police incompetence?" he retorted. "Look, +Varkar; you and the Paratime Police and the Paratime Commission and +the Home Time Line Management are all hired employees of the Home Time +Line public. The public has a right to know what its employees are +doing, and it's my business to see that they're informed. Now, for the +last time--will you show us a copy of that claim?" + +"Well, let me explain, off the record--" the official begged. + +"Huh-uh! Huh-uh! I had that off-the-record gag worked on me when I was +about Larv's age, fifty years ago. Anything I get, I put on the air or +not at my own discretion." + +"All right," Varkar Klav surrendered, pointing to a reading screen and +twiddling a knob. "But when you read it, I hope you have enough +discretion to keep quiet about it." + +The screen lit, and Yandar Yadd automatically pressed a button for a +photo-copy. The two newsmen stared for a moment, and then even Yandar +Yadd's shell of drowsy negligence cracked and fell from him. His hand +brushed the switch as he snatched the hand-phone from his belt. + +"Marva!" he barked, before the girl at the news office could more than +acknowledge. "Get this recorded for immediate telecast!... Ready? +Beginning: The existence of a huge paratemporal slave trade came to +light on the afternoon of One-Five-Nine Day, on a time line of the +Third Level Esaron Sector, when Field Agent Skordran Kirv, Paratime +Police, discovered, at an orange plantation of Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs--" + + * * * * * + +Salgath Trod sat alone in his private office, his half-finished lunch +growing cold on the desk in front of him as he watched the teleview +screen across the room, tuned to a pickup behind the Speaker's chair +in the Executive Council Chamber ten stories below. The two thousand +seats had been almost all empty at 1000, when Council had convened. +Fifteen minutes later, the news had broken; now, at 1430, a good three +quarters of the seats were occupied. He could see, in the aisles, the +gold-plated robot pages gliding back and forth, receiving and +delivering messages. One had just slid up to the seat of Councilman +Hasthor Flan, and Hasthor was speaking urgently into the recorder +mouthpiece. Another message for him, he supposed; he'd gotten at least +a score such calls since the crisis had developed. + +People were going to start wondering, he thought. This situation should +have been perfect for his purposes; as leader of the Opposition he could +easily make himself the next General Manager, if he exploited this +scandal properly. He listened for a while to the Centrist-Management +member who was speaking; he could rip that fellow's arguments to shreds +in a hundred words--but he didn't dare. The Management was taking +exactly the line Salgath Trod wanted the whole Council to take: treat +this affair as an isolated and extraordinary occurrence, find a couple +of convenient scapegoats, cobble up some explanation acceptable to the +public, and forget it. He wondered what had happened to the imbecile who +had transposed those Kholghoor Sector slaves onto an exploited time +line. Ought to be shanghaied to the Khiftan Sector and sold to the +priests of Fasif! + +A buzzer sounded, and for an instant he thought it would be the +message he had seen Hasthor Fan recording. Then he realized that it +was the buzzer for the private door, which could only be operated by +someone with a special identity sign. He pressed a button and unlocked +the door. + +The young man in the loose wrap-around tunic who entered was a +stranger. At least, his face and his voice were strange, but voices +could be mechanically altered, and a skilled cosmetician could render +any face unrecognizable. He looked like a student, or a minor +commercial executive, or an engineer, or something like that. Of +course, his tunic bulged slightly under the left armpit, but even the +most respectable tunics showed occasional weapon-bulges. + +"Good afternoon, councilman," the newcomer said, sitting down across +the desk from Salgath Trod. "I was just talking to ... somebody we +both know." + +Salgath Trod offered cigarettes, lighted his visitor's and then his +own. + +"What does Our Mutual Friend think about all this?" he asked, +gesturing toward the screen. + +"Our Mutual Friend isn't at all happy about it." + +"You think, perhaps, that I'm bursting into wild huzzas?" Salgath Trod +asked. "If I were to act as everybody expects me to, I'd be down there +on the floor, now, clawing into the Management tooth and nail. All my +adherents are wondering why I'm not. So are all my opponents, and +before long one of them is going to guess the reason." + +"Well, why not go down?" the stranger asked. "Our Mutual Friend thinks +it would be an excellent idea. The leak couldn't be stopped, and it's +gone so far already that the Management will never be able to play it +down. So the next best thing is to try to exploit it." + +Salgath Trod smiled mirthlessly. "So I am to get in front of it, and +lead it in the right direction? Fine ... as long as I don't stumble +over something. If I do, it'll go over me like a Fifth Level +bison-herd." + +"Don't worry about that," the stranger laughed reassuringly. "There +are others on the floor who are also friends of Our Mutual Friend. +Here: what you'd better do is attack the Paratime Police, especially +Tortha Karf and Verkan Vall. Accuse them of negligence and +incompetence, and, by implication, of collusion, and demand a special +committee to investigate. And try to get a motion for a confidence +vote passed. A motion to censure the Management, say--" + +Salgath Trod nodded. "It would delay things, at least. And if Our +Mutual Friend can keep properly covered, I might be able to overturn +the Management." He looked at the screen again. "That old fool of a +Nanthav is just getting started; it'll be an hour before I could get +recognized. Plenty of time to get a speech together. Something short +and vicious--" + +"You'll have to be careful. It won't do, with your political record, +to try to play down these stories of a gigantic criminal conspiracy. +That's too close to the Management line. And at the same time, you +want to avoid saying anything that would get Verkan Vall and Tortha +Karf started off on any new lines of investigation." + +Salgath Trod nodded. "Just depend on me; I'll handle it." + +After the stranger had gone, he shut off the sound reception, relying +on visual dumb-show to keep him informed of what was going on on the +Council floor. He didn't like the situation. It was too easy to say +the wrong thing. If only he knew more about the shadowy figures whose +messengers used his private door-- + + * * * * * + +Coru-hin-Irigod held his aching head in both hands, as though he were +afraid it would fall apart, and blinked in the sunlight from the +window. Lord Safar, how much of that sweet brandy had he drunk, last +night? He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to think. +Then, suddenly apprehensive, he thrust his hand under his pillow. The +heavy four-barreled pistols were there, all right, but--_The money!_ + +He rummaged frantically among the bedding, and among his clothes, +piled on the floor, but the leather bag was nowhere to be found. Two +thousand gold _obus_, the price of a hundred slaves. He snatched up +one of the pistols, his headache forgotten. Then he laughed and tossed +the pistol down again. Of course! He'd given the bag to the plantation +manager, what was his outlandish name, Dosu Golan, to keep for him +before the drinking bout had begun. It was safely waiting for him in +the plantation strong box. Well, nothing like a good scare to make a +man forget a brandy head, anyhow. And there was something else, +something very nice-- + +Oh, yes, there it was, beside the bed. He picked up the beautiful +gleaming repeater, pulled down the lever far enough to draw the +cartridge halfway out of the chamber, and closed it again, lowering +the hammer. Those two Jeseru traders from the North, what were their +names? Ganadara and Atarazola. That was a stroke of luck, meeting them +here. They'd given him this lovely rifle, and they were going to +accompany him and his men back to Careba; they had a hundred such +rifles, and two hundred six-shot revolvers, and they wanted to trade +for slaves. The Lord Safar bless them both, wouldn't they be welcome +at Careba! + +He looked at the sunlight falling through the window on the still +recumbent form of his companion, Faru-hin-Obaran. Outside, he could +hear the sounds of the plantation coming to life--an ax thudding on +wood, the clatter of pans from the kitchens. Crossing to +Faru-hin-Obaran's bed, he grasped the sleeper by the ankle, tugging. + +"Waken, Faru!" he shouted. "Get up and clear the fumes from your head! +We start back to Careba today!" + +Faru swore groggily and pushed himself into a sitting position, +fumbling on the floor for his trousers. + +"What day's this?" he asked. + +"The day after we went to bed, ninny!" Then Coru-hin-Irigod wrinkled +his brow. He could remember, clearly enough, the sale of the slaves, +but after that--Oh, well, he'd been drinking; it would all come back +to him, after a while. + + * * * * * + +Verkan Vall rubbed his hand over his face wearily, started to light +another cigarette, and threw it across the room in disgust. What he +needed was a drink--a long drink of cool, tart white wine, laced with +brandy--and then he needed to sleep. + +"We're absolutely nowhere!" Ranthar Jard said. "Of course they're +operating on time lines we've never penetrated. The fact that they're +supplying the Croutha with guns proves that; there isn't a firearm on +any of the time lines our people are legitimately exploiting. And +there are only about three billion time lines on this belt of the +Croutha invasion--" + +"If we could think of a way to reduce it to some specific area of +paratime--" one of Ranthar Jard's deputies began. + +"That's precisely what we've been trying to do, Klav," Vall said. "We +haven't done it." + +Dalla, who had withdrawn from the discussion and was on a couch at the +side of the room, surrounded by reports and abstracts and summaries, +looked up. + +"I took hours and hours of hypno-mech on Kholghoor Sector religions, +before I went out on that wild-goose chase for psychokinesis and +precognition data," she said. "About six or eight hundred years ago, +there were religious wars and heresies and religious schisms all over +the Kharanda country. No matter how uniform the Kholghoor Sector may +be otherwise, there are dozens and dozens of small belts and +sub-sectors of different religions or sects or god-cults." + +"That's right," Ranthar Jard agreed, brightening. "We have +hagiologists who know all that stuff; we'll have a couple of them +interrogate those slaves. I don't know how much they can get out of +them--lot of peasants, won't be up on the theological niceties--but a +synthesis of what we get from the lot of them--" + +"That's an idea," Vall agreed. "About the first idea we've had, +here--Oh, how about politics, too? Check on who's the king, what the +stories about the royal family are, that sort of thing." + +Ranthar Jard looked at the map on the wall. "The Croutha have only +gotten halfway to Nharkan, here. Say we transpose detectives in at +night on some of these time lines we think are promising, and check +up at the tax-collection offices on a big landowner north of Jhirda +named Ghromdour? That might get us something." + +"Well, I don't want you to think we're trying to get out of work, +Chief's Assistant," one of the deputies said, "but is there any real +necessity for our trying to locate the Wizard Trader time lines? If +you can get them from the Esaron Sector, it'll be the same, won't it?" + +"Marv, in this business you never depend on just one lead," Ranthar +Jard told him. "And beside, when Skordran Kirv's gang hits the base of +operations in North America, there's no guarantee that they may not +have time to send off a radio warning to the crowd at the base here in +India. We have to hit both places at once." + +"Well, that, too," Vall said. "But the main thing is to get these +Wizard Trader camps on the Kholghoor Sector cleaned out. How are you +fixed for men and equipment, for a big raid, Jard?" + +Ranthar Jard shrugged. "I can get about five hundred men with +conveyers, including a couple of two-hundred-footers to carry +airboats," he said. + +"Not enough. Skordran Kirv has one complete armored brigade, one +airborne infantry brigade, and an air cavalry regiment, with +Ghaldron-Hesthor equipment for a simultaneous transposition," Vall +said. + +"Where in blazes did he get them all?" Ranthar Jard demanded. + +"They're guard troops, from Service Sector and Industrial Sector. +We'll get you the same sort of a force. I only hope we don't have +another Prole insurrection while they're away--" + +"Well, don't think I'm trying to argue policy with you," Ranthar Jard +said, "but that could raise a dreadful stink on Home Time Line. +Especially on top of this news-break about the slave trade." + +"We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said. "If you're worried +about what the book says, forget it. We're throwing the book away, on +this operation. Do you realize that this thing is a threat to the +whole Paratime Civilization?" + +"Of course I do," Ranthar Jard said. "I know the doctrine of Paratime +Security as well as you or anybody else. The question is, does the +public realize it?" + +A buzzer sounded. Ranthar Jard pressed a switch on the intercom-box in +front of him and said: "Ranthar here. Well?" + +"Visiphone call, top urgency, just came in for Chief's Assistant +Verkan, from Novilan Equivalent. Where can I put it through, sir?" + +"Here; booth seven." Ranthar Jard pointed across the room, nodding to +Vall. "In just a moment." + + * * * * * + +Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv--temporary local aliases, Ganadara and +Atarazola--sat relaxed in their saddles, swaying to the motion of +their horses. They wore the rust-brown hooded cloaks of the northern +Jeseru people, in sober contrast to the red and yellow and blue +striped robes and sun-bonnets of the Caleras in whose company they +rode. They carried short repeating carbines in saddle scabbards, and +heavy revolvers and long knives on their belts, and each led six +heavily-laden pack-horses. + +Coru-hin-Irigod, riding beside Ganadara, pointed up the trail ahead. + +"From up there," he said, speaking in Acalan, the lingua franca of the +North American West Coast on that sector, "we can see across the +valley to Careba. It will be an hour, as we ride, with the +pack-horses. Then we will rest, and drink wine, and feast." + +Ganadara nodded. "It was the guidance of our gods--and yours, +Coru-hin-Irigod--that we met. Such slaves as you sold at the +outlanders' plantation would bring a fine price in the North. The men +are strong, and have the look of good field-workers; the women are +comely and well-formed. Though I fear that my wife would little relish +it did I bring home such handmaidens." + +Coru-hin-Irigod laughed. "For your wife, I will give you one of our +riding whips." He leaned to the side, slashing at a cactus with his +quirt. "We in Careba have no trouble with our wives, about handmaidens +or anything else." + +"By Safar, if you doubt your welcome at Careba, wait till you show +your wares," another Calera said. "Rifles and revolvers like those +come to our country seldom, and then old and battered, sold or stolen +many times before we see them. Rifles that fire seven times without +taking butt from shoulder!" He invoked the name of the Great Lord +Safar again. + +The trail widened and leveled; they all came up abreast, with the +pack-horses strung out behind, and sat looking across the valley to +the adobe walls of the town that perched on the opposite ridge. After +a while, riders began dismounting and checking and tightening +saddle-girths; a couple of Caleras helped Ganadara and Atarazola +inspect their pack-horses. When they remounted, Atarazola bowed his +head, lifting his left sleeve to cover his mouth, and muttered into it +at some length. The Caleras looked at him curiously, and +Coru-hin-Irigod inquired of Ganadara what he did. + +"He prays," Ganadara said. "He thanks our gods that we have lived to +see your town, and asks that we be spared to bring many more trains of +rifles and ammunition up this trail." + +The slaver nodded understandingly. The Caleras were a pious people, +too, who believed in keeping on friendly terms with the gods. + +"May Safar's hand work with the hands of your gods for it," he said, +making what, to a non-Calera, would have been an extremely ribald +sign. + +"The gods watch over us," Atarazola said, lifting his head. "They are +near us even now; they have spoken words of comfort in my ear."' + +Ganadara nodded. The gods to whom his partner prayed were a couple of +paratime policemen, crouching over a radio a mile or so down the +ridge. + +"My brother," he told Coru-hin-Irigod, "is much favored by our gods. +Many people come to him to pray for them." + +"Yes. So you told me, now that I think on it." That detail had been +included in the pseudo-memories he had been given under hypnosis. "I +serve Safar, as do all Caleras, but I have heard that the Jeserus' +gods are good gods, dealing honestly with their servants." + + * * * * * + +An hour later, under the walls of the town, Coru-hin-Irigod drew one +of his pistols and fired all four barrels in rapid succession into the +air, shouting, "Open! Open for Coru-hin-Irigod, and for the Jeseru +traders, Ganadara and Atarazola, who are with him!" + +A head, black-bearded and sun-bonneted, appeared between the brick +merlons of the wall above the gate, shouted down a welcome, and then +turned away to bawl orders. The gate slid aside, and, after the +caravan had passed through, naked slaves pushed the massive thing shut +again. Although they were familiar with the interior of the town, from +photographs taken with boomerang-balls--automatic-return transposition +spheres like message-balls--they looked around curiously. The central +square was thronged--Caleras in striped robes, people from the south +and east in baggy trousers and embroidered shirts, mountaineers in +deerskins. A slave market was in progress, and some hundred-odd items +of human merchandise were assembled in little groups, guarded by their +owners and inspected by prospective buyers. They seemed to be all +natives of that geographic and paratemporal area. + +"Don't even look at those," Coru-hin-Irigod advised. "They are but +culls; the market is almost over. We'll go to the house of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, where all the considerable men gather, and you will +find those who will be able to trade slaves worthy of the goods you +have with you. Meanwhile, let my people take your horses and packs to +my house; you shall be my guests while you stay in Careba." + +It was perfectly safe to trust Coru-hin-Irigod. He was a murderer and +a brigand and a slaver, but he would never incur the scorn of men and +the curse of the gods by dealing foully with a guest. The horses and +packs were led away by his retainers; Ganadara and Atarazola pushed +their horses after his and Faru-hin-Obaran's through the crowd. + +The house of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, like every other building in Careba, was +flat-roofed, adobe-walled and window-less except for narrow +rifle-slits. The wide double-gate stood open, and five or six heavily +armed Caleras lounged just inside. They greeted Coru and Faru by name, +and the strangers by their assumed nationality. The four rode through, +into what appeared to be the stables, turning their horses over to +slaves, who took them away. There were between fifty and sixty other +horses in the place. + +[Illustration:] + +Divesting themselves of their weapons in an anteroom at the head of a +flight of steps, they passed under an arch and into a wide, shady +patio, where thirty or forty men stood about or squatted on piles of +cushions, smoking cheroots, drinking from silver cups, talking in a +continuous babel. Most of them were in Calera dress, though there were +men of other communities and nations, in other garb. As they moved +across the patio, Gathon Dard caught snatches of conversations about +deals in slaves, and horse trades, about bandit raids and blood feuds, +about women and horses and weapons. + +An old man with a white beard and an unusually clean robe came over to +intercept them. + +"Ha, lord of my daughter, you're back at last. We had begun to fear +for you," he said. + +"Nothing to fear, father of my wife," Coru-hin-Irigod replied. "We +sold the slaves for a good price, and tarried the night feasting in +good company. Such good company that we brought some of it with +us--Atarazola and Ganadara, men of the Jeseru; Cavu-hin-Avoran, whose +daughter mothered my sons." He took his father-in-law by the sleeve +and pulled him aside, motioning Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv to follow. + +"They brought weapons; they want outland slaves, of the sort I took to +sell in the Big Valley country," he whispered. "The weapons are +repeating rifles from across the ocean, and six-shot revolvers. They +also have much ammunition." + +"Oh, Safar bless you!" the white-beard cried, his eyes brightening. +"Name your own price; satisfy yourselves that we have dealt fairly +with you; go, and return often again! Come, lord of my daughter; let +us make them known to Nebu-hin-Abenoz. But not a word about the kind +of weapons you have, strangers, until we can speak privately. Say only +that you have rifles to trade." + +Gathon Dard nodded. Evidently there was some sort of power-struggle +going on in Careba; Coru-hin-Irigod and his wife's father were of the +party of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and wanted the repeaters and six-shooters +for themselves. + + * * * * * + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, swarthy, hook-nosed, with a square-cut graying beard, +lounged in a low chair across the patio; near him four or five other +Caleras sat or squatted or reclined, all smoking the rank black +tobacco of the country and drinking wine or brandy. Their conversation +ceased as Cavu-hin-Avoran and the others approached. The chief of +Careba listened to the introduction, then heaved himself to his feet +and clapped the newcomers on the shoulders. + +"Good, good!" he said. "We know you Jeseru people; you're honest +traders. You come this far into our mountains too seldom. We can trade +with you. We need weapons. As for the sort of slaves you want, we have +none too many now, but in eight days we will have plenty. If you stay +with us that long--" + +"Careba is a pleasant place to be," Ganadara said. "We can wait." + +"What sort of weapons have you?" the chief asked. + +"Pistols and rifles, lord of my father's sister," Coru-hin-Irigod +answered for them. "The packs have been taken to my house, where our +friends will stay. We can bring a few to show you, the hour after +evening prayers." + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz shot a keen glance at his brother-in-law's son and +nodded. "Or, better, I will come to your house then; thus I can see +the whole load. How will that be?" + +"Better; I will be there, too," Cavu-hin-Avoran said, then turned to +Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv. "You have been long on the road; come, +let us drink cool wine, and then we will eat," he said. "Until this +evening, Nebu-hin-Abenoz." + +He led his son-in-law and the traders to one side, where several kegs +stood on trestles with cups and flagons beside them. They filled a +flagon, took a cup apiece, and went over to a pile of cushions at one +side. + +As they did, three men came pushing through the crowd toward +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's seat. They wore a costume unfamiliar to Gathon +Dard--little round caps with red and green streamers behind, and long, +wide-sleeved white gowns--and one of them had gold rings in his ears. + +"Nebu-hin-Abenoz?" one of them said, bowing. "We are three men of the +Usasu cities. We have gold _obus_ to spend; we seek a beautiful girl, +to be first concubine to our king's son, who is now come to the estate +of manhood." + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz picked up the silver-mounted pipe he had laid aside, +and re-lighted it, frowning. + +"Men of the Usasu, you have a heavy responsibility," he said. "You +have the responsibility for the future of your kingdom, for a boy's +character is more shaped by his first concubine than by his teachers. +How old is the boy?" + +"Sixteen, Nebu-hin-Abenoz; the age of manhood among us." + +"Then you want a girl older, but not much older. She should be versed +in the arts of love, but innocent of heart. She should be wise, but +teachable; gentle and loving, but with a will of her own--" + +The three men in white gowns were fidgeting. Then, suddenly, like three +marionettes on a single string, they put their right hands to their +mouths and then plunged them into the left sleeves of their gowns, +whipping out knives and then sprang as one upon Nebu-hin-Abenoz, +slashing and stabbing. + +Gathon Dard was on his feet at once; he hurled the wine flagon at the +three murderers and leaped across the room. Antrath Alv went bounding +after him, and by this time three or four of the group around +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's chair had recovered their wits and jumped to their +feet. One of the three assailants turned and slashed with his knife, +almost disemboweling a Calera who had tried to grapple with him. +Before he could free the blade, another Calera brought a brandy bottle +down on his head. Gathon Dard sprang upon the back of a second +assassin, hooking his left elbow under the fellow's chin and grabbing +the wrist of his knife-hand with his right; the man struggled for an +instant, then went limp and fell forward. The third of the trio of +murderers was still slashing at the fallen chieftain when Antrath Alv +chopped him along the side of the neck with the edge of his hand; he +simply dropped and lay still. + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz was dead. He had been slashed and cut and stabbed in +twenty places; his throat had been cut at least three times, and he +had almost been decapitated. The wounded Calera wasn't dead yet; +however, even if he had been at the moment on the operating table of a +First Level Home Time Line hospital, it was doubtful if he could have +been saved, and under the circumstances, his life-expectancy could be +measured in seconds. Some cushions were placed under his head, and +women called to attend him, but he died before they arrived. + +The three assassins were also dead. Except for a few cuts on the scalp +of the one who had been felled with the bottle, there was not a mark +on any of them. Cavu-hin-Avoran kicked one of them in the face and +cursed. + +"We killed the skunks too quickly!" he cried. "We should have overcome +them alive, and then taken our time about dealing with them as they +deserved." He went on to specify the nature of their deserts. "Such +infamy!" + +"Well, I'll swear I didn't think a little tap like I gave that one +would kill him," the bottle-wielder excused himself. "Of course, I was +thinking only of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, Safar receive him--" + +Antrath Alv bent over the one he had hand-chopped. + +"I didn't kill this one," he said. "The way I hit him, if I had, his +neck would be broken, and it's not. See?" He twisted at the dead man's +neck. "I think they took poison before they drew their knives." + +"I saw all of them put their hands to their mouths!" a Calera +exclaimed. "And look; see how their jaws are clenched." He picked up +one of the knives and used it to pry the dead man's jaws apart, +sniffing at his lips and looking into his mouth. "Look, his teeth and +his tongue are discolored; there is a strange smell, too." + +Antrath Alv sniffed, then turned to his partner. "Halatane," he +whispered. Gathon Dard nodded. That was a First Level poison; +paratimers often carried halatane capsules on the more barbaric +time-lines, as a last insurance against torture. + +"But, Holy Name of Safar, what manner of men were these?" +Coru-hin-Irigod demanded. "There are those I would risk my life to +kill, but I would not throw it away thus." + +"They came knowing that we would kill them, and took the poison that +they might die quickly and without pain," a Calera said. + +"Or that your tortures would not wring from them the names and nation +of those who sent them," an elderly man in the dress of a rancher from +the southeast added. "If I were you, I would try to find out who these +enemies are, and the sooner the better." + +Gathon Dard was examining one of the knives--a folding knife with a +broad single-edged blade, locked open with a spring; the handle was of +tortoise shell, bolstered with brass. + +"In all my travels," he said, "I never saw a knife of this workmanship +before. Tell me, Coru-hin-Irigod, do you know from what country these +outland slaves of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's come?" + +"You think that might have something to do with it?" the Calera asked. + +"It could. I think that these people might not have been born slaves, +but people taken captive. Suppose, at some time, there had been sold +to Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and sold elsewhere by him, one who was a person of +consequence--the son of a king, or the priest of some god," Gathon +Dard suggested. + +"By Safar, yes! And now that nation, wherever it is, is at blood-feud +with us," Cavu-hin-Avoran said. "This must be thought about; it is an +ill thing to have unknown enemies." + +"Look!" a Calera who had begun to strip the three dead men cried. +"These are not of the Usasu cities, or any other people of this land. +See, they are uncircumcised!" + +"Many of the slaves whom Nebu-hin-Abenoz brought to Careba from the +hills have been uncircumcised," Coru-hin-Irigod said. "Jeseru, I think +you have your sights on the heart of it." He frowned. "Now, think you, +will those who had this done be satisfied, or will they carry on their +hatred against all of us?" + +"A hard question," Antrath Alv said. "You Caleras do not serve our +gods, but you are our friends. Suffer me to go apart and pray; I would +take counsel with the gods, that they may aid us all in this." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +[Illustration:] + + + + +Part 2 + + +It was full daylight, but the sun was hidden; a thin rain fell on the +landing around at Police Terminal Dhergabar Equivalent when Vall and +Dalla left the rocket. Across the black lavalike pavement, they could +see the bulky form of Tortha Karf, hunched under a long cloak, with +his flat cap pulled down over his brow. He shook hands with Vall and +kissed cheeks with Dalla when they joined him. + +"Car's over here," he said, nodding toward the waiting vehicle. +"Yesterday wasn't one of our better days, was it?" + +"No. It wasn't." Vall agreed. They climbed into the car, and the +driver lifted straight up to two thousand feet and turned, soaring +down to land on the Chief's Headquarters Building, a mile away. "We're +not completely stopped, sir. Ranthar Jard is working on a few ideas +that may lead him to the Kholghoor time lines where the Wizard Traders +are operating. If we can't get them through their output, we may nail +them at the intake." + +"Unless they've gotten the wind up and closed down all their +operations," Tortha Karf said. + +"I doubt if they've done that, Chief," Vall replied. "We don't know +who these people are, of course, and it's hard to judge their +reactions, but they're willing to take chances for big gains. I +believe they think they're safe, now that they've closed out the +compromised time line and killed the only witness against them." + +"Well, what's Ranthar Jard doing?" + +"Trying to locate the sub-sector and probability belt from what the +slaves can tell him about their religious beliefs, about the local +king, and the prince of Jhirda, and the noble families of the +neighborhood," Vall said. "When he has it localized as closely as he +can, he's going to start pelting the whole paratemporal area with +photographic auto-return balls dropped from aircars on Police Terminal +over the spatial equivalents of a couple of Croutha-conquered cities. +As soon as he gets a photo that shows Croutha with firearms, he'll +have a Wizard Trader time line." + +"Sounds simple," the Chief said. The car landed, and he helped Dalla +out. "I suppose both you and he know how many chances against one he +has of finding anything." They went over to an antigrav-shaft and +floated down to the floor on which Tortha Karf had a duplicate of the +office in the Paratime Building on Home Time Line. "It's the only +chance we have, though." + +"There's one thing that bothers me," Dalla said, as they entered the +office and went back behind the horseshoe-shaped desk. "I understand +that the news about this didn't break on Home Time Line till the late +morning of One-Six-One Day. Nebu-hin-Abenoz was murdered at about 1700 +local time, which would be 0100 this morning Dhergabar time. That +would give this gang fourteen hours to hear the news, transmit it to +their base, and get these three men hypno-conditioned, disguised, +transposed to this Esaron Sector time line, and into Careba." She +shook her head. "That's pretty fast work." + +Tortha Karf looked sidewise at Verkan Vall. "Your girl has the makings +of a cop, Vall," he commented. + +"She's been a big help, on Esaron and Kholghoor Sectors," Vall said. +"She wants to stay with it and help me; I'll be very glad to have her +with me." + +Tortha Karf nodded. He knew, too, that Dalla wouldn't want to have to +go back to Home Time Line and wait the long investigation out. + +"Of course; we can use all the help we can get. I think we can get a +lot from Dalla. Fix her up with some kind of a title and police +status--technical-expert, assistant, or something like that." He +clasped hands, man-fashion, with her. "Glad to have you on the cops +with us, Dalla," he said. Then he turned to Vall. "There was almost +twenty-four hours between the time I heard about this and when this +blasted Yandar Yadd got hold of the story. Of all the infernal, +irresponsible--" He almost choked with indignation. "And it was +another fourteen hours between the time Skordran sent in his report +and I heard about it." + +"Golzan Doth sent in a report to his company about the same time +Skordran Kirv made his first report to his Sector-Regional Subchief." +Vall mentioned. + +"That might be it," Tortha Karf considered. "I wish there were another +explanation, because that implies a very extensive intelligence +network, which means a big organization. But I'm afraid that's it. I +wish I could pull in everybody in Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs who +handled that report, and narco-hypnotize them. Of course, we can't do +things like that on Home Time Line, and with the political situation +what it is now--" + +"Why, what's been happening, Chief?" + +Tortha Karf swore with weary bitterness. "Salgath Trod's what's been +happening. At first, after Yandar Yadd broke the story on the air, +there was just a lot of unorganized Opposition sniping in Council; +Salgath waited till the middle of the afternoon, when the Management +members were beginning to rally, and took the floor. The Centrists and +Right Moderates were trying the appeal-to-reason approach; that did as +much good as trying to put out a Fifth Level forest fire with a +hand-extinguisher. Finally. Salgath got a motion of censure against +the Management recognized. That means a confidence vote in ten days. +Salgath has a rabble of Leftists and dissident Centrists with him; I +doubt if he can muster enough votes to overturn the Management, but +it's going to make things rough for us." + +"Which may be just the reason Salgath started this uproar," Vall +suggested. + +"That," Tortha Karf said, "is being considered; there is a discreet +inquiry being made into Salgath Trod's associates, his sources of +income, and so on. Nothing has turned up as yet, but we have hopes." + +"I believe," Vall said, "that we have a better chance right on Home +Time Line than outtime." + +Tortha Karf looked up sharply. "So?" he asked. + +Vall was stuffing tobacco into a pipe. "Yes. Chief. We have a big +criminal organization--let's call it the Slave Trust, for a +convenience-label. The people who run it aren't stupid. The fact that +they've been shipping slaves to the Esaron Sector for ten years before +we found out about it proves that. So does the speed with which they +got rid of this Nebu-hin-Abenoz, right in front of a pair of our +detectives. For that matter, so does the speed with which they moved +in to exploit this Croutha invasion of Kholghoor Sector India. + +"Well, I've studied illegal and subversive organizations all over +paratime, and among the really successful ones, there are a few +uniform principles. One is cellular organization--small groups, acting +in isolation from one another, coöperating with other cells but +ignorant of their composition. Another is the principle of no upward +contact--leaders contacting their subordinates through contact-blocks +and ignorant intermediaries. And another is a willingness to kill off +anybody who looks like a potential betrayer or forced witness. The +late Nebu-hin-Abenoz, for instance. + +"I'll be willing to bet that if we pick up some of these Wizard +Traders, say, or a gang that's selling slaves to some Nebu-hin-Abenoz +personality on some other time line, and narco-hypnotize them, all +they'll be able to do will be name a few immediate associates, and the +group leader will know that he's contacted from time to time by some +stranger with orders, and that he can make emergency contacts only +through some blind accommodation-address. The men who are running this +are right on Home Time Line, many of them in positions of prominence, +and if we can catch one of them and narco-hyp him, we can start a +chain-reaction of disclosures all through this Slave Trust." + +"How are we going to get at these top men?" Tortha Karf wanted to +know. "Advertise for them on telecast?" + +"They'll leave traces; they won't be able to avoid it. I think, right +now, that Salgath Trod is one of them. I think there are other +prominent politicians, and business people. Look for irregularities +and peculiarities in outtime currency-exchange transactions. For +instance, to sections in Esaron Sector _obus_. Or big gold bullion +transactions." + +"Yes. And if they have any really elaborate outtime bases, they'll +need equipment that can only be gotten on Home Time Line," Tortha Karf +added. "Paratemporal conveyer parts, and field-conductor mesh. You +can't just walk into a hardware store and buy that sort of thing." + +Dalla leaned forward to drop her cigarette ash into a tray. + +"Try looking into the Bureau of Psychological Hygiene," she suggested. +"That's where you'll really strike it rich." + +Vall and Tortha Karf both turned abruptly and looked at her for an +instant. + +"Go on," Tortha Karf encouraged. "This sounds interesting." + +"The people back of this," Dalla said, "are definitely classifiable as +criminals. They may never perform a criminal act themselves, but they +give orders for and profit from such acts, and they must possess the +motivation and psychology of criminals. We define people as criminals +when they suffer from psychological aberrations of an antisocial +character, usually paranoid--excessive egoism, disregard for the +rights of others, inability to recognize the social necessity for +mutual coöperation and confidence. On Home Time Line, we have +universal psychological testing, for the purpose of detecting and +eliminating such characteristics." + +"It seems to have failed in this case," Tortha Karf began, then +snapped his fingers. "Of course! How blasted silly can I get, when I'm +not trying?" + +"Yes, of course," Verkan Vall agreed. "Find out how these people +missed being spotted by psychotesting; that'll lead us to _who_ missed +being tested adequately, and also who got into the Bureau of +Psychological Hygiene who didn't belong there." + +"I think you ought to give an investigation of the whole BuPsychHyg +setup very high priority," Dalla said. "A psychotest is only as good +as the people who give it, and if we have criminals administering +these tests--" + +"We have our friends on Executive Council," Tortha Karf said. "I'll +see that that point is raised when Council re-convenes." He looked at +the clock. "That'll be in three hours, by the way. If it doesn't +accomplish another thing, it'll put Salgath Trod in the middle. He +can't demand an investigation of the Paratime Police out of one side +of his mouth and oppose an investigation of Psychological Hygiene out +of the other. Now what else have we to talk about?" + +[Illustration:] + +"Those hundred slaves we got off the Esaron Sector," Vall said. "What +are we going to do with them? And if we locate the time line the +slavers have their bases on, we'll have hundreds, probably thousands, +more." + +"We can't sort them out and send them back to their own time lines, +even if that would be desirable," Tortha Karf decided. "Why, settle +them somewhere on the Service Sector. I know, the Paratime +Transposition Code limits the Service Sector to natives of time lines +below second-order barbarism, but the Paratime Transposition Code has +been so badly battered by this business that a few more minor literal +infractions here and there won't make any difference. Where are they +now?" + +"Police Terminal, Nharkan Equivalent." + +"Better hold them there, for the time being. We may have to open a new +ServSec time line to take care of all the slaves we find, if we can +locate the outtime base line these people are using--Vall, this +thing's too big to handle as a routine operation, along with our other +work. You take charge of it. Set up your headquarters here, and help +yourself to anything in the way of personnel and equipment you need. +And bear in mind that this confidence vote is coming up in ten +days--on the morning of One-Seven-Two Day. I'm not asking for any +miracles, but if we don't get this thing cleared up by then, we're in +for trouble." + +"I realize that, sir. Dalla, you'd better go back to Home Time Line, +with the Chief," he said. "There's nothing you can do to help me, +here, at present. Get some rest, and then try to wangle an invitation +for the two of us to dinner at Thalvan Dras' apartments this evening." +He turned back to Tortha Karf. "Even if he never pays any attention to +business, Dras still owns Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs," he said. +"He might be able to find out, or help us find out, how the story +about those slaves leaked out of his company." + +"Well, that won't take much doing," Dalla said. "If there's as much +excitement on Home Time Line as I think, Dras would turn somersaults +and jump through hoops to get us to one of his dinners, right now." + + * * * * * + +Salgath Trod pushed the litter of papers and record-tape spools to one +side impatiently. + +"Well, what else did you expect?" he demanded. "This was the logical +next move. BuPsychHyg is supposed to detect anybody who believes in +looking out for his own interests first, and condition him into a +pious law-abiding sucker. Well, the sacred Bureau of Sucker-Makers +slipped up on a lot of us. It's a natural alibi for Tortha Karf." + +"It's also a lot of grief for all of us," the young man in the +wrap-around tunic added. "I don't want my psychotests reviewed by some +duty-struck bigot who can't be reasoned with, and neither do you." + +"I'm getting something organized to counter that," Salgath Trod said. +"I'm going to attack the whole scientific basis of psychotesting. +There's Dr. Frasthor Klav; he's always contended that what are called +criminal tendencies are the result of the individual's total +environment, and that psychotesting and personality-analysis are +valueless, because the total environment changes from day to day, even +from hour to hour--" + +"That won't do," the nameless young man who was the messenger of +somebody equally nameless retorted. "Frasthor's a crackpot; no +reputable psychologist or psychist gives his opinions a moment's +consideration. And besides, we don't want to attack Psychological +Hygiene. The people in it with whom we can do business are our +safeguard; they've given all of us a clean bill of mental health, and +we have papers to prove it. What we have to do is to make it appear +that that incident on the Esaron Sector is all there is to this, and +also involve the Paratime Police themselves. The slavers are all +paracops. It isn't the fault of BuPsychHyg, because the Paratime +Police have their own psychotesting staff. That's where the trouble +is; the paracops haven't been adequately testing their own personnel." + +"Now how are you going to do that?" Salgath Trod asked disdainfully. + +"You'll take the floor, the first thing tomorrow, and utilize these +new revelations about the Wizard Traders. You'll accuse the Paratime +Police of being the Wizard Traders themselves. Why not? They have +their own paratemporal transposition equipment shops on Police +Terminal, they have facilities for manufacturing duplicates of any +kind of outtime items, like the firearms, for instance, and they know +which time lines on which sectors are being exploited by legitimate +paratime traders and which aren't. What's to prevent a gang of +unscrupulous paracops from moving in on a few unexploited Kholghoor +time lines, buying captives from the Croutha, and shipping them to the +Esaron Sector?" + +"Then why would they let a thing like this get out?" Salgath Trod +inquired. + +"Somebody slipped up and moved a lot of slaves onto an exploited +Esaron time line. Or, rather, Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs +established a plantation on a time line they were shipping slaves to. +Parenthetically, that's what really did happen; the mistake our people +made was in not closing out that time line as soon as Consolidated +Foodstuffs moved in," the young man said. + +"So, this Skordran Kirv, who is a dumb boy who doesn't know what the +score is, found these slaves and blatted about it to this Golzan Doth, +and Golzan reported it to his company, and it couldn't be hushed up, +so now Tortha Karf is trying to scare the public with ghost stories +about a gigantic paratemporal conspiracy, to get more appropriations +and more power." + +"How long do you think I'd get away with that?" Salgath Trod demanded. +"I can only stretch parliamentary immunity so far. Sooner or later, +I'd have to make formal charges to a special judicial committee, and +that would mean narco-hypnosis, and then it would all come out." + +"You'll have proof," the young man said. "We'll produce a couple of +these Kharandas whom Verkan Vall didn't get hold of. Under +narco-hypnosis, they'll testify that they saw a couple of Wizard +Traders take their robes off. Under the robes were Paratime Police +uniforms. Do you follow me?" + +Salgath Trod made a noise of angry disgust. + +"That's ridiculous! I suppose these Kharandas will be given what is +deludedly known as memory obliteration, and a set of pseudo-memories; +how long do you think that would last? About three ten-days. There is +no such thing as memory obliteration; there's memory-suppression, and +pseudo-memory overlay. You can't get behind that with any quickie +narco-hypnosis in the back room of any police post, I'll admit that," +he said. "But a skilled psychist can discover, inside of five minutes, +when a narco-hypnotized subject is carrying a load of false memories, +and in time, and not too much time, all that top layer of false +memories and blockages can be peeled off. And then where would we be?" + +"Now wait a minute, Councilman. This isn't just something I dreamed +up," the visitor said. "This was decided upon at the top. At the very +top." + +"I don't care whose idea it was," Salgath Trod snapped. "The whole +thing is idiotic, and I won't have anything to do with it." + +The visitor's face froze. All the respect vanished from his manner and +tone; his voice was like ice cakes grating together in a winter river. + +"Look, Salgath; this is an Organization order," he said. "You don't +refuse to obey Organization orders, and you don't quit the +Organization. Now get smart, big boy; do what you're told to." He took +a spool of record tape from his pocket and laid it on the desk. +"Outline for your speech; put it in your own words, but follow it +exactly." He stood watching Salgath Trod for a moment. "I won't bother +telling you what'll happen to you if you don't," he added. "You can +figure that out for yourself." + +With that, he turned and went out the private door. For a while, +Salgath Trod sat staring after him. Once he put his hand out toward +the spool, then jerked it back as though the thing were radioactive. +Once he looked at the clock; it was just 1600. + + * * * * * + +The green aircar settled onto the landing stage; Verkan Vall, on the +front seat beside the driver, opened the door. + +"Want me to call for you later, Assistant Verkan?" the driver asked. + +"No thank you, Drenth. My wife and I are going to a dinner-party, and +we'll probably go night-clubbing afterward. Tomorrow morning, all the +anti-Management commentators will be yakking about my carousing around +when I ought to be battling the Slave Trust. No use advertising myself +with an official car, and giving them a chance to add, 'at public +expense.'" + +"Well, have some fun while you can," the driver advised, reaching for +the car-radio phone. "Want me to check you in here, sir?" + +"Yes, if you will. Thank you. Drenth." + +Kandagro, his human servant, admitted him to the apartment six floors +down. + +"Mistress Dalla is dressing," he said. "She asked me to tell you that +you are invited to dinner, this evening, with Thalvan Dras at his +apartment." + +Vall nodded. "Ill talk to her about it now," he said. "Lay out my +dress uniform: short jacket, boots and breeches, and needler." + +"Yes, master: I'll go lay out your things and get your bath ready." + +The servant turned and went into the alcove which gave access to the +dressing rooms, turning right into Vall's. Vall followed him, turning +left into his wife's. + +"Oh, Dalla!" he called. + +"In here!" her voice came out of her bathroom. + +He passed through the dressing room, to find her stretched on a +plastic-sheeted couch, while her maid, Rendarra, was rubbing her body +vigorously with some pungent-smelling stuff about the consistency of +machine-grease. Her face was masked in the stuff, and her hair was +covered with an elastic cap. He had always suspected that beauty was +the real feminine religion, from the willingness of its devotees to +submit to martyrdom for it. She wiggled a hand at him in greeting. + +"How did it go?" she asked. + +"So-so. I organized myself a sort of miniature police force within a +police force and I have liaison officers in every organization down to +Sector Regional so that I can be informed promptly in case anything +new turns up anywhere. What's been happening on Home Time Line? I +picked up a news-summary at Paratime Police Headquarters; it seems +that a lot more stuff has leaked out. Kholghoor Sector, Wizard Traders +and all. How'd it happen?" + +Dalla rolled over to allow Rendarra to rub the blue-green grease on +her back. + +"Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs let a gang of reporters in, today. I +think they're afraid somebody will accuse them of complicity, and they +want to get their side of it before the public. All our crowd are off +that Time line except a couple of detectives at the plantation." + +"I know." He smiled; Dalla was thinking of the Paratime Police as "our +crowd" now. "How about this dinner at Dras' place?" + +"Oh, that was easy." She shifted position again. "I just called Dras +up and told him that our vacation was off, and he invited us before I +could begin hinting. What are you going to wear?" + +"Short-jacket greens; I can carry a needler with that uniform, even +wear it at the table. I don't think it's smart for me to run around +unarmed, even on Home Time Line. Especially on Home Time Line," he +amended. "When's this affair going to start, and how long will +Rendarra take to get that goo off you?" + + * * * * * + +Salgath Trod left his aircar at the top landing stage of his apartment +building and sent it away to the hangars under robot control; he +glanced about him as he went toward the antigrav shaft. There were a +dozen vehicles in the air above; any of them might have followed him +from the Paratime Building. He had no doubt that he had been under +constant surveillance from the moment the nameless messenger had +delivered the Organization's ultimatum. Until he delivered that +speech, the next morning, or manifested an intention of refusing to do +so, however, he would be safe. After that-- + +Alone in his office, he had reviewed the situation point by point, and +then gone back and reviewed it again; the conclusion was inescapable. +The Organization had ordered him to make an accusation which he +himself knew to be false; that was the first premise. The conclusion +was that he would be killed as soon as he had made it. That was the +trouble with being mixed up with that kind of people--you were +expendable, and sooner or later, they would decide that they would +have to expend you. And what could you do? + +To begin with, an accusation of criminal malfeasance made against a +Management or Paratime Commission agency on the floor of Executive +Council was tantamount to an accusation made in court; automatically, +the accuser became a criminal prosecutor, and would have to repeat his +accusation under narco-hypnosis. Then the whole story would come out, +bit by bit, back to its beginning in that first illegal deal in +Indo-Turanian opium, diverted from trade with the Khiftan Sector and +sold on Second Level Luvarian Empire Sector, and the deals in +radioactive poisons, and the slave trade. He would be able to name few +names--the Organization kept its activities too well compartmented for +that--but he could talk of things that had happened, and when, and +where, and on what paratemporal areas. + +No. The Organization wouldn't let that happen, and the only way it +could be prevented would be by the death of Salgath Trod, as soon as +he had made his speech. All the talk of providing him with +corroborative evidence was silly; it had been intended to lead him +more trustingly to the slaughter. They'd kill him, of course, in some +way that would be calculated to substantiate the story he would no +longer be able to repudiate. The killer, who would be promptly rayed +dead by somebody else, would wear a Paratime Police uniform, or +something like that. That was of no importance, however; by then, he'd +be beyond caring. + + * * * * * + +One of his three ServSec Prole servants--the slim brown girl who was +his housekeeper and hostess, and also his mistress--admitted him to +the apartment. He kissed her perfunctorily and closed the door behind +him. + +"You're tired," she said. "Let me call Nindrandigro and have him bring +you chilled wine; lie down and rest until dinner." + +"No, no; I want brandy." He went to a cellaret and got out a decanter +and goblet, pouring himself a drink. "How soon will dinner be ready?" + +The brown girl squeezed a little golden globe that hung on a chain +around her neck; a tiny voice, inside it, repeated: "Eighteen +twenty-three ten, eighteen twenty-three eleven, eighteen twenty-three +twelve--" + +"In half an hour. It's still in the robo-chef," she told him. + +He downed half the goblet-full, set it down, and went to a painting, a +brutal scarlet and apple-green abstraction, that hung on the wall. +Swinging it aside and revealing the safe behind it, he used his +identity-sigil, took out a wad of Paratemporal Exchange Bank notes and +gave them to the girl. + +"Here, Zinganna; take these, and take Nindrandigro and Calilla out for +the evening. Go where you can all have a good time, and don't come +back till after midnight. There will be some business transacted here, +and I want them out of this. Get them out of here as soon as you can; +I'll see to the dinner myself. Spend all of that you want to." + +The girl riffled through the wad of banknotes. "Why, _thank_ you, +Trod!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him +enthusiastically. "I'll go tell them at once." + +"And have a good time, Zinganna; have the best time you possibly can," +he told her, embracing and kissing her. "Now, get out of here; I have +to keep my mind on business." + +When she had gone, he finished his drink and poured another. He drew +and checked his needler. Then, after checking the window-shielding and +activating the outside viewscreens, he lit a cheroot and sat down at +the desk, his goblet and his needler in front of him, to wait until +the servants were gone. + +There was only one way out alive. He knew that, and yet he needed +brandy, and a great deal of mental effort, to steel himself for it. +Psycho-rehabilitation was a dreadful thing to face. There would be +almost a year of unremitting agony, physical and mental, worse than a +Khiftan torture rack. There would be the shame of having his innermost +secrets poured out of him by the psychotherapists, and, at the end, +there would emerge someone who would not be Salgath Trod, or anybody +like Salgath Trod, and he would have to learn to know this stranger, +and build a new life for him. + +In one of the viewscreens, he saw the door to the service hallway +open. Zinganna, in a black evening gown and a black velvet cloak, and +Calilla, the housemaid, in what she believed to be a reasonable +facsimile of fashionable First Level dress, and Nindrandigro, in one +of his master's evening suits, emerged. Salgath Trod waited until they +had gone down the hall to the antigrav shaft, and then he turned on +the visiphone, checked the security, set it for sealed beam +communication, and punched out a combination. + +A girl in a green tunic looked out of the screen. + +"Paratime Police," she said. "Office of Chief Tortha." + +"I am Executive Councilman Salgath Trod," he told her. "I am, and for +the past fifteen years have been, criminally involved with the +organization responsible for the slave trade which recently came to +light on Third Level Esaron. I give myself up unconditionally; I am +willing to make full confession under narco-hypnosis, and will accept +whatever disposition of my case is lawfully judged fit. You'll have to +send an escort for me; I might start from my apartment alone, but I'd +be killed before I got to your headquarters--" + +The girl, who had begun to listen in the bored manner of public +servants phone girls, was staring wide-eyed. + +"Just a moment, Councilman Salgath; I'll put you through to Chief +Tortha." + + * * * * * + +The dinner lacked a half hour of being served; Thalvan Dras' guests +loitered about the drawing room, sampling appetizers and chilled +drinks and chatting in groups. It wasn't the artistic crowd usual at +Thalvan Dras' dinners; most of the guests seemed to be business or +political people. Thalvan Dras had gotten Vall and Dalla into the +small group around him, along with pudgy, infantile-faced Brogoth +Zaln, his confidential secretary, and Javrath Brend, his financial +attorney. + +"I don't see why they're making such a fuss about it," one of the +Banking Cartel people was saying. "Causing a lot of public excitement +all out of proportion to the importance of the affair. After all, +those people were slaves on their own time line, and if anything, +they're much better off on the Esaron Sector than they would be as +captives of the Croutha. As far as that goes, what's the difference +between that and the way we drag these Fourth Level Primitive +Sector-Complex people off to Fifth Level Service Sector to work for +us?" + +"Oh, there's a big difference, Farn," Javrath Brend said. "We recruit +those Fourth Level Primitives out of probability worlds of Stone Age +savagery, and transpose them to our own Fifth Level time lines, +practically outtime extensions of the Home Time Line. There's +absolutely no question of the Paratime Secret being compromised." + +[Illustration:] + +"Beside, we need a certain amount of human labor, for tasks requiring +original thought and decision that are beyond the ability of robots, +and most of it is work our Citizens simply wouldn't perform," Thalvan +Dras added. + +"Well, from a moral standpoint, wouldn't these Esaron Sector people +who buy the slaves justify slavery in the same terms?" a woman whom +Vall had identified as a Left Moderate Council Member asked. + +"There's still a big difference," Dalla told her. "The ServSec Proles +aren't beaten or tortured or chained; we don't break up families or +separate friends. When we recruit Fourth Level Primitives, we take +whole tribes, and they come willingly. And--" + +One of Thalvan Dras' black-liveried human servants, of the class under +discussion, approached Vall. + +"A visiphone call for your lordship," he whispered. "Chief Tortha Karf +calling. If your lordship will come this way--" + +In a screen-booth outside, Vall found Tortha Karf looking out of the +screen; he was seated at his desk, fiddling with a gold multicolor +pen. + +"Oh, Vall; something interesting has just come up." He spoke in a +voice of forced calmness. "I can't go into it now, but you'll want to +hear about it. I'm sending a car for you. Better bring Dalla along; +she'll want in on it, too." + +"Right; we'll be on the top south-west landing stage in a few +minutes." + +Dalla was still heatedly repudiating any resemblance between the +normal First Level methods of labor-recruitment and the activities of +the Wizard Traders; she had just finished the story of the woman whose +child had been brained when Vall rejoined the group. + +"Dras, I'm awfully sorry," he said. "This is the second time in +succession that Dalla and I have had to bolt away from here, but +policemen are like doctors--always on call, and consequently +unreliable guests. While you're feasting, think commiseratingly of +Dalla and me; we'll probably be having a sandwich and a cup of coffee +somewhere." + +"I'm terribly sorry." Thalvan Dras replied. "We had all been looking +forward--Well! Brogoth, have a car called for Vall and Dalla." + +"Police car coming for us; it's probably on the landing stage now," +Vall said. "Well, good-by, everybody. Coming, Dalla?" + + * * * * * + +They had a few minutes to wait, under the marquee, before the green +police aircar landed and came rolling across the rain-wet surface of +the landing stage. Crossing to it and opening the rear door, he put +Dalla in and climbed in after her, slamming the door. It was only then +that he saw Tortha Karf hunched down in the rear seat. He motioned +them to silence, and did not speak until the car was rising above the +building. + +"I wanted to fill you in on this, as soon as possible," he said. "Your +hunch about Salgath Trod was good; just a few minutes before I called +you, he called me. He says this slave trade is the work of something +he calls the Organization; says he's been taking orders from them for +years. His attack on the Management and motion for a censure-vote +were dictated from Organization top echelon. Now he's convinced that +they're going to force him to make false accusations against the +Paratime Police and then kill him before he's compelled to repeat his +charges under narco-hypnosis. So he's offered to surrender and trade +information for protection." + +"How much does he know?" Vall asked. + +Tortha Karf shook his head. "Not as much as he claims to, I suppose; +he wouldn't want to reduce his own trade-in value. But he's been +involved in this thing for the last fifteen years, and with his +political prominence, he'd know quite a lot." + +"We can protect him from his own gang; can we protect him from +psycho-rehabilitation?" + +"No, and he knows it. He's willing to accept that. He seems to think +that death at the hands of his own associates is the only other +alternative. Probably right, too." + +The floodlighted green towers of the Paratime Building were wheeling +under them as they circled down. + +"Why would they sacrifice a valuable accomplice like Salgath Trod, in +order to make a transparently false accusation against us?" Vall +wondered. + +"Ha, that's our new rookie cop's idea!" Tortha Karf chuckled, nodding +toward Dalla. "We got Zortan Harn to introduce an urgent-business +motion to appoint a committee to investigate BuPsychHyg, this morning. +The motion passed, and this is the reaction to it. The Organization's +scared. Just as Dalla predicted, they don't want us finding out how +people with potentially criminal characteristics missed being spotted +by psychotesting. Salgath Trod is being sacrificed to block or delay +that." + +Vall nodded as the wheels bumped on the landing stage and the antigrav +field went off. That was the sort of thing that happened when you +started on a really fruitful line of investigation. They got out and +hurried over under the marquee, the car lifting and moving off toward +the hangars. This was the real break; no matter how this Organization +might be compartmented, a man like Salgath Trod would know a great +deal. He would name names, and the bearers of those names, arrested +and narco-hypnotized, would name other names, in a perfect chain +reaction of confessions and betrayals. + +Another police car had landed just ahead of them, and three men were +climbing out; two were in Paratime Police green, and the third, +hand-cuffed, was in Service Sector Proletarian garb. At first, Vall +though that Salgath Trod had been brought in disguised as a Prole +prisoner, and then he saw that the prisoner was short and stocky, not +at all like the slender and elegant politician. The two officers who +had brought him in were talking to a lieutenant, Sothran Barth, +outside the antigrav shaft kiosk. As Vall and Tortha Karf and Dalla +walked over, the car which had brought them lifted out. + +"Something that just came in from Industrial Twenty-four, Chief," +Lieutenant Sothran said in answer to Tortha Karf's question. "May be +for Assistant Verkan's desk." + +"He's a Prole named Yandragno, sir," one of the policemen said. +"Industrial Sector Constabulary grabbed him peddling Martian hellweed +cigarettes to the girls in a textile mill at Kangabar Equivalent. +Captain Jamzar thinks he may have gotten them from somebody in the +Organization." + + * * * * * + +A little warning bell began ringing in the back of Verkan Vall's mind, +but at first he could not consciously identify the cause of his +suspicions. He looked the two policemen and their prisoner over +carefully, but could see nothing visibly wrong with them. Then another +car came in for a landing and rolled over under the marquee; the door +opened, and a police officer got out, followed by an elegantly dressed +civilian whom he recognized at once as Salgath Trod. A second +policeman was emerging from the car when Vall suddenly realized what +it was that had disturbed him. + +It had been Salgath Trod, himself, less than half an hour ago, who had +introduced the term, "the Organization," to the Paratime Police. At +that time, if these people were what they claimed to be, they would +have been in transposition from Industrial Twenty-four, on the Fifth +Level. Immediately, he reached for his needler. He was clearing it of +the holster when things began happening. + +The handcuffs fell from the "prisoner's" wrists; he jerked a +neutron-disruption blaster from under his jacket. Vall, his needler +already drawn, rayed the fellow dead before he could aim it, then saw +that the two pseudo-policemen had drawn their needlers and were aiming +in the direction of Salgath Trod. There were no flashes or reports; +only the spot of light that had winked on and off under Vall's rear +sight had told him that his weapon had been activated. He saw it +appear again as the sights centered on one of the "policemen." Then he +saw the other imposter's needler aimed at himself. That was the last +thing he expected ever to see, in that life; he tried to shift his own +weapon, and time seemed frozen, with his arm barely moving. Then there +was a white blur as Dalla's cloak moved in front of him, and the +needler dropped from the fingers of the disguised murderer. Time went +back to normal for him; he safetied his own weapon and dropped it, +jumping forward. + +He grabbed the fellow in the green uniform by the nose with his left +hand, and punched him hard in the pit of the stomach with his right +fist. The man's mouth flew open, and a green capsule, the size and +shape of a small bean, flew out. Pushing Dalla aside before she would +step on it, he kicked the murderer in the stomach, doubling him over, +and chopped him on the base of the skull with the edge of his hand. +The pseudo-policeman dropped senseless. + +With a handful of handkerchief-tissue from his pocket, he picked up +the disgorged capsule, wrapping it carefully after making sure that it +was unbroken. Then he looked around. The other two assassins were +dead. Tortha Karf, who had been looking at the man in Proletarian +dress whom Vall had killed first, turned, looked in another direction, +and then cursed. Vall followed his eyes, and cursed also. One of the +two policemen who had gotten out of the aircar was dead, too, and so +was the all-important witness, Salgath Trod--as dead as +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, a hundred thousand parayears away. + + * * * * * + +The whole thing had ended within thirty seconds; for about half as +long, everybody waited, poised in a sort of action-vacuum, for +something else to happen. Dalla had dropped the shoulder-bag with +which she had clubbed the prisoner's needler out of his hand, and +caught up the fallen weapon. When she saw that the man was down and +motionless, she laid it aside and began picking up the glittering or +silken trifles that had spilled from the burst bag. Vall retrieved his +own weapon, glanced over it, and holstered it. Sothran Barth, the +lieutenant in charge of the landing stage, was bawling orders, and men +were coming out of the ready-room and piling into vehicles to pursue +the aircar which had brought the assassins. + +"Barth!" Vall called. "Have you a hypodermic and a sleep-drug ampoule? +Well, give this boy a shot; he's only impact-stunned. Be careful of +him; he's important." He glanced around the landing-stage. "Fact is, +he's all we have to show for this business." + +Then he stooped to help Dalla gather her things, picking up a few of +them--a lighter, a tiny crystal perfume flask, miraculously unbroken, +a face-powder box which had sprung open and spilled half its contents. +He handed them to her, while Sothran Barth bent over the prisoner and +gave him an injection, then went to the body of the other +pseudo-policeman, forcing open his mouth. In his cheek, still +unbroken, was a second capsule, which he added to the first. Tortha +Karf was watching him. + +"Same gang that killed that Carera slaver on Esaron Sector?" he asked. +"Of course, exactly the same general procedure. Let's have a look at +the other one." + +The man in Proletarian dress must have had his capsule between his +molars when he had been killed; it was broken, and there was a +brownish discoloration and chemical odor in his mouth. + +"Second time we've had a witness killed off under our noses," Tortha +Karf said. "We're going to have to smarten up in a hurry." + +"Here's one of us who doesn't have to, much," Vall said, nodding +toward Dalla. "She knocked a needler out of one man's hand, and we +took him alive. The Force owes her a new shoulder-bag: she spoiled +that one using it for a club." + +"Best shoulder-bag we can find you, Dalla," Tortha Karf promised. +"You're promoted, herewith, to Special Chief's Assistant's Special +Assistant--You know, this Organization murder-section is good; they +could kill anybody. It won't be long before they assign a squad to us. +Blast it, I don't want to have to go around bodyguarded like a Fourth +Level dictator, but--" + +A detective came out of the control room and approached. + +"Screen call for you, sir," he told Tortha Karf. "One of the news +services wants a comment on a story they've just picked up that we've +illegally arrested Councilman Salgath and are holding him +incommunicado and searching his apartment." + +"That's the Organization," Vall said. "They don't know how their boys +made out; they're hoping we'll tell them." + +"No comment," Tortha Karf said. "Call the girl on my switchboard and +tell her to answer any other news-service calls. We have nothing to +say at this time, but there will be a public statement at ... at +2330," he decided after a glance at his watch. "That'll give us time +to agree on a publicity line to adopt. Lieutenant Sothran! Take charge +up here. Get all these bodies out of sight somewhere, including those +of Councilman Salgath and Detective Malthor. Don't let anybody talk +about this; put a blackout on the whole story. Vall, you and Dalla and +... oh, you, over there; take the prisoner down to my office. Sothran, +any reports from any of the cars that were chasing that fake police +car?" + +Verkan Vall and Dalla were sitting behind Tortha Karf's desk; Vall was +issuing orders over the intercom and talking to the detectives who had +remained at Salgath Trod's apartment by visiscreen; Dalla was sorting +over the things she had spilled when her bag had burst. They both +looked up as Tortha Karf came in and joined them. + +"The prisoner's still under the drug," the Chief said. "He'll be out +for a couple of hours; the psych-techs want to let him come out of it +naturally and sleep naturally for a while before they give him a +hypno. He's not a ServSec Prole; uncircumcised, never had any +syntho-enzyme shots or immunizations, and none of the longevity +operations or grafts. Same thing for the two stiffs. And no identity +records on any of the three." + +"The men at Salgath's apartment say that his housekeeper and his two +servants checked out through the house conveyer for ServSec +One-Six-Five, at about 1830," Vall said. "There's a Prole +entertainment center on that time line. I suppose Salgath gave them +the evening off before he called you." + +Tortha Karf nodded. "I suppose you ordered them picked up. The news +services are going wild about this. I had to make a preliminary +statement, to the effect that Salgath Trod was not arrested, came to +Headquarters of his own volition, and is under no restraint whatever." + +"Except, of course, a slight case of rigor mortis," Dalla added. "Did +you mention that, Chief?" + +"No, I didn't." Tortha Karf looked as though he had quinine in his +mouth. "Vall, how in blazes are we going to handle this?" + +"We ought to keep Salgath's death hushed up, as long as we can," Vall +said. "The Organization doesn't know positively what happened here; +that's why they're handing out tips to the news services. Let's try to +make them believe he's still alive and talking." + +"How can we do it?" + +"There ought to be somebody on the Force close enough to Salgath +Trod's anthropometric specifications that our cosmeticians could work +him over into a passable impersonation. Our story is that Salgath is +on PolTerm, undergoing narco-hypnosis. We will produce an audio-visual +of him as soon as he is out of narco-hyp. That will give us time to +fix up an impersonator; We'll need a lot of sound-recordings of +Salgath Trod's voice, of course--" + +"I'll take care of the Home Time Line end of it; as soon as we get you +an impersonator, you go to work with him. Now, let's see whom we can +depend on to help us with this. Lovranth Rolk, of course; Home Time +Line section of the Paratime Code Enforcement Division. And--" + + * * * * * + +Verkan Vall and Dalla and Tortha Karf and four or five others looked +across the desk and to the end of the room as the telecast screen +broke into a shifting light-pattern and then cleared. The face of the +announcer appeared; a young woman. + +"And now, we bring you the statement which Chief Tortha of the +Paratime Police has promised for this time. This portion of the +program was audio-visually recorded at Paratime Police Headquarters +earlier this evening." + +Tortha Karf's face appeared on the screen. His voice began an +announcement of how Executive Councilman Salgath Trod had called him +by visiphone, admitting to complicity in the recently-discovered +paratemporal slave-trade. + +"Here is a recording of Councilman Salgath's call to me from his +apartment to my office at 1945 this evening." + +The screen-image shattered into light-shards and rebuilt itself: +Salgath Trod, at his desk in the library of his apartment, the +brandy-goblet and the needler within reach, appeared. He began to +speak: from time to time the voice of Tortha Karf interrupted, +questioning or prompting him. + +"You understand that this confession renders you liable to +psycho-rehabilitation?" Tortha Karf asked. + +Yes, Councilman Salgath understood that. + +"And you agree to come voluntarily to Paratime Police Headquarters, +and you will voluntarily undergo narco-hypnotic interrogation?" + +Yes, Salgath Trod agreed to that. + +"I am now terminating the playback of Councilman Salgath's call to +me," Tortha Karf said, re-appearing on the screen. "At this point +Councilman Salgath began making a statement about his criminal +activities, which we have on record. Because he named a number of his +criminal associates, whom we have no intention of warning, this +portion of Councilman Salgath's call cannot at this time be made +public. We have no intention of having any of these suspects escape, +or of giving their associates an opportunity to murder them to prevent +their furnishing us with additional information. Incidentally, there +was an attempt, made on the landing stage of Paratime Police +Headquarters, to murder Councilman Salgath, when he was brought here +guarded by Paratime Police officers--" + +He went on to give a colorful and, as far as possible, truthful, +account of the attack by the two pseudo-policemen and their +pseudo-prisoner. As he told it, however, all three had been killed +before they could accomplish their purpose, one of them by Salgath +Trod himself. + +The image of Tortha Karf was replaced by a view of the three assassins +lying on the landing stage. They all looked dead, even the one who +wasn't; there was nothing to indicate that he was merely drugged. +Then, one after another, their faces were shown in closeup, while +Tortha Karf asked for close attention and memorization. + +"We believe that these men were Fifth Level Proles; we think that they +were under hypnotic influence or obeying posthypnotic commands when +they made their suicidal attack. If any of you have ever seen any of +these men before, it is your duty to inform the Paratime Police." + + * * * * * + +That ended it. Tortha Karf pressed a button in front of him and the +screen went dark. The spectators relaxed. + +"Well! Nothing like being sincere with the public, is there?" Della +commented. "I'll remember this the next time I tune in a Management +public statement." + +"In about five minutes," one of the bureau-chiefs, said, "all hell is +going to break loose. I think the whole thing is crazy!" + +"I hope you have somebody who can give a convincing impersonation," +Lovranth Rolk said. + +"Yes. A field agent named Kostran Galth," Tortha Karf said. "We ran +the personal description cards for the whole Force through the +machine; Kostran checked to within one-twentieth of one per cent; he's +on Police Terminal, now, coming by rocket from Ravvanan Equivalent. We +ought to have the whole thing ready for telecast by 1730 tomorrow." + +"He can't learn to imitate Salgath's voice convincingly in that time, +with all the work the cosmeticians'll have to be doing on him," Dalla +said. + +"Make up a tape of Salgath's own voice, out of that pile of recordings +we got at his apartment, and what we can get out of the news file." +Vall said. "We have phoneticists who can split syllables and splice +them together. Kostran will deliver his speech in dumb-show, and we'll +dub the sound in and telecast them as one. I've messaged PolTerm to +get to work on that; they can start as soon as we have the speech +written." + +[Illustration:] + +"The more it succeeds now, the worse the blow-up will be when we +finally have to admit that Salgath was killed here tonight," the Chief +Inter-officer Coördinator, Zostha Olv said. "We'd better have +something to show the public to justify that." + +"Yes, we had," Tortha Karf agreed. "Vall, how about the Kholghoor +Sector operation. How far's Ranthar Jard gotten toward locating one of +those Wizard Trader time lines?" + +"Not very far," Vall admitted. "He has it pinned down to the +sub-sector, but the belt seems to be one we haven't any information at +all for. Never been any legitimate penetration by paratimers. He has +his own hagiologists, and a couple borrowed from Outtime Religious +Institute; they've gotten everything the slaves can give them on that. +About the only thing to do is start random observation with +boomerang-balls." + +"Over about a hundred thousand time lines," Zostha Olv scoffed. He was +an old man, even for his long-lived race; he had a thin nose and a +narrow, bitter, mouth. "And what will he look for?" + +"Croutha with guns." Tortha Karf told him, then turned to Vall. "Can't +he narrow it more than that? What have his experts been getting out of +those slaves?" + +"That I don't know, to date." Vall looked at the clock. "I'll find +out, though; I'll transpose to Police Terminal and call him up. And +Skordran Kirv. No. Vulthor Tharn; it'd hurt the old fellow's feelings +if I by-passed him and went to one of his subordinates. Half an hour +each way, and at most another hour talking to Ranthar and Vulthor; +there won't be anything doing here for two hours." He rose. "See you +when I get back." + +Dalla had turned on the telescreen again; after tuning out a dance +orchestra and a comedy show, she got the image of an angry-faced man +in evening clothes. + +"... And I'm going to demand a full investigation, as soon as Council +convenes tomorrow morning!" he was shouting. "This whole story is a +preposterous insult to the integrity of the entire Executive Council, +your elected representatives, and it shows the criminal lengths to +which this would-be dictator, Tortha Karf, and his jackal Verkan Vall +will go--" + +"So long, jackal." Dalla called to him as he went out. + + * * * * * + +He spent the half-hour transposition to Police Terminal sleeping. +Paratime-transpositions and rocket-flights seemed to be his only +chance to get any sleep. He was still sleepy when he sat down in front +of the radio telescreen behind his duplicate of Tortha Karf's desk and +put through a call to Nharkan Equivalent. It was 0600 in India; the +Sector Regional Deputy Subchief who was holding down Ranthar Jard's +desk looked equally sleepy; he had a mug of coffee in front of him, +and a brown-paper cigarette in his mouth. + +"Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. Want me to call Subchief Ranthar?" + +"Is he sleeping? Then for mercy's sake don't. What's the present +status of the investigation?" + +"Well, we were dropping boomerang balls yesterday, while we had sun to +mask the return-flashes. Nothing. The Croutha have taken the city of +Sohram, just below the big bend of the river. Tomorrow, when we have +sunlight, we're going to start boomerang-balling the central square. +We may get something." + +"The Wizard Traders'll be moving in near there, about now," Vall said. +"The Croutha ought to have plenty of merchandise for them. Have you +gotten anything more done on narrowing down the possible area?" + +The deputy bit back a yawn and reached for his coffee mug. + +"The experts have just about pumped these slaves empty," he said. "The +local religion is a mess. Seems to have started out as a Great Mother +cult; then it picked up a lot of gods borrowed from other peoples; +then it turned into a dualistic monotheism; then it picked up a lot of +minor gods and devils--new devils usually gods of the older pantheon. +And we got a lot of gossip about the feudal wars and faction-fights +among the nobility, and so on, all garbled, because these people are +peasants who only knew what went on on the estate of their own lord." + +"What did go on there?" Vall asked. "Ask them about recent +improvements, new buildings, new fields cleared, new paddies flooded, +that sort of thing. And pick out a few of the highest IQ's from both +time lines, and have them locate this estate on a large-scale map, and +draw plans showing the location of buildings, fields and other visible +features. If you have to, teach them mapping and sketching by +hypno-mech. And then drop about five hundred to a thousand boomerang +balls, at regular intervals, over the whole paratemporal area. When +you locate a time line that gives you a picture to correspond to their +description, boomerang the main square in Sohram over the whole belt +around it, to find Croutha with firearms." + +The deputy looked at him for a moment then gulped more coffee. + +"Can do, Assistant Verkan. I think I'll send somebody to wake up +Subchief Ranthar, right now. Want to talk to him." + +"Won't be necessary. You're recording this call, of course? Then play +it back to him. And get cracking with the slaves; you want enough +information out of them to enable you to start boomerang balling as +soon as the sun's high enough." + + * * * * * + +He broke off the connection and sent out for coffee for himself. Then +he put through a call to Novilan Equivalent, in western North America. + +It was 1530, there, when he got Vulthor Tharn on the screen. + +"Good afternoon. Assistant Verkan. I suppose you're calling about the +slave business. I've turned the entire matter over to Field Agent +Skordran; gave him a temporary rank of Deputy Subchief. That's subject +to your approval and Chief Tortha's, of course--" + +"Make the appointment permanent," Vall said. "I'll have a confirmation +along from Chief Tortha directly. And let me talk to him now, if you +please. Subchief Vulthor." + +"Yes, sir. Switching you over now." The screen went into a beautiful +burst of abstract art, and cleared, after a while, with Skordran Kirv +looking out of it. + +"Hello, Deputy Skordran, and congratulations. What's come up since we +had Nebu-hin-Abenoz cut out from under us?" + +"We went in on that time line, that same night, with an airboat and +made a recon in the hills back of Careba. Scared the fear of Safar +into a party of Caleras while we were working at low altitude, by the +way. We found the conveyer-head site: hundred-foot circle with all the +grass and loose dirt transposed off it and a pole pen, very unsanitary +where about two-three hundred slaves would be kept at a time. No +indications of use in the last ten days. We did some pretty thorough +boomeranging on that spatial equivalent over a couple of thousand time +lines and found thirty more of them. I believe the slavers have closed +out the whole Esaron Sector operation, at least temporarily." + +That was what he'd been afraid of; he hoped they wouldn't do the same +thing on the Kholghoor Sector. + +"Let me have the designations of the time lines on which you found +conveyer heads," he said. + +"Just a moment, Chief's Assistant; I'll photoprint them to you. Set +for reception?" + +Vall opened a slide under the screen and saw that the photoprint film +was in place, then closed it again, nodding. Skordran Kirv fed a sheet +of paper into his screen cabinet and his arm moved forward out of the +picture. + +"On, sir," he said. He and Vall counted ten seconds together, and then +Skordran Kirv said: "Through to you." Vall pressed a lever under his +screen, and a rectangle of microcopy print popped out. + +"That's about all I have, sir. Want me to keep my troops ready here, +or shall I send them somewhere else?" + +"Keep them ready, Kirv," Vall told him. "You may need them before +long. Call you later." + +He put the microcopy in an enlarger, and carried the enlarged print +with him to the conveyer room. There was something odd about the list +of time line designations. They were expressed numerically, in First +Level notation; extremely short groups of symbols capable of exact +expression of almost inconceivably enormous numbers. Vall had only a +general-education smattering of mathematics--enough to qualify him for +the chair of Higher Mathematics at any university on, say, the Fourth +Level Europo-American Sector--and he could not identify the +peculiarity, but he could recognize that there existed some sort of +pattern. Shoving in the starting lever, he relaxed in one of the +chairs, waiting for the transposition field to build up around him, +and fell asleep before the mesh dome of the conveyer had vanished. He +woke, the list of time line designations in his hand, when the +conveyor rematerialized on Home Time Line. Putting it in his pocket, +he hurried to an antigrav shaft and floated up to the floor on which +Tortha Karf's office was. + + * * * * * + +Tortha Karf was asleep in his chair; Dalla was eating a dinner that +had been brought in to her--something better than the sandwich and mug +of coffee Vall had mentioned to Thalvan Dras. Several of the bureau +chiefs who had been there when he had gone out had left, and the +psychist who had taken charge of the prisoner was there. + +"I think he's coming out of the drug, now," he reported. "Still +asleep, though. We want him to waken naturally before we start on him. +They'll call me as soon as he shows signs of stirring." + +"The Opposition's claiming, now, that we drugged and hypnotized +Salgath into making that visiscreen confession," Dalla said. "Can you +think of any way you could do that without making the subject +incapable of lying?" + +"Pseudo-memories," the psychist said. "It would take about three times +as long as the time between Salgath Trod's departure from his +apartment and the time of the telecast, though--" + +"You know much higher math?" Vall asked the psychist. + +"Well, enough to handle my job. Neuron-synapse inter-relations, +memory-and-association patterns, that kind of thing, all have to be +expressed mathematically." + +Vall nodded and handed him the time-line designation list. + +"See any kind of a pattern there?" he asked. + +The psychist looked at the paper and blanked his face as he drew on +hypnotically-acquired information. + +"Yes. I'd say that all the numbers are related in some kind of a +series to some other number. Simplified down to kindergarten level, +say the difference between A and B is, maybe, one-decillionth of the +difference between X and A, and the difference between B and C is +one-decillionth of the difference between X and B, and so on--" + +A voice came out of one of the communication boxes: + +"Dr. Nentrov; the patient's out of the drug, and he's beginning to +stir about." + +"That's it," the psychist said. "I have to run." He handed the sheet +back to Vall, took a last drink from his coffee cup, and bolted out of +the room. + +Dalla picked up the sheet of paper and looked at it. Vall told her +what it was. + +"If those time lines are in regular series, they relate to the base +line of operations," she said. "Maybe you can have that worked out. I +can see how it would be; a stated interval between the Esaron Sector +lines, to simplify transposition control settings." + +"That was what I was thinking. It's not quite as simple as Dr. Nentrov +expressed it, but that could be the general idea. We might be able to +work out the location of the base line from that. There seems to be a +break in the number sequence in here; that would be the time line +Skordran Kirv found those slaves on." He reached for the pipe he had +left on the desk when he had gone to Police Terminal and began filling +it. + +A little later, a buzzer sounded and a light came on on one of the +communication boxes. He flipped the switch and said, "Verkan Vall +here." Sothran Barth's voice came cut of the box. + +"They've just brought in Salgath Trod's servants. Picked them up as +they came out of the house conveyer at the apartment building. I don't +believe they know what's happened." + +Vall flipped a switch and twiddled a dial; a viewscreen lit up, +showing the landing stage. The police car had just landed: one +detective had gotten out, and was helping the girl, Zinganna, who had +been Salgath Trod's housekeeper and mistress, to descend. She was +really beautiful. Vall thought: rather tall, slender, with dark eyes +and a creamy light-brown skin. She wore a black cloak, and, under it, +a black and silver evening gown. A single jewel twinkled in her black +hair. She could have very easily passed for a woman of his own race. + +The housemaid and the butler were a couple of entirely different +articles. Both were about four or five generations from Fourth Level +Primitive savagery. The maid, in garishly cheap finery, was big-boned +and heavy-bodied, with red-brown hair; she looked like a member of one +of the northern European reindeer-herding peoples who had barely +managed to progress as far as the bow and arrow. The butler was +probably a mixture of half a dozen primitive races; he was wearing one +of his late master's evening suits, a bright mellow-pink, which was +distinctly unflattering to his complexion. + +The sound-pickup was too far away to give him what they were saying, +but the butler and maid were waving their arms and protesting +vehemently. One of the detectives took the woman by the arm; she +jerked it loose and aimed a backhand slap at him. He blocked it on his +forearm. Immediately, the girl in black turned and said something to +her, and she subsided. Vall said, into the box: + +"Barth, have the girl in the black cloak brought down to Number Four +Interview Room. Put the other two in separate detention cubicles; +we'll talk to them later." He broke the connection and got to his +feet. "Come on, Dalla. I want you to help me with the girl." + +"Just try and stop me," Dalla told him. "Any interviews you have with +that little item, I want to sit in on." + + * * * * * + +The Proletarian girl, still guarded by a detective, had already been +placed in the interview room. The detective nodded to Vall, tried to +suppress a grin when he saw Dalla behind him, and went out. Vall saw +his wife and the prisoner seated, and produced his cigarette case, +handing it around. + +"You're Zinganna; you're of the household of Councilman Salgath Trod, +aren't you?" he asked. + +"Housekeeper and hostess," the girl replied. "I am also his mistress." + +Vall nodded, smiling. "Which confirms my long-standing respect for +Councilman Salgath's exquisite taste." + +"Why, thank you," she said. "But I doubt if I was brought here to +receive compliments. Or was I?" + +"No, I'm afraid not. Have you heard the newscasts of the past few +hours concerning Councilman Salgath?" + +She straightened in her seat, looking at him seriously. + +"No. I and Nindrandigro and Calilla spent the evening on ServSec +One-Six-Five. Councilman Salgath told me that he had some business and +wanted them out of the apartment, and wanted me to keep an eye on +them. We didn't hear any news at all." She hesitated. "Has anything +... serious ... happened?" + +Vall studied her for a moment, then glanced at Dalla. There existed +between himself and his wife a sort of vague, semitelepathic, rapport; +they had never been able to transmit definite and exact thoughts, but +they could clearly prehend one another's feelings and emotions. He was +conscious, now, of Dalla's sympathy for the Proletarian girl. + +"Zinganna, I'm going to tell you something that is being kept from the +public," he said. "By doing so, I will make it necessary for us to +detain you, at least for a few days. I hope you will forgive me, but I +think you would forgive me less if I didn't tell you." + +"Something's happened to him," she said, her eyes widening and her +body tensing. + +"Yes, Zinganna. At about 2010, this evening," he said, "Councilman +Salgath was murdered." + +"Oh!" She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. "He's dead?" +Then, again, statement instead of question: "He's dead!" + +For a long moment, she lay back in the chair, as though trying to +reorient her mind to the fact of Salgath Trod's death, while Vall and +Dalla sat watching her. Then she stirred, opened her eyes, looked at +the cigarette in her fingers as though she had never seen it before, +and leaned forward to stuff it into an ash receiver. + +"Who did it?" she asked, the Stone Age savage who had been her +ancestor not ten generations ago peeping out of her eyes. + +"The men who actually used the needlers are dead," Vall told her. "I +killed a couple of them myself. We still have to find the men who +planned it. I'd hoped you'd want to help us do that, Zinganna." + +He side-glanced to Dalla again; she nodded. The relationship between +Zinganna and Salgath Trod hadn't been purely business with her; there +had been some real affection. He told her what had happened, and when +he reached the point at which Salgath Trod had called Tortha Karf to +confess complicity in the slave trade, her lips tightened and she +nodded. + +"I was afraid it was something like that," she said. "For the last few +days, well, ever since the news about the slave trade got out, he's +been worried about something. I've always thought somebody had some +kind of a hold over him. Different times in the past, he's done things +so far against his own political best interests that I've had to +believe he was being forced into them. Well, this time they tried to +force him too far. What then?" + +Vall continued the story. "So we're keeping this hushed up, for a +while. The way we're letting it out, Salgath Trod is still alive, on +Police Terminal, talking under narco-hypnosis." + +She smiled savagely. "And they'll get frightened, and frightened men +do foolish things," she finished. She hadn't been a politician's +mistress for nothing. "What can I do to help?" + +"Tell us everything you can," he said. "Maybe we can be able to take +such actions as we would have taken if Salgath Trod had lived to talk +to us." + +"Yes, of course." She got another cigarette from the case Vall had +laid on the table. "I think, though, that you'd better give me a +narco-hypnosis. You want to be able to depend on what I'm going to +tell you, and I want to be able to remember things exactly." + +Vall nodded approvingly and turned to Dalla. + +"Can you handle this, yourself?" he asked. "There's an audio-visual +recorder on now; here's everything you need." He opened the drawers in +the table to show her the narco-hypnotic equipment. "And the phone has +a whisper mouthpiece; you can call out without worrying about your +message getting into Zinganna's subconscious. Well, I'll see you when +you're through; you bring Zinganna to Police Terminal; I'll probably +be there." + +He went out, closing the door behind him, and went down the hall, +meeting the officer who had taken charge of the butler and housemaid. + +"We're having trouble with them, sir," he said. "Hostile. Yelling +about their rights, and demanding to see a representative of +Proletarian Protective League." + +Vall mentioned the Proletarian Protective League with unflattering +vulgarity. + +"If they don't coöperate, drag them out and inject them and question +them anyhow," he said. + +The detective-lieutenant looked worried. "We've been taking a pretty +high hand with them as it is," he protested. "It's safer to kill a +Citizen than bloody a Prole's nose; they have all sorts of laws to +protect them." + +"There are all sorts of laws to protect the Paratime Secret," Vall +replied. "And I think there are one or two laws against murdering +members of the Executive Council. In case P.P.L. makes any trouble, +they aren't here; they have faithfully joined their beloved master in +his refuge on PolTerm. But one or both of them work for the +Organization." + +"You're sure of that?" + +"The Organization is too thorough not to have had a spy in Salgath's +household. It wasn't Zinganna, because she's volunteered to talk to us +under narco-hyp. So who does that leave?" + +"Well, that's different; that makes them suspects." The lieutenant +seemed relieved. "We'll pump that pair out right away." + +When he got back to Tortha Karf's office, the Chief was awake, and +doodling on his notepad with his multicolor pen. Vall looked at the +pad and winced; the Chief was doodling bugs again--red ants with black +legs, and blue-and-green beetles. Then he saw that the psychist, +Nentrov Dard, was drinking straight 150-proof palm-rum. + +"Well, tell me the worst," he said. + +"Our boy's memory-obliterated," Nentrov Dard said, draining his glass +and filling it again. "And he's plastered with pseudo-memories a foot +thick. It'll be five or six ten-days before we can get all that stuff +peeled off and get him unblocked. I put him to sleep and had him +transposed to Police Terminal. I'm going there, myself, tomorrow +morning, after I've had some sleep, and get to work on him. If you're +hoping to get anything useful out of him in time to head off this +Council crisis that's building up, just forget it." + +"And that leaves us right back with our old friends, the Wizard +Traders," Tortha Karf added. "And if they've decided to suspend +activities on the Kholghoor Sector, too--" He began drawing a big blue +and black spider in the middle of the pad. + +Nentrov Dard crushed out his cigar, drank his rum, and got to his +feet. + +"Well, good night, Chief; Vall. If you decide to wake me up before +1000, send somebody you want to get rid of in a hurry." He walked +around the deck and out the side door. + +"I hope they don't," Vall said to Tortha Karf. "Really, though, I +doubt if they do. This is their chance to pick up a lot of slaves +cheaply; the Croutha are too busy to bother haggling. I'm going +through to PolTerm, now; when Dalla and Zinganna get through, tell +them to join me there." + + * * * * * + +On Police Terminal, he found Kostran Galth, the agent who had been +selected to impersonate Salgath Trod. After calling Zulthran Torv, the +mathematician in charge of the Computer Office and giving him the +Esaron time-line designations and Nentrov Dard's ideas about them, he +spent about an hour briefing Kostran Galth on the role he was to play. +Finally, he undressed and went to bed on a couch in the rest room +behind the office. + +It was noon when he woke. After showering, shaving and dressing +hastily, he went out to the desk for breakfast, which arrived while he +was putting a call through to Ranthar Jard, at Nharkan Equivalent. + +"Your idea paid off, Chief's Assistant," the Kholghoor SecReg Subchief +told him. "The slaves gave us a lot of physical description data on +the estate, and told us about new fields that had been cleared, and a +dam this Lord Ghromdour was building to flood some new rice-paddies. +We located a belt of about five parayears where these improvements had +been made: we started boomeranging the whole belt, time line by time +line. So far, we have ten or fifteen pictures of the main square at +Sohram showing Croutha with firearms, and pictures of Wizard Trader +camps and conveyer heads on the same time lines. Here, let me show +you; this is from an airboat over the forest outside the equivalent of +Sohram." + +There was no jungle visible when the view changed; nothing but +clusters of steel towers and platforms and buildings that marked +conveyer heads, and a large rectangle of red-and-white antigrav-buoys +moored to warn air traffic out of the area being boomeranged. The +pickup seemed to be pointed downward from the bow of an airboat +circling at about ten thousand feet. + +"Balls ready to go," a voice called, and then repeated a string of +time-line designations. "Estimated return, 1820, give or take four +minutes." + +"Varth," Ranthar Jard said, evidently out of the boat's radio. "Your +telecast is being beamed on Dhergabar Equivalent; Chief's Assistant +Verkan is watching. When do you estimate your next return?" + +"Any moment, now, sir; we're holding this drop till they +rematerialize." + +Vall watched unblinkingly, his fork poised halfway to his mouth. +Suddenly, about a thousand feet below the eye of the pickup, there was +a series of blue flashes, and, an instant later, a blossoming of +red-and-white parachutes, ejected from the photo-reconnaissance balls +that had returned from the Kholghoor Sector. + +"All right; drop away," the boat captain called. There was a gush, +from underneath, of eight-inch spheres, their conductor-mesh twinkling +golden-bright in the sunlight. They dropped in a tight cluster for a +thousand or so feet and then flashed and vanished. From the ground, +six or eight aircars rose to meet the descending parachutes and catch +them. + +The screen went cubist for a moment, and then Ranthar Jard's swarthy, +wide-jawed face looked out of it again. He took his pipe from his +mouth. + +"We'll probably get a positive out of the batch you just saw coming +in," he said. "We get one out of about every two drops." + +"Message a list of the time-line designations you've gotten so far to +Zulthran Torv, at Computer Office here," Vall said. "He's working on +the Esaron Sector dope; we think a pattern can be established. I'll be +seeing you in about five hours; I'm rocketing out of here as soon as I +get a few more things cleared up here." + +Zulthran Torv, normally cautious to the degree of pessimism, was +jubilant when Vall called him. + +"We have something, Vall," he said. "It is, roughly, what Dr. Nentrov +suggested--each of the intervals between the designations is a very +minute but very exact fraction of the difference between lesser +designation and the base-line designation." + +"You have the base-line designation?" Vall demanded. + +"Oh, yes. That's what I was telling you. We worked that out from the +designations you gave me." He recited it. "All the designations you +gave me are--" + +Vall wasn't listening to him. He frowned in puzzlement. + +"That's not a Fifth Level designation," he said. "That's First Level!" + +"That's correct. First Level Abzar Sector." + +"Now why in blazes didn't anybody think of that before?" he marveled, +and as he did, he knew the answer. Nobody ever thought of the Abzar +sector. + +[Illustration:] + +Twelve millennia ago, the world of the First Level had been +exhausted; having used up the resources of their home planet, Mars, a +hundred thousand years before, the descendants of the population that +had migrated across space had repeated on the third planet the +devastation of the fourth. The ancestors of Verkan Vall's people had +discovered the principle of paratime transposition and had begun to +exploit an infinity of worlds on other lines of probability. The +people of the First Level Dwarma Sector, reduced by sheer starvation +to a tiny handful, had abandoned their cities and renounced their +technologies and created for themselves a farm-and-village culture +without progress or change or curiosity or struggle or ambition, and a +way of life in which every day was like every other day that had been +or that would come. + +The Abzar people had done neither. They had wasted their resources to +the last, fighting bitterly over the ultimate crumbs, with fission +bombs, and with muskets, and with swords, and with spears and clubs, +and finally they had died out, leaving a planet of almost uniform +desert dotted with vast empty cities which even twelve thousand years +had hardly begun to obliterate. + +So nobody on the Paratime Sector went to the Abzar Sector. There was +nothing there--except a hiding-place. + +"Well, message that to Subchief Ranthar Jard, Kholghoor Sector at +Nharkan Equivalent, and to Subchief Vulthor, Esaron Sector, Novilan +Equivalent," Vall said. "And be sure to mark what you send Vulthor, +'Immediate attention Deputy Subchief Skordran.'" + +That reminded him of something; as soon as he was through with +Zulthran, he got out an order in the name of Tortha Karf authorizing +Skordran Kirv's promotion on a permanent basis and messaged it out. +Something was going to have to be done with Vulthor Tharn, too. A +promotion of course--say Deputy Bureau Chief. Hypno-Mech Tape Library +at Dhergabar Home Time Line; there Vulthor's passion for procedure and +his caution would be assets instead of liabilities. He called Vlasthor +Arph, the Chief's Deputy assigned to him as adjutant. + +"I want more troops from ServSec and IndSec," he said. "Go over the +TO's and see what can be spared from where; don't strip any time line, +but get a force of the order of about three divisions. And locate all +the big antigrav-equipped ship transposition docks on Commercial and +Passenger Sectors, and a list of freighters and passenger ships that +can be commandeered in a hurry. We think we've spotted the time line +the Organization's using as a base. As soon as we raid a couple of +places near Nharkan and Novilan Equivalents, we're going to move in +for a planet-wide cleanup." + +"I get it, Chief's Assistant. I do everything I can to get ready for a +big move, without letting anything leak out. After you strike the +first blow, there won't be any security problem, and the lid will be +off. In the meantime, I make up a general plan, and alert all our own +people. Right?" + +"Right. And for your information, the base isn't Fifth Level; it's +First Level Abzar." He gave the designation. + +Vlasthor Arph chuckled. "Well, think of that! I'd even forgotten there +was an Abzar Sector. Shall I tell the reporters that?" + +"Fangs of Fasif, no!" Vall fairly howled. Then, curiously: "What +reporters? How'd they get onto PolTerm?" + +"About fifty or sixty news-service people Chief Tortha sent down here, +this morning, with orders to prevent them from filing any stories from +here but to let them cover the raids, when they come off. We were +instructed to furnish them weapons and audio-visual equipment and +vocowriters and anything else they needed, and--" + +Vall grinned. "That was one I'd never thought of," he admitted. "The +old fox is still the old fox. No, tell them nothing; we'll just take +them along and show them. Oh, and where are Dr. Hadron Dalla and that +girl of Salgath Trod's?" + +"They're sleeping, now. Rest Room Eighteen." + + * * * * * + +Dalla and Zinganna were asleep on a big mound of silk cushions in one +corner, their glossy black heads close together and Zinganna's brown +arm around Dalla's white shoulder. Their faces were calmly beautiful +in repose, and they smiled slightly, as though they were wandering +through a happy dream. For a little while, Vall stood looking at them, +then he began whistling softly. On the third or fourth bar, Dalla +woke and sat up, waking Zinganna, and blinked at him perplexedly. + +"What time is it?" she asked. + +"About 1245," he told her. + +"Ohhh! We just got to sleep," she said. "We're both bushed!" + +"You had a hard time. Feel all right after your narco-hyp, Zinganna?" + +"It wasn't so bad, and I had a nice sleep. And Dalla ... Dr. Hadron, I +mean--" + +"Dalla," Vall's wife corrected. "Remember what I told you?" + +"Dalla, then," Zinganna smiled. "Dalla gave me some hypno-treatment, +too. I don't feel so badly about Trod, any more." + +"Well, look, Zinganna. We're going to have a man impersonate +Councilman Salgath on a telecast. The cosmeticians are making him over +now. Would you find it too painful to meet him, and talk to him?" + +"No, I wouldn't mind. I can criticize the impersonation; remember, I +knew Trod very well. You know, I was his hostess, too. I met many of +the people with whom he was associated, and they know me. Would things +look more convincing if I appeared on the telecast with your man?" + +"It certainly would; it would be a great help!" he told her +enthusiastically. "Maybe you girls ought to get up, now. The telecast +isn't till 1930, but there's a lot to be done getting ready." + +Dalla yawned. "What I get, trying to be a cop," she said, then caught +the other girl's hands and rose, pulling her up. "Come on, Zinna; we +have to get to work!" + + * * * * * + +Vall rose from behind the reading-screen in Ranthar Jard's office, +stretching his arms over his head. For almost an hour, he had sat there +pushing buttons and twiddling selector and magnification-adjustment +knobs, looking at the pictures the Kholghoor-Nharkan cops had taken with +auto-return balls dropped over the spatial equivalent of Sohram. One set +of pictures, taken at two thousand feet, showed the central square of +the city. The effects of the Croutha sack were plainly visible; so were +the captives herded together under guard like cattle. By increasing +magnification, he looked at groups of the barbarian conquerors, big men +with blond or reddish-brown hair, in loose shirts and baggy trousers and +rough cowhide buskins. Many of them wore bowl-shaped helmets, some had +shirts of ring-mail, all of them carried long straight swords with +cross-hilts, and about half of them had pistols thrust through their +belts or muskets slung from their shoulders. + +The other set of pictures showed the Wizard Trader camps and conveyer +heads. In each case, a wide oval had been burned out in the jungle, +probably with heavy-duty heat guns. The camps were surrounded with +stout wire-mesh fence: in each there were a number of metal +prefab-huts, and an inner fenced slave-pen. A trail had been cut from +each to a similarly cleared circle farther back in the forest, and in +the centers of one or two of these circles he saw the actual conveyer +domes. There was a great deal of activity in all of them, and he +screwed the magnification-adjustment to the limit to scrutinize each +human figure in turn. A few of the men, he was sure, were First Level +Citizens; more were either Proles or outtimers. Quite a few of them +were of a dark, heavy-featured, black-bearded type. + +"Some of these fellows look like Second Level Khiftans," he said. +"Rush an individual picture of each one, maximum magnification +consistent with clarity, to Dhergabar Equivalent to be transposed to +Home Time Line. You get all the dope from Zulthran Torv?" + +"Yes; Abzar Sector," Ranthar Jard said. "I'd never have thought of +that. Wonder why they used that series system, though. I'd have tried +to spot my operations as completely at random as possible." + +"Only thing they could have done," Vall said. "When we get hold of one +of their conveyers, we're going to find the control panel's just a +mess of arbitrary symbols, and there'll be something like a +computer-machine built into the control cabinet, to select the right +time line whenever a dial's set or a button pushed, and the only way +that could be done would be by establishing some kind of a numerical +series. And we were trustingly expecting to locate their base from one +of their conveyers! Why, if we give all those people in the pictures +narco-hyps, we won't learn the base-line designation; none of them +will know it. They just go where the conveyers take them." + +"Well, we're all set now," Ranthar Jard said. "I have a plan of attack +worked out; subject to your approval, I'm ready to start implementing +it now." He glanced at his watch. "The Salgath telecast is over, on +Home Time Line, and in a little while, a transcript will be on this +time line. Want to watch it here, sir?" + + * * * * * + +The telecast screen in the living room of Tortha Karf's town apartment +was still on; in it, a girl with bright red hair danced slowly to soft +music against a background of shifting color. The four men who sat in +a semicircle facing it sipped their drinks and watched idly. + +"Ought to be getting some sort of public reaction soon," Tortha Karf +said, glancing at his watch. + +"Well, I'll have to admit, it was done convincingly," Zostha Olv, the +Chief Interoffice Coördinator, admitted grudgingly. "I'd have believed +it, if I hadn't known the real facts." + +"Shooting it against the background of those wide windows was smart," +Lovranth Rolk said. "Every schoolchild would recognize that view of +the rocketport as being on Police Terminal. And including that girl +Zinganna; that was a real masterpiece!" + +"I've met her, a few times," Elbraz Vark, the Political Liaison +Assistant, said. "Isn't she lovely!" + +"Good actress, too," Tortha Karf said. "It's not easy to impersonate +yourself." + +"Well, Kostran Galth did a fine job of acting, too," Lovranth Rolk +said. "That was done to perfection--the distinguished politician, +supported by his loyal mistress, bravely facing the disgraceful end of +his public career." + +"You know, I believe I could get that girl a booking with one of the +big theatrical companies. Now that Salgath's dead, she'll need +somebody to look after her." + +"What sharp, furry ears you have, Mr. Elbraz!" Zostha Olv grunted. + +The music stopped as though cut off with a knife, and the slim girl +with the red hair vanished in a shatter of many colors. When the +screen cleared, one of the announcers was looking out of it. + +"We interrupt the program for an important newscast of a sensational +development in the Salgath affair," he said. "Your next speaker will +be Yandar Yadd--" + +"I thought you'd managed to get that blabbermouth transposed to +PolTerm," Zostha said. + +"He wouldn't go." Tortha Karf replied. "Said it was just a trick to +get him off Home Time Line during the Council crisis." + +Yandar Yadd had appeared on the screen as the pickup swung about. + +"... Recording ostensibly made by Councilman Salgath on Police +Terminal Time Line, and telecast on Home Time Line an hour ago. Well, +I don't know who he was, but I now have positive proof that he +definitely was not Salgath Trod!" + +"We're sunk!" Zostha Olv grunted. "He'd never make a statement like +that unless he could prove it." + +"... Something suspicious about the whole thing, from the beginning," +the newsman was saying. "So I checked. If you recall, the actor +impersonating Salgath gestured rather freely with his hands, in +imitation of a well-known mannerism of the real Salgath Trod; at one +point, the ball of his right thumb was presented directly to the +pickup. Here's a still of that scene." + +He stepped aside, revealing a viewscreen behind him; when he pressed a +button, the screen lighted; on it was a stationary picture of Kostran +Galth as Salgath Trod, his right hand raised in front of him. + +"Now watch this. I'm going to step up the magnification, slowly, so +that you can be sure there's no substitution. Camera a little closer, +Trath!" + +The screen in the background seemed to advance, until it filled the +entire screen. Yandar Yadd was still talking, out of the picture; a +metal-tipped pointer came into the picture, touching the right thumb, +which grew larger and larger until it was the only thing visible. + +"Now here," Yandar Yadd's voice continued. "Any of you who are +familiar with the ancient science of dactyloscopy will recognize this +thumb as having the ridge-pattern known as a 'twin loop.' Even with +the high degree of magnification possible with the microgrid screen, +we can't bring out the individual ridges, but the pattern is +unmistakable. I ask you to memorize that image, while I show you +another right thumb print, this time a certified photo-copy of the +thumb print of the real Salgath Trod." The magnification was reduced a +little, a card was moved into the picture, and it was stepped up +again. "See, this thumb print is of the type known as a 'tented arch.' +Observe the difference." + +"That does it!" Zostha Olv cried. "Karf, for the first and last time, +let me remind you that I opposed this lunacy from the beginning. Now, +what are we going to do next?" + +"I suggest that we get to Headquarters as soon as we can," Tortha Karf +said. "If we wait too long, we may not be able to get in." + +Yandar Yadd was back on the screen, denouncing Tortha Karf +passionately. Tortha went over and snapped it off. + +"I suggest we transpose to PolTerm," Lovranth Rolk said. "It won't be +so easy for them to serve a summons on us there." + +"You can go to PolTerm if you want to," Tortha Karf retorted. "I'm +going to stay here and fight back, and if they try to serve me with a +summons, they'd better send a robot for a process server." + +"Fight back!" Zostha Olv echoed. "You can't fight the Council and the +whole Management! They'll tear you into inch bits!" + +"I can hold them off till Vall's able to raid those Abzar Sector +bases," Tortha Karf said. He thought for a moment. "Maybe this is all +for the best, after all. If it distracts the Organization's +attention--" + + * * * * * + +"I wish we could have made a boomerang-ball reconnaissance," Ranthar +Jard was saying, watching one of the viewscreens, in which a film, +taken from an airboat transposed to an adjoining Abzar sector time +line, was being shown. The boat had circled over the Ganges, a mere +trickle between wide, deeply cut banks, and was crossing a gullied +plain, sparsely grown with thornbush. "The base ought to be about +there, but we have no idea what sort of changes this gang has made." + +"Well, we couldn't: we didn't dare take the chance of it being +spotted. This has to be a complete surprise. It'll be about like the +other place, the one the slaves described. There won't be any +permanent buildings. This operation only started a few months ago, +with the Croutha invasion; it may go on for four or five months, till +the Croutha have all their surplus captives sold off. That country," +he added, gesturing at the screen, "will be flooded out when the rains +come. See how it's suffered from flood-erosion. There won't be a thing +there that can't be knocked down and transposed out in a day or so." + +"I wish you'd let me go along," Ranthar Jard worried. + +"We can't do that, either," Vall said. "Somebody's got to be in charge +here, and you know your own people better than I do. Beside, this +won't be the last operation like this. Next time, I'll have to stay on +Police Terminal and command from a desk; I want first-hand experience +with the outtime end of the job, and this is the only way I can get +it." + +He watched the four police-girls who were working at the big terrain +board showing the area of the Police Terminal time line around them. +They had covered the miniature buildings and platforms and towers with +a fine mesh, at a scale-equivalent of fifty feet; each intersection +marked the location of a three-foot conveyer ball, loaded with a +sleep-gas bomb and rigged with an automatic detonator which would +explode it and release the gas as soon as it rematerialized on the +Abzar Sector. Higher, on stiff wires that raised them to what +represented three thousand feet, were the disks that stood for ten +hundred-foot conveyers; they would carry squads of Paratime Police in +aircars and thirty-foot air boats. There was a ring of big +two-hundred-foot conveyers a mile out; they would carry the armor and +the airborne infantry and the little two-man scooters of the +air-cavalry, from the Service and Industrial Sectors. Directly over +the spatial equivalent of the Kholghoor Sector Wizard Traders' +conveyers was the single disk of Verkan Vall's command conveyer, at a +represented five thousand feet, and in a half-mile circle around it +were the five news service conveyers. + +"Where's the ship-conveyer?" he asked. + +"Actually it's on antigrav about five miles north of here," one of the +girls said. "Representationally, about where Subchief Ranthar's +standing." + +Another girl added a few more bits to the network that represented the +sleep-gas bombs and stepped back, taking off her earphones. + +"Everything's in place, now, Assistant Verkan," she told him. + +"Good. I'm going aboard, now," he said. "You can have it, Jard." + +He shook hands with Ranthar Jard, who moved to the switch which would +activate all the conveyers simultaneously, and accepted the good +wishes of the girls at the terrain board. Then he walked to the +mesh-covered dome of the hundred-foot conveyer, with the five news +service conveyers surrounding it in as regular a circle as the +buildings and towers of the regular conveyer heads would permit. The +members of his own detail, smoking and chatting outside, saw him and +started moving inside; so did the news people. A public-address +speaker began yelping, in a hundred voices all over the area, warning +those who were going with the conveyers to get aboard. He went in +through a door, between two aircars, and on to the central +control-desks, going up to a visiscreen over which somebody had +crayoned "Novilan EQ." It gave him a view, over the shoulder of a man +in the uniform of a field agent third class, of the interior of a +conveyer like his own. + + * * * * * + +"Hello, Assistant Verkan," a voice came out of the speaker under the +screen, as the man moved his lips. "Deputy Skordran! Here's Chief's +Assistant Verkan, now!" + +Skordran Kirv moved in front of the screen as the operator got up from +his stool. + +"Hello, Vall; we're all set to move out as soon as you give the word," +he said. "We're all in position on antigrav." + +"That's smart work. We've just finished our gas-bomb net," Vall said. +"Going on antigrav now," he added, as he felt the dome lift. "I hope +you won't be too disappointed if you draw a blank on your end." + +"We realize that they've closed out the whole Esaron Sector," Skordran +Kirv, eight thousand odd miles away, replied. "We're taking in a +couple of ships; we're going to make a survey all up the coast. There +are a lot of other sectors where slaves can be sold in this area." + +In the outside viewscreen, tuned to a slowly rotating pickup on the +top of a tower spatially equivalent with a room in a tall building on +Second Level Triplanetary Empire Sector, he could see his own conveyer +rising vertically, with the news conveyers following, and the troop +conveyers, several miles away, coming into position. Finally, they +were all placed; he reported the fact to Skordran Kirv and then picked +up a hand-phone. + +"Everybody ready for transposition?" he called. "On my count. Thirty +seconds ... Twenty seconds ... Fifteen seconds ... Five seconds ... +Four seconds ... Three seconds ... Two seconds ... One second, _out!_" + +All the screens went gray. The inside of the dome passed into another +space-time continuum, even into another kind of space-time. The +transposition would take half an hour; that seemed to be the time +needed to build up and collapse the transposition field, regardless of +the paratemporal distance covered. The dome above and around them +vanished; the bare, tower-forested, building-dotted world of Police +Terminal vanished, too, into the uniform green of the uninhabited +Fifth Level. A planet could take pretty good care of itself, he +thought, if people would only leave it alone. Then he began to see the +fields and villages of Fourth Level. Cities appeared and vanished, +growing higher and vaster as they went across the more civilized Third +Level. One was under air attack--there was almost never a paratemporal +transposition which did not run through some scene of battle. + +He unbuckled his belt and took off his boots and tunic; all around +him, the others were doing the same. Sleep-gas didn't have to be +breathed; it could enter the nervous system by any orifice or lesion, +even a pore or a scratch. A spacesuit was the only protection. One of +the detectives helped him on with his metal and plastic armor; before +sealing his gauntlets, he reciprocated the assistance, then checked +the needler and blaster and the long batonlike ultrasonic paralyzer on +his belt and made sure that the radio and sound-phones in his helmet +were working. He hoped that the frantic efforts to gather several +thousand spacesuits onto Police Terminal from the Industrial and +Commercial and Interplanetary Sectors hadn't started rumors which had +gotten to the ears of some of the Organization's ubiquitous agents. + + * * * * * + +The country below was already turning to the parched browns and +yellows of the Abzar Sector. There was not another of the conveyers in +sight, but electronic and mechanical lag in the individual controls +and even the distance-difference between them and the central radio +control would have prevented them from going into transposition at the +same fractional microsecond. The recon-details began piling into their +cars. Then the red light overhead winked to green, and the dome +flickered and solidified into cold, inert metal. The screens lighted +up again, and Vall could see Skordran Kirv, across Asia and the +Pacific, getting into his helmet. A dot of light in the center of the +underview screen widened as the mesh under the conveyer irised open +around the pickup. + +Below, the Organization base--big rectangles of fenced slave pens, +with metal barracks inside; the huge circle of the Kholghoor Sector +conveyer-head building, and a smaller structure that must house +conveyers to other Abzar Sector time lines; the work-shops and living +quarters and hangars and warehouses and docks--was wreathed in +white-green mist. The ring of conveyers at three thousand feet were +opening and spewing out aircars and airboats, farther away, the +greater ring of heavy conveyers were unloading armored and shielded +combat-craft. An aircar which must have been above the reach of the +gas was streaking away toward the west, with three police cars after +it. As he watched, the air around it fairly sizzled blue with the rays +of neutron disruption blasters, and then it blew apart. The three +police cars turned and came back more slowly. The three-thousand-ton +passenger ship which had been hastily fitted with armament was +circling about; the great dock conveyer which had brought it was gone, +transposed back to Police Terminal to pick up another ship. + +He recorded a message announcing the arrival of the task-force, pulled +out the tape and sealed it in a capsule, and put the capsule in a mesh +message ball, attaching it to a couple of wires and flipping a switch. +The ball flashed and vanished, leaving the wires cleanly sheared off. +When it got back to Police Terminal, half an hour later, it would +rematerialize, eject a parachute, and turn on a whistle to call +attention to itself. Then he sealed on his helmet, climbed into an +aircar, and turned on his helmet-radio to speak to the driver. The car +lifted a few inches, floated out an open port, and dived downward. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +He landed at the big conveyer-head building. There were spaces for +fifty conveyers around it, and all but eight of them were in place. +One must have arrived since the gas bombs burst; it was crammed with +senseless Kharanda slaves. A couple of Paratime Police officers were +towing a tank of sleep-gas around on an antigrav-lifter, maintaining +the proper concentration in case any more came in. At the smaller +conveyer building, there were no conveyers, only a number of red-lined +fifty-foot circles around a central two-hundred-foot circle. The +Organization personnel there had been dragged outside, and a group of +paracops were sealing it up, installing robot watchmen, and preparing +to flood it with gas. At the slave pens, a string of two-hundred-foot +conveyers, having unloaded soldiers and fighting-gear, were coming in +to take on unconscious slaves for transposition to Police Terminal. +Aircars and airboats were bringing in gassed slavers; they were being +shackled and dumped into the slave barracks; as soon as the gas +cleared and they could be brought back to consciousness, they would be +narco-hypnotized and questioned. + +He had finished a tour of the warehouses, looking at the kegs of +gunpowder and the casks of brandy, the piles of pig lead, the stacks +of cases containing muskets. These must have all come from some +low-order handcraft time line. Then there were swords and hatchets +and knives that had been made on Industrial Sector--the Organization +must be getting them through some legitimate trading company--and +mirrors and perfumes and synthetic fiber textiles and cheap jewelry, +of similar provenance. It looked as though this stuff had been brought +in by ship from somewhere else on this time line; the warehouses were +too far from the conveyers and right beside the ship dock-- + +There was a tremendous explosion somewhere. Vall and the men with him +ran outside, looking about, the sound-phones of their helmets giving +them no idea of the source of the sound. One of the policemen pointed, +and Vall's eyes followed his arm. The ship that had been transposed in +in the big conveyer was falling, blown in half; as he looked, both +sections hit the ground several miles away. A strange ship, a +freighter, was coming in fast, and as he watched, a blue spark winked +from her bow as a heavy-duty blaster was activated. There was another +explosion, overhead; they all ran for shelter as Vall's +command-conveyer disintegrated into falling scrap-metal. At once, all +the other conveyers which were on antigrav began flashing and +vanishing. That was the right, the only, thing to do, he knew. But it +was leaving him and his men isolated and under attack. + + * * * * * + +"So that was it," Dalgroth Sorn, the Paratime Commissioner for +Security said, relieved when Tortha Karf had finished. + +"Yes, and I'll repeat it under narco-hyp, too," Tortha Karf added. + +"Oh, don't talk that way, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn scolded. He was at +least a century Tortha Karf's senior; he had the face of an elderly +and sore-toothed lion. "You wanted to keep this prisoner under wraps +till you could mind-pump him, and you wanted the Organization to think +Salgath was alive and talking. I approve both. But--" + +He gestured to the viewscreen across the room, tuned to a pickup back +of the Speaker's chair in the Council Chamber. Tortha Karf turned a +knob to bring the sound volume up. + +"Well. I'm raising this point," a member from the Management seats in +the center was saying, "because these earlier charges of illegal +arrest and illegal detention are part and parcel with the charges +growing out of the telecast last evening." + +"Well, that telecast was a fake; that's been established," somebody on +the left heckled. + +"Councilman Salgath's confession on the evening of One-Six-Two Day +wasn't a fake, the Management supporter, Nanthav Skov, retorted. + +"Well, then why was it necessary to fake the second one?" + +A light began winking on the big panel in front of the Speaker, Asthar +Varn. + +"I recognize Councilman Hasthor Flan," Asthar said. + +"I believe I can construct a theory that will explain that," Hasthor +Flan said. "I suggest that when the Paratime Police were questioning +Councilman Salgath under narco-hypnosis, he made statements +incriminating either the Paratime Police as a whole or some member of +the Paratime Police whom Tortha Karf had to protect--say somebody like +Assistant Verkan. So they just killed him, and made up this +impostor--" + +Tortha Karf began, alphabetically, to blaspheme every god he had ever +heard of. He had only gotten as far as a Fourth Level deity named +Allah when a red light began flashing in front of Asthar Varn, and the +voice of a page-robot, amplified, roared: + +"Point of special urgency! Point of special urgency! It has been +requested that the news telecast screen be activated at once, with +playback to 1107. An important bulletin has just come in from +Nagorabar, Home Time Line, on the Indian subcontinent--" + +"You can stop swearing, now, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn grinned. "I think +this is it." + + * * * * * + +Kostran Galth sat on the edge of the couch, with one arm around +Zinganna's waist; on the other side of him, Hadron Dalla lay at full +length, her elbows propped and her chin in her hands. The screen in +front of them showed a fading sunset, although it was only a little +past noon at Dhergabar Equivalent. A dark ship was coming slowly in +against the red sky; in the center of a wire-fenced compound a +hundred-foot conveyer hung on antigrav twenty feet from the ground, +and beyond, a long metal prefab-shed was spilling light from open +doors and windows. + +"That crowd that was just taken in won't be finished for a couple of +hours," a voice was saying. "I don't know how much they'll be able to +tell; the psychists say they're all telling about the same stories. +What those stories are, of course, I'm not able to repeat. After the +trouble caused by a certain news commentator who shall be +nameless--he's not connected with this news service, I'm happy to +say--we're all leaning over backward to keep from breaking Paratime +Police security. + +"One thing; shortly after the arrival of the second ship from Police +Terminal--and believe me, that ship came in just in the nick of +time!--the dead Abzar city which the criminals were using as their +main base for this time line, and from which they launched the air +attack against us, was located, and now word has come in that it is +entirely in the hands of the Paratime Police. Personally, I doubt if a +great deal of information has been gotten from any prisoners taken +there. The lengths to which this Organization went to keep their own +people in ignorance is simply unbelievable." + +A man appeared for a moment in the lighted doorway of the shed, then +stepped outside. + +"Look!" Dalla cried. "There's Vall!" + +"There's Assistant Verkan, now," the commentator agreed. "Chief's +Assistant, would you mind saying a few words, here? I know you're a +busy man, sir, but you are also the public hero of Home Time Line, and +everybody will be glad if you say something to them--" + + * * * * * + +Tortha Karf sealed the door of the apartment behind them, then +activated one of the robot servants and sent it gliding out of the +room for drinks. Verkan Vall took off his belt and holster and laid +them aside, then dropped into a deep chair with a sigh of relief. +Dalla advanced to the middle of the room and stood looking about in +surprised delight. + +"Didn't expect this, from the mess outside?" Vall asked. "You know, +you really are on the paracops, now. Nobody off the Force knows about +this hideout of the Chief's." + +"You'd better find a place like this, too," Tortha Karf advised. "From +now on, you'll have about as much privacy at that apartment in +Turquoise Towers as you'd enjoy on the stage of Dhergabar Opera +House." + +"Just what is my new position?" Vall asked, hunting his cigarette case +out of his tunic. "Duplicate Chief of Paratime Police?" + + * * * * * + +The robot came back with three tall glasses and a refrigerated +decanter on its top. It stopped in front of Tortha Karf and slewed +around on its treads; he filled a glass and sent it to the chair where +Dalla had seated herself; when she got a drink, she sent it to Vall. +Vall sent if back to Tortha Karf, who turned it off. + +"No; you have the modifier in the wrong place. You're Chief of +Duplicate Paratime Police. You take the setup you have now, and expand +it; continue the present lines of investigation, and be ready to +exploit anything new that comes up. You won't bother with any of this +routine flying-saucer-scare stuff; just handle the Organization +business. That'll keep you busy for a long time, I'm afraid." + +"I notice you slammed down on the first Council member who began +shouting about how you'd wiped out the Great Paratemporal Crime-Ring," +Vall said. + +"Yes. It isn't wiped out, and it won't be wiped out for a long time. I +shall be unspeakably delighted if, when I turn my job over to you, you +have it wiped out. And even then, there'll be a loose end to pick up +every now and then till you retire." + +"We have Council and the Management with us, now," Vall said. "This +was the first secret session of Executive Council in over two thousand +years. And I thought I'd drop dead when they passed that motion to +submit themselves to narco-hypnosis." + +"A few Councilmen are going to drop dead before they can be +narco-hypped," Dalla prophesied over the rim of her glass. + +"A few have already. I have a list of about a dozen of them who have +had fatal accidents or committed suicide, or just died or vanished +since the news of your raid broke. Four of them I saw, in the screen, +jump up and run out as soon as the news came in, on One-Six-Five Day. +And a lot of other people; our friend Yandar Yadd's dropped out of +sight, for one. You heard what we got out of those servants of Salgath +Trod's?" + +"I didn't," Dalla said. "What?" + +"Both spies for the Organization. They reported to a woman named +Farilla, who ran a fortune-telling parlor in the Prole district. Her +occult powers didn't warn her before we sent a squad of plain-clothes +men for her. That was an entirely illegal arrest, by the way, but it +netted us a list of about three hundred prominent political, business +and social persons whose servants have been reporting to her. She +thought she was working for a telecast gossipist." + +"That's why we have a new butler, darling," Vall interrupted. +"Kandagro was reporting on us." + +"Who did she pass the reports on to?" Dalla asked. + +Tortha Karf beamed. "She thinks more like a cop every time I talk to +her," he told Vall. "You better appoint her your Special Assistant. +Why, about 1800 every day, some Prole would come in, give the +recognition sign, and get the day's accumulation. We only got one of +them, a fourteen-year-old girl. We're having some trouble getting her +deconditioned to a point where she can be hypnotized into talking; by +the time we do, they'll have everything closed out, I suppose. What's +the latest from Abzar Sector? I missed the last report in the rush to +get to this Council session." + +"All stalled. We're still boomeranging the sector, but it's about five +billion time-lines deep, and the pattern for the Kholghoor and Esaron +Sectors doesn't seem to apply. I think they have a lot of these Abzar +time lines close together, and they get from one to another via some +terminal on Fifth Level." + +Tortha Karf nodded. It was impossible to make a transposition of less +than ten parayears--a hundred thousand time lines. It was impossible +that the field could build and collapse that soon. + +"We also think that this Abzar time line was only used for the +Croutha-Wizard Trader operation. Nothing we found there was more than +a couple of months old; nothing since the last rainy season in India, +for instance. Everything was cleaned out on Skordran Kirv's end." + +"Tell him to try the Mississippi, Missouri and Ohio Valleys," Tortha +Karf said. "A lot of those slaves are sure to have been sold to Second +Level Khiftan Sector." + +"Well, it looks as though our vacation's out the window for a long +time," Dalla said resignedly. + +"Why don't you and Vall go to my farm, on Fifth Level Sicily," Tortha +Karf suggested. "I own the whole island, on that time line, and you +can always be reached in a hurry if anything comes up." + +"We could have as much fun there as on the Dwarma Sector," Dalla +said. "Chief, could we take a couple of friends along?" + +"Well, who?" + +"Zinganna and Kostran Galth," she replied. "They've gotten interested +in one another; they're talking about a tentative marriage." + +"It'll have to be mighty tentative," Vall said. "Kostran Galth can't +marry a Prole." + +"She won't be a Prole very long. I'm going to adopt her as my sister." + +Tortha Karf looked at her sharply. "You sure you know what you're +doing, Dalla?" he asked. + +"Of course I'm sure. I know that girl better than she knows herself. I +narco-hypped her, remember. Zinna's the kind of a sister I've always +wished I'd had." + +"Well, that's all right then. But about this marriage. She was in love +with Salgath Trod," Tortha Karf said. "Now, she's identifying Agent +Kostran with him--" + +"She was in love with the kind of man Salgath could have been if he +hadn't gotten into this Organization filth," Dalla replied. "Galth is +that kind of a man. They'll get along all right." + +"Well, she'll qualify on IQ and general psych rating for Citizenship. +I'll say that. And she's the kind of girl I like to see my boys take +up with. Like you, Dalla. Yes, of course; take them along with you. +Sicily's big enough that two couples won't get in each others' way." + +A phone-robot, its slender metal stem topped by a metal globe, slid +into the room on its ball-rollers, moving falteringly, like a blind +man. It could sense Tortha Karf's electro-encephalic wave-patterns, +but it was having trouble locating the source. They all sat +motionless, waiting; finally it came over to Tortha Karf's chair and +stopped. He unhooked the phone and held a lengthy whispered +conversation with somebody before replacing it. + +"Now, there," he explained to Dalla. "That's a sample of why we have +to set up this duplicate organization. Revolution just broke out at +Ftanna, on Third Level Tsorshay Sector; a lot of our people, mostly +tourists and students, are cut off from their conveyers by street +fighting. Going to be a pretty bloody business getting them out." He +finished his drink and got to his feet. "Sit still; I just have to +make a few screen-calls. Send the robot for something to eat, Vall. +I'll be right back." + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Crime, by H. 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Beam Piper + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } +.img1 {border-style:solid; border-color:#000000; border-width:0.05em; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .tr { text-align:center; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: + 0.5em; margin-right: 0.5em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Crime, by H. Beam Piper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Time Crime + +Author: H. Beam Piper + +Release Date: May 5, 2007 [EBook #18151] +[This file was first posted on April 11, 2006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME CRIME *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p class="tr"> Transcriber's note.<br /> + <br /> +This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction Magazine February and March 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<h1>TIME CRIME</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>BY H. BEAM PIPER</h2> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><i>First of Two Parts. The Paratime Police had a real headache this +time! Tracing one man in a population of millions is easy—compared +to finding one gang hiding out on one of billions of probability lines!</i></p> +<p> </p> +<h4>Illustrated by Freas</h4> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_01.jpg" width="600" height="606" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> +<h2>ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION</h2> + + +<p>Kiro Soran, the guard captain, stood in the shadow of the veranda +roof, his white cloak thrown back to display the scarlet lining. He +rubbed his palm reflectively on the checkered butt of his revolver and +watched the four men at the table.</p> + +<p>"And ten tens are a hundred," one of the clerks in blue jackets said, +adding another stack to the pile of gold coins.</p> + +<p>"Nineteen hundreds," one of the pair in dirty striped robes agreed, +taking a stone from the box in front of him and throwing it away. Only +one stone remained. "One more hundred to pay."</p> + +<p>One of the blue-jacketed plantation clerks made a tally mark; his +companion counted out coins, ten and ten and ten.</p> + +<p>Dosu Golan, the plantation manager, tapped impatiently on his polished +boot leg with a thin riding whip.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_02.jpg" width="600" height="447" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"I don't like this," he said, in another and entirely different +language. "I know, chattel slavery's an established custom on this +sector, and we have to conform to local usages, but it sickens me to +have to haggle with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>these swine over the price of human beings. On +the Zarkantha Sector, we used nothing but free wage-labor."</p> + +<p>"Migratory workers," the guard captain said. "Humanitarian +considerations aside, I can think of a lot better ways of meeting the +labor problem on a fruit plantation than by buying slaves you need for +three months a year and have to feed and quarter and clothe and doctor +the whole twelve."</p> + +<p>"Twenty hundreds of <i>obus</i>," the clerk who had been counting the money +said. "That is the payment, is it not, Coru-hin-Irigod?"</p> + +<p>"That is the payment," the slave dealer replied.</p> + +<p>The clerk swept up the remaining coins, and his companion took them +over and put them in an iron-bound chest, snapping the padlock. The +two guards who had been loitering at one side slung their rifles and +picked up the chest, carrying it into the plantation house. The slave +dealer and his companion arose, putting their money into a leather +bag; Coru-hin-Irigod turned and bowed to the two men in white cloaks.</p> + +<p>"The slaves are yours, noble lords," he said.</p> + +<p>Across the plantation yard, six more men in striped robes, with +carbines slung across their backs, approached; with them came another +man in a hooded white cloak, and two guards in blue jackets and red +caps, with bayoneted rifles. The man in white and his armed attendants +came toward the house; the six Calera slavers continued across the +yard to where their horses were picketed.</p> + +<p>"If I do not offend the noble lords, then," Coru-hin-Irigod said, "I +beg their sufferance to depart. I and my men have far to ride if we +would reach Careba by nightfall. The Lord, the Great Lord, the Lord +God Safar watch between us until we meet again."</p> + +<p>Urado Alatana, the labor foreman, came up onto the porch as the two +slavers went down.</p> + +<p>"Have a good look at them, Radd?" the guard captain asked.</p> + +<p>"You think I'm crazy enough to let those bandits out of here with two +thousand <i>obus</i>—forty thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units—of the +Company's money without knowing what we're getting?" the other +parried. "They're all right—nice, clean, healthy-looking lot. I did +everything but take them apart and inspect the pieces while they were +being unshackled at the stockade. I'd like to know where this +Coru-hin-Whatshisname got them, though. They're not local stuff. Lot +darker, and they're jabbering among themselves in some lingo I never +heard before. A few are wearing some rags of clothing, and they have +odd-looking sandals. I noticed that most of them showed marks of +recent whipping. That may mean they're troublesome, or it may just +mean that these Caleras are a lot of sadistic brutes."</p> + +<p>"Poor devils!" The man called Dosu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> Golan was evidently hoping that +he'd never catch himself talking about fellow humans like that. The +guard captain turned to him.</p> + +<p>"Coming to have a look at them, Doth?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You go, Kirv; I'll see them later."</p> + +<p>"Still not able to look the Company's property in the face?" the +captain asked gently. "You'll not get used to it any sooner than now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're right." For a moment Dosu Golan watched +Coru-hin-Irigod and his followers canter out of the yard and break +into a gallop on the road beyond. Then he tucked his whip under his +arm. "All right, then. Let's go see them."</p> + +<p>The labor foreman went into the house; the manager and the guard +captain went down the steps and set out across the yard. A big +slat-sided wagon, drawn by four horses, driven by an old slave in a +blue smock and a thing like a sunbonnet, rumbled past, loaded with +newly-picked oranges. Blue woodsmoke was beginning to rise from the +stoves at the open kitchen and a couple of slaves were noisily +chopping wood. Then they came to the stockade of close-set pointed +poles. A guard sergeant in a red-trimmed blue jacket, armed with a +revolver, met them with a salute which Kiro Soran returned: he +unfastened the gate and motioned four or five riflemen into positions +from which they could fire in between the poles in case the slaves +turned on their new owners.</p> + +<p>There seemed little danger of that, though Kiro Soran kept his hand +close to the butt of his revolver. The slaves, an even hundred of +them, squatted under awnings out of the sun, or stood in line to drink +at the water-butt. They furtively watched the two men who had entered +among them, as though expecting blows or kicks; when none were +forthcoming, they relaxed slightly. As the labor foreman had said, +they were clean and looked healthy. They were all nearly naked; there +were about as many women as men, but no children or old people.</p> + +<p>"Radd's right," the captain told the new manager. "They're not local. +Much darker skins, and different face-structure; faces wedge-shaped +instead of oval, and differently shaped noses, and brown eyes instead +of black. I've seen people like that, somewhere, but—"</p> + +<p>He fell silent. A suspicion, utterly fantastic, had begun to form in +his mind, and he stepped closer to a group of a dozen-odd, the manager +following him. One or two had been unmercifully lashed, not long ago, +and all bore a few lash-marks. Odd sort of marks, more like +burn-blisters than welts. He'd have to have the Company doctor look at +them. Then he caught their speech, and the suspicion was converted to +certainty.</p> + +<p>"These are not like the others: they wear fine garments, and walk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +proudly. They look stern, but not cruel. They are the real masters +here; the others are but servants."</p> + +<p>He grasped the manager's arm and drew him aside.</p> + +<p>"You know that language?" he asked. When the man called Dosu Golan +shook his head, he continued: "That's Kharanda; it's a dialect spoken +by a people in the Ganges Valley, in India, on the Kholghoor Sector of +the Fourth Level."</p> + +<p>Dosu Golan blinked, and his face went blank for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You mean they're from outtime?" he demanded. "Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"I did two years on Fourth Level Kholghoor with the Paratime Police, +before I took this job," the man called Kiro Soran replied. "And +another thing. Those lash-marks were made with some kind of an +electric whip. Not these rawhide quirts the Caleras use."</p> + +<p>It took the plantation manager all of five seconds to add that up. The +answer frightened him.</p> + +<p>"Kirv, this is going to make a simply hideous uproar, all the way up +to Home Time Line main office," he said. "I don't know what I'm going +to do—"</p> + +<p>"Well, I know what I have to do." The captain raised his voice, using +the local language: "Sergeant! Run to the guardhouse, and tell +Sergeant Adarada to mount up twenty of his men and take off after +those Caleras who sold us these slaves. They're headed down the road +toward the river. Tell him to bring them all back, and especially +their chief, Coru-hin-Irigod, and him I want alive and able to answer +questions. And then get the white-cloak lord Urado Alatena, and come +back here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, captain." The guards were all Yarana people; they disliked +Caleras intensely. The sergeant threw a salute, turned, and ran.</p> + +<p>"Next, we'll have to isolate these slaves," Kiro Soran said. "You'd +better make a full report to the Company as soon as possible. I'm +going to transpose to Police Terminal Time Line and make my report to +the Sector-Regional Subchief. Then—"</p> + +<p>"Now wait a moment, Kirv," Dosu Golan protested. "After all, I'm the +manager, even if I am new here. It's up to me to make the decisions—"</p> + +<p>Kiro Soran shook his head. "Sorry, Doth. Not this one," he said. "You +know the terms under which I was hired by the Company. I'm still a +field agent of the Paratime Police, and I'm reporting back on duty as +soon as I can transpose to Police Terminal. Look; here are a hundred +men and women who have been shifted from one time-line, on one +paratemporal sector of probability, to another. Why, the world from +which these people came doesn't even exist in this space-time +continuum. There's only one way they could have gotten here, and +that's the way we did—in a Ghaldron<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>-Hesthor paratemporal +transposition field. You can carry it on from there as far as you +like, but the only thing it adds up to is a case for the Paratime +Police. You had better include in your report mention that I've +reverted to police status; my Company pay ought to be stopped as of +now. And until somebody who outranks me is sent here, I'm in complete +charge. Paratime Transposition Code, Section XVII, Article 238."</p> + +<p>The plantation manager nodded. Kiro Soran knew how he must feel; he +laid a hand gently on the younger man's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You understand how it is, Doth; this is the only thing I can do."</p> + +<p>"I understand, Kirv. Count on me for absolutely anything." He looked +at the brown-skinned slaves, and lines of horror and loathing appeared +around his mouth. "To think that some of our own people would do a +thing like this! I hope you can catch the devils! Are you transposing +out, now?"</p> + +<p>"In a few minutes. While I'm gone, have the doctor look at those +whip-injuries. Those things could get infected. Fortunately, he's one +of our own people."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. And I'll have these slaves isolated, and if Adarada +brings back Coru-hin-Irigod and his gang before you get back, I'll +have them locked up and waiting for you. I suppose you want to +narco-hypnotize and question the whole lot, slaves and slavers?"</p> + +<p>The labor foreman, known locally as Urado Alatena, entered the +stockade.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong, Kirv?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The Paratime Police agent told him, briefly. The labor foreman +whistled, threw a quick glance at the nearest slaves, and nodded.</p> + +<p>"I knew there was something funny about them," he said. "Doth, what a +simply beastly thing to happen, two days after you take charge here!"</p> + +<p>"Not his fault," the Paratime Police agent said. "I'm the one the +Company'll be sore at, but I'd rather have them down on me rather than +old Tortha Karf. Well, sit on the lid till I get back," he told both +of them. "We'll need some kind of a story for the locals. Let's +see—Explain to the guards, in the hearing of some of the more +talkative slaves, that these slaves are from the Asian mainland, that +they are of a people friendly to our people, and that they were +kidnaped by pirates, our enemies. That ought to explain everything +satisfactorily."</p> + +<p>On his way back to the plantation house, he saw a clump of local +slaves staring curiously at the stockade, and noticed that the guards +had unslung their rifles and fixed their bayonets. None of them had +any idea, of course, of what had happened, but they all seemed to +know, by some sort of ESP, that something was seriously wrong. It was +going to get worse, too, when strangers began arriving, ap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>parently +from nowhere, at the plantation.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Verkan Vall waited until the small, dark-eyed woman across the +circular table had helped herself from one of the bowls on the +revolving disk in the middle, then rotated it to bring the platter of +cold boar-ham around to himself.</p> + +<p>"Want some of this, Dalla?" he asked, transferring a slice of ham and +a spoonful of wine sauce to his plate.</p> + +<p>"No, I'll have some of the venison," the black-haired girl beside him +said. "And some of the pickled beans. We'll be getting our fill of +pork, for the next month."</p> + +<p>"I thought the Dwarma Sector people were vegetarians," Jandar Jard, +the theatrical designer, said. "Most nonviolent peoples are, aren't +they?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the Dwarma people haven't any specific taboo against taking +life," Bronnath Zara, the dark-eyed woman in the brightly colored +gown, told him. "They're just utterly noncombative, nonaggressive. +When I was on the Dwarma Sector, there was a horrible scandal at the +village where I was staying. It seems that a farmer and a meat butcher +fought over the price of a pig. They actually raised their voices and +shouted contradictions at each other. That happened two years before, +and people were still talking about it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't think they had any money, either," Verkan Vall's wife, +Hadron Dalla, said.</p> + +<p>"They don't," Zara said. "It's all barter and trade. What are you and +Vall going to use for a visible means of support, while you're there?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have my mandolin, and I've learned all the traditional Dwarma +songs by hypno-mech," Dalla said. "And Transtime Tours is fitting Vall +out with a bag of tools; he's going to do repair work and carpentry."</p> + +<p>"Oh, good; you'll be welcome anywhere," Zara, the sculptress, said. +"They're always glad to entertain a singer, and for people who do the +fine decorative work they do, they're the most incompetent practical +mechanics I've ever seen or heard of. You're going to travel from +village to village?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The cover-story is that we're lovers who have left our village +in order not to make Vall's former wife unhappy by our presence," +Dalla said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, good! That's entirely in the Dwarma romantic tradition," Bronnath +Zara approved. "Ordinarily, you know, they don't like to travel. They +have a saying: 'Happy are the trees, they abide in their own place; +sad are the winds, forever they wander.' But that'll be a fine +explanation."</p> + +<p>Thalvan Dras, the big man with the black beard and the long red coat +and cloth-of-gold sash who lounged in the host's seat, laughed.</p> + +<p>"I can just see Vall mending pots, and Dalla playing that mandolin and +singing," he said. "At least, you'll be getting away from police work. +I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> suppose they have anything like police on the Dwarma Sector?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; they don't even have any such concept," Bronnath Zara said. +"When somebody does something wrong, his neighbors all come and talk +to him about it till he gets ashamed, then they all forgive him and +have a feast. They're lovely people, so kind and gentle. But you'll +get awfully tired of them in about a month. They have absolutely no +respect for anybody's privacy. In fact, it seems slightly indecent to +them for anybody to want privacy."</p> + +<p>One of Thalvan Dras' human servants came into the room, coughed +apologetically, and said:</p> + +<p>"A visiphone-call for His Valor, the Mavrad of Nerros."</p> + +<p>Vall went on nibbling ham and wine sauce; the servant repeated the +announcement a trifle more loudly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_08.jpg" width="600" height="347" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"Vall, you're being paged!" Thalvan Dras told him, with a touch of +impatience.</p> + +<p>Verkan Vall looked blank for an instant, then grinned. It had been so +long since he had even bothered to think about that antiquated title +of nobility—</p> + +<p>"Vall's probably forgotten that he has a title," a girl across the +table, wearing an almost transparent gown and nothing else, laughed.</p> + +<p>"That's something the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabar never forgets," +Jandar Jard drawled, with what, in a woman, would have been +cattishness.</p> + +<p>Thalvan Dras gave him a hastily repressed look of venomous anger, then +said something, more to Verkan Vall than to Jandar Jard, about titles +of nobility being the marks of social position and responsibility +which their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> bearers should never forget. That jab, Vall thought, +following the servant out of the room, had been a mistake on Jard's +part. A music-drama, for which he had designed the settings, was due +to open here in Dhergabar in another ten days. Thalvan Dras would +cherish spite, and a word from the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabar +would set a dozen critics to disparaging Jandar's work. On the other +hand, maybe it had been smart of Jandar Jard to antagonize Thalvan +Dras; for every critic who bowed slavishly to the wealthy nobleman, +there were at least two more who detested him unutterably, and they +would rush to Jandar Jard's defense, and in the ensuing uproar, the +settings would get more publicity than the drama itself.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the visiphone booth, Vall found a girl in a green blouse, with the +Paratime Police insigne on her shoulder, looking out of the screen. +The wall behind her was pale green striped in gold and black.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Eldra," he greeted her.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Chief's Assistant: I'm sorry to bother you, but the Chief +wants to talk to you. Just a moment, please."</p> + +<p>The screen exploded into a kaleidoscopic flash of lights and colors, +then cleared again. This time, a man looked out of it. He was well +into middle age; close to his three hundredth year. His hair, a +uniform iron-gray, was beginning to thin in front, and he was +acquiring the beginnings of a double chin. His name was Tortha Karf, +and he was Chief of Paratime Police, and Verkan Vall's superior.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Vall. Glad I was able to locate you. When are you and Dalla +leaving?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as we can get away from this luncheon, here. Oh, say an hour. +We're taking a rocket to Zarabar, and transposing from there to +Passenger Terminal Sixteen, and from there to the Dwarma Sector."</p> + +<p>"Well, Vall, I hate to bother you like this," Tortha Karf said, "but I +wish you'd stop by Headquarters on your way to the rocketport. +Something's come up—it may be a very nasty business—and I'd like to +talk to you about it."</p> + +<p>"Well, Chief, let me remind you that this vacation, which I've had to +postpone four times already, has been overdue for four years," Vall +said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Vall, I know. You've been working very hard, and you and Dalla +are entitled to a little time together. I just want you to look into +something, before you leave."</p> + +<p>"It'll have to take some fast looking. Our rocket blasts off in two +hours."</p> + +<p>"It may take a little longer; if it does, you and Dalla can transpose +to Police Terminal and take a rocket for Zarabar Equivalent, and +transpose from there to Passenger Sixteen. It would save time if you +brought Dalla with you to Headquarters."</p> + +<p>"Dalla won't like this," Vall under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>stated.</p> + +<p>"No. I'm afraid not." Tortha Karf looked around apprehensively, as +though estimating the damage an enraged Hadron Dalla could do to his +office furnishings. "Well, try to get here as soon as you can."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Thalvan Dras was holding forth, when Vall returned, on one of his +favorite preoccupations.</p> + +<p>"... Reason I'm taking such an especially active interest in this +year's Arts Exhibitions; I've become disturbed at the extent to which +so many of our artists have been content to derive their motifs, even +their techniques, from outtime art." He was using his vocowriter, +rather than his conversational, voice. "I yield to no one in my +appreciation of outtime art—you all know how devotedly I collect +objects of art from all over paratime—but our own artists should +endeavor to express their artistic values in our own artistic idioms."</p> + +<p>Vall bent over his wife's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"We have to leave, right away," he whispered.</p> + +<p>"But our rocket doesn't blast off for two hours—"</p> + +<p>Thalvan Dras had stopped talking and was looking at them in annoyance.</p> + +<p>"I have to go to Headquarters before we leave. It'll save time if you +come along."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Vall!" She looked at him in consternation. "Was that Tortha +Karf, calling?" She replaced her plate on the table and got to her +feet.</p> + +<p>"I'm dreadfully sorry, Dras," he addressed their host. "I just had a +call from Tortha Karf. A few minor details that must be cleared up, +before I leave Home Time Line. If you'll accept our thanks for a +wonderful luncheon—"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, Vall. Brogoth, will you call—" He gave a slight +chuckle. "I'm so used to having Brogoth Zaln at my elbow that I'd +forgotten he wasn't here. Wait. I'll call one of the servants to have +a car for you."</p> + +<p>"Don't bother; we'll take an aircab," Vall told him.</p> + +<p>"But you simply can't take a public cab!" The black-bearded nobleman +was shocked at such an obscene idea. "I will have a car ready for you +in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Dras; we have to hurry. We'll get a cab on the roof. Good-by, +everybody; sorry to have to break away like this. See you all when we +get back."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Hadron Dalla watched dejectedly as the green crags and escarpments of +the Paratime Building loomed above the city in front of them, and +began slipping under the aircab. She felt like a prisoner recaptured +at the moment when attempted escape was about to succeed.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," she said. "I knew he'd find something. He's trying to +break things up between us, the way he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> did twenty years ago.'"</p> + +<p>Vall crushed out his cigarette and said nothing. That hadn't been +true, and she knew it as well as he did. There had been many other +factors involved in the disintegration of their previous marriage, +most of them of her own contribution. But that had been twenty years +ago, she told herself. This time it would be different, if only—</p> + +<p>"Really, Vall, he's never liked me," she went on. "He's jealous of me, +I think. You're to be his successor, when he retires, and he thinks +I'm not a good influence—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, rubbish, Dalla! The Chief has always liked you," Vall replied. +"If he didn't, do you think he'd always be inviting us to that farm of +his, on Fifth Level Sicily? It's just that this job of ours has no +end; something's always turning up, outtime."</p> + +<p>The music that the cab had been playing died away. "Paratime Building, +just below," it said, in a light feminine voice. "Which landing stage, +please?" Vall leaned forward and punched at the buttons in front of +him. Something in the cab's electronic brain gave a rapid series of +clicks as it shifted from the general Paratime Building beam to the +beam of the Paratime Police landing stage, then it said, "Thank you." +The building below seemed to rotate upward toward them as it settled +down. Then the antigrav-field snapped off, the cab door popped open, +and the cab said: "Good-by, now. Ride with me again, sometime."</p> + +<p>They crossed the landing stage, entered the antigrav shaft, and +floated downward; at the end of a hallway, below, Vall opened the door +of Tortha Karf's office and ushered her through ahead of him.</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf, inside the semicircle of his desk, was speaking into a +recording phone as they approached. He shut off the machine and waved, +a cigarette in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Come on back and sit down," he invited. "Be with you in a moment." +Then he switched on the phone again and went on talking—something +about prompter evaluation and transmission of reports and less +reliance on robot equipment. "Sign that up, my personal order, and see +it's transmitted to everybody down to and including Sector Regional +Subchief level," he finished, then hung up the phone and turned to +them.</p> + +<p>"Sorry about this," he said. "Sit down, if you please. Cigarettes?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head and sat down in one of the chairs behind the desk; +she started to relax and then caught herself and sat erect, her hands +on her lap.</p> + +<p>"This won't interfere with your vacation, Vall," Tortha Karf was +saying. "I just need a little help before you transpose out."</p> + +<p>"We have to catch the rocket for Zarabar in an hour and a half," Dalla +reminded him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't worry about that; if you miss the commercial rocket, our police +rockets can give it an hour's start and pass it before it gets to +Zarabar," Tortha Karf said. Then he turned to Vall. "Here's what's +happened," he said. "One of our field agents on detached duty as guard +captain for Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs on a fruit plantation in +western North America, Third Level Esaron Sector, was looking over a +lot of slaves who had been sold to the plantation by a local slave +dealer. He heard them talking among themselves—in Kharanda."</p> + +<p>Dalla caught the significance of that before Vall did. At first, she +was puzzled; then, in spite of herself, she was horrified and angry. +Tortha Karf was explaining to Vall just where and on what paratemporal +sector Kharanda was spoken.</p> + +<p>"No possibility that this agent, Skordran Kirv, could have been +mistaken. He worked for a while on Kholghoor Sector, himself; knew the +language by hypno-mech and by two years' use," Tortha Karf was saying. +"So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and the +slave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal to +report. The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him in +charge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple of +detectives and a psychist."</p> + +<p>"When was this?" Vall asked.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday. One-Five-Nine Day. About 1500 local time."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-three hundred Dhergabar time," Vall commented.</p> + +<p>"Yes. And I just found out about it. Came in in the late morning +generalized report-digest; very inconspicuous item, no special urgency +symbol or anything. Fortunately, one of the report editors spotted it +and messaged Police Terminal for a copy of the original report."</p> + +<p>"It's been a long time since we had anything like that," Vall said, +studying the glowing tip of his cigarette, his face wearing the +curiously withdrawn expression of a conscious memory recall. "Fifty +years ago; the time that gang kidnaped some girls from Second Level +Triplanetary Empire Sector and sold them into the harem of some Fourth +Level Indo-Turanian sultan."</p> + +<p>"Yes. That was your first independent case, Vall. That was when I +began to think you'd really make a cop. One renegade First Level +citizen and four or five ServSec Prole hoodlums, with a stolen +fifty-foot conveyer. This looks like a rather more ambitious +operation." Dalla got one of her own cigarettes out and lit it. Vall +and Tortha Karf were talking cop talk about method of operation and +possible size of the gang involved, and why the slaves had been +shipped all the way from India to the west coast of North America.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Always ready sale for slaves on the Esaron Sector," Vall was saying. +"And so many small independent states, and different languages, that +outtimers wouldn't be particularly conspicuous."</p> + +<p>"And with this barbarian invasion going on on the Kholghoor Sector, +slaves could be picked up cheaply," Tortha Karf added.</p> + +<p>In spite of her determination to boycott the conversation, curiosity +began to get the better of her. She had spent a year and a half on the +Kholghoor Sector, investigating alleged psychic powers of the local +priests. There'd been nothing to it—the prophecies weren't +precognition, they were shrewd inferences, and the miracles weren't +psychokinesis, they were sleight-of-hand. She found herself asking:</p> + +<p>"What barbarian invasion's this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Central Asian nomadic people, the Croutha," Tortha Karf told her. +"They came down through Khyber Pass about three months ago, turned +east, and hit the headwaters of the Ganges. Without punching a lot of +buttons to find out exactly, I'd say they're halfway to the delta +country by now. Leader seems to be a chieftain called Llamh Droogh the +Red. A lot of paratime trading companies are yelling for permits to +introduce firearms in the Kholghoor Sector to protect their holdings +there."</p> + +<p>She nodded. The Fourth Level Kholghoor Sector belonged to what was +known as Indus-Ganges-Irriwady Basic Sector-Grouping—probability of +civilization having developed late on the Indian subcontinent, with +the rest of the world, including Europe, in Stone Age savagery or +early Bronze Age barbarism. The Kharandas, the people among whom she +had once done field-research work, had developed a pre-mechanical, +animal-power, handcraft, edge-weapon culture. She could imagine the +roads jammed with fugitives from the barbarian invaders, the conveyer +hidden among the trees, the lurking slavers—</p> + +<p>Watch it, Dalla! Don't let the old scoundrel play on your feelings!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Well, what do you want me to do, Chief?" Vall was asking.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have to know just what this situation's likely to develop +into, and I want to know why Vulthor Tharn's been sitting on this ever +since Skordran Kirv reported it to him—"</p> + +<p>"I can answer the second one now," Vall replied. "Vulthor Tharn is due +to retire in a few years. He has a negatively good, undistinguished +record. He's trying to play it safe."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf nodded. "That's what I thought. Look, Vall; suppose you +and Dalla transpose from here to Police Terminal, and go to Novilan +Equivalent, and give this a quick look-over and report to me, and then +rocket to Zarabar Equivalent and go on with your trip to the Dwarma +Sector. It may delay you eight or ten hours, but—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Closer twenty-four," Vall said. "I'd have to transpose to this +plantation, on the Esaron Sector. How about it, Dalla? Would you want +to do that?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a moment, angry with him. He didn't want to refuse, +and he was trying to make her do it for him.</p> + +<p>"I know, it's a confounded imposition, Dalla," Tortha Karf told her. +"But it's important that I get a prompt and full estimate of the +situation. This may be something very serious. If it's an isolated +incident, it can be handled in a routine manner, but I'm afraid it's +not. It has all the marks of a large-scale operation, and if this is a +matter of mass kidnapings from one sector and transpositions to +another, you can see what a threat this is to the Paratime Secret."</p> + +<p>"Moral considerations entirely aside," Vall said. "We don't need to +discuss them; they're too obvious."</p> + +<p>She nodded. For over twelve millennia, the people of her race and +Vall's and Tortha Karf's had been existing as parasites on all the +innumerable other worlds of alternate probability on the lateral +dimension of time. Smart parasites never injure their hosts, and try +never to reveal their existence.</p> + +<p>"We could do that, couldn't we, Vall?" she asked, angry at herself now +for giving in. "And if you want to question these slaves, I speak +Kharanda, and I know how they think. And I'm a qualified and licensed +narco-hypnotic technician."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's splendid, Dalla!" Tortha Karf enthused. "Wait a moment; +I'll message Police Terminal to have a rocket ready for you."</p> + +<p>"I'll need a hypno-mech for Kharanda, myself," Vall said. "Dalla, do +you know Acalan?" When she shook her head, he turned back to Tortha +Karf. "Look; it's about a four-hour rocket hop to Novilan Equivalent. +Say we have the hypno-mech machines installed in the rocket; Dalla and +I can take our language lessons on the way, and be ready to go to work +as soon as we land."</p> + +<p>"Good idea," Tortha Karf approved. "I'll order that done, right away. +Now—"</p> + +<p>Oddly enough, she wasn't feeling so angry, now that she had committed +herself and Vall. Come to think of it, she had never been on Police +Terminal Time Line; very few people, outside the Paratime Police, ever +had. And, she had always wanted to learn more about Vall's work, and +participate in it with him. And if she'd made him refuse, it would +have been something ugly between them all the time they would be on +the Dwarma Sector. But this way—</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The big circular conveyer room was crowded, as it had been every +minute of every day for the past ten thousand years. At the great +circular desk in the center, departing or returning police officers +were checking in or out with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> the flat-topped cylindrical robot +clerks, or talking to human attendants. Some were in the regulation +green uniform; others, like himself, were in civilian clothes; more +were in outtime costumes from all over paratime. Fringed robes and +cloth-of-gold sashes and conical caps from the Second Level Khiftan +Sector; Fourth Level Proto-Aryan mail and helmets; the short tunics +and kilts of Fourth Level Alexandrian-Roman Sector; the Zarkantha +loincloth and felt cap and daggers; there were priestly vestments +stiff with gold, and military uniforms; there were trousers and +jackboots and bare legs; blasters, and swords, and pistols, and bows +and quivers, and spears. And the place was loud with a babel of voices +and the clatter of teleprinters.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_15.jpg" width="600" height="310" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>Dalla was looking about her in surprised delight; for her, the +vacation had already begun. He was glad; for a while, he had been +afraid that she would be unhappy about it. He guided her through the +crowd to the desk, spoke for a while to one of the human attendants, +and found out which was their conveyer. It was a fixed-destination +shuttler, operative only between Home Time Line and Police Terminal, +from which most of the Paratime Police operations were routed. He put +Dall in through the sliding door, followed, and closed it behind him, +locking it. Then, before he closed the starting switch, he drew a +pistollike weapon and checked it.</p> + +<p>In theory, the Ghaldron-Hesthor paratemporal transposition field was +uninfluenced by material objects outside it. In practice, however, +such objects occasionally intruded, and sometimes they were alive and +hostile. The last time he had been in this conveyer room, he had seen +a quartet of returning officers emerge from a conveyer dome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> dragging +a dead lion by the tail. The sigma-ray needler, which he carried, was +the only weapon which could be used, under the circumstances. It had +no effect whatever on any material structure and could be used inside +an activated conveyer without deranging the conductor-mesh, as, say, a +bullet or the vibration of an ultrasonic paralyzer would do, and it +was instantly fatal to anything having a central nervous system. It +was a good weapon to use outtime for that reason, also; even on the +most civilized time-line, the most elaborate autopsy would reveal no +specific cause of death.</p> + +<p>"What's the Esaron Sector like?" Dalla asked, as the conveyer dome +around them coruscated with shifting light and vanished.</p> + +<p>"Third Level; probability of abortive attempt to colonize this planet +from Mars about a hundred thousand years ago," he said. "A few +survivors—a shipload or so—were left to shift for themselves while +the parent civilization on Mars died out. They lost all vestiges of +their original Martian culture, even memory of their extraterrestrial +origin. About fifteen hundred to two thousand years ago, a reasonably +high electrochemical civilization developed and they began working +with nuclear energy and developed reaction-drive spaceships. But +they'd concentrated so on the inorganic sciences, and so far neglected +the bio-sciences, that when they launched their first ship for Venus +they hadn't yet developed a germ theory of disease."</p> + +<p>"What happened when they ran into the green-vomit fever?" Dalla asked.</p> + +<p>"About what you could expect. The first—and only—ship to return +brought it back to Terra. Of course, nobody knew what it was, and +before the epidemic ended, it had almost depopulated this planet. +Since the survivors knew nothing about germs, they blamed it on the +anger of the gods—the old story of recourse to supernaturalism in the +absence of a known explanation—and a fanatically anti-scientific cult +got control. Of course, space travel was taboo; so was nuclear and +even electric power. For some reason, steam power and gunpowder +weren't offensive to the gods. They went back to a low-order +steam-power, black-powder, culture, and haven't gotten beyond that to +this day. The relatively civilized regions are on the east coast of +Asia and the west coast of North America; civilized race more or less +Caucasian. Political organization just barely above the tribal +level—thousands of petty kingdoms and republics and principalities +and feudal holdings and robbers' roosts. The principal industries are +brigandage, piracy, slave-raiding, cattle-rustling and intercommunal +warfare. They have a few ramshackle steam railways, and some +steamboats on the rivers. We sell them coal and manufactured goods, +mostly in exchange for foodstuffs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> tobacco. Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs has the sector franchise. That's one of the companies +Thalvan Dras gets his money from."</p> + +<p>They had run down through the civilized Second and Third Levels and +were leaving the Fourth behind and entering the Fifth, existing in the +probability of a world without human population. Once in a while, +around them, they caught brief flashes of buildings and rocketports +and spaceports and landing stages, as the conveyer took them through +narrow paratime belts on which their own civilization had established +outposts—Fifth Level Commercial, Fifth Level Passenger, Industrial +Sector, Service Sector.</p> + +<p>Finally the conveyer dome around them shimmered into visibility and +materialized; when they emerged, there were policemen in green +uniforms who entered to search the dome with drawn needlers to make +sure they had picked up nothing dangerous on the way. The room outside +was similar to the one they had left on Home Time Line, even to the +shifting, noisy crowd in incongruously-mixed costumes.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The rocketport was a ten minutes' trip by aircar from the conveyer +head; when they boarded the stubby-winged strato-rocket, Vall saw that +two of the passenger-seats had square metal cabinets bolted in place +behind them and blue plastic helmets on swinging arms mounted above +them.</p> + +<p>"Everything's set up," the pilot told them. "Dr. Hadron, you sit on +the left; that cabinet's loaded with language tape for Acalan. Yours +is loaded with a tape of Kharanda; that's the Fourth Level Kholghoor +language you wanted, Chief's Assistant. Shall I help you get fixed in +your seats?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you please. Here, Dalla, I'll fix that for you."</p> + +<p>Dalla was already asleep when the pilot was adjusting his helmet and +giving him his injection. He never felt the rocket tilt into firing +position, and while he slept, the Kharands language, with all its +vocabulary and grammar, became part of his subconscious knowledge, +needing only the mental pronunciation of a trigger-symbol to bring it +into consciousness. The pilot was already unfastening and raising his +helmet when he opened his eyes. Dalla, beside him, was sipping a cup +of spiced wine.</p> + +<p>On the landing stage of the Sector-Regional Headquarters at Novilan +Equivalent, four or five people were waiting for them. Vall recognized +the subchief, Vulthor Tharn, who introduced another man, in riding +boots and a white cloak, as Skordran Kirv. Vall clasped hands with him +warmly.</p> + +<p>"Good work, Agent Skordran. You got onto this promptly."</p> + +<p>"I tried to, sir. Do you want the dope now? We have half an hour's +flight to our spatial equivalent, and another half hour in +transposition."</p> + +<p>"Give it to me on the way," he said, and turned to Vulthor Tharn. +"Our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> Esaron costumes ready?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Over there in the control tower. We have a temporary conveyer +head set up about two hundred miles south of here, which will take you +straight through to the plantation."</p> + +<p>"Suppose you change now, Dalla," he said. "Subchief, I'd like a word +with you privately."</p> + +<p>He and Vulthor Tharn excused themselves and walked over to the edge of +the landing stage. The SecReg Subchief was outwardly composed, but +Vall sensed that he was worried and embarrassed.</p> + +<p>"Now, what's been done since you got Agent Skordran's report?" Vall +asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, it seems that this is more serious than we had +anticipated. Field Agent Skordran, who will give you the particulars, +says that there is every indication that a large and well-organized +gang of paratemporal criminals, our own people, are at work. He says +that he's found evidence of activities on Fourth Level Kholghoor that +don't agree with any information we have about conditions on that +sector."</p> + +<p>"Beside transmitting Agent Skordran's report to Dhergabar through the +robot report-system, what have you done about it?"</p> + +<p>"I confirmed Agent Skordran in charge of the local investigation, and +gave him two detectives and a psychist, sir. As soon as we could +furnish hypno-mech indoctrination in Kharanda to other psychists, I +sent them along. He now has four of them, and eight detectives. By +that time, we had a conveyer head right at this Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs plantation."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you just borrow psychists from SecReg for Kholghoor, +Eastern India?" Vall asked. "Subchief Ranthar would have loaned you a +few."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I couldn't call on another SecReg for men without higher-echelon +authorization. Especially not from another Sector Organization, even +another Level Authority," Vulthor Tharn said. "Beside, it would have +taken longer to bring them here than hypno-mech our own personnel."</p> + +<p>He was right about the second point. Vall agreed mentally; however, +his real reason was procedural.</p> + +<p>"Did you alert Ranthar Jard to what was going on in his SecReg?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Gracious, no!" Vulthor Tharn was scandalized. "I have no authority to +tell people of equal echelon in other Sector and Level organizations +what to do. I put my report through regular channels; it wasn't my +place to go outside my own jurisdiction."</p> + +<p>And his report had crawled through channels for fourteen hours, Vall +thought.</p> + +<p>"Well, on my authority, and in the name of Chief Tortha, you message +Ranthar Jard at once; send him every scrap of information you have on +the subject, and forward additional in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>formation as it comes in to +you. I doubt he'll find anything on any time-line that's being +exploited by any legitimate paratimers. This gang probably work +exclusively on unpenetrated time-lines; this business Skordran Kirv +came across was a bad blunder on some underling's part." He saw Dalla +emerge from the control tower in breeches and boots and a white cloak, +buckling on a heavy revolver. "I'll go change, now; you get busy +calling Ranthar Jard. I'll see you when I get back."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Are you taking over, Chief's Assistant?" Skordran Kirv asked, as the +aircar lifted from the landing stage.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. My wife and I are starting on our vacation, as soon as I +find out what's been happening here, and report to Chief Tortha. Did +your native troopers catch those slavers?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they got them yesterday afternoon; we've had them ever since. Do +you want the whole thing just as it happened, Assistant Verkan, or +just a condensation?"</p> + +<p>"Give me what you think it indicates, remembering that you're probably +trying to analyze a large situation from a very small sample."</p> + +<p>"It's big, all right," Skordran Kirv said. "This gang can't number +less than a hundred men, maybe several hundred. They must have at +least two two-hundred-foot conveyers and several small ones, and bases +on what sounds like some Fifth Level Time line, and at least one air +freighter of around five thousand tons. They are operating on a number +of Kholghoor and Esaron time lines."</p> + +<p>Verkan Vall nodded. "I didn't think it was any petty larceny," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Wait till you hear the rest of it. On the Kholghoor Sector, this gang +is known as the Wizard Traders; we've been using that as a convenience +label. They pose as sorcerers—black robes and hood-masks covered with +luminous symbols, voice-amplifiers, cold-light auras, energy-weapons, +mechanical magic tricks, that sort of thing. They have all the Croutha +scared witless. Their procedure is to establish camps in the forest +near recently conquered Kharanda cities; then they appear to the +Croutha, impress them with their magical powers, and trade +manufactured goods for Kharanda captives. They mainly trade firearms, +apparently some kind of flintlocks, and powder."</p> + +<p>Then they were confining their operations to unpenetrated time lines; +there had been no reports of firearms in the hands of the Croutha +invaders.</p> + +<p>"After they buy a batch of slaves," Skordran Kirv continued, "they +transpose them to this presumably Fifth Level base, where they have +concentration camps. The slaves we questioned had been airlifted to +North America, where there's another concentration camp, and from +there transposed to this Esaron Sector time line where I found them. +They say that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> there were at least two to three thousand slaves in +this North American concentration camp and that they are being +transposed out in small batches and replaced by others airlifted in +from India. This lot was sold to a Calera named Nebu-hin-Abenoz, the +chieftain of a hill town, Careba, about fifty miles south-west of the +plantation. There were two hundred and fifty in this batch; this +Coru-hin-Irigod only bought the batch he sold at the plantation."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The aircar lost speed and altitude; below, the countryside was dotted +with conveyer heads, each spatially coexistent with some outtime +police post or operation. There were a great many of them; the western +coast of North America was a center of civilization on many +paratemporal sectors, and while the conveyer heads of the commercial +and passenger companies were scattered over hundreds of Fifth Level +time lines, those of the Paratime Police were concentrated upon one. +The anti-grav-car circled around a three-hundred-foot steel tower that +supported a conveyer head spatially coexistent with one on a top floor +of some outtime tall building, and let down in front of a low +prefabricated steel shed. A man in police uniform came out to meet +them. There was a fifty-foot conveyer dome inside, and a fifty-foot +red-lined circle that marked the transposition point of an outtime +conveyer. They all entered the dome, and the operator put on the +transposition field.</p> + +<p>"You haven't heard the worst of it yet." Skordran Kirv was saying. "On +this time line, we have reason to think that the native, +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, who bought the slaves, actually saw the slavers' +conveyer. Maybe even saw it activated."</p> + +<p>"If he did, we'll either have to capture him and give him a +memory-obliteration, or kill him," Vall said. "What do you know about +him?"</p> + +<p>"Well, this Careba, the town he bosses, is a little walled town up in +the hills. Everybody there is related to everybody else; this man we +have, Coru-hin-Irigod, is the son of a sister of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's +wife. They're all bandits and slavers and cattle rustlers and what +have you. For the last ten years, Nebu-hin-Abenoz has been buying +slaves from some secret source. Before the Kholghoor Sector people +began coming in, they were mostly white, with a few brown people who +might have been Polynesians. No Negroes—there's no black race on this +sector, and I suppose the paratime slavers didn't want too many +questions asked. Coru-hin-Irigod, under narco-hypnosis, said that they +were all outlanders, speaking strange languages."</p> + +<p>"Ten years! And this is the first hint we've had of it," Vall said. +"That's not a bright mark for any of us. I'll bet the slave population +on some of these Esaron time lines is an anthropologist's nightmare."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, if this has been going on for ten years, there must have been +millions upon millions of people dragged from their own time lines +into slavery!" Dalla said in a shocked voice.</p> + +<p>"Ten years may not be all of it," Vall said. "This Nebu-hin-Abenoz +looks like the only tangible lead we have, at present. How does he +operate?"</p> + +<p>"About once every ten days, he'll take ten or fifteen men and go a +day's ride—that may be as much as fifty miles; these Caleras have +good horses and they're hard riders—into the hills. He'll take a big +bag of money, all gold. After dark, when he has made camp, a couple of +strangers in Calera dress will come in. He'll go off with them, and +after about an hour, he'll come back with eight or ten of these +strangers and a couple of hundred slaves, always chained in batches of +ten. Nebu-hin-Abenoz pays for them, makes arrangements for the next +meeting, and the next morning he and his party start marching the +slaves to Careba. I might add that, until now, these slaves have been +sold to the mines east of Careba; these are the first that have gotten +into the coastal country."</p> + +<p>"That's why this hasn't come to light before, then. The conveyer comes +in every ten days, at about the same place?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I've been thinking of a way we might trap them," Skordran Kirv +said. "I'll need more men, and equipment."</p> + +<p>"Order them from Regional or General Reserve." Vall told him. "This +thing's going to have overtop priority till it's cleared up."</p> + +<p>He was mentally cursing Vulthor Tharn's procedure-bound timidity as +the conveyer flickered and solidified around them and the overhead red +light turned green.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They emerged into the interior of a long shed, adobe-walled and +thatch-roofed, with small barred windows set high above the earth +floor. It was cool and shadowy, and the air was heavy with the +fragrance of citrus fruits. There were bins along the walls, some +partly full of oranges, and piles of wicker baskets. Another conveyer +dome stood beside the one in which they had arrived; two men in white +cloaks and riding boots sat on the edge of one of the bins, smoking +and talking.</p> + +<p>Skordran Kirv introduced them—Gathon Dard and Krador Arv, special +detectives—and asked if anything new had come up. Krador Arv shook +his head.</p> + +<p>"We still have about forty to go," he said. "Nothing new in their +stories; still the same two time lines."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image_22.jpg" width="200" height="591" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"These people," Skordran Kirv explained, "were all peons on the estate +of a Kharanda noble just above the big bend of the Ganges. The Croutha +hit their master's estate about a ten-days ago, elapsed time. In +telling about their capture, most of them say that their master's wife +killed herself with a dagger after the Croutha killed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> her husband, +but about one out of ten say that she was kidnaped by the Croutha. Two +different time lines, of course. The ones who tell the suicide story +saw no firearms among the Croutha; the ones who tell the kidnap story +say that they all had some kind of muskets and pistols. We're making +synthetic summaries of the two stories."</p> + +<p>"We're having trouble with the locals about all these strangers coming +in," Gathon Dard added. "They're getting curious."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said. "Are the +interrogations still going on? Then let's have a look-in at them."</p> + +<p>The big double doors at the end of the shed were barred on the inside. +Krador Arv unlocked a small side door, letting Vall, Dalla and Gathon +Dard out. In the yard outside, a gang of slaves were unloading a big +wagon of oranges and packing them into hampers; they were guarded by a +couple of native riflemen who seemed mostly concerned with keeping +them away from the shed, and a man in a white cloak was watching the +guards for the same purpose. He walked over and introduced himself to +Vall.</p> + +<p>"Golzan Doth, local alias Dosu Golan. I'm Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs' manager here."</p> + +<p>"Nasty business for you people," Vall sympathized. "If it's any +consolation, it's a bigger headache for us."</p> + +<p>"Have you any idea what's going to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> be done about these slaves?" +Golzan Doth asked. "I have to remember that the Company has forty +thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units invested in them. The top office +was very specific in requesting information about that."</p> + +<p>Vall shook his head. "That's over my echelon," he said. "Have to be +decided by the Paratime Commission. I doubt if your company'll suffer. +You bought them innocently, in conformity with local custom. Ever buy +slaves from this Coru-hin-Irigod before?"</p> + +<p>"I'm new, here. The man I'm replacing broke his neck when his horse +put a foot in a gopher hole about two ten-days ago."</p> + +<p>Beside him, Vall could see Dalla nod as though making a mental note. +When she got back to Home Time Line, she'd put a crew of mediums to +work trying to contact the discarnate former plantation manager; at +Rhogom Institute, she had been working on the problem of return of a +discarnate personality from outtime.</p> + +<p>"A few times," Skordran Kirv said. "Nothing suspicious; all local +stuff. We questioned Coru-hin-Irigod pretty closely on that point, and +he says that this is the first time he ever brought a batch of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's outlanders this far west."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The interrogations were being conducted inside the plantation house, +in the secret central rooms where the paratimers lived. Skordran Kirv +used a door-activator to slide open a hidden door.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I don't have to warn either of you that any positive +statement made in the hearing of a narco-hypnotized subject—" he +began.</p> + +<p>"... Has the effect of hypnotic suggestion—" Vall picked up after +him.</p> + +<p>"... And should be avoided unless such suggestion is intended," Dalla +finished.</p> + +<p>Skordran Kirv laughed, opening another, inner door, and stood aside. +In what had been the paratimers' recreation room, most of the +furniture had been shoved into the corners. Four small tables had been +set up, widely spaced and with screens between; across each of them, +with an electric recorder between, an almost naked Kharanda slave +faced a Paratime Police psychist. At a long table at the far side of +the room, four men and two girls were working over stacks of cards and +two big charts.</p> + +<p>"Phrakor Vuln," the man who was working on the charts introduced +himself. "Synthesist." He introduced the others.</p> + +<p>Vall made a point of the fact that Dalla was his wife, in case any of +the cops began to get ideas, and mentioned that she spoke Kharanda, +had spent some time on the Fourth Level Kholghoor, and was a qualified +psychist.</p> + +<p>"What have you got, so far?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Two different time lines, and two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> different gangs of Wizard +Traders," Phrakor Vuln said. "We've established the latter from +physical descriptions and because both batches were sold by the +Croutha at equivalent periods of elapsed time."</p> + +<p>Vall picked up one of the kidnap-story cards and glanced at it.</p> + +<p>"I notice there's a fair verbal description of these firearms, and +mention of electric whips," he said. "I'm curious about where they +came from."</p> + +<p>"Well, this is how we reconstructed them, Chief's Assistant," one of +the girls said, handing him a couple of sheets of white drawing paper.</p> + +<p>The sketches had been done with soft pencil; they bore repeated +erasures and corrections. That of the whip showed a cylindrical +handle, indicated as twelve inches in length and one in diameter, +fitted with a thumb-switch.</p> + +<p>"That's definitely Second Level Khiftan," Vall said, handing it back. +"Made of braided copper or silver wire and powered with a little +nuclear-conversion battery in the grip. They heat up to about two +hundred centigrade; produce really painful burns."</p> + +<p>"Why, that's beastly!" Dalla exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Anything on the Khiftan Sector is." Skordran Kirv looked at the four +slaves at the tables. "We don't have a really bad case here, now. A +few of these people were lash-burned horribly, though."</p> + +<p>Vall was looking at the other sketches. One was a musket, with a wide +butt and a band-fastened stock; the lock-mechanism, vaguely flintlock, +had been dotted in tentatively. The other was a long pistol, similarly +definite in outline and vague in mechanical detail; it was merely a +knob-butted miniature of the musket.</p> + +<p>"I've seen firearms like these; have a lot of them in my collection," +he said, handing back the sketches. "Low-order mechanical or +high-order pre-mechanical cultures. Fact is, things like those could +have been made on the Kholghoor Sector, if the Kharandas had learned +to combine sulfur, carbon and nitrates to make powder."</p> + +<p>The interrogator at one of the tables had evidently heard all his +subject could tell him. He rose, motioning the slave to stand.</p> + +<p>"Now, go with that man," he said in Kharanda, motioning to one of the +detectives in native guard uniform. "You will trust him; he is your +friend and will not harm you. When you have left this room, you will +forget everything that has happened here, except that you were kindly +treated and that you were given wine to drink and your hurts were +anointed. You will tell the others that we are their friends and that +they have nothing to fear from us. And you will not try to remove the +mark from the back of your left hand."</p> + +<p>As the detective led the slave out a door at the other side of the +room, the psychist came over to the long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> table, handing over a card +and lighting a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Suicide story," he said to one of the girls, who took the card.</p> + +<p>"Anything new?"</p> + +<p>"Some minor details about the sale to the Caleras on this time line. I +think we've about scraped bottom."</p> + +<p>"You can't say that," Phrakor Vuln objected. "The very last one may +give us something nobody else had noticed."</p> + +<p>Another subject was sent out. The interrogator came over to the table.</p> + +<p>"One of the kidnap-story crowd," he said. "This one was right beside +that Croutha who took the shot at the wild pig or whatever it was on +the way to the Wizard Traders' camp. Best description of the guns +we've gotten so far. No question that they're flintlocks." He saw +Verkan Vall. "Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. What do you make of them? +You're an authority on outtime weapons, I understand."</p> + +<p>"I'd have to see them. These people simply don't think mechanically +enough to give a good description. A lot of peoples make flintlock +firearms."</p> + +<p>He started running over, in his mind, the paratemporal areas in which +gunpowder but not the percussion-cap was known. Expanding cultures, +which had progressed as far as the former but not the latter. Static +cultures, in which an accidental discovery of gunpowder had never been +followed up by further research. Post-debacle cultures, in which a few +stray bits of ancient knowledge had survived.</p> + +<p>Another interrogator came over, and then the fourth. For a while they +sat and talked and drank coffee, and then the next quartet of slaves, +two men and two women, were brought in. One of the women had been +badly blistered by the electric whips of the Wizard Traders; in spite +of reassurances, all were visibly apprehensive.</p> + +<p>"We will not harm you," one of the psychists told them. "Here; here is +medicine for your hurts. At first, it will sting, as good medicines +will, but soon it will take away all pain. And here is wine for you to +drink."</p> + +<p>A couple of detectives approached, making a great show of pouring wine +and applying ointment; under cover of the medication, they jabbed each +slave with a hypodermic needle, and then guided them to seats at the +four tables. Vall and Dalla went over and stood behind one of the +psychists, who had a small flashlight in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Now, rest for a while," the psychist was saying. "Rest and let the +good medicine do its work. You are tired and sleepy. Look at this +magic light, which brings comfort to the troubled. Look at the light. +Look ... at ... the ... light."</p> + +<p>They moved to the next table.</p> + +<p>"Did you have hand in the fighting?"</p> + +<p>"No, lord. We were peasant folk, not fighting people. We had no +weapons, nor weapon-skill. Those who fought were all killed; we held +up empty hands, and were spared to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> captives of the Croutha."</p> + +<p>"What happened to your master, the Lord Ghromdour, and to his lady?"</p> + +<p>"One of the Croutha threw a hatchet and killed our master, and then +his lady drew a dagger and killed herself."</p> + +<p>The psychist made a red mark on the card in front of him, and circled +the number on the back of the slave's hand with red indelible crayon. +Vall and Dalla went to the third table.</p> + +<p>"They had the common weapons of the Croutha, lord, and they also had +the weapons of the Wizard Traders. Of these, they carried the long +weapons slung across their backs, and the short weapons thrust through +their belts."</p> + +<p>A blue mark on the card; a blue circle on the back of the slave's +hand.</p> + +<p>They listened to both versions of what had happened at the sack of the +Lord Ghromdour's estate, and the march into the captured city of +Jhirda, and the second march into the forest to the camp of the Wizard +Traders.</p> + +<p>"The servants of the Wizard Traders did not appear until after the +Croutha had gone away; they wore different garb. They wore short +jackets, and trousers, and short boots, and they carried small weapons +on their belts—"</p> + +<p>"They had whips of great cruelty that burned like fire; we were all +lashed with these whips, as you may see, lord—"</p> + +<p>"The Croutha had bound us two and two, with neck-yokes; these the +servants of the Wizard Traders took off from us, and they chained us +together by tens, with the chains we still wore when we came to this +place—"</p> + +<p>"They killed my child, my little Zhouzha!" the woman with the horribly +blistered back was wailing. "They tore her out of my arms, and one of +the servants of the Wizard Traders—may Khokhaat devour his soul +forever!—dashed out her brains. And when I struggled to save her. I +was thrown on the ground, and beaten with the fire-whips until I +fainted. Then I was dragged into the forest, along with the others who +were chained with me." She buried her head in her arms, sobbing +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Dalla stepped forward, taking the flashlight from the interrogator +with one hand and lifting the woman's head with the other. She flashed +the light quickly in the woman's eyes.</p> + +<p>"You will grieve no more for your child," she said. "Already, you are +forgetting what happened at the Wizard Traders' camp, and remembering +only that your child is safe from harm. Soon you will remember her +only as a dream of the child you hope to have, some day." She flashed +the light again, then handed it back to the psychist. "Now, tell us +what happened when you were taken into the forest; what did you see +there?"</p> + +<p>The psychist nodded approvingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>, made a note on the card, and +listened while the woman spoke. She had stopped sobbing, now, and her +voice was clear and cheerful.</p> + +<p>Vall went over to the long table.</p> + +<p>"Those slaves were still chained with the Wizard Traders' chains when +they were delivered here. Where are the chains?" he asked Skordran +Kirv.</p> + +<p>"In the permanent conveyer room," Skordran Kirv said. "You can look at +them there; we didn't want to bring them in here, for fear these poor +devils would think we were going to chain them again. They're very +light, very strong; some kind of alloy steel. Files and power saws +only polish them; it takes fifteen seconds to cut a link with an +atomic torch. One long chain, and short lengths, fifteen inches long, +staggered, every three feet, with a single hinge-shackle for the +ankle. The shackles were riveted with soft wrought-iron rivets, +evidently made with some sort of a power riveting-machine. We cut them +easily with a cold chisel."</p> + +<p>"They ought to be sent to Dhergabar Equivalent, Police Terminal, for +study of material and workmanship. Now, you mentioned some scheme you +had for capturing this conveyer that brings in the slaves for +Nebu-hin-Abenoz. What have you in mind?"</p> + +<p>"We still have Coru-hin-Irigod and all his gang, under hypno. I'd +thought of giving them hypnotic conditioning, and sending them back to +Careba with orders to put out some kind of signal the next time +Nebu-hin-Abenoz starts out on a buying trip. We could have a couple of +men posted in the hills overlooking Careba, and they could send a +message-ball through to Police Terminal. Then, a party could be sent +with a mobile conveyer to ambush Nebu-hin-Abenoz on the way, and wipe +out his party. Our people could take their horses and clothing and go +on to take the conveyer by surprise."</p> + +<p>"I'd suggest one change. Instead of relying on visual signals by the +hypno-conditioned Coru-hin-Irigod, send a couple of our men to Careba +with midget radios."</p> + +<p>Skordran Kirv nodded. "Sure. We can condition Coru-hin-Irigod to +accept them as friends and vouch for them at Careba. Our boys can be +traders and slave buyers. Careba's a market town; traders are always +welcome. They can have firearms to sell—revolvers and repeating +rifles. Any Calera'll buy any firearm that's better than the one he's +carrying; they'll always buy revolvers and repeaters. We can get what +we want from Commercial Four-Oh-Seven; we can get riding and pack +horses here."</p> + +<p>Vall nodded. "And the post overlooking or in radio range of Careba on +this time line, and another on PolTerm. For the ambush of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's gang and the capture of the conveyer, use anything +you want to—sleep-gas, paralyzers, energy-weapons, +antigrav-equipment, anything. As far as regulations about using only +equip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>ment appropriate to local culture-levels, forget them entirely. +But take that conveyer intact. You can locate the base time line from +the settings of the instrument panel, and that's what we want most of +all."</p> + +<p>Dalla and the police psychist, having finished with and dismissed +their subject, came over to the long table.</p> + +<p>"... That poor creature," Dalla was saying. "What sort of fiends are +they?"</p> + +<p>"If that made you sick, remember we've been listening to things like +that for the last eight hours. Some of the stories were even worse +than that one."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd like to use a heat-gun on the whole lot of them, turned +down to where it'd just fry them medium-rare," Dalla said. "And for +whoever's back of this, take him to Second Level Khiftan and sell him +to the priests of Fasif."</p> + +<p>"Too bad you're not coming back from your vacation, instead of +starting out. Chief's Assistant Verkan," Skordran Kirv said. "This is +too big for me to handle alone, and I'd sooner work under you than +anybody else Chief Tortha sends in."</p> + +<p>"Vall!" Dalla cried in indignation. "You're not going to just report +on this and then walk away from it, are you?"</p> + +<p>"But, darling," Vall replied, in what he hoped was a convincing show +of surprise. "You don't want our vacation postponed again, do you? If +I get mixed up in this, there's no telling when I can get away, and by +the time I'm free, something may come up at Rhogom Institute that you +won't want to drop—"</p> + +<p>"Vall, you know perfectly well that I wouldn't be happy for an instant +on the Dwarma Sector, thinking about this—"</p> + +<p>"All right, then; let's forget about the vacation. You want to stay on +for a while and help me with this? It'll be a lot of hard work, but +we'll be together."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. I want to do something to smash those devils. Vall, +if you'd heard some of the things they did to those poor people—"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll have to go back to PolTerm, as soon as I'm reasonably well +filled in on this, and report to Tortha Karf and tell him I've taken +charge. You can stay here and help with these interrogations; I'll be +back in about ten hours. Then, we can go to Kholghoor East India +SecReg HQ to talk to Ranthar Jard. We may be able to get something +that'll help us on that end—"</p> + +<p>"You may be able to have your vacation before too long, Dr. Hadron," +Skordran Kirv told her. "Once we capture one of their conveyers, the +instrument panel'll tell us what time line they're working from, and +then we'll have them."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image_29.jpg" width="200" height="565" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"There's an Indo-Turanian Sector parable about a snake charmer who +thought he was picking up his snake<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> and found that he had hold of an +elephant's tail," Vall said. "That might be a good thing to bear in +mind, till we find out just what we have picked up."</p> + + + + <p> </p> + +<p>Coming down a hallway on the hundred and seventh floor of the +Management wing of the Paratime Building, Yandar Yadd paused to +admire, in the green mirror of the glassoid wall, the jaunty angle of +his silver-feathered cap, the fit of his short jacket, and the way his +weapon hung at his side. This last was not instantly recognizable as a +weapon; it looked more like a portable radio, which indeed it was. It +was, none the less, a potent weapon. One flick of his finger could +connect that radio with one at Tri-Planet News Service, and within the +hour anything he said into it would be heard by all Terra, Mars and +Venus. In consequence, there existed around the Paratime Building a +marked and understandable reluctance to antagonize Yandar Yadd.</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes short of 1000, when he +had an appointment with Baltan Vrath, the comptroller general. +Glancing about, he saw that he was directly in front of the doorway of +the Outtime Claims Bureau, and he strolled in, walking through the +waiting room and into the claims-presentation office. At once, he +stiffened like a bird dog at point.</p> + +<p>Sphabron Larv, one of his young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> legmen, was in altercation across the +counter-desk with Varkar Klav, the Deputy Claims Agent on duty at the +time. Varkar was trying to be icily dignified; Sphabron Larv's black +hair was in disarray and his face was suffused with anger. He was +pounding with his fist on the plastic counter-top.</p> + +<p>"You have to!" he was yelling in the older man's face. "That's a +public document, and I have a right to see it. You want me to go into +Tribunes' Court and get an order? If I do, there'll be a Question in +Council about why I had to, before the day's out!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Larv?" Yandar Yadd asked lazily. "He trying to +hold something out on you?"</p> + +<p>Sphabron Larv turned; his eyes lit happily when he saw his boss, and +then his anger returned.</p> + +<p>"I want to see a copy of an indemnity claim that was filed this +morning," he said. "Varkar, here, won't show it to me. What does he +think this is, a Fourth Level dictatorship?"</p> + +<p>"What kind of a claim, now?" Yandar Yadd addressed Larv, ignoring +Varkar Klav.</p> + +<p>"Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs—one of the Thalvan Interests +companies—just claimed forty thousand P.E.U. for a hundred slaves +bought by one of their plantation managers on Third Level Esaron from +a local slave dealer. The Paratime Police impounded the slaves for +narco-hypnotic interrogation, and then transposed the lot of them to +Police Terminal."</p> + +<p>Yandar Yadd still held his affectation of sleepy indolence.</p> + +<p>"Now why would the Paracops do that, I wonder? Slavery's an +established local practice on Esaron Sector; our people have to buy +slaves if they want to run a plantation."</p> + +<p>"I know that." Sphabron Larv replied. "That's what I want to find out. +There must be something wrong, either with the slaves, or the +treatment our people were giving them, or the Paratime Police, and I +want to find out which."</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, Larv, so do I." Yandar Yadd said. He turned to the +man behind the counter. "Varkar, do we see that claim, or do I make a +story out of your refusal to show it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The Paratime Police asked me to keep this confidential," Varkar Klav +said. "Publicity would seriously hamper an important police +investigation."</p> + +<p>Yandar Yadd made an impolite noise. "How do I know that all it would +do would be to reveal police incompetence?" he retorted. "Look, +Varkar; you and the Paratime Police and the Paratime Commission and +the Home Time Line Management are all hired employees of the Home Time +Line public. The public has a right to know what its employees are +doing, and it's my business to see that they're informed. Now, for the +last time—will you show us a copy of that claim?"</p> + +<p>"Well, let me explain, off the rec<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>ord—" the official begged.</p> + +<p>"Huh-uh! Huh-uh! I had that off-the-record gag worked on me when I was +about Larv's age, fifty years ago. Anything I get, I put on the air or +not at my own discretion."</p> + +<p>"All right," Varkar Klav surrendered, pointing to a reading screen and +twiddling a knob. "But when you read it, I hope you have enough +discretion to keep quiet about it."</p> + +<p>The screen lit, and Yandar Yadd automatically pressed a button for a +photo-copy. The two newsmen stared for a moment, and then even Yandar +Yadd's shell of drowsy negligence cracked and fell from him. His hand +brushed the switch as he snatched the hand-phone from his belt.</p> + +<p>"Marva!" he barked, before the girl at the news office could more than +acknowledge. "Get this recorded for immediate telecast!... Ready? +Beginning: The existence of a huge paratemporal slave trade came to +light on the afternoon of One-Five-Nine Day, on a time line of the +Third Level Esaron Sector, when Field Agent Skordran Kirv, Paratime +Police, discovered, at an orange plantation of Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Salgath Trod sat alone in his private office, his half-finished lunch +growing cold on the desk in front of him as he watched the teleview +screen across the room, tuned to a pickup behind the Speaker's chair +in the Executive Council Chamber ten stories below. The two thousand +seats had been almost all empty at 1000, when Council had convened. +Fifteen minutes later, the news had broken; now, at 1430, a good three +quarters of the seats were occupied. He could see, in the aisles, the +gold-plated robot pages gliding back and forth, receiving and +delivering messages. One had just slid up to the seat of Councilman +Hasthor Flan, and Hasthor was speaking urgently into the recorder +mouthpiece. Another message for him, he supposed; he'd gotten at least +a score such calls since the crisis had developed.</p> + +<p>People were going to start wondering, he thought. This situation +should have been perfect for his purposes; as leader of the Opposition +he could easily make himself the next General Manager, if he exploited +this scandal properly. He listened for a while to the +Centrist-Management member who was speaking; he could rip that +fellow's arguments to shreds in a hundred words—but he didn't dare. +The Management was taking exactly the line Salgath Trod wanted the +whole Council to take: treat this affair as an isolated and +extraordinary occurrence, find a couple of convenient scapegoats, +cobble up some explanation acceptable to the public, and forget it. He +wondered what had happened to the imbecile who had transposed those +Kholghoor Sector slaves onto an exploited time line. Ought to be +shanghaied to the Khiftan Sector and sold to the priests of Fasif!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>A buzzer sounded, and for an instant he thought it would be the +message he had seen Hasthor Fan recording. Then he realized that it +was the buzzer for the private door, which could only be operated by +someone with a special identity sign. He pressed a button and unlocked +the door.</p> + +<p>The young man in the loose wrap-around tunic who entered was a +stranger. At least, his face and his voice were strange, but voices +could be mechanically altered, and a skilled cosmetician could render +any face unrecognizable. He looked like a student, or a minor +commercial executive, or an engineer, or something like that. Of +course, his tunic bulged slightly under the left armpit, but even the +most respectable tunics showed occasional weapon-bulges.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, councilman," the newcomer said, sitting down across +the desk from Salgath Trod. "I was just talking to ... somebody we +both know."</p> + +<p>Salgath Trod offered cigarettes, lighted his visitor's and then his +own.</p> + +<p>"What does Our Mutual Friend think about all this?" he asked, +gesturing toward the screen.</p> + +<p>"Our Mutual Friend isn't at all happy about it."</p> + +<p>"You think, perhaps, that I'm bursting into wild huzzas?" Salgath Trod +asked. "If I were to act as everybody expects me to, I'd be down there +on the floor, now, clawing into the Management tooth and nail. All my +adherents are wondering why I'm not. So are all my opponents, and +before long one of them is going to guess the reason."</p> + +<p>"Well, why not go down?" the stranger asked. "Our Mutual Friend thinks +it would be an excellent idea. The leak couldn't be stopped, and it's +gone so far already that the Management will never be able to play it +down. So the next best thing is to try to exploit it."</p> + +<p>Salgath Trod smiled mirthlessly. "So I am to get in front of it, and +lead it in the right direction? Fine ... as long as I don't stumble +over something. If I do, it'll go over me like a Fifth Level +bison-herd."</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about that," the stranger laughed reassuringly. "There +are others on the floor who are also friends of Our Mutual Friend. +Here: what you'd better do is attack the Paratime Police, especially +Tortha Karf and Verkan Vall. Accuse them of negligence and +incompetence, and, by implication, of collusion, and demand a special +committee to investigate. And try to get a motion for a confidence +vote passed. A motion to censure the Management, say—"</p> + +<p>Salgath Trod nodded. "It would delay things, at least. And if Our +Mutual Friend can keep properly covered, I might be able to overturn +the Management." He looked at the screen again. "That old fool of a +Nanthav is just getting started; it'll be an hour before I could get +recognized. Plenty of time to get a speech together. Some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>thing short +and vicious—"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to be careful. It won't do, with your political record, +to try to play down these stories of a gigantic criminal conspiracy. +That's too close to the Management line. And at the same time, you +want to avoid saying anything that would get Verkan Vall and Tortha +Karf started off on any new lines of investigation."</p> + +<p>Salgath Trod nodded. "Just depend on me; I'll handle it."</p> + +<p>After the stranger had gone, he shut off the sound reception, relying +on visual dumb-show to keep him informed of what was going on on the +Council floor. He didn't like the situation. It was too easy to say +the wrong thing. If only he knew more about the shadowy figures whose +messengers used his private door—</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Coru-hin-Irigod held his aching head in both hands, as though he were +afraid it would fall apart, and blinked in the sunlight from the +window. Lord Safar, how much of that sweet brandy had he drunk, last +night? He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to think. +Then, suddenly apprehensive, he thrust his hand under his pillow. The +heavy four-barreled pistols were there, all right, but—<i>The money!</i></p> + +<p>He rummaged frantically among the bedding, and among his clothes, +piled on the floor, but the leather bag was nowhere to be found. Two +thousand gold <i>obus</i>, the price of a hundred slaves. He snatched up +one of the pistols, his headache forgotten. Then he laughed and tossed +the pistol down again. Of course! He'd given the bag to the plantation +manager, what was his outlandish name, Dosu Golan, to keep for him +before the drinking bout had begun. It was safely waiting for him in +the plantation strong box. Well, nothing like a good scare to make a +man forget a brandy head, anyhow. And there was something else, +something very nice—</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, there it was, beside the bed. He picked up the beautiful +gleaming repeater, pulled down the lever far enough to draw the +cartridge halfway out of the chamber, and closed it again, lowering +the hammer. Those two Jeseru traders from the North, what were their +names? Ganadara and Atarazola. That was a stroke of luck, meeting them +here. They'd given him this lovely rifle, and they were going to +accompany him and his men back to Careba; they had a hundred such +rifles, and two hundred six-shot revolvers, and they wanted to trade +for slaves. The Lord Safar bless them both, wouldn't they be welcome +at Careba!</p> + +<p>He looked at the sunlight falling through the window on the still +recumbent form of his companion, Faru-hin-Obaran. Outside, he could +hear the sounds of the plantation coming to life—an ax thudding on +wood, the clatter of pans from the kitchens. Crossing to +Faru-hin-Obaran's bed, he grasped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> the sleeper by the ankle, tugging.</p> + +<p>"Waken, Faru!" he shouted. "Get up and clear the fumes from your head! +We start back to Careba today!"</p> + +<p>Faru swore groggily and pushed himself into a sitting position, +fumbling on the floor for his trousers.</p> + +<p>"What day's this?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The day after we went to bed, ninny!" Then Coru-hin-Irigod wrinkled +his brow. He could remember, clearly enough, the sale of the slaves, +but after that—Oh, well, he'd been drinking; it would all come back +to him, after a while.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Verkan Vall rubbed his hand over his face wearily, started to light +another cigarette, and threw it across the room in disgust. What he +needed was a drink—a long drink of cool, tart white wine, laced with +brandy—and then he needed to sleep.</p> + +<p>"We're absolutely nowhere!" Ranthar Jard said. "Of course they're +operating on time lines we've never penetrated. The fact that they're +supplying the Croutha with guns proves that; there isn't a firearm on +any of the time lines our people are legitimately exploiting. And +there are only about three billion time lines on this belt of the +Croutha invasion—"</p> + +<p>"If we could think of a way to reduce it to some specific area of +paratime—" one of Ranthar Jard's deputies began.</p> + +<p>"That's precisely what we've been trying to do, Klav," Vall said. "We +haven't done it."</p> + +<p>Dalla, who had withdrawn from the discussion and was on a couch at the +side of the room, surrounded by reports and abstracts and summaries, +looked up.</p> + +<p>"I took hours and hours of hypno-mech on Kholghoor Sector religions, +before I went out on that wild-goose chase for psychokinesis and +precognition data," she said. "About six or eight hundred years ago, +there were religious wars and heresies and religious schisms all over +the Kharanda country. No matter how uniform the Kholghoor Sector may +be otherwise, there are dozens and dozens of small belts and +sub-sectors of different religions or sects or god-cults."</p> + +<p>"That's right," Ranthar Jard agreed, brightening. "We have +hagiologists who know all that stuff; we'll have a couple of them +interrogate those slaves. I don't know how much they can get out of +them—lot of peasants, won't be up on the theological niceties—but a +synthesis of what we get from the lot of them—"</p> + +<p>"That's an idea," Vall agreed. "About the first idea we've had, +here—Oh, how about politics, too? Check on who's the king, what the +stories about the royal family are, that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>Ranthar Jard looked at the map on the wall. "The Croutha have only +gotten halfway to Nharkan, here. Say we transpose detectives in at +night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> on some of these time lines we think are promising, and check +up at the tax-collection offices on a big landowner north of Jhirda +named Ghromdour? That might get us something."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't want you to think we're trying to get out of work, +Chief's Assistant," one of the deputies said, "but is there any real +necessity for our trying to locate the Wizard Trader time lines? If +you can get them from the Esaron Sector, it'll be the same, won't it?"</p> + +<p>"Marv, in this business you never depend on just one lead," Ranthar +Jard told him. "And beside, when Skordran Kirv's gang hits the base of +operations in North America, there's no guarantee that they may not +have time to send off a radio warning to the crowd at the base here in +India. We have to hit both places at once."</p> + +<p>"Well, that, too," Vall said. "But the main thing is to get these +Wizard Trader camps on the Kholghoor Sector cleaned out. How are you +fixed for men and equipment, for a big raid, Jard?"</p> + +<p>Ranthar Jard shrugged. "I can get about five hundred men with +conveyers, including a couple of two-hundred-footers to carry +airboats," he said.</p> + +<p>"Not enough. Skordran Kirv has one complete armored brigade, one +airborne infantry brigade, and an air cavalry regiment, with +Ghaldron-Hesthor equipment for a simultaneous transposition," Vall +said.</p> + +<p>"Where in blazes did he get them all?" Ranthar Jard demanded.</p> + +<p>"They're guard troops, from Service Sector and Industrial Sector. +We'll get you the same sort of a force. I only hope we don't have +another Prole insurrection while they're away—"</p> + +<p>"Well, don't think I'm trying to argue policy with you," Ranthar Jard +said, "but that could raise a dreadful stink on Home Time Line. +Especially on top of this news-break about the slave trade."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said. "If you're worried +about what the book says, forget it. We're throwing the book away, on +this operation. Do you realize that this thing is a threat to the +whole Paratime Civilization?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do," Ranthar Jard said. "I know the doctrine of Paratime +Security as well as you or anybody else. The question is, does the +public realize it?"</p> + +<p>A buzzer sounded. Ranthar Jard pressed a switch on the intercom-box in +front of him and said: "Ranthar here. Well?"</p> + +<p>"Visiphone call, top urgency, just came in for Chief's Assistant +Verkan, from Novilan Equivalent. Where can I put it through, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Here; booth seven." Ranthar Jard pointed across the room, nodding to +Vall. "In just a moment."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv—temporary local aliases, Ganadara and +Atarazola—sat relaxed in their sad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>dles, swaying to the motion of +their horses. They wore the rust-brown hooded cloaks of the northern +Jeseru people, in sober contrast to the red and yellow and blue +striped robes and sun-bonnets of the Caleras in whose company they +rode. They carried short repeating carbines in saddle scabbards, and +heavy revolvers and long knives on their belts, and each led six +heavily-laden pack-horses.</p> + +<p>Coru-hin-Irigod, riding beside Ganadara, pointed up the trail ahead.</p> + +<p>"From up there," he said, speaking in Acalan, the lingua franca of the +North American West Coast on that sector, "we can see across the +valley to Careba. It will be an hour, as we ride, with the +pack-horses. Then we will rest, and drink wine, and feast."</p> + +<p>Ganadara nodded. "It was the guidance of our gods—and yours, +Coru-hin-Irigod—that we met. Such slaves as you sold at the +outlanders' plantation would bring a fine price in the North. The men +are strong, and have the look of good field-workers; the women are +comely and well-formed. Though I fear that my wife would little relish +it did I bring home such handmaidens."</p> + +<p>Coru-hin-Irigod laughed. "For your wife, I will give you one of our +riding whips." He leaned to the side, slashing at a cactus with his +quirt. "We in Careba have no trouble with our wives, about handmaidens +or anything else."</p> + +<p>"By Safar, if you doubt your welcome at Careba, wait till you show +your wares," another Calera said. "Rifles and revolvers like those +come to our country seldom, and then old and battered, sold or stolen +many times before we see them. Rifles that fire seven times without +taking butt from shoulder!" He invoked the name of the Great Lord +Safar again.</p> + +<p>The trail widened and leveled; they all came up abreast, with the +pack-horses strung out behind, and sat looking across the valley to +the adobe walls of the town that perched on the opposite ridge. After +a while, riders began dismounting and checking and tightening +saddle-girths; a couple of Caleras helped Ganadara and Atarazola +inspect their pack-horses. When they remounted, Atarazola bowed his +head, lifting his left sleeve to cover his mouth, and muttered into it +at some length. The Caleras looked at him curiously, and +Coru-hin-Irigod inquired of Ganadara what he did.</p> + +<p>"He prays," Ganadara said. "He thanks our gods that we have lived to +see your town, and asks that we be spared to bring many more trains of +rifles and ammunition up this trail."</p> + +<p>The slaver nodded understandingly. The Caleras were a pious people, +too, who believed in keeping on friendly terms with the gods.</p> + +<p>"May Safar's hand work with the hands of your gods for it," he said, +making what, to a non-Calera, would have been an extremely ribald +sign.</p> + +<p>"The gods watch over us," Atara<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>zola said, lifting his head. "They are +near us even now; they have spoken words of comfort in my ear."'</p> + +<p>Ganadara nodded. The gods to whom his partner prayed were a couple of +paratime policemen, crouching over a radio a mile or so down the +ridge.</p> + +<p>"My brother," he told Coru-hin-Irigod, "is much favored by our gods. +Many people come to him to pray for them."</p> + +<p>"Yes. So you told me, now that I think on it." That detail had been +included in the pseudo-memories he had been given under hypnosis. "I +serve Safar, as do all Caleras, but I have heard that the Jeserus' +gods are good gods, dealing honestly with their servants."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>An hour later, under the walls of the town, Coru-hin-Irigod drew one +of his pistols and fired all four barrels in rapid succession into the +air, shouting, "Open! Open for Coru-hin-Irigod, and for the Jeseru +traders, Ganadara and Atarazola, who are with him!"</p> + +<p>A head, black-bearded and sun-bonneted, appeared between the brick +merlons of the wall above the gate, shouted down a welcome, and then +turned away to bawl orders. The gate slid aside, and, after the +caravan had passed through, naked slaves pushed the massive thing shut +again. Although they were familiar with the interior of the town, from +photographs taken with boomerang-balls—automatic-return transposition +spheres like message-balls—they looked around curiously. The central +square was thronged—Caleras in striped robes, people from the south +and east in baggy trousers and embroidered shirts, mountaineers in +deerskins. A slave market was in progress, and some hundred-odd items +of human merchandise were assembled in little groups, guarded by their +owners and inspected by prospective buyers. They seemed to be all +natives of that geographic and paratemporal area.</p> + +<p>"Don't even look at those," Coru-hin-Irigod advised. "They are but +culls; the market is almost over. We'll go to the house of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, where all the considerable men gather, and you will +find those who will be able to trade slaves worthy of the goods you +have with you. Meanwhile, let my people take your horses and packs to +my house; you shall be my guests while you stay in Careba."</p> + +<p>It was perfectly safe to trust Coru-hin-Irigod. He was a murderer and +a brigand and a slaver, but he would never incur the scorn of men and +the curse of the gods by dealing foully with a guest. The horses and +packs were led away by his retainers; Ganadara and Atarazola pushed +their horses after his and Faru-hin-Obaran's through the crowd.</p> + +<p>The house of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, like every other building in Careba, was +flat-roofed, adobe-walled and window-less except for narrow +rifle-slits. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> wide double-gate stood open, and five or six heavily +armed Caleras lounged just inside. They greeted Coru and Faru by name, +and the strangers by their assumed nationality. The four rode through, +into what appeared to be the stables, turning their horses over to +slaves, who took them away. There were between fifty and sixty other +horses in the place.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image_38.jpg" width="200" height="532" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>Divesting themselves of their weapons in an anteroom at the head of a +flight of steps, they passed under an arch and into a wide, shady +patio, where thirty or forty men stood about or squatted on piles of +cushions, smoking cheroots, drinking from silver cups, talking in a +continuous babel. Most of them were in Calera dress, though there were +men of other communities and nations, in other garb. As they moved +across the patio, Gathon Dard caught snatches of conversations about +deals in slaves, and horse trades, about bandit raids and blood feuds, +about women and horses and weapons.</p> + +<p>An old man with a white beard and an unusually clean robe came over to +intercept them.</p> + +<p>"Ha, lord of my daughter, you're back at last. We had begun to fear +for you," he said.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to fear, father of my wife," Coru-hin-Irigod replied. "We +sold the slaves for a good price, and tarried the night feasting in +good company. Such good company that we brought some of it with +us—Atarazola and Ganadara, men of the Jeseru;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> Cavu-hin-Avoran, whose +daughter mothered my sons." He took his father-in-law by the sleeve +and pulled him aside, motioning Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv to follow.</p> + +<p>"They brought weapons; they want outland slaves, of the sort I took to +sell in the Big Valley country," he whispered. "The weapons are +repeating rifles from across the ocean, and six-shot revolvers. They +also have much ammunition."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Safar bless you!" the white-beard cried, his eyes brightening. +"Name your own price; satisfy yourselves that we have dealt fairly +with you; go, and return often again! Come, lord of my daughter; let +us make them known to Nebu-hin-Abenoz. But not a word about the kind +of weapons you have, strangers, until we can speak privately. Say only +that you have rifles to trade."</p> + +<p>Gathon Dard nodded. Evidently there was some sort of power-struggle +going on in Careba; Coru-hin-Irigod and his wife's father were of the +party of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and wanted the repeaters and six-shooters +for themselves.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Nebu-hin-Abenoz, swarthy, hook-nosed, with a square-cut graying beard, +lounged in a low chair across the patio; near him four or five other +Caleras sat or squatted or reclined, all smoking the rank black +tobacco of the country and drinking wine or brandy. Their conversation +ceased as Cavu-hin-Avoran and the others approached. The chief of +Careba listened to the introduction, then heaved himself to his feet +and clapped the newcomers on the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Good, good!" he said. "We know you Jeseru people; you're honest +traders. You come this far into our mountains too seldom. We can trade +with you. We need weapons. As for the sort of slaves you want, we have +none too many now, but in eight days we will have plenty. If you stay +with us that long—"</p> + +<p>"Careba is a pleasant place to be," Ganadara said. "We can wait."</p> + +<p>"What sort of weapons have you?" the chief asked.</p> + +<p>"Pistols and rifles, lord of my father's sister," Coru-hin-Irigod +answered for them. "The packs have been taken to my house, where our +friends will stay. We can bring a few to show you, the hour after +evening prayers."</p> + +<p>Nebu-hin-Abenoz shot a keen glance at his brother-in-law's son and +nodded. "Or, better, I will come to your house then; thus I can see +the whole load. How will that be?"</p> + +<p>"Better; I will be there, too," Cavu-hin-Avoran said, then turned to +Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv. "You have been long on the road; come, +let us drink cool wine, and then we will eat," he said. "Until this +evening, Nebu-hin-Abenoz."</p> + +<p>He led his son-in-law and the traders to one side, where several kegs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +stood on trestles with cups and flagons beside them. They filled a +flagon, took a cup apiece, and went over to a pile of cushions at one +side.</p> + +<p>As they did, three men came pushing through the crowd toward +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's seat. They wore a costume unfamiliar to Gathon +Dard—little round caps with red and green streamers behind, and long, +wide-sleeved white gowns—and one of them had gold rings in his ears.</p> + +<p>"Nebu-hin-Abenoz?" one of them said, bowing. "We are three men of the +Usasu cities. We have gold <i>obus</i> to spend; we seek a beautiful girl, +to be first concubine to our king's son, who is now come to the estate +of manhood."</p> + +<p>Nebu-hin-Abenoz picked up the silver-mounted pipe he had laid aside, +and re-lighted it, frowning.</p> + +<p>"Men of the Usasu, you have a heavy responsibility," he said. "You +have the responsibility for the future of your kingdom, for a boy's +character is more shaped by his first concubine than by his teachers. +How old is the boy?"</p> + +<p>"Sixteen, Nebu-hin-Abenoz; the age of manhood among us."</p> + +<p>"Then you want a girl older, but not much older. She should be versed +in the arts of love, but innocent of heart. She should be wise, but +teachable; gentle and loving, but with a will of her own—"</p> + +<p>The three men in white gowns were fidgeting. Then, suddenly, like +three marionettes on a single string, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> put their right hands to +their mouths and then plunged them into the left sleeves of their +gowns, whipping out knives and then sprang as one upon +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, slashing and stabbing.</p> + +<p>Gathon Dard was on his feet at once; he hurled the wine flagon at the +three murderers and leaped across the room. Antrath Alv went bounding +after him, and by this time three or four of the group around +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's chair had recovered their wits and jumped to their +feet. One of the three assailants turned and slashed with his knife, +almost disemboweling a Calera who had tried to grapple with him. +Before he could free the blade, another Calera brought a brandy bottle +down on his head. Gathon Dard sprang upon the back of a second +assassin, hooking his left elbow under the fellow's chin and grabbing +the wrist of his knife-hand with his right; the man struggled for an +instant, then went limp and fell forward. The third of the trio of +murderers was still slashing at the fallen chieftain when Antrath Alv +chopped him along the side of the neck with the edge of his hand; he +simply dropped and lay still.</p> + +<p>Nebu-hin-Abenoz was dead. He had been slashed and cut and stabbed in +twenty places; his throat had been cut at least three times, and he +had almost been decapitated. The wounded Calera wasn't dead yet; +however, even if he had been at the moment on the operating table of a +First Level Home Time Line hospital, it was doubtful if he could have +been saved, and under the circumstances, his life-expectancy could be +measured in seconds. Some cushions were placed under his head, and +women called to attend him, but he died before they arrived.</p> + +<p>The three assassins were also dead. Except for a few cuts on the scalp +of the one who had been felled with the bottle, there was not a mark +on any of them. Cavu-hin-Avoran kicked one of them in the face and +cursed.</p> + +<p>"We killed the skunks too quickly!" he cried. "We should have overcome +them alive, and then taken our time about dealing with them as they +deserved." He went on to specify the nature of their deserts. "Such +infamy!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll swear I didn't think a little tap like I gave that one +would kill him," the bottle-wielder excused himself. "Of course, I was +thinking only of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, Safar receive him—"</p> + +<p>Antrath Alv bent over the one he had hand-chopped.</p> + +<p>"I didn't kill this one," he said. "The way I hit him, if I had, his +neck would be broken, and it's not. See?" He twisted at the dead man's +neck. "I think they took poison before they drew their knives."</p> + +<p>"I saw all of them put their hands to their mouths!" a Calera +exclaimed. "And look; see how their jaws are clenched." He picked up +one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> knives and used it to pry the dead man's jaws apart, +sniffing at his lips and looking into his mouth. "Look, his teeth and +his tongue are discolored; there is a strange smell, too."</p> + +<p>Antrath Alv sniffed, then turned to his partner. "Halatane," he +whispered. Gathon Dard nodded. That was a First Level poison; +paratimers often carried halatane capsules on the more barbaric +time-lines, as a last insurance against torture.</p> + +<p>"But, Holy Name of Safar, what manner of men were these?" +Coru-hin-Irigod demanded. "There are those I would risk my life to +kill, but I would not throw it away thus."</p> + +<p>"They came knowing that we would kill them, and took the poison that +they might die quickly and without pain," a Calera said.</p> + +<p>"Or that your tortures would not wring from them the names and nation +of those who sent them," an elderly man in the dress of a rancher from +the southeast added. "If I were you, I would try to find out who these +enemies are, and the sooner the better."</p> + +<p>Gathon Dard was examining one of the knives—a folding knife with a +broad single-edged blade, locked open with a spring; the handle was of +tortoise shell, bolstered with brass.</p> + +<p>"In all my travels," he said, "I never saw a knife of this workmanship +before. Tell me, Coru-hin-Irigod, do you know from what country these +outland slaves of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's come?"</p> + +<p>"You think that might have something to do with it?" the Calera asked.</p> + +<p>"It could. I think that these people might not have been born slaves, +but people taken captive. Suppose, at some time, there had been sold +to Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and sold elsewhere by him, one who was a person of +consequence—the son of a king, or the priest of some god," Gathon +Dard suggested.</p> + +<p>"By Safar, yes! And now that nation, wherever it is, is at blood-feud +with us," Cavu-hin-Avoran said. "This must be thought about; it is an +ill thing to have unknown enemies."</p> + +<p>"Look!" a Calera who had begun to strip the three dead men cried. +"These are not of the Usasu cities, or any other people of this land. +See, they are uncircumcised!"</p> + +<p>"Many of the slaves whom Nebu-hin-Abenoz brought to Careba from the +hills have been uncircumcised," Coru-hin-Irigod said. "Jeseru, I think +you have your sights on the heart of it." He frowned. "Now, think you, +will those who had this done be satisfied, or will they carry on their +hatred against all of us?"</p> + +<p>"A hard question," Antrath Alv said. "You Caleras do not serve our +gods, but you are our friends. Suffer me to go apart and pray; I would +take counsel with the gods, that they may aid us all in this."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_43.jpg" width="400" height="403" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><img class="img1" src="images/image_44.jpg" width="400" height="569" alt="Illustration." /></span></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + + + + + + +<h2><a name="Part_2" id="Part_2"></a>Part 2</h2> + + +<p>It was full daylight, but the sun was hidden; a thin rain fell on the +landing around at Police Terminal Dhergabar Equivalent when Vall and +Dalla left the rocket. Across the black lavalike pavement, they could +see the bulky form of Tortha Karf, hunched under a long cloak, with +his flat cap pulled down over his brow. He shook hands with Vall and +kissed cheeks with Dalla when they joined him.</p> + +<p>"Car's over here," he said, nodding toward the waiting vehicle. +"Yesterday wasn't one of our better days, was it?"</p> + +<p>"No. It wasn't." Vall agreed. They climbed into the car, and the +driver lifted straight up to two thousand feet and turned, soaring +down to land on the Chief's Headquarters Building, a mile away. "We're +not completely stopped, sir. Ranthar Jard is working on a few ideas +that may lead him to the Kholghoor time lines where the Wizard Traders +are operating. If we can't get them through their output, we may nail +them at the intake."</p> + +<p>"Unless they've gotten the wind up and closed down all their +operations," Tortha Karf said.</p> + +<p>"I doubt if they've done that, Chief," Vall replied. "We don't know +who these people are, of course, and it's hard to judge their +reactions, but they're willing to take chances for big gains. I +believe they think they're safe, now that they've closed out the +compromised time line and killed the only witness against them."</p> + +<p>"Well, what's Ranthar Jard doing?"</p> + +<p>"Trying to locate the sub-sector and probability belt from what the +slaves can tell him about their religious beliefs, about the local +king, and the prince of Jhirda, and the noble families of the +neighborhood," Vall said. "When he has it localized as closely as he +can, he's going to start pelting the whole paratemporal area with +photographic auto-return balls dropped from aircars on Police Terminal +over the spatial equivalents of a couple of Croutha-conquered cities. +As soon as he gets a photo that shows Croutha with firearms, he'll +have a Wizard Trader time line."</p> + +<p>"Sounds simple," the Chief said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> The car landed, and he helped Dalla +out. "I suppose both you and he know how many chances against one he +has of finding anything." They went over to an antigrav-shaft and +floated down to the floor on which Tortha Karf had a duplicate of the +office in the Paratime Building on Home Time Line. "It's the only +chance we have, though."</p> + +<p>"There's one thing that bothers me," Dalla said, as they entered the +office and went back behind the horseshoe-shaped desk. "I understand +that the news about this didn't break on Home Time Line till the late +morning of One-Six-One Day. Nebu-hin-Abenoz was murdered at about 1700 +local time, which would be 0100 this morning Dhergabar time. That +would give this gang fourteen hours to hear the news, transmit it to +their base, and get these three men hypno-conditioned, disguised, +transposed to this Esaron Sector time line, and into Careba." She +shook her head. "That's pretty fast work."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf looked sidewise at Verkan Vall. "Your girl has the makings +of a cop, Vall," he commented.</p> + +<p>"She's been a big help, on Esaron and Kholghoor Sectors," Vall said. +"She wants to stay with it and help me; I'll be very glad to have her +with me."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf nodded. He knew, too, that Dalla wouldn't want to have to +go back to Home Time Line and wait the long investigation out.</p> + +<p>"Of course; we can use all the help we can get. I think we can get a +lot from Dalla. Fix her up with some kind of a title and police +status—technical-expert, assistant, or something like that." He +clasped hands, man-fashion, with her. "Glad to have you on the cops +with us, Dalla," he said. Then he turned to Vall. "There was almost +twenty-four hours between the time I heard about this and when this +blasted Yandar Yadd got hold of the story. Of all the infernal, +irresponsible—" He almost choked with indignation. "And it was +another fourteen hours between the time Skordran sent in his report +and I heard about it."</p> + +<p>"Golzan Doth sent in a report to his company about the same time +Skordran Kirv made his first report to his Sector-Regional Subchief." +Vall mentioned.</p> + +<p>"That might be it," Tortha Karf considered. "I wish there were another +explanation, because that implies a very extensive intelligence +network, which means a big organization. But I'm afraid that's it. I +wish I could pull in everybody in Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs who +handled that report, and narco-hypnotize them. Of course, we can't do +things like that on Home Time Line, and with the political situation +what it is now—"</p> + +<p>"Why, what's been happening, Chief?"</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf swore with weary bitterness. "Salgath Trod's what's been +happening. At first, after Yandar Yadd broke the story on the air, +there was just a lot of unorganized Oppo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>sition sniping in Council; +Salgath waited till the middle of the afternoon, when the Management +members were beginning to rally, and took the floor. The Centrists and +Right Moderates were trying the appeal-to-reason approach; that did as +much good as trying to put out a Fifth Level forest fire with a +hand-extinguisher. Finally. Salgath got a motion of censure against +the Management recognized. That means a confidence vote in ten days. +Salgath has a rabble of Leftists and dissident Centrists with him; I +doubt if he can muster enough votes to overturn the Management, but +it's going to make things rough for us."</p> + +<p>"Which may be just the reason Salgath started this uproar," Vall +suggested.</p> + +<p>"That," Tortha Karf said, "is being considered; there is a discreet +inquiry being made into Salgath Trod's associates, his sources of +income, and so on. Nothing has turned up as yet, but we have hopes."</p> + +<p>"I believe," Vall said, "that we have a better chance right on Home +Time Line than outtime."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf looked up sharply. "So?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Vall was stuffing tobacco into a pipe. "Yes. Chief. We have a big +criminal organization—let's call it the Slave Trust, for a +convenience-label. The people who run it aren't stupid. The fact that +they've been shipping slaves to the Esaron Sector for ten years before +we found out about it proves that. So does the speed with which they +got rid of this Nebu-hin-Abenoz, right in front of a pair of our +detectives. For that matter, so does the speed with which they moved +in to exploit this Croutha invasion of Kholghoor Sector India.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've studied illegal and subversive organizations all over +paratime, and among the really successful ones, there are a few +uniform principles. One is cellular organization—small groups, acting +in isolation from one another, coöperating with other cells but +ignorant of their composition. Another is the principle of no upward +contact—leaders contacting their subordinates through contact-blocks +and ignorant intermediaries. And another is a willingness to kill off +anybody who looks like a potential betrayer or forced witness. The +late Nebu-hin-Abenoz, for instance.</p> + +<p>"I'll be willing to bet that if we pick up some of these Wizard +Traders, say, or a gang that's selling slaves to some Nebu-hin-Abenoz +personality on some other time line, and narco-hypnotize them, all +they'll be able to do will be name a few immediate associates, and the +group leader will know that he's contacted from time to time by some +stranger with orders, and that he can make emergency contacts only +through some blind accommodation-address. The men who are running this +are right on Home Time Line, many of them in positions of prominence, +and if we can catch one of them and narco-hyp him, we can start a +chain-reaction of disclosures all through this Slave Trust."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How are we going to get at these top men?" Tortha Karf wanted to +know. "Advertise for them on telecast?"</p> + +<p>"They'll leave traces; they won't be able to avoid it. I think, right +now, that Salgath Trod is one of them. I think there are other +prominent politicians, and business people. Look for irregularities +and peculiarities in outtime currency-exchange transactions. For +instance, to sections in Esaron Sector <i>obus</i>. Or big gold bullion +transactions."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And if they have any really elaborate outtime bases, they'll +need equipment that can only be gotten on Home Time Line," Tortha Karf +added. "Paratemporal conveyer parts, and field-conductor mesh. You +can't just walk into a hardware store and buy that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>Dalla leaned forward to drop her cigarette ash into a tray.</p> + +<p>"Try looking into the Bureau of Psychological Hygiene," she suggested. +"That's where you'll really strike it rich."</p> + +<p>Vall and Tortha Karf both turned abruptly and looked at her for an +instant.</p> + +<p>"Go on," Tortha Karf encouraged. "This sounds interesting."</p> + +<p>"The people back of this," Dalla said, "are definitely classifiable as +criminals. They may never perform a criminal act themselves, but they +give orders for and profit from such acts, and they must possess the +motivation and psychology of criminals. We define people as criminals +when they suffer from psychological aberrations of an antisocial +character, usually paranoid—excessive egoism, disregard for the +rights of others, inability to recognize the social necessity for +mutual coöperation and confidence. On Home Time Line, we have +universal psychological testing, for the purpose of detecting and +eliminating such characteristics."</p> + +<p>"It seems to have failed in this case," Tortha Karf began, then +snapped his fingers. "Of course! How blasted silly can I get, when I'm +not trying?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," Verkan Vall agreed. "Find out how these people +missed being spotted by psychotesting; that'll lead us to <i>who</i> missed +being tested adequately, and also who got into the Bureau of +Psychological Hygiene who didn't belong there."</p> + +<p>"I think you ought to give an investigation of the whole BuPsychHyg +setup very high priority," Dalla said. "A psychotest is only as good +as the people who give it, and if we have criminals administering +these tests—"</p> + +<p>"We have our friends on Executive Council," Tortha Karf said. "I'll +see that that point is raised when Council re-convenes." He looked at +the clock. "That'll be in three hours, by the way. If it doesn't +accomplish another thing, it'll put Salgath Trod in the middle. He +can't demand an investigation of the Paratime Police out of one side +of his mouth and oppose an investigation of Psychological Hygiene out +of the other.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> Now what else have we to talk about?"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image_49.jpg" width="200" height="545" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"Those hundred slaves we got off the Esaron Sector," Vall said. "What +are we going to do with them? And if we locate the time line the +slavers have their bases on, we'll have hundreds, probably thousands, +more."</p> + +<p>"We can't sort them out and send them back to their own time lines, +even if that would be desirable," Tortha Karf decided. "Why, settle +them somewhere on the Service Sector. I know, the Paratime +Transposition Code limits the Service Sector to natives of time lines +below second-order barbarism, but the Paratime Transposition Code has +been so badly battered by this business that a few more minor literal +infractions here and there won't make any difference. Where are they +now?"</p> + +<p>"Police Terminal, Nharkan Equivalent."</p> + +<p>"Better hold them there, for the time being. We may have to open a new +ServSec time line to take care of all the slaves we find, if we can +locate the outtime base line these people are using—Vall, this +thing's too big to handle as a routine operation, along with our other +work. You take charge of it. Set up your headquarters here, and help +yourself to anything in the way of personnel and equipment you need. +And bear in mind that this confidence vote is coming up in ten +days—on the morning of One-Seven-Two Day. I'm not asking for any +miracles, but if we don't get this thing cleared up by then, we're in +for trouble."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I realize that, sir. Dalla, you'd better go back to Home Time Line, +with the Chief," he said. "There's nothing you can do to help me, +here, at present. Get some rest, and then try to wangle an invitation +for the two of us to dinner at Thalvan Dras' apartments this evening." +He turned back to Tortha Karf. "Even if he never pays any attention to +business, Dras still owns Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs," he said. +"He might be able to find out, or help us find out, how the story +about those slaves leaked out of his company."</p> + +<p>"Well, that won't take much doing," Dalla said. "If there's as much +excitement on Home Time Line as I think, Dras would turn somersaults +and jump through hoops to get us to one of his dinners, right now."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Salgath Trod pushed the litter of papers and record-tape spools to one +side impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Well, what else did you expect?" he demanded. "This was the logical +next move. BuPsychHyg is supposed to detect anybody who believes in +looking out for his own interests first, and condition him into a +pious law-abiding sucker. Well, the sacred Bureau of Sucker-Makers +slipped up on a lot of us. It's a natural alibi for Tortha Karf."</p> + +<p>"It's also a lot of grief for all of us," the young man in the +wrap-around tunic added. "I don't want my psychotests reviewed by some +duty-struck bigot who can't be reasoned with, and neither do you."</p> + +<p>"I'm getting something organized to counter that," Salgath Trod said. +"I'm going to attack the whole scientific basis of psychotesting. +There's Dr. Frasthor Klav; he's always contended that what are called +criminal tendencies are the result of the individual's total +environment, and that psychotesting and personality-analysis are +valueless, because the total environment changes from day to day, even +from hour to hour—"</p> + +<p>"That won't do," the nameless young man who was the messenger of +somebody equally nameless retorted. "Frasthor's a crackpot; no +reputable psychologist or psychist gives his opinions a moment's +consideration. And besides, we don't want to attack Psychological +Hygiene. The people in it with whom we can do business are our +safeguard; they've given all of us a clean bill of mental health, and +we have papers to prove it. What we have to do is to make it appear +that that incident on the Esaron Sector is all there is to this, and +also involve the Paratime Police themselves. The slavers are all +paracops. It isn't the fault of BuPsychHyg, because the Paratime +Police have their own psychotesting staff. That's where the trouble +is; the paracops haven't been adequately testing their own personnel."</p> + +<p>"Now how are you going to do that?" Salgath Trod asked disdainfully.</p> + +<p>"You'll take the floor, the first thing tomorrow, and utilize these +new revelations about the Wizard Traders. You'll accuse the Paratime +Police of being the Wizard Traders them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>selves. Why not? They have +their own paratemporal transposition equipment shops on Police +Terminal, they have facilities for manufacturing duplicates of any +kind of outtime items, like the firearms, for instance, and they know +which time lines on which sectors are being exploited by legitimate +paratime traders and which aren't. What's to prevent a gang of +unscrupulous paracops from moving in on a few unexploited Kholghoor +time lines, buying captives from the Croutha, and shipping them to the +Esaron Sector?"</p> + +<p>"Then why would they let a thing like this get out?" Salgath Trod +inquired.</p> + +<p>"Somebody slipped up and moved a lot of slaves onto an exploited +Esaron time line. Or, rather, Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs +established a plantation on a time line they were shipping slaves to. +Parenthetically, that's what really did happen; the mistake our people +made was in not closing out that time line as soon as Consolidated +Foodstuffs moved in," the young man said.</p> + +<p>"So, this Skordran Kirv, who is a dumb boy who doesn't know what the +score is, found these slaves and blatted about it to this Golzan Doth, +and Golzan reported it to his company, and it couldn't be hushed up, +so now Tortha Karf is trying to scare the public with ghost stories +about a gigantic paratemporal conspiracy, to get more appropriations +and more power."</p> + +<p>"How long do you think I'd get away with that?" Salgath Trod demanded. +"I can only stretch parliamentary immunity so far. Sooner or later, +I'd have to make formal charges to a special judicial committee, and +that would mean narco-hypnosis, and then it would all come out."</p> + +<p>"You'll have proof," the young man said. "We'll produce a couple of +these Kharandas whom Verkan Vall didn't get hold of. Under +narco-hypnosis, they'll testify that they saw a couple of Wizard +Traders take their robes off. Under the robes were Paratime Police +uniforms. Do you follow me?"</p> + +<p>Salgath Trod made a noise of angry disgust.</p> + +<p>"That's ridiculous! I suppose these Kharandas will be given what is +deludedly known as memory obliteration, and a set of pseudo-memories; +how long do you think that would last? About three ten-days. There is +no such thing as memory obliteration; there's memory-suppression, and +pseudo-memory overlay. You can't get behind that with any quickie +narco-hypnosis in the back room of any police post, I'll admit that," +he said. "But a skilled psychist can discover, inside of five minutes, +when a narco-hypnotized subject is carrying a load of false memories, +and in time, and not too much time, all that top layer of false +memories and blockages can be peeled off. And then where would we be?"</p> + +<p>"Now wait a minute, Councilman. This isn't just something I dreamed +up," the visitor said. "This was de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>cided upon at the top. At the very +top."</p> + +<p>"I don't care whose idea it was," Salgath Trod snapped. "The whole +thing is idiotic, and I won't have anything to do with it."</p> + +<p>The visitor's face froze. All the respect vanished from his manner and +tone; his voice was like ice cakes grating together in a winter river.</p> + +<p>"Look, Salgath; this is an Organization order," he said. "You don't +refuse to obey Organization orders, and you don't quit the +Organization. Now get smart, big boy; do what you're told to." He took +a spool of record tape from his pocket and laid it on the desk. +"Outline for your speech; put it in your own words, but follow it +exactly." He stood watching Salgath Trod for a moment. "I won't bother +telling you what'll happen to you if you don't," he added. "You can +figure that out for yourself."</p> + +<p>With that, he turned and went out the private door. For a while, +Salgath Trod sat staring after him. Once he put his hand out toward +the spool, then jerked it back as though the thing were radioactive. +Once he looked at the clock; it was just 1600.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The green aircar settled onto the landing stage; Verkan Vall, on the +front seat beside the driver, opened the door.</p> + +<p>"Want me to call for you later, Assistant Verkan?" the driver asked.</p> + +<p>"No thank you, Drenth. My wife and I are going to a dinner-party, and +we'll probably go night-clubbing afterward. Tomorrow morning, all the +anti-Management commentators will be yakking about my carousing around +when I ought to be battling the Slave Trust. No use advertising myself +with an official car, and giving them a chance to add, 'at public +expense.'"</p> + +<p>"Well, have some fun while you can," the driver advised, reaching for +the car-radio phone. "Want me to check you in here, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you will. Thank you. Drenth."</p> + +<p>Kandagro, his human servant, admitted him to the apartment six floors +down.</p> + +<p>"Mistress Dalla is dressing," he said. "She asked me to tell you that +you are invited to dinner, this evening, with Thalvan Dras at his +apartment."</p> + +<p>Vall nodded. "Ill talk to her about it now," he said. "Lay out my +dress uniform: short jacket, boots and breeches, and needler."</p> + +<p>"Yes, master: I'll go lay out your things and get your bath ready."</p> + +<p>The servant turned and went into the alcove which gave access to the +dressing rooms, turning right into Vall's. Vall followed him, turning +left into his wife's.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dalla!" he called.</p> + +<p>"In here!" her voice came out of her bathroom.</p> + +<p>He passed through the dressing room, to find her stretched on a +plastic-sheeted couch, while her maid, Rendarra, was rubbing her body +vig<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>orously with some pungent-smelling stuff about the consistency of +machine-grease. Her face was masked in the stuff, and her hair was +covered with an elastic cap. He had always suspected that beauty was +the real feminine religion, from the willingness of its devotees to +submit to martyrdom for it. She wiggled a hand at him in greeting.</p> + +<p>"How did it go?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"So-so. I organized myself a sort of miniature police force within a +police force and I have liaison officers in every organization down to +Sector Regional so that I can be informed promptly in case anything +new turns up anywhere. What's been happening on Home Time Line? I +picked up a news-summary at Paratime Police Headquarters; it seems +that a lot more stuff has leaked out. Kholghoor Sector, Wizard Traders +and all. How'd it happen?"</p> + +<p>Dalla rolled over to allow Rendarra to rub the blue-green grease on +her back.</p> + +<p>"Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs let a gang of reporters in, today. I +think they're afraid somebody will accuse them of complicity, and they +want to get their side of it before the public. All our crowd are off +that Time line except a couple of detectives at the plantation."</p> + +<p>"I know." He smiled; Dalla was thinking of the Paratime Police as "our +crowd" now. "How about this dinner at Dras' place?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that was easy." She shifted position again. "I just called Dras +up and told him that our vacation was off, and he invited us before I +could begin hinting. What are you going to wear?"</p> + +<p>"Short-jacket greens; I can carry a needler with that uniform, even +wear it at the table. I don't think it's smart for me to run around +unarmed, even on Home Time Line. Especially on Home Time Line," he +amended. "When's this affair going to start, and how long will +Rendarra take to get that goo off you?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Salgath Trod left his aircar at the top landing stage of his apartment +building and sent it away to the hangars under robot control; he +glanced about him as he went toward the antigrav shaft. There were a +dozen vehicles in the air above; any of them might have followed him +from the Paratime Building. He had no doubt that he had been under +constant surveillance from the moment the nameless messenger had +delivered the Organization's ultimatum. Until he delivered that +speech, the next morning, or manifested an intention of refusing to do +so, however, he would be safe. After that—</p> + +<p>Alone in his office, he had reviewed the situation point by point, and +then gone back and reviewed it again; the conclusion was inescapable. +The Organization had ordered him to make an accusation which he +himself knew to be false; that was the first premise. The conclusion +was that he would be killed as soon as he had made it. That was the +trouble with being mixed up with that kind of people—you were +expendable, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> sooner or later, they would decide that they would +have to expend you. And what could you do?</p> + +<p>To begin with, an accusation of criminal malfeasance made against a +Management or Paratime Commission agency on the floor of Executive +Council was tantamount to an accusation made in court; automatically, +the accuser became a criminal prosecutor, and would have to repeat his +accusation under narco-hypnosis. Then the whole story would come out, +bit by bit, back to its beginning in that first illegal deal in +Indo-Turanian opium, diverted from trade with the Khiftan Sector and +sold on Second Level Luvarian Empire Sector, and the deals in +radioactive poisons, and the slave trade. He would be able to name few +names—the Organization kept its activities too well compartmented for +that—but he could talk of things that had happened, and when, and +where, and on what paratemporal areas.</p> + +<p>No. The Organization wouldn't let that happen, and the only way it +could be prevented would be by the death of Salgath Trod, as soon as +he had made his speech. All the talk of providing him with +corroborative evidence was silly; it had been intended to lead him +more trustingly to the slaughter. They'd kill him, of course, in some +way that would be calculated to substantiate the story he would no +longer be able to repudiate. The killer, who would be promptly rayed +dead by somebody else, would wear a Paratime Police uniform, or +something like that. That was of no importance, however; by then, he'd +be beyond caring.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One of his three ServSec Prole servants—the slim brown girl who was +his housekeeper and hostess, and also his mistress—admitted him to +the apartment. He kissed her perfunctorily and closed the door behind +him.</p> + +<p>"You're tired," she said. "Let me call Nindrandigro and have him bring +you chilled wine; lie down and rest until dinner."</p> + +<p>"No, no; I want brandy." He went to a cellaret and got out a decanter +and goblet, pouring himself a drink. "How soon will dinner be ready?"</p> + +<p>The brown girl squeezed a little golden globe that hung on a chain +around her neck; a tiny voice, inside it, repeated: "Eighteen +twenty-three ten, eighteen twenty-three eleven, eighteen twenty-three +twelve—"</p> + +<p>"In half an hour. It's still in the robo-chef," she told him.</p> + +<p>He downed half the goblet-full, set it down, and went to a painting, a +brutal scarlet and apple-green abstraction, that hung on the wall. +Swinging it aside and revealing the safe behind it, he used his +identity-sigil, took out a wad of Paratemporal Exchange Bank notes and +gave them to the girl.</p> + +<p>"Here, Zinganna; take these, and take Nindrandigro and Calilla out for +the evening. Go where you can all have a good time, and don't come +back till after midnight. There will be some business transacted here, +and I want them out of this. Get them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> out of here as soon as you can; +I'll see to the dinner myself. Spend all of that you want to."</p> + +<p>The girl riffled through the wad of banknotes. "Why, <i>thank</i> you, +Trod!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him +enthusiastically. "I'll go tell them at once."</p> + +<p>"And have a good time, Zinganna; have the best time you possibly can," +he told her, embracing and kissing her. "Now, get out of here; I have +to keep my mind on business."</p> + +<p>When she had gone, he finished his drink and poured another. He drew +and checked his needler. Then, after checking the window-shielding and +activating the outside viewscreens, he lit a cheroot and sat down at +the desk, his goblet and his needler in front of him, to wait until +the servants were gone.</p> + +<p>There was only one way out alive. He knew that, and yet he needed +brandy, and a great deal of mental effort, to steel himself for it. +Psycho-rehabilitation was a dreadful thing to face. There would be +almost a year of unremitting agony, physical and mental, worse than a +Khiftan torture rack. There would be the shame of having his innermost +secrets poured out of him by the psychotherapists, and, at the end, +there would emerge someone who would not be Salgath Trod, or anybody +like Salgath Trod, and he would have to learn to know this stranger, +and build a new life for him.</p> + +<p>In one of the viewscreens, he saw the door to the service hallway +open. Zinganna, in a black evening gown and a black velvet cloak, and +Calilla, the housemaid, in what she believed to be a reasonable +facsimile of fashionable First Level dress, and Nindrandigro, in one +of his master's evening suits, emerged. Salgath Trod waited until they +had gone down the hall to the antigrav shaft, and then he turned on +the visiphone, checked the security, set it for sealed beam +communication, and punched out a combination.</p> + +<p>A girl in a green tunic looked out of the screen.</p> + +<p>"Paratime Police," she said. "Office of Chief Tortha."</p> + +<p>"I am Executive Councilman Salgath Trod," he told her. "I am, and for +the past fifteen years have been, criminally involved with the +organization responsible for the slave trade which recently came to +light on Third Level Esaron. I give myself up unconditionally; I am +willing to make full confession under narco-hypnosis, and will accept +whatever disposition of my case is lawfully judged fit. You'll have to +send an escort for me; I might start from my apartment alone, but I'd +be killed before I got to your headquarters—"</p> + +<p>The girl, who had begun to listen in the bored manner of public +servants phone girls, was staring wide-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, Councilman Salgath; I'll put you through to Chief +Tortha."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The dinner lacked a half hour of being served; Thalvan Dras' guests<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +loitered about the drawing room, sampling appetizers and chilled +drinks and chatting in groups. It wasn't the artistic crowd usual at +Thalvan Dras' dinners; most of the guests seemed to be business or +political people. Thalvan Dras had gotten Vall and Dalla into the +small group around him, along with pudgy, infantile-faced Brogoth +Zaln, his confidential secretary, and Javrath Brend, his financial +attorney.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why they're making such a fuss about it," one of the +Banking Cartel people was saying. "Causing a lot of public excitement +all out of proportion to the importance of the affair. After all, +those people were slaves on their own time line, and if anything, +they're much better off on the Esaron Sector than they would be as +captives of the Croutha. As far as that goes, what's the difference +between that and the way we drag these Fourth Level Primitive +Sector-Complex people off to Fifth Level Service Sector to work for +us?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a big difference, Farn," Javrath Brend said. "We recruit +those Fourth Level Primitives out of probability worlds of Stone Age +savagery, and transpose them to our own Fifth Level time lines, +practically outtime extensions of the Home Time Line. There's +absolutely no question of the Paratime Secret being compromised."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_56.jpg" width="600" height="470" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"Beside, we need a certain amount of human labor, for tasks requiring +original thought and decision that are beyond the ability of robots, +and most of it is work our Citizens simply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> wouldn't perform," Thalvan +Dras added.</p> + +<p>"Well, from a moral standpoint, wouldn't these Esaron Sector people +who buy the slaves justify slavery in the same terms?" a woman whom +Vall had identified as a Left Moderate Council Member asked.</p> + +<p>"There's still a big difference," Dalla told her. "The ServSec Proles +aren't beaten or tortured or chained; we don't break up families or +separate friends. When we recruit Fourth Level Primitives, we take +whole tribes, and they come willingly. And—"</p> + +<p>One of Thalvan Dras' black-liveried human servants, of the class under +discussion, approached Vall.</p> + +<p>"A visiphone call for your lordship," he whispered. "Chief Tortha Karf +calling. If your lordship will come this way—"</p> + +<p>In a screen-booth outside, Vall found Tortha Karf looking out of the +screen; he was seated at his desk, fiddling with a gold multicolor +pen.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Vall; something interesting has just come up." He spoke in a +voice of forced calmness. "I can't go into it now, but you'll want to +hear about it. I'm sending a car for you. Better bring Dalla along; +she'll want in on it, too."</p> + +<p>"Right; we'll be on the top south-west landing stage in a few +minutes."</p> + +<p>Dalla was still heatedly repudiating any resemblance between the +normal First Level methods of labor-recruitment and the activities of +the Wizard Traders; she had just finished the story of the woman whose +child had been brained when Vall rejoined the group.</p> + +<p>"Dras, I'm awfully sorry," he said. "This is the second time in +succession that Dalla and I have had to bolt away from here, but +policemen are like doctors—always on call, and consequently +unreliable guests. While you're feasting, think commiseratingly of +Dalla and me; we'll probably be having a sandwich and a cup of coffee +somewhere."</p> + +<p>"I'm terribly sorry." Thalvan Dras replied. "We had all been looking +forward—Well! Brogoth, have a car called for Vall and Dalla."</p> + +<p>"Police car coming for us; it's probably on the landing stage now," +Vall said. "Well, good-by, everybody. Coming, Dalla?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They had a few minutes to wait, under the marquee, before the green +police aircar landed and came rolling across the rain-wet surface of +the landing stage. Crossing to it and opening the rear door, he put +Dalla in and climbed in after her, slamming the door. It was only then +that he saw Tortha Karf hunched down in the rear seat. He motioned +them to silence, and did not speak until the car was rising above the +building.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to fill you in on this, as soon as possible," he said. "Your +hunch about Salgath Trod was good; just a few minutes before I called +you, he called me. He says this slave trade is the work of something +he calls the Organization; says he's been taking orders from them for +years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> His attack on the Management and motion for a censure-vote +were dictated from Organization top echelon. Now he's convinced that +they're going to force him to make false accusations against the +Paratime Police and then kill him before he's compelled to repeat his +charges under narco-hypnosis. So he's offered to surrender and trade +information for protection."</p> + +<p>"How much does he know?" Vall asked.</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf shook his head. "Not as much as he claims to, I suppose; +he wouldn't want to reduce his own trade-in value. But he's been +involved in this thing for the last fifteen years, and with his +political prominence, he'd know quite a lot."</p> + +<p>"We can protect him from his own gang; can we protect him from +psycho-rehabilitation?"</p> + +<p>"No, and he knows it. He's willing to accept that. He seems to think +that death at the hands of his own associates is the only other +alternative. Probably right, too."</p> + +<p>The floodlighted green towers of the Paratime Building were wheeling +under them as they circled down.</p> + +<p>"Why would they sacrifice a valuable accomplice like Salgath Trod, in +order to make a transparently false accusation against us?" Vall +wondered.</p> + +<p>"Ha, that's our new rookie cop's idea!" Tortha Karf chuckled, nodding +toward Dalla. "We got Zortan Harn to introduce an urgent-business +motion to appoint a committee to investigate BuPsychHyg, this morning. +The motion passed, and this is the reaction to it. The Organization's +scared. Just as Dalla predicted, they don't want us finding out how +people with potentially criminal characteristics missed being spotted +by psychotesting. Salgath Trod is being sacrificed to block or delay +that."</p> + +<p>Vall nodded as the wheels bumped on the landing stage and the antigrav +field went off. That was the sort of thing that happened when you +started on a really fruitful line of investigation. They got out and +hurried over under the marquee, the car lifting and moving off toward +the hangars. This was the real break; no matter how this Organization +might be compartmented, a man like Salgath Trod would know a great +deal. He would name names, and the bearers of those names, arrested +and narco-hypnotized, would name other names, in a perfect chain +reaction of confessions and betrayals.</p> + +<p>Another police car had landed just ahead of them, and three men were +climbing out; two were in Paratime Police green, and the third, +hand-cuffed, was in Service Sector Proletarian garb. At first, Vall +though that Salgath Trod had been brought in disguised as a Prole +prisoner, and then he saw that the prisoner was short and stocky, not +at all like the slender and elegant politician. The two officers who +had brought him in were talking to a lieutenant, Sothran Barth, +outside the antigrav shaft kiosk. As Vall and Tortha Karf and Dalla +walked over, the car which had brought them lifted out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Something that just came in from Industrial Twenty-four, Chief," +Lieutenant Sothran said in answer to Tortha Karf's question. "May be +for Assistant Verkan's desk."</p> + +<p>"He's a Prole named Yandragno, sir," one of the policemen said. +"Industrial Sector Constabulary grabbed him peddling Martian hellweed +cigarettes to the girls in a textile mill at Kangabar Equivalent. +Captain Jamzar thinks he may have gotten them from somebody in the +Organization."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A little warning bell began ringing in the back of Verkan Vall's mind, +but at first he could not consciously identify the cause of his +suspicions. He looked the two policemen and their prisoner over +carefully, but could see nothing visibly wrong with them. Then another +car came in for a landing and rolled over under the marquee; the door +opened, and a police officer got out, followed by an elegantly dressed +civilian whom he recognized at once as Salgath Trod. A second +policeman was emerging from the car when Vall suddenly realized what +it was that had disturbed him.</p> + +<p>It had been Salgath Trod, himself, less than half an hour ago, who had +introduced the term, "the Organization," to the Paratime Police. At +that time, if these people were what they claimed to be, they would +have been in transposition from Industrial Twenty-four, on the Fifth +Level. Immediately, he reached for his needler. He was clearing it of +the holster when things began happening.</p> + +<p>The handcuffs fell from the "prisoner's" wrists; he jerked a +neutron-disruption blaster from under his jacket. Vall, his needler +already drawn, rayed the fellow dead before he could aim it, then saw +that the two pseudo-policemen had drawn their needlers and were aiming +in the direction of Salgath Trod. There were no flashes or reports; +only the spot of light that had winked on and off under Vall's rear +sight had told him that his weapon had been activated. He saw it +appear again as the sights centered on one of the "policemen." Then he +saw the other imposter's needler aimed at himself. That was the last +thing he expected ever to see, in that life; he tried to shift his own +weapon, and time seemed frozen, with his arm barely moving. Then there +was a white blur as Dalla's cloak moved in front of him, and the +needler dropped from the fingers of the disguised murderer. Time went +back to normal for him; he safetied his own weapon and dropped it, +jumping forward.</p> + +<p>He grabbed the fellow in the green uniform by the nose with his left +hand, and punched him hard in the pit of the stomach with his right +fist. The man's mouth flew open, and a green capsule, the size and +shape of a small bean, flew out. Pushing Dalla aside before she would +step on it, he kicked the murderer in the stomach, doubling him over, +and chopped him on the base of the skull with the edge of his hand. +The pseudo-policeman dropped senseless.</p> + +<p>With a handful of handkerchief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>-tissue from his pocket, he picked up +the disgorged capsule, wrapping it carefully after making sure that it +was unbroken. Then he looked around. The other two assassins were +dead. Tortha Karf, who had been looking at the man in Proletarian +dress whom Vall had killed first, turned, looked in another direction, +and then cursed. Vall followed his eyes, and cursed also. One of the +two policemen who had gotten out of the aircar was dead, too, and so +was the all-important witness, Salgath Trod—as dead as +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, a hundred thousand parayears away.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The whole thing had ended within thirty seconds; for about half as +long, everybody waited, poised in a sort of action-vacuum, for +something else to happen. Dalla had dropped the shoulder-bag with +which she had clubbed the prisoner's needler out of his hand, and +caught up the fallen weapon. When she saw that the man was down and +motionless, she laid it aside and began picking up the glittering or +silken trifles that had spilled from the burst bag. Vall retrieved his +own weapon, glanced over it, and holstered it. Sothran Barth, the +lieutenant in charge of the landing stage, was bawling orders, and men +were coming out of the ready-room and piling into vehicles to pursue +the aircar which had brought the assassins.</p> + +<p>"Barth!" Vall called. "Have you a hypodermic and a sleep-drug ampoule? +Well, give this boy a shot; he's only impact-stunned. Be careful of +him; he's important." He glanced around the landing-stage. "Fact is, +he's all we have to show for this business."</p> + +<p>Then he stooped to help Dalla gather her things, picking up a few of +them—a lighter, a tiny crystal perfume flask, miraculously unbroken, +a face-powder box which had sprung open and spilled half its contents. +He handed them to her, while Sothran Barth bent over the prisoner and +gave him an injection, then went to the body of the other +pseudo-policeman, forcing open his mouth. In his cheek, still +unbroken, was a second capsule, which he added to the first. Tortha +Karf was watching him.</p> + +<p>"Same gang that killed that Carera slaver on Esaron Sector?" he asked. +"Of course, exactly the same general procedure. Let's have a look at +the other one."</p> + +<p>The man in Proletarian dress must have had his capsule between his +molars when he had been killed; it was broken, and there was a +brownish discoloration and chemical odor in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Second time we've had a witness killed off under our noses," Tortha +Karf said. "We're going to have to smarten up in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Here's one of us who doesn't have to, much," Vall said, nodding +toward Dalla. "She knocked a needler out of one man's hand, and we +took him alive. The Force owes her a new shoulder-bag: she spoiled +that one using it for a club."</p> + +<p>"Best shoulder-bag we can find you, Dalla," Tortha Karf promised. +"You're promoted, herewith, to Spe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>cial Chief's Assistant's Special +Assistant—You know, this Organization murder-section is good; they +could kill anybody. It won't be long before they assign a squad to us. +Blast it, I don't want to have to go around bodyguarded like a Fourth +Level dictator, but—"</p> + +<p>A detective came out of the control room and approached.</p> + +<p>"Screen call for you, sir," he told Tortha Karf. "One of the news +services wants a comment on a story they've just picked up that we've +illegally arrested Councilman Salgath and are holding him +incommunicado and searching his apartment."</p> + +<p>"That's the Organization," Vall said. "They don't know how their boys +made out; they're hoping we'll tell them."</p> + +<p>"No comment," Tortha Karf said. "Call the girl on my switchboard and +tell her to answer any other news-service calls. We have nothing to +say at this time, but there will be a public statement at ... at +2330," he decided after a glance at his watch. "That'll give us time +to agree on a publicity line to adopt. Lieutenant Sothran! Take charge +up here. Get all these bodies out of sight somewhere, including those +of Councilman Salgath and Detective Malthor. Don't let anybody talk +about this; put a blackout on the whole story. Vall, you and Dalla and +... oh, you, over there; take the prisoner down to my office. Sothran, +any reports from any of the cars that were chasing that fake police +car?"</p> + +<p>Verkan Vall and Dalla were sitting behind Tortha Karf's desk; Vall was +issuing orders over the intercom and talking to the detectives who had +remained at Salgath Trod's apartment by visiscreen; Dalla was sorting +over the things she had spilled when her bag had burst. They both +looked up as Tortha Karf came in and joined them.</p> + +<p>"The prisoner's still under the drug," the Chief said. "He'll be out +for a couple of hours; the psych-techs want to let him come out of it +naturally and sleep naturally for a while before they give him a +hypno. He's not a ServSec Prole; uncircumcised, never had any +syntho-enzyme shots or immunizations, and none of the longevity +operations or grafts. Same thing for the two stiffs. And no identity +records on any of the three."</p> + +<p>"The men at Salgath's apartment say that his housekeeper and his two +servants checked out through the house conveyer for ServSec +One-Six-Five, at about 1830," Vall said. "There's a Prole +entertainment center on that time line. I suppose Salgath gave them +the evening off before he called you."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf nodded. "I suppose you ordered them picked up. The news +services are going wild about this. I had to make a preliminary +statement, to the effect that Salgath Trod was not arrested, came to +Headquarters of his own volition, and is under no restraint whatever."</p> + +<p>"Except, of course, a slight case of rigor mortis," Dalla added. "Did +you mention that, Chief?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I didn't." Tortha Karf looked as though he had quinine in his +mouth. "Vall, how in blazes are we going to handle this?"</p> + +<p>"We ought to keep Salgath's death hushed up, as long as we can," Vall +said. "The Organization doesn't know positively what happened here; +that's why they're handing out tips to the news services. Let's try to +make them believe he's still alive and talking."</p> + +<p>"How can we do it?"</p> + +<p>"There ought to be somebody on the Force close enough to Salgath +Trod's anthropometric specifications that our cosmeticians could work +him over into a passable impersonation. Our story is that Salgath is +on PolTerm, undergoing narco-hypnosis. We will produce an audio-visual +of him as soon as he is out of narco-hyp. That will give us time to +fix up an impersonator; We'll need a lot of sound-recordings of +Salgath Trod's voice, of course—"</p> + +<p>"I'll take care of the Home Time Line end of it; as soon as we get you +an impersonator, you go to work with him. Now, let's see whom we can +depend on to help us with this. Lovranth Rolk, of course; Home Time +Line section of the Paratime Code Enforcement Division. And—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Verkan Vall and Dalla and Tortha Karf and four or five others looked +across the desk and to the end of the room as the telecast screen +broke into a shifting light-pattern and then cleared. The face of the +announcer appeared; a young woman.</p> + +<p>"And now, we bring you the statement which Chief Tortha of the +Paratime Police has promised for this time. This portion of the +program was audio-visually recorded at Paratime Police Headquarters +earlier this evening."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf's face appeared on the screen. His voice began an +announcement of how Executive Councilman Salgath Trod had called him +by visiphone, admitting to complicity in the recently-discovered +paratemporal slave-trade.</p> + +<p>"Here is a recording of Councilman Salgath's call to me from his +apartment to my office at 1945 this evening."</p> + +<p>The screen-image shattered into light-shards and rebuilt itself: +Salgath Trod, at his desk in the library of his apartment, the +brandy-goblet and the needler within reach, appeared. He began to +speak: from time to time the voice of Tortha Karf interrupted, +questioning or prompting him.</p> + +<p>"You understand that this confession renders you liable to +psycho-rehabilitation?" Tortha Karf asked.</p> + +<p>Yes, Councilman Salgath understood that.</p> + +<p>"And you agree to come voluntarily to Paratime Police Headquarters, +and you will voluntarily undergo narco-hypnotic interrogation?"</p> + +<p>Yes, Salgath Trod agreed to that.</p> + +<p>"I am now terminating the playback of Councilman Salgath's call to +me," Tortha Karf said, re-appearing on the screen. "At this point +Councilman Salgath began making a state<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>ment about his criminal +activities, which we have on record. Because he named a number of his +criminal associates, whom we have no intention of warning, this +portion of Councilman Salgath's call cannot at this time be made +public. We have no intention of having any of these suspects escape, +or of giving their associates an opportunity to murder them to prevent +their furnishing us with additional information. Incidentally, there +was an attempt, made on the landing stage of Paratime Police +Headquarters, to murder Councilman Salgath, when he was brought here +guarded by Paratime Police officers—"</p> + +<p>He went on to give a colorful and, as far as possible, truthful, +account of the attack by the two pseudo-policemen and their +pseudo-prisoner. As he told it, however, all three had been killed +before they could accomplish their purpose, one of them by Salgath +Trod himself.</p> + +<p>The image of Tortha Karf was replaced by a view of the three assassins +lying on the landing stage. They all looked dead, even the one who +wasn't; there was nothing to indicate that he was merely drugged. +Then, one after another, their faces were shown in closeup, while +Tortha Karf asked for close attention and memorization.</p> + +<p>"We believe that these men were Fifth Level Proles; we think that they +were under hypnotic influence or obeying posthypnotic commands when +they made their suicidal attack. If any of you have ever seen any of +these men before, it is your duty to inform the Paratime Police."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That ended it. Tortha Karf pressed a button in front of him and the +screen went dark. The spectators relaxed.</p> + +<p>"Well! Nothing like being sincere with the public, is there?" Della +commented. "I'll remember this the next time I tune in a Management +public statement."</p> + +<p>"In about five minutes," one of the bureau-chiefs, said, "all hell is +going to break loose. I think the whole thing is crazy!"</p> + +<p>"I hope you have somebody who can give a convincing impersonation," +Lovranth Rolk said.</p> + +<p>"Yes. A field agent named Kostran Galth," Tortha Karf said. "We ran +the personal description cards for the whole Force through the +machine; Kostran checked to within one-twentieth of one per cent; he's +on Police Terminal, now, coming by rocket from Ravvanan Equivalent. We +ought to have the whole thing ready for telecast by 1730 tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"He can't learn to imitate Salgath's voice convincingly in that time, +with all the work the cosmeticians'll have to be doing on him," Dalla +said.</p> + +<p>"Make up a tape of Salgath's own voice, out of that pile of recordings +we got at his apartment, and what we can get out of the news file." +Vall said. "We have phoneticists who can split syllables and splice +them together. Kostran will deliver his speech in dumb-show, and we'll +dub<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> the sound in and telecast them as one. I've messaged PolTerm to +get to work on that; they can start as soon as we have the speech +written."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_64.jpg" width="600" height="435" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>"The more it succeeds now, the worse the blow-up will be when we +finally have to admit that Salgath was killed here tonight," the Chief +Inter-officer Coördinator, Zostha Olv said. "We'd better have +something to show the public to justify that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we had," Tortha Karf agreed. "Vall, how about the Kholghoor +Sector operation. How far's Ranthar Jard gotten toward locating one of +those Wizard Trader time lines?"</p> + +<p>"Not very far," Vall admitted. "He has it pinned down to the +sub-sector, but the belt seems to be one we haven't any information at +all for. Never been any legitimate penetration by paratimers. He has +his own hagiologists, and a couple borrowed from Outtime Religious +Institute; they've gotten everything the slaves can give them on that. +About the only thing to do is start random observation with +boomerang-balls."</p> + +<p>"Over about a hundred thousand time lines," Zostha Olv scoffed. He was +an old man, even for his long-lived race; he had a thin nose and a +narrow, bitter, mouth. "And what will he look for?"</p> + +<p>"Croutha with guns." Tortha Karf told him, then turned to Vall. "Can't +he narrow it more than that? What have his experts been getting out of +those slaves?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That I don't know, to date." Vall looked at the clock. "I'll find +out, though; I'll transpose to Police Terminal and call him up. And +Skordran Kirv. No. Vulthor Tharn; it'd hurt the old fellow's feelings +if I by-passed him and went to one of his subordinates. Half an hour +each way, and at most another hour talking to Ranthar and Vulthor; +there won't be anything doing here for two hours." He rose. "See you +when I get back."</p> + +<p>Dalla had turned on the telescreen again; after tuning out a dance +orchestra and a comedy show, she got the image of an angry-faced man +in evening clothes.</p> + +<p>"... And I'm going to demand a full investigation, as soon as Council +convenes tomorrow morning!" he was shouting. "This whole story is a +preposterous insult to the integrity of the entire Executive Council, +your elected representatives, and it shows the criminal lengths to +which this would-be dictator, Tortha Karf, and his jackal Verkan Vall +will go—"</p> + +<p>"So long, jackal." Dalla called to him as he went out.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He spent the half-hour transposition to Police Terminal sleeping. +Paratime-transpositions and rocket-flights seemed to be his only +chance to get any sleep. He was still sleepy when he sat down in front +of the radio telescreen behind his duplicate of Tortha Karf's desk and +put through a call to Nharkan Equivalent. It was 0600 in India; the +Sector Regional Deputy Subchief who was holding down Ranthar Jard's +desk looked equally sleepy; he had a mug of coffee in front of him, +and a brown-paper cigarette in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. Want me to call Subchief Ranthar?"</p> + +<p>"Is he sleeping? Then for mercy's sake don't. What's the present +status of the investigation?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we were dropping boomerang balls yesterday, while we had sun to +mask the return-flashes. Nothing. The Croutha have taken the city of +Sohram, just below the big bend of the river. Tomorrow, when we have +sunlight, we're going to start boomerang-balling the central square. +We may get something."</p> + +<p>"The Wizard Traders'll be moving in near there, about now," Vall said. +"The Croutha ought to have plenty of merchandise for them. Have you +gotten anything more done on narrowing down the possible area?"</p> + +<p>The deputy bit back a yawn and reached for his coffee mug.</p> + +<p>"The experts have just about pumped these slaves empty," he said. "The +local religion is a mess. Seems to have started out as a Great Mother +cult; then it picked up a lot of gods borrowed from other peoples; +then it turned into a dualistic monotheism; then it picked up a lot of +minor gods and devils—new devils usually gods of the older pantheon. +And we got a lot of gossip about the feudal wars and faction-fights +among the nobility, and so on, all garbled, because these people are +peasants who only knew what went on on the estate of their own lord."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What did go on there?" Vall asked. "Ask them about recent +improvements, new buildings, new fields cleared, new paddies flooded, +that sort of thing. And pick out a few of the highest IQ's from both +time lines, and have them locate this estate on a large-scale map, and +draw plans showing the location of buildings, fields and other visible +features. If you have to, teach them mapping and sketching by +hypno-mech. And then drop about five hundred to a thousand boomerang +balls, at regular intervals, over the whole paratemporal area. When +you locate a time line that gives you a picture to correspond to their +description, boomerang the main square in Sohram over the whole belt +around it, to find Croutha with firearms."</p> + +<p>The deputy looked at him for a moment then gulped more coffee.</p> + +<p>"Can do, Assistant Verkan. I think I'll send somebody to wake up +Subchief Ranthar, right now. Want to talk to him."</p> + +<p>"Won't be necessary. You're recording this call, of course? Then play +it back to him. And get cracking with the slaves; you want enough +information out of them to enable you to start boomerang balling as +soon as the sun's high enough."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He broke off the connection and sent out for coffee for himself. Then +he put through a call to Novilan Equivalent, in western North America.</p> + +<p>It was 1530, there, when he got Vulthor Tharn on the screen.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon. Assistant Verkan. I suppose you're calling about the +slave business. I've turned the entire matter over to Field Agent +Skordran; gave him a temporary rank of Deputy Subchief. That's subject +to your approval and Chief Tortha's, of course—"</p> + +<p>"Make the appointment permanent," Vall said. "I'll have a confirmation +along from Chief Tortha directly. And let me talk to him now, if you +please. Subchief Vulthor."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Switching you over now." The screen went into a beautiful +burst of abstract art, and cleared, after a while, with Skordran Kirv +looking out of it.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Deputy Skordran, and congratulations. What's come up since we +had Nebu-hin-Abenoz cut out from under us?"</p> + +<p>"We went in on that time line, that same night, with an airboat and +made a recon in the hills back of Careba. Scared the fear of Safar +into a party of Caleras while we were working at low altitude, by the +way. We found the conveyer-head site: hundred-foot circle with all the +grass and loose dirt transposed off it and a pole pen, very unsanitary +where about two-three hundred slaves would be kept at a time. No +indications of use in the last ten days. We did some pretty thorough +boomeranging on that spatial equivalent over a couple of thousand time +lines and found thirty more of them. I believe the slavers have closed +out the whole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> Esaron Sector operation, at least temporarily."</p> + +<p>That was what he'd been afraid of; he hoped they wouldn't do the same +thing on the Kholghoor Sector.</p> + +<p>"Let me have the designations of the time lines on which you found +conveyer heads," he said.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, Chief's Assistant; I'll photoprint them to you. Set +for reception?"</p> + +<p>Vall opened a slide under the screen and saw that the photoprint film +was in place, then closed it again, nodding. Skordran Kirv fed a sheet +of paper into his screen cabinet and his arm moved forward out of the +picture.</p> + +<p>"On, sir," he said. He and Vall counted ten seconds together, and then +Skordran Kirv said: "Through to you." Vall pressed a lever under his +screen, and a rectangle of microcopy print popped out.</p> + +<p>"That's about all I have, sir. Want me to keep my troops ready here, +or shall I send them somewhere else?"</p> + +<p>"Keep them ready, Kirv," Vall told him. "You may need them before +long. Call you later."</p> + +<p>He put the microcopy in an enlarger, and carried the enlarged print +with him to the conveyer room. There was something odd about the list +of time line designations. They were expressed numerically, in First +Level notation; extremely short groups of symbols capable of exact +expression of almost inconceivably enormous numbers. Vall had only a +general-education smattering of mathematics—enough to qualify him for +the chair of Higher Mathematics at any university on, say, the Fourth +Level Europo-American Sector—and he could not identify the +peculiarity, but he could recognize that there existed some sort of +pattern. Shoving in the starting lever, he relaxed in one of the +chairs, waiting for the transposition field to build up around him, +and fell asleep before the mesh dome of the conveyer had vanished. He +woke, the list of time line designations in his hand, when the +conveyor rematerialized on Home Time Line. Putting it in his pocket, +he hurried to an antigrav shaft and floated up to the floor on which +Tortha Karf's office was.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Tortha Karf was asleep in his chair; Dalla was eating a dinner that +had been brought in to her—something better than the sandwich and mug +of coffee Vall had mentioned to Thalvan Dras. Several of the bureau +chiefs who had been there when he had gone out had left, and the +psychist who had taken charge of the prisoner was there.</p> + +<p>"I think he's coming out of the drug, now," he reported. "Still +asleep, though. We want him to waken naturally before we start on him. +They'll call me as soon as he shows signs of stirring."</p> + +<p>"The Opposition's claiming, now, that we drugged and hypnotized +Salgath into making that visiscreen confession," Dalla said. "Can you +think of any way you could do that without making the subject +incapable of lying?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pseudo-memories," the psychist said. "It would take about three times +as long as the time between Salgath Trod's departure from his +apartment and the time of the telecast, though—"</p> + +<p>"You know much higher math?" Vall asked the psychist.</p> + +<p>"Well, enough to handle my job. Neuron-synapse inter-relations, +memory-and-association patterns, that kind of thing, all have to be +expressed mathematically."</p> + +<p>Vall nodded and handed him the time-line designation list.</p> + +<p>"See any kind of a pattern there?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The psychist looked at the paper and blanked his face as he drew on +hypnotically-acquired information.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'd say that all the numbers are related in some kind of a +series to some other number. Simplified down to kindergarten level, +say the difference between A and B is, maybe, one-decillionth of the +difference between X and A, and the difference between B and C is +one-decillionth of the difference between X and B, and so on—"</p> + +<p>A voice came out of one of the communication boxes:</p> + +<p>"Dr. Nentrov; the patient's out of the drug, and he's beginning to +stir about."</p> + +<p>"That's it," the psychist said. "I have to run." He handed the sheet +back to Vall, took a last drink from his coffee cup, and bolted out of +the room.</p> + +<p>Dalla picked up the sheet of paper and looked at it. Vall told her +what it was.</p> + +<p>"If those time lines are in regular series, they relate to the base +line of operations," she said. "Maybe you can have that worked out. I +can see how it would be; a stated interval between the Esaron Sector +lines, to simplify transposition control settings."</p> + +<p>"That was what I was thinking. It's not quite as simple as Dr. Nentrov +expressed it, but that could be the general idea. We might be able to +work out the location of the base line from that. There seems to be a +break in the number sequence in here; that would be the time line +Skordran Kirv found those slaves on." He reached for the pipe he had +left on the desk when he had gone to Police Terminal and began filling +it.</p> + +<p>A little later, a buzzer sounded and a light came on on one of the +communication boxes. He flipped the switch and said, "Verkan Vall +here." Sothran Barth's voice came cut of the box.</p> + +<p>"They've just brought in Salgath Trod's servants. Picked them up as +they came out of the house conveyer at the apartment building. I don't +believe they know what's happened."</p> + +<p>Vall flipped a switch and twiddled a dial; a viewscreen lit up, +showing the landing stage. The police car had just landed: one +detective had gotten out, and was helping the girl, Zinganna, who had +been Salgath Trod's housekeeper and mistress, to descend. She was +really beautiful. Vall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> thought: rather tall, slender, with dark eyes +and a creamy light-brown skin. She wore a black cloak, and, under it, +a black and silver evening gown. A single jewel twinkled in her black +hair. She could have very easily passed for a woman of his own race.</p> + +<p>The housemaid and the butler were a couple of entirely different +articles. Both were about four or five generations from Fourth Level +Primitive savagery. The maid, in garishly cheap finery, was big-boned +and heavy-bodied, with red-brown hair; she looked like a member of one +of the northern European reindeer-herding peoples who had barely +managed to progress as far as the bow and arrow. The butler was +probably a mixture of half a dozen primitive races; he was wearing one +of his late master's evening suits, a bright mellow-pink, which was +distinctly unflattering to his complexion.</p> + +<p>The sound-pickup was too far away to give him what they were saying, +but the butler and maid were waving their arms and protesting +vehemently. One of the detectives took the woman by the arm; she +jerked it loose and aimed a backhand slap at him. He blocked it on his +forearm. Immediately, the girl in black turned and said something to +her, and she subsided. Vall said, into the box:</p> + +<p>"Barth, have the girl in the black cloak brought down to Number Four +Interview Room. Put the other two in separate detention cubicles; +we'll talk to them later." He broke the connection and got to his +feet. "Come on, Dalla. I want you to help me with the girl."</p> + +<p>"Just try and stop me," Dalla told him. "Any interviews you have with +that little item, I want to sit in on."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Proletarian girl, still guarded by a detective, had already been +placed in the interview room. The detective nodded to Vall, tried to +suppress a grin when he saw Dalla behind him, and went out. Vall saw +his wife and the prisoner seated, and produced his cigarette case, +handing it around.</p> + +<p>"You're Zinganna; you're of the household of Councilman Salgath Trod, +aren't you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Housekeeper and hostess," the girl replied. "I am also his mistress."</p> + +<p>Vall nodded, smiling. "Which confirms my long-standing respect for +Councilman Salgath's exquisite taste."</p> + +<p>"Why, thank you," she said. "But I doubt if I was brought here to +receive compliments. Or was I?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm afraid not. Have you heard the newscasts of the past few +hours concerning Councilman Salgath?"</p> + +<p>She straightened in her seat, looking at him seriously.</p> + +<p>"No. I and Nindrandigro and Calilla spent the evening on ServSec +One-Six-Five. Councilman Salgath told me that he had some business and +wanted them out of the apartment, and wanted me to keep an eye on +them. We didn't hear any news at all." She hesitated. "Has anything +... serious ... happened?"</p> + +<p>Vall studied her for a moment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> then glanced at Dalla. There existed +between himself and his wife a sort of vague, semitelepathic, rapport; +they had never been able to transmit definite and exact thoughts, but +they could clearly prehend one another's feelings and emotions. He was +conscious, now, of Dalla's sympathy for the Proletarian girl.</p> + +<p>"Zinganna, I'm going to tell you something that is being kept from the +public," he said. "By doing so, I will make it necessary for us to +detain you, at least for a few days. I hope you will forgive me, but I +think you would forgive me less if I didn't tell you."</p> + +<p>"Something's happened to him," she said, her eyes widening and her +body tensing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Zinganna. At about 2010, this evening," he said, "Councilman +Salgath was murdered."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. "He's dead?" +Then, again, statement instead of question: "He's dead!"</p> + +<p>For a long moment, she lay back in the chair, as though trying to +reorient her mind to the fact of Salgath Trod's death, while Vall and +Dalla sat watching her. Then she stirred, opened her eyes, looked at +the cigarette in her fingers as though she had never seen it before, +and leaned forward to stuff it into an ash receiver.</p> + +<p>"Who did it?" she asked, the Stone Age savage who had been her +ancestor not ten generations ago peeping out of her eyes.</p> + +<p>"The men who actually used the needlers are dead," Vall told her. "I +killed a couple of them myself. We still have to find the men who +planned it. I'd hoped you'd want to help us do that, Zinganna."</p> + +<p>He side-glanced to Dalla again; she nodded. The relationship between +Zinganna and Salgath Trod hadn't been purely business with her; there +had been some real affection. He told her what had happened, and when +he reached the point at which Salgath Trod had called Tortha Karf to +confess complicity in the slave trade, her lips tightened and she +nodded.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid it was something like that," she said. "For the last few +days, well, ever since the news about the slave trade got out, he's +been worried about something. I've always thought somebody had some +kind of a hold over him. Different times in the past, he's done things +so far against his own political best interests that I've had to +believe he was being forced into them. Well, this time they tried to +force him too far. What then?"</p> + +<p>Vall continued the story. "So we're keeping this hushed up, for a +while. The way we're letting it out, Salgath Trod is still alive, on +Police Terminal, talking under narco-hypnosis."</p> + +<p>She smiled savagely. "And they'll get frightened, and frightened men +do foolish things," she finished. She hadn't been a politician's +mistress for nothing. "What can I do to help?"</p> + +<p>"Tell us everything you can," he said. "Maybe we can be able to take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +such actions as we would have taken if Salgath Trod had lived to talk +to us."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course." She got another cigarette from the case Vall had +laid on the table. "I think, though, that you'd better give me a +narco-hypnosis. You want to be able to depend on what I'm going to +tell you, and I want to be able to remember things exactly."</p> + +<p>Vall nodded approvingly and turned to Dalla.</p> + +<p>"Can you handle this, yourself?" he asked. "There's an audio-visual +recorder on now; here's everything you need." He opened the drawers in +the table to show her the narco-hypnotic equipment. "And the phone has +a whisper mouthpiece; you can call out without worrying about your +message getting into Zinganna's subconscious. Well, I'll see you when +you're through; you bring Zinganna to Police Terminal; I'll probably +be there."</p> + +<p>He went out, closing the door behind him, and went down the hall, +meeting the officer who had taken charge of the butler and housemaid.</p> + +<p>"We're having trouble with them, sir," he said. "Hostile. Yelling +about their rights, and demanding to see a representative of +Proletarian Protective League."</p> + +<p>Vall mentioned the Proletarian Protective League with unflattering +vulgarity.</p> + +<p>"If they don't coöperate, drag them out and inject them and question +them anyhow," he said.</p> + +<p>The detective-lieutenant looked worried. "We've been taking a pretty +high hand with them as it is," he protested. "It's safer to kill a +Citizen than bloody a Prole's nose; they have all sorts of laws to +protect them."</p> + +<p>"There are all sorts of laws to protect the Paratime Secret," Vall +replied. "And I think there are one or two laws against murdering +members of the Executive Council. In case P.P.L. makes any trouble, +they aren't here; they have faithfully joined their beloved master in +his refuge on PolTerm. But one or both of them work for the +Organization."</p> + +<p>"You're sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"The Organization is too thorough not to have had a spy in Salgath's +household. It wasn't Zinganna, because she's volunteered to talk to us +under narco-hyp. So who does that leave?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that's different; that makes them suspects." The lieutenant +seemed relieved. "We'll pump that pair out right away."</p> + +<p>When he got back to Tortha Karf's office, the Chief was awake, and +doodling on his notepad with his multicolor pen. Vall looked at the +pad and winced; the Chief was doodling bugs again—red ants with black +legs, and blue-and-green beetles. Then he saw that the psychist, +Nentrov Dard, was drinking straight 150-proof palm-rum.</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me the worst," he said.</p> + +<p>"Our boy's memory-obliterated," Nentrov Dard said, draining his glass +and filling it again. "And he's plas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>tered with pseudo-memories a foot +thick. It'll be five or six ten-days before we can get all that stuff +peeled off and get him unblocked. I put him to sleep and had him +transposed to Police Terminal. I'm going there, myself, tomorrow +morning, after I've had some sleep, and get to work on him. If you're +hoping to get anything useful out of him in time to head off this +Council crisis that's building up, just forget it."</p> + +<p>"And that leaves us right back with our old friends, the Wizard +Traders," Tortha Karf added. "And if they've decided to suspend +activities on the Kholghoor Sector, too—" He began drawing a big blue +and black spider in the middle of the pad.</p> + +<p>Nentrov Dard crushed out his cigar, drank his rum, and got to his +feet.</p> + +<p>"Well, good night, Chief; Vall. If you decide to wake me up before +1000, send somebody you want to get rid of in a hurry." He walked +around the deck and out the side door.</p> + +<p>"I hope they don't," Vall said to Tortha Karf. "Really, though, I +doubt if they do. This is their chance to pick up a lot of slaves +cheaply; the Croutha are too busy to bother haggling. I'm going +through to PolTerm, now; when Dalla and Zinganna get through, tell +them to join me there."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On Police Terminal, he found Kostran Galth, the agent who had been +selected to impersonate Salgath Trod. After calling Zulthran Torv, the +mathematician in charge of the Computer Office and giving him the +Esaron time-line designations and Nentrov Dard's ideas about them, he +spent about an hour briefing Kostran Galth on the role he was to play. +Finally, he undressed and went to bed on a couch in the rest room +behind the office.</p> + +<p>It was noon when he woke. After showering, shaving and dressing +hastily, he went out to the desk for breakfast, which arrived while he +was putting a call through to Ranthar Jard, at Nharkan Equivalent.</p> + +<p>"Your idea paid off, Chief's Assistant," the Kholghoor SecReg Subchief +told him. "The slaves gave us a lot of physical description data on +the estate, and told us about new fields that had been cleared, and a +dam this Lord Ghromdour was building to flood some new rice-paddies. +We located a belt of about five parayears where these improvements had +been made: we started boomeranging the whole belt, time line by time +line. So far, we have ten or fifteen pictures of the main square at +Sohram showing Croutha with firearms, and pictures of Wizard Trader +camps and conveyer heads on the same time lines. Here, let me show +you; this is from an airboat over the forest outside the equivalent of +Sohram."</p> + +<p>There was no jungle visible when the view changed; nothing but +clusters of steel towers and platforms and buildings that marked +conveyer heads, and a large rectangle of red-and-white antigrav-buoys +moored to warn air traffic out of the area being boom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>eranged. The +pickup seemed to be pointed downward from the bow of an airboat +circling at about ten thousand feet.</p> + +<p>"Balls ready to go," a voice called, and then repeated a string of +time-line designations. "Estimated return, 1820, give or take four +minutes."</p> + +<p>"Varth," Ranthar Jard said, evidently out of the boat's radio. "Your +telecast is being beamed on Dhergabar Equivalent; Chief's Assistant +Verkan is watching. When do you estimate your next return?"</p> + +<p>"Any moment, now, sir; we're holding this drop till they +rematerialize."</p> + +<p>Vall watched unblinkingly, his fork poised halfway to his mouth. +Suddenly, about a thousand feet below the eye of the pickup, there was +a series of blue flashes, and, an instant later, a blossoming of +red-and-white parachutes, ejected from the photo-reconnaissance balls +that had returned from the Kholghoor Sector.</p> + +<p>"All right; drop away," the boat captain called. There was a gush, +from underneath, of eight-inch spheres, their conductor-mesh twinkling +golden-bright in the sunlight. They dropped in a tight cluster for a +thousand or so feet and then flashed and vanished. From the ground, +six or eight aircars rose to meet the descending parachutes and catch +them.</p> + +<p>The screen went cubist for a moment, and then Ranthar Jard's swarthy, +wide-jawed face looked out of it again. He took his pipe from his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"We'll probably get a positive out of the batch you just saw coming +in," he said. "We get one out of about every two drops."</p> + +<p>"Message a list of the time-line designations you've gotten so far to +Zulthran Torv, at Computer Office here," Vall said. "He's working on +the Esaron Sector dope; we think a pattern can be established. I'll be +seeing you in about five hours; I'm rocketing out of here as soon as I +get a few more things cleared up here."</p> + +<p>Zulthran Torv, normally cautious to the degree of pessimism, was +jubilant when Vall called him.</p> + +<p>"We have something, Vall," he said. "It is, roughly, what Dr. Nentrov +suggested—each of the intervals between the designations is a very +minute but very exact fraction of the difference between lesser +designation and the base-line designation."</p> + +<p>"You have the base-line designation?" Vall demanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. That's what I was telling you. We worked that out from the +designations you gave me." He recited it. "All the designations you +gave me are—"</p> + +<p>Vall wasn't listening to him. He frowned in puzzlement.</p> + +<p>"That's not a Fifth Level designation," he said. "That's First Level!"</p> + +<p>"That's correct. First Level Abzar Sector."</p> + +<p>"Now why in blazes didn't anybody think of that before?" he marveled, +and as he did, he knew the answer. Nobody ever thought of the Abzar +sector.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_74.jpg" width="600" height="436" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>Twelve millennia ago, the world<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> of the First Level had been +exhausted; having used up the resources of their home planet, Mars, a +hundred thousand years before, the descendants of the population that +had migrated across space had repeated on the third planet the +devastation of the fourth. The ancestors of Verkan Vall's people had +discovered the principle of paratime transposition and had begun to +exploit an infinity of worlds on other lines of probability. The +people of the First Level Dwarma Sector, reduced by sheer starvation +to a tiny handful, had abandoned their cities and renounced their +technologies and created for themselves a farm-and-village culture +without progress or change or curiosity or struggle or ambition, and a +way of life in which every day was like every other day that had been +or that would come.</p> + +<p>The Abzar people had done neither. They had wasted their resources to +the last, fighting bitterly over the ultimate crumbs, with fission +bombs, and with muskets, and with swords, and with spears and clubs, +and finally they had died out, leaving a planet of almost uniform +desert dotted with vast empty cities which even twelve thousand years +had hardly begun to obliterate.</p> + +<p>So nobody on the Paratime Sector went to the Abzar Sector. There was +nothing there—except a hiding-place.</p> + +<p>"Well, message that to Subchief Ranthar Jard, Kholghoor Sector at +Nharkan Equivalent, and to Subchief Vulthor, Esaron Sector, Novilan +Equivalent," Vall said. "And be sure to mark what you send Vulthor, +'Immediate attention Deputy Subchief Skordran.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>'"</p> + +<p>That reminded him of something; as soon as he was through with +Zulthran, he got out an order in the name of Tortha Karf authorizing +Skordran Kirv's promotion on a permanent basis and messaged it out. +Something was going to have to be done with Vulthor Tharn, too. A +promotion of course—say Deputy Bureau Chief. Hypno-Mech Tape Library +at Dhergabar Home Time Line; there Vulthor's passion for procedure and +his caution would be assets instead of liabilities. He called Vlasthor +Arph, the Chief's Deputy assigned to him as adjutant.</p> + +<p>"I want more troops from ServSec and IndSec," he said. "Go over the +TO's and see what can be spared from where; don't strip any time line, +but get a force of the order of about three divisions. And locate all +the big antigrav-equipped ship transposition docks on Commercial and +Passenger Sectors, and a list of freighters and passenger ships that +can be commandeered in a hurry. We think we've spotted the time line +the Organization's using as a base. As soon as we raid a couple of +places near Nharkan and Novilan Equivalents, we're going to move in +for a planet-wide cleanup."</p> + +<p>"I get it, Chief's Assistant. I do everything I can to get ready for a +big move, without letting anything leak out. After you strike the +first blow, there won't be any security problem, and the lid will be +off. In the meantime, I make up a general plan, and alert all our own +people. Right?"</p> + +<p>"Right. And for your information, the base isn't Fifth Level; it's +First Level Abzar." He gave the designation.</p> + +<p>Vlasthor Arph chuckled. "Well, think of that! I'd even forgotten there +was an Abzar Sector. Shall I tell the reporters that?"</p> + +<p>"Fangs of Fasif, no!" Vall fairly howled. Then, curiously: "What +reporters? How'd they get onto PolTerm?"</p> + +<p>"About fifty or sixty news-service people Chief Tortha sent down here, +this morning, with orders to prevent them from filing any stories from +here but to let them cover the raids, when they come off. We were +instructed to furnish them weapons and audio-visual equipment and +vocowriters and anything else they needed, and—"</p> + +<p>Vall grinned. "That was one I'd never thought of," he admitted. "The +old fox is still the old fox. No, tell them nothing; we'll just take +them along and show them. Oh, and where are Dr. Hadron Dalla and that +girl of Salgath Trod's?"</p> + +<p>"They're sleeping, now. Rest Room Eighteen."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Dalla and Zinganna were asleep on a big mound of silk cushions in one +corner, their glossy black heads close together and Zinganna's brown +arm around Dalla's white shoulder. Their faces were calmly beautiful +in repose, and they smiled slightly, as though they were wandering +through a happy dream. For a little while, Vall stood looking at them, +then he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> began whistling softly. On the third or fourth bar, Dalla +woke and sat up, waking Zinganna, and blinked at him perplexedly.</p> + +<p>"What time is it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"About 1245," he told her.</p> + +<p>"Ohhh! We just got to sleep," she said. "We're both bushed!"</p> + +<p>"You had a hard time. Feel all right after your narco-hyp, Zinganna?"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't so bad, and I had a nice sleep. And Dalla ... Dr. Hadron, I +mean—"</p> + +<p>"Dalla," Vall's wife corrected. "Remember what I told you?"</p> + +<p>"Dalla, then," Zinganna smiled. "Dalla gave me some hypno-treatment, +too. I don't feel so badly about Trod, any more."</p> + +<p>"Well, look, Zinganna. We're going to have a man impersonate +Councilman Salgath on a telecast. The cosmeticians are making him over +now. Would you find it too painful to meet him, and talk to him?"</p> + +<p>"No, I wouldn't mind. I can criticize the impersonation; remember, I +knew Trod very well. You know, I was his hostess, too. I met many of +the people with whom he was associated, and they know me. Would things +look more convincing if I appeared on the telecast with your man?"</p> + +<p>"It certainly would; it would be a great help!" he told her +enthusiastically. "Maybe you girls ought to get up, now. The telecast +isn't till 1930, but there's a lot to be done getting ready."</p> + +<p>Dalla yawned. "What I get, trying to be a cop," she said, then caught +the other girl's hands and rose, pulling her up. "Come on, Zinna; we +have to get to work!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Vall rose from behind the reading-screen in Ranthar Jard's office, +stretching his arms over his head. For almost an hour, he had sat +there pushing buttons and twiddling selector and +magnification-adjustment knobs, looking at the pictures the +Kholghoor-Nharkan cops had taken with auto-return balls dropped over +the spatial equivalent of Sohram. One set of pictures, taken at two +thousand feet, showed the central square of the city. The effects of +the Croutha sack were plainly visible; so were the captives herded +together under guard like cattle. By increasing magnification, he +looked at groups of the barbarian conquerors, big men with blond or +reddish-brown hair, in loose shirts and baggy trousers and rough +cowhide buskins. Many of them wore bowl-shaped helmets, some had +shirts of ring-mail, all of them carried long straight swords with +cross-hilts, and about half of them had pistols thrust through their +belts or muskets slung from their shoulders.</p> + +<p>The other set of pictures showed the Wizard Trader camps and conveyer +heads. In each case, a wide oval had been burned out in the jungle, +probably with heavy-duty heat guns. The camps were surrounded with +stout wire-mesh fence: in each there were a number of metal +prefab-huts, and an inner fenced slave-pen. A trail had been cut from +each to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> similarly cleared circle farther back in the forest, and in +the centers of one or two of these circles he saw the actual conveyer +domes. There was a great deal of activity in all of them, and he +screwed the magnification-adjustment to the limit to scrutinize each +human figure in turn. A few of the men, he was sure, were First Level +Citizens; more were either Proles or outtimers. Quite a few of them +were of a dark, heavy-featured, black-bearded type.</p> + +<p>"Some of these fellows look like Second Level Khiftans," he said. +"Rush an individual picture of each one, maximum magnification +consistent with clarity, to Dhergabar Equivalent to be transposed to +Home Time Line. You get all the dope from Zulthran Torv?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; Abzar Sector," Ranthar Jard said. "I'd never have thought of +that. Wonder why they used that series system, though. I'd have tried +to spot my operations as completely at random as possible."</p> + +<p>"Only thing they could have done," Vall said. "When we get hold of one +of their conveyers, we're going to find the control panel's just a +mess of arbitrary symbols, and there'll be something like a +computer-machine built into the control cabinet, to select the right +time line whenever a dial's set or a button pushed, and the only way +that could be done would be by establishing some kind of a numerical +series. And we were trustingly expecting to locate their base from one +of their conveyers! Why, if we give all those people in the pictures +narco-hyps, we won't learn the base-line designation; none of them +will know it. They just go where the conveyers take them."</p> + +<p>"Well, we're all set now," Ranthar Jard said. "I have a plan of attack +worked out; subject to your approval, I'm ready to start implementing +it now." He glanced at his watch. "The Salgath telecast is over, on +Home Time Line, and in a little while, a transcript will be on this +time line. Want to watch it here, sir?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The telecast screen in the living room of Tortha Karf's town apartment +was still on; in it, a girl with bright red hair danced slowly to soft +music against a background of shifting color. The four men who sat in +a semicircle facing it sipped their drinks and watched idly.</p> + +<p>"Ought to be getting some sort of public reaction soon," Tortha Karf +said, glancing at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll have to admit, it was done convincingly," Zostha Olv, the +Chief Interoffice Coördinator, admitted grudgingly. "I'd have believed +it, if I hadn't known the real facts."</p> + +<p>"Shooting it against the background of those wide windows was smart," +Lovranth Rolk said. "Every schoolchild would recognize that view of +the rocketport as being on Police Terminal. And including that girl +Zinganna; that was a real masterpiece!"</p> + +<p>"I've met her, a few times," Elbraz Vark, the Political Liaison +Assistant, said. "Isn't she lovely!"</p> + +<p>"Good actress, too," Tortha Karf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> said. "It's not easy to impersonate +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Well, Kostran Galth did a fine job of acting, too," Lovranth Rolk +said. "That was done to perfection—the distinguished politician, +supported by his loyal mistress, bravely facing the disgraceful end of +his public career."</p> + +<p>"You know, I believe I could get that girl a booking with one of the +big theatrical companies. Now that Salgath's dead, she'll need +somebody to look after her."</p> + +<p>"What sharp, furry ears you have, Mr. Elbraz!" Zostha Olv grunted.</p> + +<p>The music stopped as though cut off with a knife, and the slim girl +with the red hair vanished in a shatter of many colors. When the +screen cleared, one of the announcers was looking out of it.</p> + +<p>"We interrupt the program for an important newscast of a sensational +development in the Salgath affair," he said. "Your next speaker will +be Yandar Yadd—"</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd managed to get that blabbermouth transposed to +PolTerm," Zostha said.</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't go." Tortha Karf replied. "Said it was just a trick to +get him off Home Time Line during the Council crisis."</p> + +<p>Yandar Yadd had appeared on the screen as the pickup swung about.</p> + +<p>"... Recording ostensibly made by Councilman Salgath on Police +Terminal Time Line, and telecast on Home Time Line an hour ago. Well, +I don't know who he was, but I now have positive proof that he +definitely was not Salgath Trod!"</p> + +<p>"We're sunk!" Zostha Olv grunted. "He'd never make a statement like +that unless he could prove it."</p> + +<p>"... Something suspicious about the whole thing, from the beginning," +the newsman was saying. "So I checked. If you recall, the actor +impersonating Salgath gestured rather freely with his hands, in +imitation of a well-known mannerism of the real Salgath Trod; at one +point, the ball of his right thumb was presented directly to the +pickup. Here's a still of that scene."</p> + +<p>He stepped aside, revealing a viewscreen behind him; when he pressed a +button, the screen lighted; on it was a stationary picture of Kostran +Galth as Salgath Trod, his right hand raised in front of him.</p> + +<p>"Now watch this. I'm going to step up the magnification, slowly, so +that you can be sure there's no substitution. Camera a little closer, +Trath!"</p> + +<p>The screen in the background seemed to advance, until it filled the +entire screen. Yandar Yadd was still talking, out of the picture; a +metal-tipped pointer came into the picture, touching the right thumb, +which grew larger and larger until it was the only thing visible.</p> + +<p>"Now here," Yandar Yadd's voice continued. "Any of you who are +familiar with the ancient science of dactyloscopy will recognize this +thumb as having the ridge-pattern known as a 'twin loop.' Even with +the high degree of magnification pos<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>sible with the microgrid screen, +we can't bring out the individual ridges, but the pattern is +unmistakable. I ask you to memorize that image, while I show you +another right thumb print, this time a certified photo-copy of the +thumb print of the real Salgath Trod." The magnification was reduced a +little, a card was moved into the picture, and it was stepped up +again. "See, this thumb print is of the type known as a 'tented arch.' +Observe the difference."</p> + +<p>"That does it!" Zostha Olv cried. "Karf, for the first and last time, +let me remind you that I opposed this lunacy from the beginning. Now, +what are we going to do next?"</p> + +<p>"I suggest that we get to Headquarters as soon as we can," Tortha Karf +said. "If we wait too long, we may not be able to get in."</p> + +<p>Yandar Yadd was back on the screen, denouncing Tortha Karf +passionately. Tortha went over and snapped it off.</p> + +<p>"I suggest we transpose to PolTerm," Lovranth Rolk said. "It won't be +so easy for them to serve a summons on us there."</p> + +<p>"You can go to PolTerm if you want to," Tortha Karf retorted. "I'm +going to stay here and fight back, and if they try to serve me with a +summons, they'd better send a robot for a process server."</p> + +<p>"Fight back!" Zostha Olv echoed. "You can't fight the Council and the +whole Management! They'll tear you into inch bits!"</p> + +<p>"I can hold them off till Vall's able to raid those Abzar Sector +bases," Tortha Karf said. He thought for a moment. "Maybe this is all +for the best, after all. If it distracts the Organization's +attention—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"I wish we could have made a boomerang-ball reconnaissance," Ranthar +Jard was saying, watching one of the viewscreens, in which a film, +taken from an airboat transposed to an adjoining Abzar sector time +line, was being shown. The boat had circled over the Ganges, a mere +trickle between wide, deeply cut banks, and was crossing a gullied +plain, sparsely grown with thornbush. "The base ought to be about +there, but we have no idea what sort of changes this gang has made."</p> + +<p>"Well, we couldn't: we didn't dare take the chance of it being +spotted. This has to be a complete surprise. It'll be about like the +other place, the one the slaves described. There won't be any +permanent buildings. This operation only started a few months ago, +with the Croutha invasion; it may go on for four or five months, till +the Croutha have all their surplus captives sold off. That country," +he added, gesturing at the screen, "will be flooded out when the rains +come. See how it's suffered from flood-erosion. There won't be a thing +there that can't be knocked down and transposed out in a day or so."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let me go along," Ranthar Jard worried.</p> + +<p>"We can't do that, either," Vall said. "Somebody's got to be in charge +here, and you know your own people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> better than I do. Beside, this +won't be the last operation like this. Next time, I'll have to stay on +Police Terminal and command from a desk; I want first-hand experience +with the outtime end of the job, and this is the only way I can get +it."</p> + +<p>He watched the four police-girls who were working at the big terrain +board showing the area of the Police Terminal time line around them. +They had covered the miniature buildings and platforms and towers with +a fine mesh, at a scale-equivalent of fifty feet; each intersection +marked the location of a three-foot conveyer ball, loaded with a +sleep-gas bomb and rigged with an automatic detonator which would +explode it and release the gas as soon as it rematerialized on the +Abzar Sector. Higher, on stiff wires that raised them to what +represented three thousand feet, were the disks that stood for ten +hundred-foot conveyers; they would carry squads of Paratime Police in +aircars and thirty-foot air boats. There was a ring of big +two-hundred-foot conveyers a mile out; they would carry the armor and +the airborne infantry and the little two-man scooters of the +air-cavalry, from the Service and Industrial Sectors. Directly over +the spatial equivalent of the Kholghoor Sector Wizard Traders' +conveyers was the single disk of Verkan Vall's command conveyer, at a +represented five thousand feet, and in a half-mile circle around it +were the five news service conveyers.</p> + +<p>"Where's the ship-conveyer?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Actually it's on antigrav about five miles north of here," one of the +girls said. "Representationally, about where Subchief Ranthar's +standing."</p> + +<p>Another girl added a few more bits to the network that represented the +sleep-gas bombs and stepped back, taking off her earphones.</p> + +<p>"Everything's in place, now, Assistant Verkan," she told him.</p> + +<p>"Good. I'm going aboard, now," he said. "You can have it, Jard."</p> + +<p>He shook hands with Ranthar Jard, who moved to the switch which would +activate all the conveyers simultaneously, and accepted the good +wishes of the girls at the terrain board. Then he walked to the +mesh-covered dome of the hundred-foot conveyer, with the five news +service conveyers surrounding it in as regular a circle as the +buildings and towers of the regular conveyer heads would permit. The +members of his own detail, smoking and chatting outside, saw him and +started moving inside; so did the news people. A public-address +speaker began yelping, in a hundred voices all over the area, warning +those who were going with the conveyers to get aboard. He went in +through a door, between two aircars, and on to the central +control-desks, going up to a visiscreen over which somebody had +crayoned "Novilan EQ." It gave him a view, over the shoulder of a man +in the uniform of a field agent third class, of the interior of a +conveyer like his own.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Hello, Assistant Verkan," a voice came out of the speaker under the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +screen, as the man moved his lips. "Deputy Skordran! Here's Chief's +Assistant Verkan, now!"</p> + +<p>Skordran Kirv moved in front of the screen as the operator got up from +his stool.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Vall; we're all set to move out as soon as you give the word," +he said. "We're all in position on antigrav."</p> + +<p>"That's smart work. We've just finished our gas-bomb net," Vall said. +"Going on antigrav now," he added, as he felt the dome lift. "I hope +you won't be too disappointed if you draw a blank on your end."</p> + +<p>"We realize that they've closed out the whole Esaron Sector," Skordran +Kirv, eight thousand odd miles away, replied. "We're taking in a +couple of ships; we're going to make a survey all up the coast. There +are a lot of other sectors where slaves can be sold in this area."</p> + +<p>In the outside viewscreen, tuned to a slowly rotating pickup on the +top of a tower spatially equivalent with a room in a tall building on +Second Level Triplanetary Empire Sector, he could see his own conveyer +rising vertically, with the news conveyers following, and the troop +conveyers, several miles away, coming into position. Finally, they +were all placed; he reported the fact to Skordran Kirv and then picked +up a hand-phone.</p> + +<p>"Everybody ready for transposition?" he called. "On my count. Thirty +seconds ... Twenty seconds ... Fifteen seconds ... Five seconds ... +Four seconds ... Three seconds ... Two seconds ... One second, <i>out!</i>"</p> + +<p>All the screens went gray. The inside of the dome passed into another +space-time continuum, even into another kind of space-time. The +transposition would take half an hour; that seemed to be the time +needed to build up and collapse the transposition field, regardless of +the paratemporal distance covered. The dome above and around them +vanished; the bare, tower-forested, building-dotted world of Police +Terminal vanished, too, into the uniform green of the uninhabited +Fifth Level. A planet could take pretty good care of itself, he +thought, if people would only leave it alone. Then he began to see the +fields and villages of Fourth Level. Cities appeared and vanished, +growing higher and vaster as they went across the more civilized Third +Level. One was under air attack—there was almost never a paratemporal +transposition which did not run through some scene of battle.</p> + +<p>He unbuckled his belt and took off his boots and tunic; all around +him, the others were doing the same. Sleep-gas didn't have to be +breathed; it could enter the nervous system by any orifice or lesion, +even a pore or a scratch. A spacesuit was the only protection. One of +the detectives helped him on with his metal and plastic armor; before +sealing his gauntlets, he reciprocated the assistance, then checked +the needler and blaster and the long batonlike ultrasonic paralyzer on +his belt and made sure that the radio and sound-phones<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> in his helmet +were working. He hoped that the frantic efforts to gather several +thousand spacesuits onto Police Terminal from the Industrial and +Commercial and Interplanetary Sectors hadn't started rumors which had +gotten to the ears of some of the Organization's ubiquitous agents.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The country below was already turning to the parched browns and +yellows of the Abzar Sector. There was not another of the conveyers in +sight, but electronic and mechanical lag in the individual controls +and even the distance-difference between them and the central radio +control would have prevented them from going into transposition at the +same fractional microsecond. The recon-details began piling into their +cars. Then the red light overhead winked to green, and the dome +flickered and solidified into cold, inert metal. The screens lighted +up again, and Vall could see Skordran Kirv, across Asia and the +Pacific, getting into his helmet. A dot of light in the center of the +underview screen widened as the mesh under the conveyer irised open +around the pickup.</p> + +<p>Below, the Organization base—big rectangles of fenced slave pens, +with metal barracks inside; the huge circle of the Kholghoor Sector +conveyer-head building, and a smaller structure that must house +conveyers to other Abzar Sector time lines; the work-shops and living +quarters and hangars and warehouses and docks—was wreathed in +white-green mist. The ring of conveyers at three thousand feet were +opening and spewing out aircars and airboats, farther away, the +greater ring of heavy conveyers were unloading armored and shielded +combat-craft. An aircar which must have been above the reach of the +gas was streaking away toward the west, with three police cars after +it. As he watched, the air around it fairly sizzled blue with the rays +of neutron disruption blasters, and then it blew apart. The three +police cars turned and came back more slowly. The three-thousand-ton +passenger ship which had been hastily fitted with armament was +circling about; the great dock conveyer which had brought it was gone, +transposed back to Police Terminal to pick up another ship.</p> + +<p>He recorded a message announcing the arrival of the task-force, pulled +out the tape and sealed it in a capsule, and put the capsule in a mesh +message ball, attaching it to a couple of wires and flipping a switch. +The ball flashed and vanished, leaving the wires cleanly sheared off. +When it got back to Police Terminal, half an hour later, it would +rematerialize, eject a parachute, and turn on a whistle to call +attention to itself. Then he sealed on his helmet, climbed into an +aircar, and turned on his helmet-radio to speak to the driver. The car +lifted a few inches, floated out an open port, and dived downward.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_83.jpg" width="600" height="525" alt="Illustration." /> + +</div> + +<p>He landed at the big conveyer-head building. There were spaces for +fifty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> conveyers around it, and all but eight of them were in place. +One must have arrived since the gas bombs burst; it was crammed with +senseless Kharanda slaves. A couple of Paratime Police officers were +towing a tank of sleep-gas around on an antigrav-lifter, maintaining +the proper concentration in case any more came in. At the smaller +conveyer building, there were no conveyers, only a number of red-lined +fifty-foot circles around a central two-hundred-foot circle. The +Organization personnel there had been dragged outside, and a group of +paracops were sealing it up, installing robot watchmen, and preparing +to flood it with gas. At the slave pens, a string of two-hundred-foot +conveyers, having unloaded soldiers and fighting-gear, were coming in +to take on unconscious slaves for transposition to Police Terminal. +Aircars and airboats were bringing in gassed slavers; they were being +shackled and dumped into the slave barracks; as soon as the gas +cleared and they could be brought back to consciousness, they would be +narco-hypnotized and questioned.</p> + +<p>He had finished a tour of the warehouses, looking at the kegs of +gunpowder and the casks of brandy, the piles of pig lead, the stacks +of cases containing muskets. These must have all come from some +low-order<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> handcraft time line. Then there were swords and hatchets +and knives that had been made on Industrial Sector—the Organization +must be getting them through some legitimate trading company—and +mirrors and perfumes and synthetic fiber textiles and cheap jewelry, +of similar provenance. It looked as though this stuff had been brought +in by ship from somewhere else on this time line; the warehouses were +too far from the conveyers and right beside the ship dock—</p> + +<p>There was a tremendous explosion somewhere. Vall and the men with him +ran outside, looking about, the sound-phones of their helmets giving +them no idea of the source of the sound. One of the policemen pointed, +and Vall's eyes followed his arm. The ship that had been transposed in +in the big conveyer was falling, blown in half; as he looked, both +sections hit the ground several miles away. A strange ship, a +freighter, was coming in fast, and as he watched, a blue spark winked +from her bow as a heavy-duty blaster was activated. There was another +explosion, overhead; they all ran for shelter as Vall's +command-conveyer disintegrated into falling scrap-metal. At once, all +the other conveyers which were on antigrav began flashing and +vanishing. That was the right, the only, thing to do, he knew. But it +was leaving him and his men isolated and under attack.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"So that was it," Dalgroth Sorn, the Paratime Commissioner for +Security said, relieved when Tortha Karf had finished.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I'll repeat it under narco-hyp, too," Tortha Karf added.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't talk that way, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn scolded. He was at +least a century Tortha Karf's senior; he had the face of an elderly +and sore-toothed lion. "You wanted to keep this prisoner under wraps +till you could mind-pump him, and you wanted the Organization to think +Salgath was alive and talking. I approve both. But—"</p> + +<p>He gestured to the viewscreen across the room, tuned to a pickup back +of the Speaker's chair in the Council Chamber. Tortha Karf turned a +knob to bring the sound volume up.</p> + +<p>"Well. I'm raising this point," a member from the Management seats in +the center was saying, "because these earlier charges of illegal +arrest and illegal detention are part and parcel with the charges +growing out of the telecast last evening."</p> + +<p>"Well, that telecast was a fake; that's been established," somebody on +the left heckled.</p> + +<p>"Councilman Salgath's confession on the evening of One-Six-Two Day +wasn't a fake, the Management supporter, Nanthav Skov, retorted.</p> + +<p>"Well, then why was it necessary to fake the second one?"</p> + +<p>A light began winking on the big panel in front of the Speaker, Asthar +Varn.</p> + +<p>"I recognize Councilman Hasthor Flan," Asthar said.</p> + +<p>"I believe I can construct a theory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> that will explain that," Hasthor +Flan said. "I suggest that when the Paratime Police were questioning +Councilman Salgath under narco-hypnosis, he made statements +incriminating either the Paratime Police as a whole or some member of +the Paratime Police whom Tortha Karf had to protect—say somebody like +Assistant Verkan. So they just killed him, and made up this +impostor—"</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf began, alphabetically, to blaspheme every god he had ever +heard of. He had only gotten as far as a Fourth Level deity named +Allah when a red light began flashing in front of Asthar Varn, and the +voice of a page-robot, amplified, roared:</p> + +<p>"Point of special urgency! Point of special urgency! It has been +requested that the news telecast screen be activated at once, with +playback to 1107. An important bulletin has just come in from +Nagorabar, Home Time Line, on the Indian subcontinent—"</p> + +<p>"You can stop swearing, now, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn grinned. "I think +this is it."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Kostran Galth sat on the edge of the couch, with one arm around +Zinganna's waist; on the other side of him, Hadron Dalla lay at full +length, her elbows propped and her chin in her hands. The screen in +front of them showed a fading sunset, although it was only a little +past noon at Dhergabar Equivalent. A dark ship was coming slowly in +against the red sky; in the center of a wire-fenced compound a +hundred-foot conveyer hung on antigrav twenty feet from the ground, +and beyond, a long metal prefab-shed was spilling light from open +doors and windows.</p> + +<p>"That crowd that was just taken in won't be finished for a couple of +hours," a voice was saying. "I don't know how much they'll be able to +tell; the psychists say they're all telling about the same stories. +What those stories are, of course, I'm not able to repeat. After the +trouble caused by a certain news commentator who shall be +nameless—he's not connected with this news service, I'm happy to +say—we're all leaning over backward to keep from breaking Paratime +Police security.</p> + +<p>"One thing; shortly after the arrival of the second ship from Police +Terminal—and believe me, that ship came in just in the nick of +time!—the dead Abzar city which the criminals were using as their +main base for this time line, and from which they launched the air +attack against us, was located, and now word has come in that it is +entirely in the hands of the Paratime Police. Personally, I doubt if a +great deal of information has been gotten from any prisoners taken +there. The lengths to which this Organization went to keep their own +people in ignorance is simply unbelievable."</p> + +<p>A man appeared for a moment in the lighted doorway of the shed, then +stepped outside.</p> + +<p>"Look!" Dalla cried. "There's Vall!"</p> + +<p>"There's Assistant Verkan, now,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> the commentator agreed. "Chief's +Assistant, would you mind saying a few words, here? I know you're a +busy man, sir, but you are also the public hero of Home Time Line, and +everybody will be glad if you say something to them—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Tortha Karf sealed the door of the apartment behind them, then +activated one of the robot servants and sent it gliding out of the +room for drinks. Verkan Vall took off his belt and holster and laid +them aside, then dropped into a deep chair with a sigh of relief. +Dalla advanced to the middle of the room and stood looking about in +surprised delight.</p> + +<p>"Didn't expect this, from the mess outside?" Vall asked. "You know, +you really are on the paracops, now. Nobody off the Force knows about +this hideout of the Chief's."</p> + +<p>"You'd better find a place like this, too," Tortha Karf advised. "From +now on, you'll have about as much privacy at that apartment in +Turquoise Towers as you'd enjoy on the stage of Dhergabar Opera +House."</p> + +<p>"Just what is my new position?" Vall asked, hunting his cigarette case +out of his tunic. "Duplicate Chief of Paratime Police?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The robot came back with three tall glasses and a refrigerated +decanter on its top. It stopped in front of Tortha Karf and slewed +around on its treads; he filled a glass and sent it to the chair where +Dalla had seated herself; when she got a drink, she sent it to Vall. +Vall sent if back to Tortha Karf, who turned it off.</p> + +<p>"No; you have the modifier in the wrong place. You're Chief of +Duplicate Paratime Police. You take the setup you have now, and expand +it; continue the present lines of investigation, and be ready to +exploit anything new that comes up. You won't bother with any of this +routine flying-saucer-scare stuff; just handle the Organization +business. That'll keep you busy for a long time, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"I notice you slammed down on the first Council member who began +shouting about how you'd wiped out the Great Paratemporal Crime-Ring," +Vall said.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It isn't wiped out, and it won't be wiped out for a long time. I +shall be unspeakably delighted if, when I turn my job over to you, you +have it wiped out. And even then, there'll be a loose end to pick up +every now and then till you retire."</p> + +<p>"We have Council and the Management with us, now," Vall said. "This +was the first secret session of Executive Council in over two thousand +years. And I thought I'd drop dead when they passed that motion to +submit themselves to narco-hypnosis."</p> + +<p>"A few Councilmen are going to drop dead before they can be +narco-hypped," Dalla prophesied over the rim of her glass.</p> + +<p>"A few have already. I have a list of about a dozen of them who have +had fatal accidents or committed suicide, or just died or vanished +since<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> the news of your raid broke. Four of them I saw, in the screen, +jump up and run out as soon as the news came in, on One-Six-Five Day. +And a lot of other people; our friend Yandar Yadd's dropped out of +sight, for one. You heard what we got out of those servants of Salgath +Trod's?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't," Dalla said. "What?"</p> + +<p>"Both spies for the Organization. They reported to a woman named +Farilla, who ran a fortune-telling parlor in the Prole district. Her +occult powers didn't warn her before we sent a squad of plain-clothes +men for her. That was an entirely illegal arrest, by the way, but it +netted us a list of about three hundred prominent political, business +and social persons whose servants have been reporting to her. She +thought she was working for a telecast gossipist."</p> + +<p>"That's why we have a new butler, darling," Vall interrupted. +"Kandagro was reporting on us."</p> + +<p>"Who did she pass the reports on to?" Dalla asked.</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf beamed. "She thinks more like a cop every time I talk to +her," he told Vall. "You better appoint her your Special Assistant. +Why, about 1800 every day, some Prole would come in, give the +recognition sign, and get the day's accumulation. We only got one of +them, a fourteen-year-old girl. We're having some trouble getting her +deconditioned to a point where she can be hypnotized into talking; by +the time we do, they'll have everything closed out, I suppose. What's +the latest from Abzar Sector? I missed the last report in the rush to +get to this Council session."</p> + +<p>"All stalled. We're still boomeranging the sector, but it's about five +billion time-lines deep, and the pattern for the Kholghoor and Esaron +Sectors doesn't seem to apply. I think they have a lot of these Abzar +time lines close together, and they get from one to another via some +terminal on Fifth Level."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf nodded. It was impossible to make a transposition of less +than ten parayears—a hundred thousand time lines. It was impossible +that the field could build and collapse that soon.</p> + +<p>"We also think that this Abzar time line was only used for the +Croutha-Wizard Trader operation. Nothing we found there was more than +a couple of months old; nothing since the last rainy season in India, +for instance. Everything was cleaned out on Skordran Kirv's end."</p> + +<p>"Tell him to try the Mississippi, Missouri and Ohio Valleys," Tortha +Karf said. "A lot of those slaves are sure to have been sold to Second +Level Khiftan Sector."</p> + +<p>"Well, it looks as though our vacation's out the window for a long +time," Dalla said resignedly.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you and Vall go to my farm, on Fifth Level Sicily," Tortha +Karf suggested. "I own the whole island, on that time line, and you +can always be reached in a hurry if anything comes up."</p> + +<p>"We could have as much fun there as on the Dwarma Sector,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> Dalla +said. "Chief, could we take a couple of friends along?"</p> + +<p>"Well, who?"</p> + +<p>"Zinganna and Kostran Galth," she replied. "They've gotten interested +in one another; they're talking about a tentative marriage."</p> + +<p>"It'll have to be mighty tentative," Vall said. "Kostran Galth can't +marry a Prole."</p> + +<p>"She won't be a Prole very long. I'm going to adopt her as my sister."</p> + +<p>Tortha Karf looked at her sharply. "You sure you know what you're +doing, Dalla?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm sure. I know that girl better than she knows herself. I +narco-hypped her, remember. Zinna's the kind of a sister I've always +wished I'd had."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right then. But about this marriage. She was in love +with Salgath Trod," Tortha Karf said. "Now, she's identifying Agent +Kostran with him—"</p> + +<p>"She was in love with the kind of man Salgath could have been if he +hadn't gotten into this Organization filth," Dalla replied. "Galth is +that kind of a man. They'll get along all right."</p> + +<p>"Well, she'll qualify on IQ and general psych rating for Citizenship. +I'll say that. And she's the kind of girl I like to see my boys take +up with. Like you, Dalla. Yes, of course; take them along with you. +Sicily's big enough that two couples won't get in each others' way."</p> + +<p>A phone-robot, its slender metal stem topped by a metal globe, slid +into the room on its ball-rollers, moving falteringly, like a blind +man. It could sense Tortha Karf's electro-encephalic wave-patterns, +but it was having trouble locating the source. They all sat +motionless, waiting; finally it came over to Tortha Karf's chair and +stopped. He unhooked the phone and held a lengthy whispered +conversation with somebody before replacing it.</p> + +<p>"Now, there," he explained to Dalla. "That's a sample of why we have +to set up this duplicate organization. Revolution just broke out at +Ftanna, on Third Level Tsorshay Sector; a lot of our people, mostly +tourists and students, are cut off from their conveyers by street +fighting. Going to be a pretty bloody business getting them out." He +finished his drink and got to his feet. "Sit still; I just have to +make a few screen-calls. Send the robot for something to eat, Vall. +I'll be right back."</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Crime, by H. Beam Piper + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME CRIME *** + +***** This file should be named 18151-h.htm or 18151-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/1/5/18151/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Beam Piper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Time Crime + +Author: H. Beam Piper + +Release Date: May 5, 2007 [EBook #18151] +[This file was first posted on April 11, 2006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME CRIME *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's note. + + This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction Magazine + February and March 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any + evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + TIME CRIME + + + BY H. BEAM PIPER + + +_First of Two Parts. The Paratime Police had a real headache this +time! Tracing one man in a population of millions is easy--compared +to finding one gang hiding out on one of billions of probability lines!_ + + Illustrated by Freas + + +[Illustration:] + + + + +ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION + + +Kiro Soran, the guard captain, stood in the shadow of the veranda +roof, his white cloak thrown back to display the scarlet lining. He +rubbed his palm reflectively on the checkered butt of his revolver and +watched the four men at the table. + +"And ten tens are a hundred," one of the clerks in blue jackets said, +adding another stack to the pile of gold coins. + +"Nineteen hundreds," one of the pair in dirty striped robes agreed, +taking a stone from the box in front of him and throwing it away. Only +one stone remained. "One more hundred to pay." + +One of the blue-jacketed plantation clerks made a tally mark; his +companion counted out coins, ten and ten and ten. + +Dosu Golan, the plantation manager, tapped impatiently on his polished +boot leg with a thin riding whip. + +[Illustration:] + +"I don't like this," he said, in another and entirely different +language. "I know, chattel slavery's an established custom on this +sector, and we have to conform to local usages, but it sickens me to +have to haggle with these swine over the price of human beings. On +the Zarkantha Sector, we used nothing but free wage-labor." + +"Migratory workers," the guard captain said. "Humanitarian +considerations aside, I can think of a lot better ways of meeting the +labor problem on a fruit plantation than by buying slaves you need for +three months a year and have to feed and quarter and clothe and doctor +the whole twelve." + +"Twenty hundreds of _obus_," the clerk who had been counting the money +said. "That is the payment, is it not, Coru-hin-Irigod?" + +"That is the payment," the slave dealer replied. + +The clerk swept up the remaining coins, and his companion took them +over and put them in an iron-bound chest, snapping the padlock. The +two guards who had been loitering at one side slung their rifles and +picked up the chest, carrying it into the plantation house. The slave +dealer and his companion arose, putting their money into a leather +bag; Coru-hin-Irigod turned and bowed to the two men in white cloaks. + +"The slaves are yours, noble lords," he said. + +Across the plantation yard, six more men in striped robes, with +carbines slung across their backs, approached; with them came another +man in a hooded white cloak, and two guards in blue jackets and red +caps, with bayoneted rifles. The man in white and his armed attendants +came toward the house; the six Calera slavers continued across the +yard to where their horses were picketed. + +"If I do not offend the noble lords, then," Coru-hin-Irigod said, "I +beg their sufferance to depart. I and my men have far to ride if we +would reach Careba by nightfall. The Lord, the Great Lord, the Lord +God Safar watch between us until we meet again." + +Urado Alatana, the labor foreman, came up onto the porch as the two +slavers went down. + +"Have a good look at them, Radd?" the guard captain asked. + +"You think I'm crazy enough to let those bandits out of here with two +thousand _obus_--forty thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units--of the +Company's money without knowing what we're getting?" the other +parried. "They're all right--nice, clean, healthy-looking lot. I did +everything but take them apart and inspect the pieces while they were +being unshackled at the stockade. I'd like to know where this +Coru-hin-Whatshisname got them, though. They're not local stuff. Lot +darker, and they're jabbering among themselves in some lingo I never +heard before. A few are wearing some rags of clothing, and they have +odd-looking sandals. I noticed that most of them showed marks of +recent whipping. That may mean they're troublesome, or it may just +mean that these Caleras are a lot of sadistic brutes." + +"Poor devils!" The man called Dosu Golan was evidently hoping that +he'd never catch himself talking about fellow humans like that. The +guard captain turned to him. + +"Coming to have a look at them, Doth?" he asked. + +"You go, Kirv; I'll see them later." + +"Still not able to look the Company's property in the face?" the +captain asked gently. "You'll not get used to it any sooner than now." + +"I suppose you're right." For a moment Dosu Golan watched +Coru-hin-Irigod and his followers canter out of the yard and break +into a gallop on the road beyond. Then he tucked his whip under his +arm. "All right, then. Let's go see them." + +The labor foreman went into the house; the manager and the guard +captain went down the steps and set out across the yard. A big +slat-sided wagon, drawn by four horses, driven by an old slave in a +blue smock and a thing like a sunbonnet, rumbled past, loaded with +newly-picked oranges. Blue woodsmoke was beginning to rise from the +stoves at the open kitchen and a couple of slaves were noisily +chopping wood. Then they came to the stockade of close-set pointed +poles. A guard sergeant in a red-trimmed blue jacket, armed with a +revolver, met them with a salute which Kiro Soran returned: he +unfastened the gate and motioned four or five riflemen into positions +from which they could fire in between the poles in case the slaves +turned on their new owners. + +There seemed little danger of that, though Kiro Soran kept his hand +close to the butt of his revolver. The slaves, an even hundred of +them, squatted under awnings out of the sun, or stood in line to drink +at the water-butt. They furtively watched the two men who had entered +among them, as though expecting blows or kicks; when none were +forthcoming, they relaxed slightly. As the labor foreman had said, +they were clean and looked healthy. They were all nearly naked; there +were about as many women as men, but no children or old people. + +"Radd's right," the captain told the new manager. "They're not local. +Much darker skins, and different face-structure; faces wedge-shaped +instead of oval, and differently shaped noses, and brown eyes instead +of black. I've seen people like that, somewhere, but--" + +He fell silent. A suspicion, utterly fantastic, had begun to form in +his mind, and he stepped closer to a group of a dozen-odd, the manager +following him. One or two had been unmercifully lashed, not long ago, +and all bore a few lash-marks. Odd sort of marks, more like +burn-blisters than welts. He'd have to have the Company doctor look at +them. Then he caught their speech, and the suspicion was converted to +certainty. + +"These are not like the others: they wear fine garments, and walk +proudly. They look stern, but not cruel. They are the real masters +here; the others are but servants." + +He grasped the manager's arm and drew him aside. + +"You know that language?" he asked. When the man called Dosu Golan +shook his head, he continued: "That's Kharanda; it's a dialect spoken +by a people in the Ganges Valley, in India, on the Kholghoor Sector of +the Fourth Level." + +Dosu Golan blinked, and his face went blank for a moment. + +"You mean they're from outtime?" he demanded. "Are you sure?" + +"I did two years on Fourth Level Kholghoor with the Paratime Police, +before I took this job," the man called Kiro Soran replied. "And +another thing. Those lash-marks were made with some kind of an +electric whip. Not these rawhide quirts the Caleras use." + +It took the plantation manager all of five seconds to add that up. The +answer frightened him. + +"Kirv, this is going to make a simply hideous uproar, all the way up +to Home Time Line main office," he said. "I don't know what I'm going +to do--" + +"Well, I know what I have to do." The captain raised his voice, using +the local language: "Sergeant! Run to the guardhouse, and tell +Sergeant Adarada to mount up twenty of his men and take off after +those Caleras who sold us these slaves. They're headed down the road +toward the river. Tell him to bring them all back, and especially +their chief, Coru-hin-Irigod, and him I want alive and able to answer +questions. And then get the white-cloak lord Urado Alatena, and come +back here." + +"Yes, captain." The guards were all Yarana people; they disliked +Caleras intensely. The sergeant threw a salute, turned, and ran. + +"Next, we'll have to isolate these slaves," Kiro Soran said. "You'd +better make a full report to the Company as soon as possible. I'm +going to transpose to Police Terminal Time Line and make my report to +the Sector-Regional Subchief. Then--" + +"Now wait a moment, Kirv," Dosu Golan protested. "After all, I'm the +manager, even if I am new here. It's up to me to make the decisions--" + +Kiro Soran shook his head. "Sorry, Doth. Not this one," he said. "You +know the terms under which I was hired by the Company. I'm still a +field agent of the Paratime Police, and I'm reporting back on duty as +soon as I can transpose to Police Terminal. Look; here are a hundred +men and women who have been shifted from one time-line, on one +paratemporal sector of probability, to another. Why, the world from +which these people came doesn't even exist in this space-time +continuum. There's only one way they could have gotten here, and +that's the way we did--in a Ghaldron-Hesthor paratemporal +transposition field. You can carry it on from there as far as you +like, but the only thing it adds up to is a case for the Paratime +Police. You had better include in your report mention that I've +reverted to police status; my Company pay ought to be stopped as of +now. And until somebody who outranks me is sent here, I'm in complete +charge. Paratime Transposition Code, Section XVII, Article 238." + +The plantation manager nodded. Kiro Soran knew how he must feel; he +laid a hand gently on the younger man's shoulder. + +"You understand how it is, Doth; this is the only thing I can do." + +"I understand, Kirv. Count on me for absolutely anything." He looked +at the brown-skinned slaves, and lines of horror and loathing appeared +around his mouth. "To think that some of our own people would do a +thing like this! I hope you can catch the devils! Are you transposing +out, now?" + +"In a few minutes. While I'm gone, have the doctor look at those +whip-injuries. Those things could get infected. Fortunately, he's one +of our own people." + +"Yes, of course. And I'll have these slaves isolated, and if Adarada +brings back Coru-hin-Irigod and his gang before you get back, I'll +have them locked up and waiting for you. I suppose you want to +narco-hypnotize and question the whole lot, slaves and slavers?" + +The labor foreman, known locally as Urado Alatena, entered the +stockade. + +"What's wrong, Kirv?" he asked. + +The Paratime Police agent told him, briefly. The labor foreman +whistled, threw a quick glance at the nearest slaves, and nodded. + +"I knew there was something funny about them," he said. "Doth, what a +simply beastly thing to happen, two days after you take charge here!" + +"Not his fault," the Paratime Police agent said. "I'm the one the +Company'll be sore at, but I'd rather have them down on me rather than +old Tortha Karf. Well, sit on the lid till I get back," he told both +of them. "We'll need some kind of a story for the locals. Let's +see--Explain to the guards, in the hearing of some of the more +talkative slaves, that these slaves are from the Asian mainland, that +they are of a people friendly to our people, and that they were +kidnaped by pirates, our enemies. That ought to explain everything +satisfactorily." + +On his way back to the plantation house, he saw a clump of local +slaves staring curiously at the stockade, and noticed that the guards +had unslung their rifles and fixed their bayonets. None of them had +any idea, of course, of what had happened, but they all seemed to +know, by some sort of ESP, that something was seriously wrong. It was +going to get worse, too, when strangers began arriving, apparently +from nowhere, at the plantation. + + * * * * * + +Verkan Vall waited until the small, dark-eyed woman across the +circular table had helped herself from one of the bowls on the +revolving disk in the middle, then rotated it to bring the platter of +cold boar-ham around to himself. + +"Want some of this, Dalla?" he asked, transferring a slice of ham and +a spoonful of wine sauce to his plate. + +"No, I'll have some of the venison," the black-haired girl beside him +said. "And some of the pickled beans. We'll be getting our fill of +pork, for the next month." + +"I thought the Dwarma Sector people were vegetarians," Jandar Jard, +the theatrical designer, said. "Most nonviolent peoples are, aren't +they?" + +"Well, the Dwarma people haven't any specific taboo against taking +life," Bronnath Zara, the dark-eyed woman in the brightly colored +gown, told him. "They're just utterly noncombative, nonaggressive. +When I was on the Dwarma Sector, there was a horrible scandal at the +village where I was staying. It seems that a farmer and a meat butcher +fought over the price of a pig. They actually raised their voices and +shouted contradictions at each other. That happened two years before, +and people were still talking about it." + +"I didn't think they had any money, either," Verkan Vall's wife, +Hadron Dalla, said. + +"They don't," Zara said. "It's all barter and trade. What are you and +Vall going to use for a visible means of support, while you're there?" + +"Oh, I have my mandolin, and I've learned all the traditional Dwarma +songs by hypno-mech," Dalla said. "And Transtime Tours is fitting Vall +out with a bag of tools; he's going to do repair work and carpentry." + +"Oh, good; you'll be welcome anywhere," Zara, the sculptress, said. +"They're always glad to entertain a singer, and for people who do the +fine decorative work they do, they're the most incompetent practical +mechanics I've ever seen or heard of. You're going to travel from +village to village?" + +"Yes. The cover-story is that we're lovers who have left our village +in order not to make Vall's former wife unhappy by our presence," +Dalla said. + +"Oh, good! That's entirely in the Dwarma romantic tradition," Bronnath +Zara approved. "Ordinarily, you know, they don't like to travel. They +have a saying: 'Happy are the trees, they abide in their own place; +sad are the winds, forever they wander.' But that'll be a fine +explanation." + +Thalvan Dras, the big man with the black beard and the long red coat +and cloth-of-gold sash who lounged in the host's seat, laughed. + +"I can just see Vall mending pots, and Dalla playing that mandolin and +singing," he said. "At least, you'll be getting away from police work. +I don't suppose they have anything like police on the Dwarma Sector?" + +"Oh, no; they don't even have any such concept," Bronnath Zara said. +"When somebody does something wrong, his neighbors all come and talk +to him about it till he gets ashamed, then they all forgive him and +have a feast. They're lovely people, so kind and gentle. But you'll +get awfully tired of them in about a month. They have absolutely no +respect for anybody's privacy. In fact, it seems slightly indecent to +them for anybody to want privacy." + +One of Thalvan Dras' human servants came into the room, coughed +apologetically, and said: + +"A visiphone-call for His Valor, the Mavrad of Nerros." + +Vall went on nibbling ham and wine sauce; the servant repeated the +announcement a trifle more loudly. + +[Illustration:] + +"Vall, you're being paged!" Thalvan Dras told him, with a touch of +impatience. + +Verkan Vall looked blank for an instant, then grinned. It had been so +long since he had even bothered to think about that antiquated title +of nobility-- + +"Vall's probably forgotten that he has a title," a girl across the +table, wearing an almost transparent gown and nothing else, laughed. + +"That's something the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabar never forgets," +Jandar Jard drawled, with what, in a woman, would have been +cattishness. + +Thalvan Dras gave him a hastily repressed look of venomous anger, then +said something, more to Verkan Vall than to Jandar Jard, about titles +of nobility being the marks of social position and responsibility +which their bearers should never forget. That jab, Vall thought, +following the servant out of the room, had been a mistake on Jard's +part. A music-drama, for which he had designed the settings, was due +to open here in Dhergabar in another ten days. Thalvan Dras would +cherish spite, and a word from the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabar +would set a dozen critics to disparaging Jandar's work. On the other +hand, maybe it had been smart of Jandar Jard to antagonize Thalvan +Dras; for every critic who bowed slavishly to the wealthy nobleman, +there were at least two more who detested him unutterably, and they +would rush to Jandar Jard's defense, and in the ensuing uproar, the +settings would get more publicity than the drama itself. + + * * * * * + +In the visiphone booth, Vall found a girl in a green blouse, with the +Paratime Police insigne on her shoulder, looking out of the screen. +The wall behind her was pale green striped in gold and black. + +"Hello, Eldra," he greeted her. + +"Hello, Chief's Assistant: I'm sorry to bother you, but the Chief +wants to talk to you. Just a moment, please." + +The screen exploded into a kaleidoscopic flash of lights and colors, +then cleared again. This time, a man looked out of it. He was well +into middle age; close to his three hundredth year. His hair, a +uniform iron-gray, was beginning to thin in front, and he was +acquiring the beginnings of a double chin. His name was Tortha Karf, +and he was Chief of Paratime Police, and Verkan Vall's superior. + +"Hello, Vall. Glad I was able to locate you. When are you and Dalla +leaving?" + +"As soon as we can get away from this luncheon, here. Oh, say an hour. +We're taking a rocket to Zarabar, and transposing from there to +Passenger Terminal Sixteen, and from there to the Dwarma Sector." + +"Well, Vall, I hate to bother you like this," Tortha Karf said, "but I +wish you'd stop by Headquarters on your way to the rocketport. +Something's come up--it may be a very nasty business--and I'd like to +talk to you about it." + +"Well, Chief, let me remind you that this vacation, which I've had to +postpone four times already, has been overdue for four years," Vall +said. + +"Yes, Vall, I know. You've been working very hard, and you and Dalla +are entitled to a little time together. I just want you to look into +something, before you leave." + +"It'll have to take some fast looking. Our rocket blasts off in two +hours." + +"It may take a little longer; if it does, you and Dalla can transpose +to Police Terminal and take a rocket for Zarabar Equivalent, and +transpose from there to Passenger Sixteen. It would save time if you +brought Dalla with you to Headquarters." + +"Dalla won't like this," Vall understated. + +"No. I'm afraid not." Tortha Karf looked around apprehensively, as +though estimating the damage an enraged Hadron Dalla could do to his +office furnishings. "Well, try to get here as soon as you can." + + * * * * * + +Thalvan Dras was holding forth, when Vall returned, on one of his +favorite preoccupations. + +"... Reason I'm taking such an especially active interest in this +year's Arts Exhibitions; I've become disturbed at the extent to which +so many of our artists have been content to derive their motifs, even +their techniques, from outtime art." He was using his vocowriter, +rather than his conversational, voice. "I yield to no one in my +appreciation of outtime art--you all know how devotedly I collect +objects of art from all over paratime--but our own artists should +endeavor to express their artistic values in our own artistic idioms." + +Vall bent over his wife's shoulder. + +"We have to leave, right away," he whispered. + +"But our rocket doesn't blast off for two hours--" + +Thalvan Dras had stopped talking and was looking at them in annoyance. + +"I have to go to Headquarters before we leave. It'll save time if you +come along." + +"Oh, no, Vall!" She looked at him in consternation. "Was that Tortha +Karf, calling?" She replaced her plate on the table and got to her +feet. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, Dras," he addressed their host. "I just had a +call from Tortha Karf. A few minor details that must be cleared up, +before I leave Home Time Line. If you'll accept our thanks for a +wonderful luncheon--" + +"Why, certainly, Vall. Brogoth, will you call--" He gave a slight +chuckle. "I'm so used to having Brogoth Zaln at my elbow that I'd +forgotten he wasn't here. Wait. I'll call one of the servants to have +a car for you." + +"Don't bother; we'll take an aircab," Vall told him. + +"But you simply can't take a public cab!" The black-bearded nobleman +was shocked at such an obscene idea. "I will have a car ready for you +in a few minutes." + +"Sorry, Dras; we have to hurry. We'll get a cab on the roof. Good-by, +everybody; sorry to have to break away like this. See you all when we +get back." + + * * * * * + +Hadron Dalla watched dejectedly as the green crags and escarpments of +the Paratime Building loomed above the city in front of them, and +began slipping under the aircab. She felt like a prisoner recaptured +at the moment when attempted escape was about to succeed. + +"I knew it," she said. "I knew he'd find something. He's trying to +break things up between us, the way he did twenty years ago.'" + +Vall crushed out his cigarette and said nothing. That hadn't been +true, and she knew it as well as he did. There had been many other +factors involved in the disintegration of their previous marriage, +most of them of her own contribution. But that had been twenty years +ago, she told herself. This time it would be different, if only-- + +"Really, Vall, he's never liked me," she went on. "He's jealous of me, +I think. You're to be his successor, when he retires, and he thinks +I'm not a good influence--" + +"Oh, rubbish, Dalla! The Chief has always liked you," Vall replied. +"If he didn't, do you think he'd always be inviting us to that farm of +his, on Fifth Level Sicily? It's just that this job of ours has no +end; something's always turning up, outtime." + +The music that the cab had been playing died away. "Paratime Building, +just below," it said, in a light feminine voice. "Which landing stage, +please?" Vall leaned forward and punched at the buttons in front of +him. Something in the cab's electronic brain gave a rapid series of +clicks as it shifted from the general Paratime Building beam to the +beam of the Paratime Police landing stage, then it said, "Thank you." +The building below seemed to rotate upward toward them as it settled +down. Then the antigrav-field snapped off, the cab door popped open, +and the cab said: "Good-by, now. Ride with me again, sometime." + +They crossed the landing stage, entered the antigrav shaft, and +floated downward; at the end of a hallway, below, Vall opened the door +of Tortha Karf's office and ushered her through ahead of him. + +Tortha Karf, inside the semicircle of his desk, was speaking into a +recording phone as they approached. He shut off the machine and waved, +a cigarette in his hand. + +"Come on back and sit down," he invited. "Be with you in a moment." +Then he switched on the phone again and went on talking--something +about prompter evaluation and transmission of reports and less +reliance on robot equipment. "Sign that up, my personal order, and see +it's transmitted to everybody down to and including Sector Regional +Subchief level," he finished, then hung up the phone and turned to +them. + +"Sorry about this," he said. "Sit down, if you please. Cigarettes?" + +She shook her head and sat down in one of the chairs behind the desk; +she started to relax and then caught herself and sat erect, her hands +on her lap. + +"This won't interfere with your vacation, Vall," Tortha Karf was +saying. "I just need a little help before you transpose out." + +"We have to catch the rocket for Zarabar in an hour and a half," Dalla +reminded him. + +"Don't worry about that; if you miss the commercial rocket, our police +rockets can give it an hour's start and pass it before it gets to +Zarabar," Tortha Karf said. Then he turned to Vall. "Here's what's +happened," he said. "One of our field agents on detached duty as guard +captain for Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs on a fruit plantation in +western North America, Third Level Esaron Sector, was looking over a +lot of slaves who had been sold to the plantation by a local slave +dealer. He heard them talking among themselves--in Kharanda." + +Dalla caught the significance of that before Vall did. At first, she +was puzzled; then, in spite of herself, she was horrified and angry. +Tortha Karf was explaining to Vall just where and on what paratemporal +sector Kharanda was spoken. + +"No possibility that this agent, Skordran Kirv, could have been +mistaken. He worked for a while on Kholghoor Sector, himself; knew the +language by hypno-mech and by two years' use," Tortha Karf was saying. +"So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and the +slave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal to +report. The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him in +charge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple of +detectives and a psychist." + +"When was this?" Vall asked. + +"Yesterday. One-Five-Nine Day. About 1500 local time." + +"Twenty-three hundred Dhergabar time," Vall commented. + +"Yes. And I just found out about it. Came in in the late morning +generalized report-digest; very inconspicuous item, no special urgency +symbol or anything. Fortunately, one of the report editors spotted it +and messaged Police Terminal for a copy of the original report." + +"It's been a long time since we had anything like that," Vall said, +studying the glowing tip of his cigarette, his face wearing the +curiously withdrawn expression of a conscious memory recall. "Fifty +years ago; the time that gang kidnaped some girls from Second Level +Triplanetary Empire Sector and sold them into the harem of some Fourth +Level Indo-Turanian sultan." + +"Yes. That was your first independent case, Vall. That was when I +began to think you'd really make a cop. One renegade First Level +citizen and four or five ServSec Prole hoodlums, with a stolen +fifty-foot conveyer. This looks like a rather more ambitious +operation." Dalla got one of her own cigarettes out and lit it. Vall +and Tortha Karf were talking cop talk about method of operation and +possible size of the gang involved, and why the slaves had been +shipped all the way from India to the west coast of North America. + +"Always ready sale for slaves on the Esaron Sector," Vall was saying. +"And so many small independent states, and different languages, that +outtimers wouldn't be particularly conspicuous." + +"And with this barbarian invasion going on on the Kholghoor Sector, +slaves could be picked up cheaply," Tortha Karf added. + +In spite of her determination to boycott the conversation, curiosity +began to get the better of her. She had spent a year and a half on the +Kholghoor Sector, investigating alleged psychic powers of the local +priests. There'd been nothing to it--the prophecies weren't +precognition, they were shrewd inferences, and the miracles weren't +psychokinesis, they were sleight-of-hand. She found herself asking: + +"What barbarian invasion's this?" + +"Oh, Central Asian nomadic people, the Croutha," Tortha Karf told her. +"They came down through Khyber Pass about three months ago, turned +east, and hit the headwaters of the Ganges. Without punching a lot of +buttons to find out exactly, I'd say they're halfway to the delta +country by now. Leader seems to be a chieftain called Llamh Droogh the +Red. A lot of paratime trading companies are yelling for permits to +introduce firearms in the Kholghoor Sector to protect their holdings +there." + +She nodded. The Fourth Level Kholghoor Sector belonged to what was +known as Indus-Ganges-Irriwady Basic Sector-Grouping--probability of +civilization having developed late on the Indian subcontinent, with +the rest of the world, including Europe, in Stone Age savagery or +early Bronze Age barbarism. The Kharandas, the people among whom she +had once done field-research work, had developed a pre-mechanical, +animal-power, handcraft, edge-weapon culture. She could imagine the +roads jammed with fugitives from the barbarian invaders, the conveyer +hidden among the trees, the lurking slavers-- + +Watch it, Dalla! Don't let the old scoundrel play on your feelings! + + * * * * * + +"Well, what do you want me to do, Chief?" Vall was asking. + +"Well, I have to know just what this situation's likely to develop +into, and I want to know why Vulthor Tharn's been sitting on this ever +since Skordran Kirv reported it to him--" + +"I can answer the second one now," Vall replied. "Vulthor Tharn is due +to retire in a few years. He has a negatively good, undistinguished +record. He's trying to play it safe." + +Tortha Karf nodded. "That's what I thought. Look, Vall; suppose you +and Dalla transpose from here to Police Terminal, and go to Novilan +Equivalent, and give this a quick look-over and report to me, and then +rocket to Zarabar Equivalent and go on with your trip to the Dwarma +Sector. It may delay you eight or ten hours, but--" + +"Closer twenty-four," Vall said. "I'd have to transpose to this +plantation, on the Esaron Sector. How about it, Dalla? Would you want +to do that?" + +She hesitated for a moment, angry with him. He didn't want to refuse, +and he was trying to make her do it for him. + +"I know, it's a confounded imposition, Dalla," Tortha Karf told her. +"But it's important that I get a prompt and full estimate of the +situation. This may be something very serious. If it's an isolated +incident, it can be handled in a routine manner, but I'm afraid it's +not. It has all the marks of a large-scale operation, and if this is a +matter of mass kidnapings from one sector and transpositions to +another, you can see what a threat this is to the Paratime Secret." + +"Moral considerations entirely aside," Vall said. "We don't need to +discuss them; they're too obvious." + +She nodded. For over twelve millennia, the people of her race and +Vall's and Tortha Karf's had been existing as parasites on all the +innumerable other worlds of alternate probability on the lateral +dimension of time. Smart parasites never injure their hosts, and try +never to reveal their existence. + +"We could do that, couldn't we, Vall?" she asked, angry at herself now +for giving in. "And if you want to question these slaves, I speak +Kharanda, and I know how they think. And I'm a qualified and licensed +narco-hypnotic technician." + +"Well, that's splendid, Dalla!" Tortha Karf enthused. "Wait a moment; +I'll message Police Terminal to have a rocket ready for you." + +"I'll need a hypno-mech for Kharanda, myself," Vall said. "Dalla, do +you know Acalan?" When she shook her head, he turned back to Tortha +Karf. "Look; it's about a four-hour rocket hop to Novilan Equivalent. +Say we have the hypno-mech machines installed in the rocket; Dalla and +I can take our language lessons on the way, and be ready to go to work +as soon as we land." + +"Good idea," Tortha Karf approved. "I'll order that done, right away. +Now--" + +Oddly enough, she wasn't feeling so angry, now that she had committed +herself and Vall. Come to think of it, she had never been on Police +Terminal Time Line; very few people, outside the Paratime Police, ever +had. And, she had always wanted to learn more about Vall's work, and +participate in it with him. And if she'd made him refuse, it would +have been something ugly between them all the time they would be on +the Dwarma Sector. But this way-- + + * * * * * + +The big circular conveyer room was crowded, as it had been every +minute of every day for the past ten thousand years. At the great +circular desk in the center, departing or returning police officers +were checking in or out with the flat-topped cylindrical robot +clerks, or talking to human attendants. Some were in the regulation +green uniform; others, like himself, were in civilian clothes; more +were in outtime costumes from all over paratime. Fringed robes and +cloth-of-gold sashes and conical caps from the Second Level Khiftan +Sector; Fourth Level Proto-Aryan mail and helmets; the short tunics +and kilts of Fourth Level Alexandrian-Roman Sector; the Zarkantha +loincloth and felt cap and daggers; there were priestly vestments +stiff with gold, and military uniforms; there were trousers and +jackboots and bare legs; blasters, and swords, and pistols, and bows +and quivers, and spears. And the place was loud with a babel of voices +and the clatter of teleprinters. + +[Illustration:] + +Dalla was looking about her in surprised delight; for her, the +vacation had already begun. He was glad; for a while, he had been +afraid that she would be unhappy about it. He guided her through the +crowd to the desk, spoke for a while to one of the human attendants, +and found out which was their conveyer. It was a fixed-destination +shuttler, operative only between Home Time Line and Police Terminal, +from which most of the Paratime Police operations were routed. He put +Dall in through the sliding door, followed, and closed it behind him, +locking it. Then, before he closed the starting switch, he drew a +pistollike weapon and checked it. + +In theory, the Ghaldron-Hesthor paratemporal transposition field was +uninfluenced by material objects outside it. In practice, however, +such objects occasionally intruded, and sometimes they were alive and +hostile. The last time he had been in this conveyer room, he had seen +a quartet of returning officers emerge from a conveyer dome dragging +a dead lion by the tail. The sigma-ray needler, which he carried, was +the only weapon which could be used, under the circumstances. It had +no effect whatever on any material structure and could be used inside +an activated conveyer without deranging the conductor-mesh, as, say, a +bullet or the vibration of an ultrasonic paralyzer would do, and it +was instantly fatal to anything having a central nervous system. It +was a good weapon to use outtime for that reason, also; even on the +most civilized time-line, the most elaborate autopsy would reveal no +specific cause of death. + +"What's the Esaron Sector like?" Dalla asked, as the conveyer dome +around them coruscated with shifting light and vanished. + +"Third Level; probability of abortive attempt to colonize this planet +from Mars about a hundred thousand years ago," he said. "A few +survivors--a shipload or so--were left to shift for themselves while +the parent civilization on Mars died out. They lost all vestiges of +their original Martian culture, even memory of their extraterrestrial +origin. About fifteen hundred to two thousand years ago, a reasonably +high electrochemical civilization developed and they began working +with nuclear energy and developed reaction-drive spaceships. But +they'd concentrated so on the inorganic sciences, and so far neglected +the bio-sciences, that when they launched their first ship for Venus +they hadn't yet developed a germ theory of disease." + +"What happened when they ran into the green-vomit fever?" Dalla asked. + +"About what you could expect. The first--and only--ship to return +brought it back to Terra. Of course, nobody knew what it was, and +before the epidemic ended, it had almost depopulated this planet. +Since the survivors knew nothing about germs, they blamed it on the +anger of the gods--the old story of recourse to supernaturalism in the +absence of a known explanation--and a fanatically anti-scientific cult +got control. Of course, space travel was taboo; so was nuclear and +even electric power. For some reason, steam power and gunpowder +weren't offensive to the gods. They went back to a low-order +steam-power, black-powder, culture, and haven't gotten beyond that to +this day. The relatively civilized regions are on the east coast of +Asia and the west coast of North America; civilized race more or less +Caucasian. Political organization just barely above the tribal +level--thousands of petty kingdoms and republics and principalities +and feudal holdings and robbers' roosts. The principal industries are +brigandage, piracy, slave-raiding, cattle-rustling and intercommunal +warfare. They have a few ramshackle steam railways, and some +steamboats on the rivers. We sell them coal and manufactured goods, +mostly in exchange for foodstuffs and tobacco. Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs has the sector franchise. That's one of the companies +Thalvan Dras gets his money from." + +They had run down through the civilized Second and Third Levels and +were leaving the Fourth behind and entering the Fifth, existing in the +probability of a world without human population. Once in a while, +around them, they caught brief flashes of buildings and rocketports +and spaceports and landing stages, as the conveyer took them through +narrow paratime belts on which their own civilization had established +outposts--Fifth Level Commercial, Fifth Level Passenger, Industrial +Sector, Service Sector. + +Finally the conveyer dome around them shimmered into visibility and +materialized; when they emerged, there were policemen in green +uniforms who entered to search the dome with drawn needlers to make +sure they had picked up nothing dangerous on the way. The room outside +was similar to the one they had left on Home Time Line, even to the +shifting, noisy crowd in incongruously-mixed costumes. + + * * * * * + +The rocketport was a ten minutes' trip by aircar from the conveyer +head; when they boarded the stubby-winged strato-rocket, Vall saw that +two of the passenger-seats had square metal cabinets bolted in place +behind them and blue plastic helmets on swinging arms mounted above +them. + +"Everything's set up," the pilot told them. "Dr. Hadron, you sit on +the left; that cabinet's loaded with language tape for Acalan. Yours +is loaded with a tape of Kharanda; that's the Fourth Level Kholghoor +language you wanted, Chief's Assistant. Shall I help you get fixed in +your seats?" + +"Yes, if you please. Here, Dalla, I'll fix that for you." + +Dalla was already asleep when the pilot was adjusting his helmet and +giving him his injection. He never felt the rocket tilt into firing +position, and while he slept, the Kharands language, with all its +vocabulary and grammar, became part of his subconscious knowledge, +needing only the mental pronunciation of a trigger-symbol to bring it +into consciousness. The pilot was already unfastening and raising his +helmet when he opened his eyes. Dalla, beside him, was sipping a cup +of spiced wine. + +On the landing stage of the Sector-Regional Headquarters at Novilan +Equivalent, four or five people were waiting for them. Vall recognized +the subchief, Vulthor Tharn, who introduced another man, in riding +boots and a white cloak, as Skordran Kirv. Vall clasped hands with him +warmly. + +"Good work, Agent Skordran. You got onto this promptly." + +"I tried to, sir. Do you want the dope now? We have half an hour's +flight to our spatial equivalent, and another half hour in +transposition." + +"Give it to me on the way," he said, and turned to Vulthor Tharn. +"Our Esaron costumes ready?" + +"Yes. Over there in the control tower. We have a temporary conveyer +head set up about two hundred miles south of here, which will take you +straight through to the plantation." + +"Suppose you change now, Dalla," he said. "Subchief, I'd like a word +with you privately." + +He and Vulthor Tharn excused themselves and walked over to the edge of +the landing stage. The SecReg Subchief was outwardly composed, but +Vall sensed that he was worried and embarrassed. + +"Now, what's been done since you got Agent Skordran's report?" Vall +asked. + +"Well, sir, it seems that this is more serious than we had +anticipated. Field Agent Skordran, who will give you the particulars, +says that there is every indication that a large and well-organized +gang of paratemporal criminals, our own people, are at work. He says +that he's found evidence of activities on Fourth Level Kholghoor that +don't agree with any information we have about conditions on that +sector." + +"Beside transmitting Agent Skordran's report to Dhergabar through the +robot report-system, what have you done about it?" + +"I confirmed Agent Skordran in charge of the local investigation, and +gave him two detectives and a psychist, sir. As soon as we could +furnish hypno-mech indoctrination in Kharanda to other psychists, I +sent them along. He now has four of them, and eight detectives. By +that time, we had a conveyer head right at this Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs plantation." + +"Why didn't you just borrow psychists from SecReg for Kholghoor, +Eastern India?" Vall asked. "Subchief Ranthar would have loaned you a +few." + +"Oh, I couldn't call on another SecReg for men without higher-echelon +authorization. Especially not from another Sector Organization, even +another Level Authority," Vulthor Tharn said. "Beside, it would have +taken longer to bring them here than hypno-mech our own personnel." + +He was right about the second point. Vall agreed mentally; however, +his real reason was procedural. + +"Did you alert Ranthar Jard to what was going on in his SecReg?" he +asked. + +"Gracious, no!" Vulthor Tharn was scandalized. "I have no authority to +tell people of equal echelon in other Sector and Level organizations +what to do. I put my report through regular channels; it wasn't my +place to go outside my own jurisdiction." + +And his report had crawled through channels for fourteen hours, Vall +thought. + +"Well, on my authority, and in the name of Chief Tortha, you message +Ranthar Jard at once; send him every scrap of information you have on +the subject, and forward additional information as it comes in to +you. I doubt he'll find anything on any time-line that's being +exploited by any legitimate paratimers. This gang probably work +exclusively on unpenetrated time-lines; this business Skordran Kirv +came across was a bad blunder on some underling's part." He saw Dalla +emerge from the control tower in breeches and boots and a white cloak, +buckling on a heavy revolver. "I'll go change, now; you get busy +calling Ranthar Jard. I'll see you when I get back." + + * * * * * + +"Are you taking over, Chief's Assistant?" Skordran Kirv asked, as the +aircar lifted from the landing stage. + +"Not at all. My wife and I are starting on our vacation, as soon as I +find out what's been happening here, and report to Chief Tortha. Did +your native troopers catch those slavers?" + +"Yes, they got them yesterday afternoon; we've had them ever since. Do +you want the whole thing just as it happened, Assistant Verkan, or +just a condensation?" + +"Give me what you think it indicates, remembering that you're probably +trying to analyze a large situation from a very small sample." + +"It's big, all right," Skordran Kirv said. "This gang can't number +less than a hundred men, maybe several hundred. They must have at +least two two-hundred-foot conveyers and several small ones, and bases +on what sounds like some Fifth Level Time line, and at least one air +freighter of around five thousand tons. They are operating on a number +of Kholghoor and Esaron time lines." + +Verkan Vall nodded. "I didn't think it was any petty larceny," he +said. + +"Wait till you hear the rest of it. On the Kholghoor Sector, this gang +is known as the Wizard Traders; we've been using that as a convenience +label. They pose as sorcerers--black robes and hood-masks covered with +luminous symbols, voice-amplifiers, cold-light auras, energy-weapons, +mechanical magic tricks, that sort of thing. They have all the Croutha +scared witless. Their procedure is to establish camps in the forest +near recently conquered Kharanda cities; then they appear to the +Croutha, impress them with their magical powers, and trade +manufactured goods for Kharanda captives. They mainly trade firearms, +apparently some kind of flintlocks, and powder." + +Then they were confining their operations to unpenetrated time lines; +there had been no reports of firearms in the hands of the Croutha +invaders. + +"After they buy a batch of slaves," Skordran Kirv continued, "they +transpose them to this presumably Fifth Level base, where they have +concentration camps. The slaves we questioned had been airlifted to +North America, where there's another concentration camp, and from +there transposed to this Esaron Sector time line where I found them. +They say that there were at least two to three thousand slaves in +this North American concentration camp and that they are being +transposed out in small batches and replaced by others airlifted in +from India. This lot was sold to a Calera named Nebu-hin-Abenoz, the +chieftain of a hill town, Careba, about fifty miles south-west of the +plantation. There were two hundred and fifty in this batch; this +Coru-hin-Irigod only bought the batch he sold at the plantation." + + * * * * * + +The aircar lost speed and altitude; below, the countryside was dotted +with conveyer heads, each spatially coexistent with some outtime +police post or operation. There were a great many of them; the western +coast of North America was a center of civilization on many +paratemporal sectors, and while the conveyer heads of the commercial +and passenger companies were scattered over hundreds of Fifth Level +time lines, those of the Paratime Police were concentrated upon one. +The anti-grav-car circled around a three-hundred-foot steel tower that +supported a conveyer head spatially coexistent with one on a top floor +of some outtime tall building, and let down in front of a low +prefabricated steel shed. A man in police uniform came out to meet +them. There was a fifty-foot conveyer dome inside, and a fifty-foot +red-lined circle that marked the transposition point of an outtime +conveyer. They all entered the dome, and the operator put on the +transposition field. + +"You haven't heard the worst of it yet." Skordran Kirv was saying. "On +this time line, we have reason to think that the native, +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, who bought the slaves, actually saw the slavers' +conveyer. Maybe even saw it activated." + +"If he did, we'll either have to capture him and give him a +memory-obliteration, or kill him," Vall said. "What do you know about +him?" + +"Well, this Careba, the town he bosses, is a little walled town up in +the hills. Everybody there is related to everybody else; this man we +have, Coru-hin-Irigod, is the son of a sister of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's +wife. They're all bandits and slavers and cattle rustlers and what +have you. For the last ten years, Nebu-hin-Abenoz has been buying +slaves from some secret source. Before the Kholghoor Sector people +began coming in, they were mostly white, with a few brown people who +might have been Polynesians. No Negroes--there's no black race on this +sector, and I suppose the paratime slavers didn't want too many +questions asked. Coru-hin-Irigod, under narco-hypnosis, said that they +were all outlanders, speaking strange languages." + +"Ten years! And this is the first hint we've had of it," Vall said. +"That's not a bright mark for any of us. I'll bet the slave population +on some of these Esaron time lines is an anthropologist's nightmare." + +"Why, if this has been going on for ten years, there must have been +millions upon millions of people dragged from their own time lines +into slavery!" Dalla said in a shocked voice. + +"Ten years may not be all of it," Vall said. "This Nebu-hin-Abenoz +looks like the only tangible lead we have, at present. How does he +operate?" + +"About once every ten days, he'll take ten or fifteen men and go a +day's ride--that may be as much as fifty miles; these Caleras have +good horses and they're hard riders--into the hills. He'll take a big +bag of money, all gold. After dark, when he has made camp, a couple of +strangers in Calera dress will come in. He'll go off with them, and +after about an hour, he'll come back with eight or ten of these +strangers and a couple of hundred slaves, always chained in batches of +ten. Nebu-hin-Abenoz pays for them, makes arrangements for the next +meeting, and the next morning he and his party start marching the +slaves to Careba. I might add that, until now, these slaves have been +sold to the mines east of Careba; these are the first that have gotten +into the coastal country." + +"That's why this hasn't come to light before, then. The conveyer comes +in every ten days, at about the same place?" + +"Yes. I've been thinking of a way we might trap them," Skordran Kirv +said. "I'll need more men, and equipment." + +"Order them from Regional or General Reserve." Vall told him. "This +thing's going to have overtop priority till it's cleared up." + +He was mentally cursing Vulthor Tharn's procedure-bound timidity as +the conveyer flickered and solidified around them and the overhead red +light turned green. + + * * * * * + +They emerged into the interior of a long shed, adobe-walled and +thatch-roofed, with small barred windows set high above the earth +floor. It was cool and shadowy, and the air was heavy with the +fragrance of citrus fruits. There were bins along the walls, some +partly full of oranges, and piles of wicker baskets. Another conveyer +dome stood beside the one in which they had arrived; two men in white +cloaks and riding boots sat on the edge of one of the bins, smoking +and talking. + +Skordran Kirv introduced them--Gathon Dard and Krador Arv, special +detectives--and asked if anything new had come up. Krador Arv shook +his head. + +"We still have about forty to go," he said. "Nothing new in their +stories; still the same two time lines." + +[Illustration:] + +"These people," Skordran Kirv explained, "were all peons on the estate +of a Kharanda noble just above the big bend of the Ganges. The Croutha +hit their master's estate about a ten-days ago, elapsed time. In +telling about their capture, most of them say that their master's wife +killed herself with a dagger after the Croutha killed her husband, +but about one out of ten say that she was kidnaped by the Croutha. Two +different time lines, of course. The ones who tell the suicide story +saw no firearms among the Croutha; the ones who tell the kidnap story +say that they all had some kind of muskets and pistols. We're making +synthetic summaries of the two stories." + +"We're having trouble with the locals about all these strangers coming +in," Gathon Dard added. "They're getting curious." + +"We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said. "Are the +interrogations still going on? Then let's have a look-in at them." + +The big double doors at the end of the shed were barred on the inside. +Krador Arv unlocked a small side door, letting Vall, Dalla and Gathon +Dard out. In the yard outside, a gang of slaves were unloading a big +wagon of oranges and packing them into hampers; they were guarded by a +couple of native riflemen who seemed mostly concerned with keeping +them away from the shed, and a man in a white cloak was watching the +guards for the same purpose. He walked over and introduced himself to +Vall. + +"Golzan Doth, local alias Dosu Golan. I'm Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs' manager here." + +"Nasty business for you people," Vall sympathized. "If it's any +consolation, it's a bigger headache for us." + +"Have you any idea what's going to be done about these slaves?" +Golzan Doth asked. "I have to remember that the Company has forty +thousand Paratemporal Exchange Units invested in them. The top office +was very specific in requesting information about that." + +Vall shook his head. "That's over my echelon," he said. "Have to be +decided by the Paratime Commission. I doubt if your company'll suffer. +You bought them innocently, in conformity with local custom. Ever buy +slaves from this Coru-hin-Irigod before?" + +"I'm new, here. The man I'm replacing broke his neck when his horse +put a foot in a gopher hole about two ten-days ago." + +Beside him, Vall could see Dalla nod as though making a mental note. +When she got back to Home Time Line, she'd put a crew of mediums to +work trying to contact the discarnate former plantation manager; at +Rhogom Institute, she had been working on the problem of return of a +discarnate personality from outtime. + +"A few times," Skordran Kirv said. "Nothing suspicious; all local +stuff. We questioned Coru-hin-Irigod pretty closely on that point, and +he says that this is the first time he ever brought a batch of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's outlanders this far west." + + * * * * * + +The interrogations were being conducted inside the plantation house, +in the secret central rooms where the paratimers lived. Skordran Kirv +used a door-activator to slide open a hidden door. + +"I suppose I don't have to warn either of you that any positive +statement made in the hearing of a narco-hypnotized subject--" he +began. + +"... Has the effect of hypnotic suggestion--" Vall picked up after +him. + +"... And should be avoided unless such suggestion is intended," Dalla +finished. + +Skordran Kirv laughed, opening another, inner door, and stood aside. +In what had been the paratimers' recreation room, most of the +furniture had been shoved into the corners. Four small tables had been +set up, widely spaced and with screens between; across each of them, +with an electric recorder between, an almost naked Kharanda slave +faced a Paratime Police psychist. At a long table at the far side of +the room, four men and two girls were working over stacks of cards and +two big charts. + +"Phrakor Vuln," the man who was working on the charts introduced +himself. "Synthesist." He introduced the others. + +Vall made a point of the fact that Dalla was his wife, in case any of +the cops began to get ideas, and mentioned that she spoke Kharanda, +had spent some time on the Fourth Level Kholghoor, and was a qualified +psychist. + +"What have you got, so far?" he asked. + +"Two different time lines, and two different gangs of Wizard +Traders," Phrakor Vuln said. "We've established the latter from +physical descriptions and because both batches were sold by the +Croutha at equivalent periods of elapsed time." + +Vall picked up one of the kidnap-story cards and glanced at it. + +"I notice there's a fair verbal description of these firearms, and +mention of electric whips," he said. "I'm curious about where they +came from." + +"Well, this is how we reconstructed them, Chief's Assistant," one of +the girls said, handing him a couple of sheets of white drawing paper. + +The sketches had been done with soft pencil; they bore repeated +erasures and corrections. That of the whip showed a cylindrical +handle, indicated as twelve inches in length and one in diameter, +fitted with a thumb-switch. + +"That's definitely Second Level Khiftan," Vall said, handing it back. +"Made of braided copper or silver wire and powered with a little +nuclear-conversion battery in the grip. They heat up to about two +hundred centigrade; produce really painful burns." + +"Why, that's beastly!" Dalla exclaimed. + +"Anything on the Khiftan Sector is." Skordran Kirv looked at the four +slaves at the tables. "We don't have a really bad case here, now. A +few of these people were lash-burned horribly, though." + +Vall was looking at the other sketches. One was a musket, with a wide +butt and a band-fastened stock; the lock-mechanism, vaguely flintlock, +had been dotted in tentatively. The other was a long pistol, similarly +definite in outline and vague in mechanical detail; it was merely a +knob-butted miniature of the musket. + +"I've seen firearms like these; have a lot of them in my collection," +he said, handing back the sketches. "Low-order mechanical or +high-order pre-mechanical cultures. Fact is, things like those could +have been made on the Kholghoor Sector, if the Kharandas had learned +to combine sulfur, carbon and nitrates to make powder." + +The interrogator at one of the tables had evidently heard all his +subject could tell him. He rose, motioning the slave to stand. + +"Now, go with that man," he said in Kharanda, motioning to one of the +detectives in native guard uniform. "You will trust him; he is your +friend and will not harm you. When you have left this room, you will +forget everything that has happened here, except that you were kindly +treated and that you were given wine to drink and your hurts were +anointed. You will tell the others that we are their friends and that +they have nothing to fear from us. And you will not try to remove the +mark from the back of your left hand." + +As the detective led the slave out a door at the other side of the +room, the psychist came over to the long table, handing over a card +and lighting a cigarette. + +"Suicide story," he said to one of the girls, who took the card. + +"Anything new?" + +"Some minor details about the sale to the Caleras on this time line. I +think we've about scraped bottom." + +"You can't say that," Phrakor Vuln objected. "The very last one may +give us something nobody else had noticed." + +Another subject was sent out. The interrogator came over to the table. + +"One of the kidnap-story crowd," he said. "This one was right beside +that Croutha who took the shot at the wild pig or whatever it was on +the way to the Wizard Traders' camp. Best description of the guns +we've gotten so far. No question that they're flintlocks." He saw +Verkan Vall. "Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. What do you make of them? +You're an authority on outtime weapons, I understand." + +"I'd have to see them. These people simply don't think mechanically +enough to give a good description. A lot of peoples make flintlock +firearms." + +He started running over, in his mind, the paratemporal areas in which +gunpowder but not the percussion-cap was known. Expanding cultures, +which had progressed as far as the former but not the latter. Static +cultures, in which an accidental discovery of gunpowder had never been +followed up by further research. Post-debacle cultures, in which a few +stray bits of ancient knowledge had survived. + +Another interrogator came over, and then the fourth. For a while they +sat and talked and drank coffee, and then the next quartet of slaves, +two men and two women, were brought in. One of the women had been +badly blistered by the electric whips of the Wizard Traders; in spite +of reassurances, all were visibly apprehensive. + +"We will not harm you," one of the psychists told them. "Here; here is +medicine for your hurts. At first, it will sting, as good medicines +will, but soon it will take away all pain. And here is wine for you to +drink." + +A couple of detectives approached, making a great show of pouring wine +and applying ointment; under cover of the medication, they jabbed each +slave with a hypodermic needle, and then guided them to seats at the +four tables. Vall and Dalla went over and stood behind one of the +psychists, who had a small flashlight in his hand. + +"Now, rest for a while," the psychist was saying. "Rest and let the +good medicine do its work. You are tired and sleepy. Look at this +magic light, which brings comfort to the troubled. Look at the light. +Look ... at ... the ... light." + +They moved to the next table. + +"Did you have hand in the fighting?" + +"No, lord. We were peasant folk, not fighting people. We had no +weapons, nor weapon-skill. Those who fought were all killed; we held +up empty hands, and were spared to be captives of the Croutha." + +"What happened to your master, the Lord Ghromdour, and to his lady?" + +"One of the Croutha threw a hatchet and killed our master, and then +his lady drew a dagger and killed herself." + +The psychist made a red mark on the card in front of him, and circled +the number on the back of the slave's hand with red indelible crayon. +Vall and Dalla went to the third table. + +"They had the common weapons of the Croutha, lord, and they also had +the weapons of the Wizard Traders. Of these, they carried the long +weapons slung across their backs, and the short weapons thrust through +their belts." + +A blue mark on the card; a blue circle on the back of the slave's +hand. + +They listened to both versions of what had happened at the sack of the +Lord Ghromdour's estate, and the march into the captured city of +Jhirda, and the second march into the forest to the camp of the Wizard +Traders. + +"The servants of the Wizard Traders did not appear until after the +Croutha had gone away; they wore different garb. They wore short +jackets, and trousers, and short boots, and they carried small weapons +on their belts--" + +"They had whips of great cruelty that burned like fire; we were all +lashed with these whips, as you may see, lord--" + +"The Croutha had bound us two and two, with neck-yokes; these the +servants of the Wizard Traders took off from us, and they chained us +together by tens, with the chains we still wore when we came to this +place--" + +"They killed my child, my little Zhouzha!" the woman with the horribly +blistered back was wailing. "They tore her out of my arms, and one of +the servants of the Wizard Traders--may Khokhaat devour his soul +forever!--dashed out her brains. And when I struggled to save her. I +was thrown on the ground, and beaten with the fire-whips until I +fainted. Then I was dragged into the forest, along with the others who +were chained with me." She buried her head in her arms, sobbing +bitterly. + +Dalla stepped forward, taking the flashlight from the interrogator +with one hand and lifting the woman's head with the other. She flashed +the light quickly in the woman's eyes. + +"You will grieve no more for your child," she said. "Already, you are +forgetting what happened at the Wizard Traders' camp, and remembering +only that your child is safe from harm. Soon you will remember her +only as a dream of the child you hope to have, some day." She flashed +the light again, then handed it back to the psychist. "Now, tell us +what happened when you were taken into the forest; what did you see +there?" + +The psychist nodded approvingly, made a note on the card, and +listened while the woman spoke. She had stopped sobbing, now, and her +voice was clear and cheerful. + +Vall went over to the long table. + +"Those slaves were still chained with the Wizard Traders' chains when +they were delivered here. Where are the chains?" he asked Skordran +Kirv. + +"In the permanent conveyer room," Skordran Kirv said. "You can look at +them there; we didn't want to bring them in here, for fear these poor +devils would think we were going to chain them again. They're very +light, very strong; some kind of alloy steel. Files and power saws +only polish them; it takes fifteen seconds to cut a link with an +atomic torch. One long chain, and short lengths, fifteen inches long, +staggered, every three feet, with a single hinge-shackle for the +ankle. The shackles were riveted with soft wrought-iron rivets, +evidently made with some sort of a power riveting-machine. We cut them +easily with a cold chisel." + +"They ought to be sent to Dhergabar Equivalent, Police Terminal, for +study of material and workmanship. Now, you mentioned some scheme you +had for capturing this conveyer that brings in the slaves for +Nebu-hin-Abenoz. What have you in mind?" + +"We still have Coru-hin-Irigod and all his gang, under hypno. I'd +thought of giving them hypnotic conditioning, and sending them back to +Careba with orders to put out some kind of signal the next time +Nebu-hin-Abenoz starts out on a buying trip. We could have a couple of +men posted in the hills overlooking Careba, and they could send a +message-ball through to Police Terminal. Then, a party could be sent +with a mobile conveyer to ambush Nebu-hin-Abenoz on the way, and wipe +out his party. Our people could take their horses and clothing and go +on to take the conveyer by surprise." + +"I'd suggest one change. Instead of relying on visual signals by the +hypno-conditioned Coru-hin-Irigod, send a couple of our men to Careba +with midget radios." + +Skordran Kirv nodded. "Sure. We can condition Coru-hin-Irigod to +accept them as friends and vouch for them at Careba. Our boys can be +traders and slave buyers. Careba's a market town; traders are always +welcome. They can have firearms to sell--revolvers and repeating +rifles. Any Calera'll buy any firearm that's better than the one he's +carrying; they'll always buy revolvers and repeaters. We can get what +we want from Commercial Four-Oh-Seven; we can get riding and pack +horses here." + +Vall nodded. "And the post overlooking or in radio range of Careba on +this time line, and another on PolTerm. For the ambush of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's gang and the capture of the conveyer, use anything you +want to--sleep-gas, paralyzers, energy-weapons, antigrav-equipment, +anything. As far as regulations about using only equipment appropriate +to local culture-levels, forget them entirely. But take that conveyer +intact. You can locate the base time line from the settings of the +instrument panel, and that's what we want most of all." + +Dalla and the police psychist, having finished with and dismissed +their subject, came over to the long table. + +"... That poor creature," Dalla was saying. "What sort of fiends are +they?" + +"If that made you sick, remember we've been listening to things like +that for the last eight hours. Some of the stories were even worse +than that one." + +"Well, I'd like to use a heat-gun on the whole lot of them, turned +down to where it'd just fry them medium-rare," Dalla said. "And for +whoever's back of this, take him to Second Level Khiftan and sell him +to the priests of Fasif." + +"Too bad you're not coming back from your vacation, instead of +starting out. Chief's Assistant Verkan," Skordran Kirv said. "This is +too big for me to handle alone, and I'd sooner work under you than +anybody else Chief Tortha sends in." + +"Vall!" Dalla cried in indignation. "You're not going to just report +on this and then walk away from it, are you?" + +"But, darling," Vall replied, in what he hoped was a convincing show +of surprise. "You don't want our vacation postponed again, do you? If +I get mixed up in this, there's no telling when I can get away, and by +the time I'm free, something may come up at Rhogom Institute that you +won't want to drop--" + +"Vall, you know perfectly well that I wouldn't be happy for an instant +on the Dwarma Sector, thinking about this--" + +"All right, then; let's forget about the vacation. You want to stay on +for a while and help me with this? It'll be a lot of hard work, but +we'll be together." + +"Yes, of course. I want to do something to smash those devils. Vall, +if you'd heard some of the things they did to those poor people--" + +"Well, I'll have to go back to PolTerm, as soon as I'm reasonably well +filled in on this, and report to Tortha Karf and tell him I've taken +charge. You can stay here and help with these interrogations; I'll be +back in about ten hours. Then, we can go to Kholghoor East India +SecReg HQ to talk to Ranthar Jard. We may be able to get something +that'll help us on that end--" + +"You may be able to have your vacation before too long, Dr. Hadron," +Skordran Kirv told her. "Once we capture one of their conveyers, the +instrument panel'll tell us what time line they're working from, and +then we'll have them." + +"There's an Indo-Turanian Sector parable about a snake charmer who +thought he was picking up his snake and found that he had hold of an +elephant's tail," Vall said. "That might be a good thing to bear in +mind, till we find out just what we have picked up." + +[Illustration:] + + * * * * * + +Coming down a hallway on the hundred and seventh floor of the +Management wing of the Paratime Building, Yandar Yadd paused to +admire, in the green mirror of the glassoid wall, the jaunty angle of +his silver-feathered cap, the fit of his short jacket, and the way his +weapon hung at his side. This last was not instantly recognizable as a +weapon; it looked more like a portable radio, which indeed it was. It +was, none the less, a potent weapon. One flick of his finger could +connect that radio with one at Tri-Planet News Service, and within the +hour anything he said into it would be heard by all Terra, Mars and +Venus. In consequence, there existed around the Paratime Building a +marked and understandable reluctance to antagonize Yandar Yadd. + +He glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes short of 1000, when he +had an appointment with Baltan Vrath, the comptroller general. +Glancing about, he saw that he was directly in front of the doorway of +the Outtime Claims Bureau, and he strolled in, walking through the +waiting room and into the claims-presentation office. At once, he +stiffened like a bird dog at point. + +Sphabron Larv, one of his young legmen, was in altercation across the +counter-desk with Varkar Klav, the Deputy Claims Agent on duty at the +time. Varkar was trying to be icily dignified; Sphabron Larv's black +hair was in disarray and his face was suffused with anger. He was +pounding with his fist on the plastic counter-top. + +"You have to!" he was yelling in the older man's face. "That's a +public document, and I have a right to see it. You want me to go into +Tribunes' Court and get an order? If I do, there'll be a Question in +Council about why I had to, before the day's out!" + +"What's the matter, Larv?" Yandar Yadd asked lazily. "He trying to +hold something out on you?" + +Sphabron Larv turned; his eyes lit happily when he saw his boss, and +then his anger returned. + +"I want to see a copy of an indemnity claim that was filed this +morning," he said. "Varkar, here, won't show it to me. What does he +think this is, a Fourth Level dictatorship?" + +"What kind of a claim, now?" Yandar Yadd addressed Larv, ignoring +Varkar Klav. + +"Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs--one of the Thalvan Interests +companies--just claimed forty thousand P.E.U. for a hundred slaves +bought by one of their plantation managers on Third Level Esaron from +a local slave dealer. The Paratime Police impounded the slaves for +narco-hypnotic interrogation, and then transposed the lot of them to +Police Terminal." + +Yandar Yadd still held his affectation of sleepy indolence. + +"Now why would the Paracops do that, I wonder? Slavery's an +established local practice on Esaron Sector; our people have to buy +slaves if they want to run a plantation." + +"I know that." Sphabron Larv replied. "That's what I want to find out. +There must be something wrong, either with the slaves, or the +treatment our people were giving them, or the Paratime Police, and I +want to find out which." + +"To tell the truth, Larv, so do I." Yandar Yadd said. He turned to the +man behind the counter. "Varkar, do we see that claim, or do I make a +story out of your refusal to show it?" he asked. + +"The Paratime Police asked me to keep this confidential," Varkar Klav +said. "Publicity would seriously hamper an important police +investigation." + +Yandar Yadd made an impolite noise. "How do I know that all it would +do would be to reveal police incompetence?" he retorted. "Look, +Varkar; you and the Paratime Police and the Paratime Commission and +the Home Time Line Management are all hired employees of the Home Time +Line public. The public has a right to know what its employees are +doing, and it's my business to see that they're informed. Now, for the +last time--will you show us a copy of that claim?" + +"Well, let me explain, off the record--" the official begged. + +"Huh-uh! Huh-uh! I had that off-the-record gag worked on me when I was +about Larv's age, fifty years ago. Anything I get, I put on the air or +not at my own discretion." + +"All right," Varkar Klav surrendered, pointing to a reading screen and +twiddling a knob. "But when you read it, I hope you have enough +discretion to keep quiet about it." + +The screen lit, and Yandar Yadd automatically pressed a button for a +photo-copy. The two newsmen stared for a moment, and then even Yandar +Yadd's shell of drowsy negligence cracked and fell from him. His hand +brushed the switch as he snatched the hand-phone from his belt. + +"Marva!" he barked, before the girl at the news office could more than +acknowledge. "Get this recorded for immediate telecast!... Ready? +Beginning: The existence of a huge paratemporal slave trade came to +light on the afternoon of One-Five-Nine Day, on a time line of the +Third Level Esaron Sector, when Field Agent Skordran Kirv, Paratime +Police, discovered, at an orange plantation of Consolidated Outtime +Foodstuffs--" + + * * * * * + +Salgath Trod sat alone in his private office, his half-finished lunch +growing cold on the desk in front of him as he watched the teleview +screen across the room, tuned to a pickup behind the Speaker's chair +in the Executive Council Chamber ten stories below. The two thousand +seats had been almost all empty at 1000, when Council had convened. +Fifteen minutes later, the news had broken; now, at 1430, a good three +quarters of the seats were occupied. He could see, in the aisles, the +gold-plated robot pages gliding back and forth, receiving and +delivering messages. One had just slid up to the seat of Councilman +Hasthor Flan, and Hasthor was speaking urgently into the recorder +mouthpiece. Another message for him, he supposed; he'd gotten at least +a score such calls since the crisis had developed. + +People were going to start wondering, he thought. This situation should +have been perfect for his purposes; as leader of the Opposition he could +easily make himself the next General Manager, if he exploited this +scandal properly. He listened for a while to the Centrist-Management +member who was speaking; he could rip that fellow's arguments to shreds +in a hundred words--but he didn't dare. The Management was taking +exactly the line Salgath Trod wanted the whole Council to take: treat +this affair as an isolated and extraordinary occurrence, find a couple +of convenient scapegoats, cobble up some explanation acceptable to the +public, and forget it. He wondered what had happened to the imbecile who +had transposed those Kholghoor Sector slaves onto an exploited time +line. Ought to be shanghaied to the Khiftan Sector and sold to the +priests of Fasif! + +A buzzer sounded, and for an instant he thought it would be the +message he had seen Hasthor Fan recording. Then he realized that it +was the buzzer for the private door, which could only be operated by +someone with a special identity sign. He pressed a button and unlocked +the door. + +The young man in the loose wrap-around tunic who entered was a +stranger. At least, his face and his voice were strange, but voices +could be mechanically altered, and a skilled cosmetician could render +any face unrecognizable. He looked like a student, or a minor +commercial executive, or an engineer, or something like that. Of +course, his tunic bulged slightly under the left armpit, but even the +most respectable tunics showed occasional weapon-bulges. + +"Good afternoon, councilman," the newcomer said, sitting down across +the desk from Salgath Trod. "I was just talking to ... somebody we +both know." + +Salgath Trod offered cigarettes, lighted his visitor's and then his +own. + +"What does Our Mutual Friend think about all this?" he asked, +gesturing toward the screen. + +"Our Mutual Friend isn't at all happy about it." + +"You think, perhaps, that I'm bursting into wild huzzas?" Salgath Trod +asked. "If I were to act as everybody expects me to, I'd be down there +on the floor, now, clawing into the Management tooth and nail. All my +adherents are wondering why I'm not. So are all my opponents, and +before long one of them is going to guess the reason." + +"Well, why not go down?" the stranger asked. "Our Mutual Friend thinks +it would be an excellent idea. The leak couldn't be stopped, and it's +gone so far already that the Management will never be able to play it +down. So the next best thing is to try to exploit it." + +Salgath Trod smiled mirthlessly. "So I am to get in front of it, and +lead it in the right direction? Fine ... as long as I don't stumble +over something. If I do, it'll go over me like a Fifth Level +bison-herd." + +"Don't worry about that," the stranger laughed reassuringly. "There +are others on the floor who are also friends of Our Mutual Friend. +Here: what you'd better do is attack the Paratime Police, especially +Tortha Karf and Verkan Vall. Accuse them of negligence and +incompetence, and, by implication, of collusion, and demand a special +committee to investigate. And try to get a motion for a confidence +vote passed. A motion to censure the Management, say--" + +Salgath Trod nodded. "It would delay things, at least. And if Our +Mutual Friend can keep properly covered, I might be able to overturn +the Management." He looked at the screen again. "That old fool of a +Nanthav is just getting started; it'll be an hour before I could get +recognized. Plenty of time to get a speech together. Something short +and vicious--" + +"You'll have to be careful. It won't do, with your political record, +to try to play down these stories of a gigantic criminal conspiracy. +That's too close to the Management line. And at the same time, you +want to avoid saying anything that would get Verkan Vall and Tortha +Karf started off on any new lines of investigation." + +Salgath Trod nodded. "Just depend on me; I'll handle it." + +After the stranger had gone, he shut off the sound reception, relying +on visual dumb-show to keep him informed of what was going on on the +Council floor. He didn't like the situation. It was too easy to say +the wrong thing. If only he knew more about the shadowy figures whose +messengers used his private door-- + + * * * * * + +Coru-hin-Irigod held his aching head in both hands, as though he were +afraid it would fall apart, and blinked in the sunlight from the +window. Lord Safar, how much of that sweet brandy had he drunk, last +night? He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to think. +Then, suddenly apprehensive, he thrust his hand under his pillow. The +heavy four-barreled pistols were there, all right, but--_The money!_ + +He rummaged frantically among the bedding, and among his clothes, +piled on the floor, but the leather bag was nowhere to be found. Two +thousand gold _obus_, the price of a hundred slaves. He snatched up +one of the pistols, his headache forgotten. Then he laughed and tossed +the pistol down again. Of course! He'd given the bag to the plantation +manager, what was his outlandish name, Dosu Golan, to keep for him +before the drinking bout had begun. It was safely waiting for him in +the plantation strong box. Well, nothing like a good scare to make a +man forget a brandy head, anyhow. And there was something else, +something very nice-- + +Oh, yes, there it was, beside the bed. He picked up the beautiful +gleaming repeater, pulled down the lever far enough to draw the +cartridge halfway out of the chamber, and closed it again, lowering +the hammer. Those two Jeseru traders from the North, what were their +names? Ganadara and Atarazola. That was a stroke of luck, meeting them +here. They'd given him this lovely rifle, and they were going to +accompany him and his men back to Careba; they had a hundred such +rifles, and two hundred six-shot revolvers, and they wanted to trade +for slaves. The Lord Safar bless them both, wouldn't they be welcome +at Careba! + +He looked at the sunlight falling through the window on the still +recumbent form of his companion, Faru-hin-Obaran. Outside, he could +hear the sounds of the plantation coming to life--an ax thudding on +wood, the clatter of pans from the kitchens. Crossing to +Faru-hin-Obaran's bed, he grasped the sleeper by the ankle, tugging. + +"Waken, Faru!" he shouted. "Get up and clear the fumes from your head! +We start back to Careba today!" + +Faru swore groggily and pushed himself into a sitting position, +fumbling on the floor for his trousers. + +"What day's this?" he asked. + +"The day after we went to bed, ninny!" Then Coru-hin-Irigod wrinkled +his brow. He could remember, clearly enough, the sale of the slaves, +but after that--Oh, well, he'd been drinking; it would all come back +to him, after a while. + + * * * * * + +Verkan Vall rubbed his hand over his face wearily, started to light +another cigarette, and threw it across the room in disgust. What he +needed was a drink--a long drink of cool, tart white wine, laced with +brandy--and then he needed to sleep. + +"We're absolutely nowhere!" Ranthar Jard said. "Of course they're +operating on time lines we've never penetrated. The fact that they're +supplying the Croutha with guns proves that; there isn't a firearm on +any of the time lines our people are legitimately exploiting. And +there are only about three billion time lines on this belt of the +Croutha invasion--" + +"If we could think of a way to reduce it to some specific area of +paratime--" one of Ranthar Jard's deputies began. + +"That's precisely what we've been trying to do, Klav," Vall said. "We +haven't done it." + +Dalla, who had withdrawn from the discussion and was on a couch at the +side of the room, surrounded by reports and abstracts and summaries, +looked up. + +"I took hours and hours of hypno-mech on Kholghoor Sector religions, +before I went out on that wild-goose chase for psychokinesis and +precognition data," she said. "About six or eight hundred years ago, +there were religious wars and heresies and religious schisms all over +the Kharanda country. No matter how uniform the Kholghoor Sector may +be otherwise, there are dozens and dozens of small belts and +sub-sectors of different religions or sects or god-cults." + +"That's right," Ranthar Jard agreed, brightening. "We have +hagiologists who know all that stuff; we'll have a couple of them +interrogate those slaves. I don't know how much they can get out of +them--lot of peasants, won't be up on the theological niceties--but a +synthesis of what we get from the lot of them--" + +"That's an idea," Vall agreed. "About the first idea we've had, +here--Oh, how about politics, too? Check on who's the king, what the +stories about the royal family are, that sort of thing." + +Ranthar Jard looked at the map on the wall. "The Croutha have only +gotten halfway to Nharkan, here. Say we transpose detectives in at +night on some of these time lines we think are promising, and check +up at the tax-collection offices on a big landowner north of Jhirda +named Ghromdour? That might get us something." + +"Well, I don't want you to think we're trying to get out of work, +Chief's Assistant," one of the deputies said, "but is there any real +necessity for our trying to locate the Wizard Trader time lines? If +you can get them from the Esaron Sector, it'll be the same, won't it?" + +"Marv, in this business you never depend on just one lead," Ranthar +Jard told him. "And beside, when Skordran Kirv's gang hits the base of +operations in North America, there's no guarantee that they may not +have time to send off a radio warning to the crowd at the base here in +India. We have to hit both places at once." + +"Well, that, too," Vall said. "But the main thing is to get these +Wizard Trader camps on the Kholghoor Sector cleaned out. How are you +fixed for men and equipment, for a big raid, Jard?" + +Ranthar Jard shrugged. "I can get about five hundred men with +conveyers, including a couple of two-hundred-footers to carry +airboats," he said. + +"Not enough. Skordran Kirv has one complete armored brigade, one +airborne infantry brigade, and an air cavalry regiment, with +Ghaldron-Hesthor equipment for a simultaneous transposition," Vall +said. + +"Where in blazes did he get them all?" Ranthar Jard demanded. + +"They're guard troops, from Service Sector and Industrial Sector. +We'll get you the same sort of a force. I only hope we don't have +another Prole insurrection while they're away--" + +"Well, don't think I'm trying to argue policy with you," Ranthar Jard +said, "but that could raise a dreadful stink on Home Time Line. +Especially on top of this news-break about the slave trade." + +"We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said. "If you're worried +about what the book says, forget it. We're throwing the book away, on +this operation. Do you realize that this thing is a threat to the +whole Paratime Civilization?" + +"Of course I do," Ranthar Jard said. "I know the doctrine of Paratime +Security as well as you or anybody else. The question is, does the +public realize it?" + +A buzzer sounded. Ranthar Jard pressed a switch on the intercom-box in +front of him and said: "Ranthar here. Well?" + +"Visiphone call, top urgency, just came in for Chief's Assistant +Verkan, from Novilan Equivalent. Where can I put it through, sir?" + +"Here; booth seven." Ranthar Jard pointed across the room, nodding to +Vall. "In just a moment." + + * * * * * + +Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv--temporary local aliases, Ganadara and +Atarazola--sat relaxed in their saddles, swaying to the motion of +their horses. They wore the rust-brown hooded cloaks of the northern +Jeseru people, in sober contrast to the red and yellow and blue +striped robes and sun-bonnets of the Caleras in whose company they +rode. They carried short repeating carbines in saddle scabbards, and +heavy revolvers and long knives on their belts, and each led six +heavily-laden pack-horses. + +Coru-hin-Irigod, riding beside Ganadara, pointed up the trail ahead. + +"From up there," he said, speaking in Acalan, the lingua franca of the +North American West Coast on that sector, "we can see across the +valley to Careba. It will be an hour, as we ride, with the +pack-horses. Then we will rest, and drink wine, and feast." + +Ganadara nodded. "It was the guidance of our gods--and yours, +Coru-hin-Irigod--that we met. Such slaves as you sold at the +outlanders' plantation would bring a fine price in the North. The men +are strong, and have the look of good field-workers; the women are +comely and well-formed. Though I fear that my wife would little relish +it did I bring home such handmaidens." + +Coru-hin-Irigod laughed. "For your wife, I will give you one of our +riding whips." He leaned to the side, slashing at a cactus with his +quirt. "We in Careba have no trouble with our wives, about handmaidens +or anything else." + +"By Safar, if you doubt your welcome at Careba, wait till you show +your wares," another Calera said. "Rifles and revolvers like those +come to our country seldom, and then old and battered, sold or stolen +many times before we see them. Rifles that fire seven times without +taking butt from shoulder!" He invoked the name of the Great Lord +Safar again. + +The trail widened and leveled; they all came up abreast, with the +pack-horses strung out behind, and sat looking across the valley to +the adobe walls of the town that perched on the opposite ridge. After +a while, riders began dismounting and checking and tightening +saddle-girths; a couple of Caleras helped Ganadara and Atarazola +inspect their pack-horses. When they remounted, Atarazola bowed his +head, lifting his left sleeve to cover his mouth, and muttered into it +at some length. The Caleras looked at him curiously, and +Coru-hin-Irigod inquired of Ganadara what he did. + +"He prays," Ganadara said. "He thanks our gods that we have lived to +see your town, and asks that we be spared to bring many more trains of +rifles and ammunition up this trail." + +The slaver nodded understandingly. The Caleras were a pious people, +too, who believed in keeping on friendly terms with the gods. + +"May Safar's hand work with the hands of your gods for it," he said, +making what, to a non-Calera, would have been an extremely ribald +sign. + +"The gods watch over us," Atarazola said, lifting his head. "They are +near us even now; they have spoken words of comfort in my ear."' + +Ganadara nodded. The gods to whom his partner prayed were a couple of +paratime policemen, crouching over a radio a mile or so down the +ridge. + +"My brother," he told Coru-hin-Irigod, "is much favored by our gods. +Many people come to him to pray for them." + +"Yes. So you told me, now that I think on it." That detail had been +included in the pseudo-memories he had been given under hypnosis. "I +serve Safar, as do all Caleras, but I have heard that the Jeserus' +gods are good gods, dealing honestly with their servants." + + * * * * * + +An hour later, under the walls of the town, Coru-hin-Irigod drew one +of his pistols and fired all four barrels in rapid succession into the +air, shouting, "Open! Open for Coru-hin-Irigod, and for the Jeseru +traders, Ganadara and Atarazola, who are with him!" + +A head, black-bearded and sun-bonneted, appeared between the brick +merlons of the wall above the gate, shouted down a welcome, and then +turned away to bawl orders. The gate slid aside, and, after the +caravan had passed through, naked slaves pushed the massive thing shut +again. Although they were familiar with the interior of the town, from +photographs taken with boomerang-balls--automatic-return transposition +spheres like message-balls--they looked around curiously. The central +square was thronged--Caleras in striped robes, people from the south +and east in baggy trousers and embroidered shirts, mountaineers in +deerskins. A slave market was in progress, and some hundred-odd items +of human merchandise were assembled in little groups, guarded by their +owners and inspected by prospective buyers. They seemed to be all +natives of that geographic and paratemporal area. + +"Don't even look at those," Coru-hin-Irigod advised. "They are but +culls; the market is almost over. We'll go to the house of +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, where all the considerable men gather, and you will +find those who will be able to trade slaves worthy of the goods you +have with you. Meanwhile, let my people take your horses and packs to +my house; you shall be my guests while you stay in Careba." + +It was perfectly safe to trust Coru-hin-Irigod. He was a murderer and +a brigand and a slaver, but he would never incur the scorn of men and +the curse of the gods by dealing foully with a guest. The horses and +packs were led away by his retainers; Ganadara and Atarazola pushed +their horses after his and Faru-hin-Obaran's through the crowd. + +The house of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, like every other building in Careba, was +flat-roofed, adobe-walled and window-less except for narrow +rifle-slits. The wide double-gate stood open, and five or six heavily +armed Caleras lounged just inside. They greeted Coru and Faru by name, +and the strangers by their assumed nationality. The four rode through, +into what appeared to be the stables, turning their horses over to +slaves, who took them away. There were between fifty and sixty other +horses in the place. + +[Illustration:] + +Divesting themselves of their weapons in an anteroom at the head of a +flight of steps, they passed under an arch and into a wide, shady +patio, where thirty or forty men stood about or squatted on piles of +cushions, smoking cheroots, drinking from silver cups, talking in a +continuous babel. Most of them were in Calera dress, though there were +men of other communities and nations, in other garb. As they moved +across the patio, Gathon Dard caught snatches of conversations about +deals in slaves, and horse trades, about bandit raids and blood feuds, +about women and horses and weapons. + +An old man with a white beard and an unusually clean robe came over to +intercept them. + +"Ha, lord of my daughter, you're back at last. We had begun to fear +for you," he said. + +"Nothing to fear, father of my wife," Coru-hin-Irigod replied. "We +sold the slaves for a good price, and tarried the night feasting in +good company. Such good company that we brought some of it with +us--Atarazola and Ganadara, men of the Jeseru; Cavu-hin-Avoran, whose +daughter mothered my sons." He took his father-in-law by the sleeve +and pulled him aside, motioning Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv to follow. + +"They brought weapons; they want outland slaves, of the sort I took to +sell in the Big Valley country," he whispered. "The weapons are +repeating rifles from across the ocean, and six-shot revolvers. They +also have much ammunition." + +"Oh, Safar bless you!" the white-beard cried, his eyes brightening. +"Name your own price; satisfy yourselves that we have dealt fairly +with you; go, and return often again! Come, lord of my daughter; let +us make them known to Nebu-hin-Abenoz. But not a word about the kind +of weapons you have, strangers, until we can speak privately. Say only +that you have rifles to trade." + +Gathon Dard nodded. Evidently there was some sort of power-struggle +going on in Careba; Coru-hin-Irigod and his wife's father were of the +party of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and wanted the repeaters and six-shooters +for themselves. + + * * * * * + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, swarthy, hook-nosed, with a square-cut graying beard, +lounged in a low chair across the patio; near him four or five other +Caleras sat or squatted or reclined, all smoking the rank black +tobacco of the country and drinking wine or brandy. Their conversation +ceased as Cavu-hin-Avoran and the others approached. The chief of +Careba listened to the introduction, then heaved himself to his feet +and clapped the newcomers on the shoulders. + +"Good, good!" he said. "We know you Jeseru people; you're honest +traders. You come this far into our mountains too seldom. We can trade +with you. We need weapons. As for the sort of slaves you want, we have +none too many now, but in eight days we will have plenty. If you stay +with us that long--" + +"Careba is a pleasant place to be," Ganadara said. "We can wait." + +"What sort of weapons have you?" the chief asked. + +"Pistols and rifles, lord of my father's sister," Coru-hin-Irigod +answered for them. "The packs have been taken to my house, where our +friends will stay. We can bring a few to show you, the hour after +evening prayers." + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz shot a keen glance at his brother-in-law's son and +nodded. "Or, better, I will come to your house then; thus I can see +the whole load. How will that be?" + +"Better; I will be there, too," Cavu-hin-Avoran said, then turned to +Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv. "You have been long on the road; come, +let us drink cool wine, and then we will eat," he said. "Until this +evening, Nebu-hin-Abenoz." + +He led his son-in-law and the traders to one side, where several kegs +stood on trestles with cups and flagons beside them. They filled a +flagon, took a cup apiece, and went over to a pile of cushions at one +side. + +As they did, three men came pushing through the crowd toward +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's seat. They wore a costume unfamiliar to Gathon +Dard--little round caps with red and green streamers behind, and long, +wide-sleeved white gowns--and one of them had gold rings in his ears. + +"Nebu-hin-Abenoz?" one of them said, bowing. "We are three men of the +Usasu cities. We have gold _obus_ to spend; we seek a beautiful girl, +to be first concubine to our king's son, who is now come to the estate +of manhood." + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz picked up the silver-mounted pipe he had laid aside, +and re-lighted it, frowning. + +"Men of the Usasu, you have a heavy responsibility," he said. "You +have the responsibility for the future of your kingdom, for a boy's +character is more shaped by his first concubine than by his teachers. +How old is the boy?" + +"Sixteen, Nebu-hin-Abenoz; the age of manhood among us." + +"Then you want a girl older, but not much older. She should be versed +in the arts of love, but innocent of heart. She should be wise, but +teachable; gentle and loving, but with a will of her own--" + +The three men in white gowns were fidgeting. Then, suddenly, like three +marionettes on a single string, they put their right hands to their +mouths and then plunged them into the left sleeves of their gowns, +whipping out knives and then sprang as one upon Nebu-hin-Abenoz, +slashing and stabbing. + +Gathon Dard was on his feet at once; he hurled the wine flagon at the +three murderers and leaped across the room. Antrath Alv went bounding +after him, and by this time three or four of the group around +Nebu-hin-Abenoz's chair had recovered their wits and jumped to their +feet. One of the three assailants turned and slashed with his knife, +almost disemboweling a Calera who had tried to grapple with him. +Before he could free the blade, another Calera brought a brandy bottle +down on his head. Gathon Dard sprang upon the back of a second +assassin, hooking his left elbow under the fellow's chin and grabbing +the wrist of his knife-hand with his right; the man struggled for an +instant, then went limp and fell forward. The third of the trio of +murderers was still slashing at the fallen chieftain when Antrath Alv +chopped him along the side of the neck with the edge of his hand; he +simply dropped and lay still. + +Nebu-hin-Abenoz was dead. He had been slashed and cut and stabbed in +twenty places; his throat had been cut at least three times, and he +had almost been decapitated. The wounded Calera wasn't dead yet; +however, even if he had been at the moment on the operating table of a +First Level Home Time Line hospital, it was doubtful if he could have +been saved, and under the circumstances, his life-expectancy could be +measured in seconds. Some cushions were placed under his head, and +women called to attend him, but he died before they arrived. + +The three assassins were also dead. Except for a few cuts on the scalp +of the one who had been felled with the bottle, there was not a mark +on any of them. Cavu-hin-Avoran kicked one of them in the face and +cursed. + +"We killed the skunks too quickly!" he cried. "We should have overcome +them alive, and then taken our time about dealing with them as they +deserved." He went on to specify the nature of their deserts. "Such +infamy!" + +"Well, I'll swear I didn't think a little tap like I gave that one +would kill him," the bottle-wielder excused himself. "Of course, I was +thinking only of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, Safar receive him--" + +Antrath Alv bent over the one he had hand-chopped. + +"I didn't kill this one," he said. "The way I hit him, if I had, his +neck would be broken, and it's not. See?" He twisted at the dead man's +neck. "I think they took poison before they drew their knives." + +"I saw all of them put their hands to their mouths!" a Calera +exclaimed. "And look; see how their jaws are clenched." He picked up +one of the knives and used it to pry the dead man's jaws apart, +sniffing at his lips and looking into his mouth. "Look, his teeth and +his tongue are discolored; there is a strange smell, too." + +Antrath Alv sniffed, then turned to his partner. "Halatane," he +whispered. Gathon Dard nodded. That was a First Level poison; +paratimers often carried halatane capsules on the more barbaric +time-lines, as a last insurance against torture. + +"But, Holy Name of Safar, what manner of men were these?" +Coru-hin-Irigod demanded. "There are those I would risk my life to +kill, but I would not throw it away thus." + +"They came knowing that we would kill them, and took the poison that +they might die quickly and without pain," a Calera said. + +"Or that your tortures would not wring from them the names and nation +of those who sent them," an elderly man in the dress of a rancher from +the southeast added. "If I were you, I would try to find out who these +enemies are, and the sooner the better." + +Gathon Dard was examining one of the knives--a folding knife with a +broad single-edged blade, locked open with a spring; the handle was of +tortoise shell, bolstered with brass. + +"In all my travels," he said, "I never saw a knife of this workmanship +before. Tell me, Coru-hin-Irigod, do you know from what country these +outland slaves of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's come?" + +"You think that might have something to do with it?" the Calera asked. + +"It could. I think that these people might not have been born slaves, +but people taken captive. Suppose, at some time, there had been sold +to Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and sold elsewhere by him, one who was a person of +consequence--the son of a king, or the priest of some god," Gathon +Dard suggested. + +"By Safar, yes! And now that nation, wherever it is, is at blood-feud +with us," Cavu-hin-Avoran said. "This must be thought about; it is an +ill thing to have unknown enemies." + +"Look!" a Calera who had begun to strip the three dead men cried. +"These are not of the Usasu cities, or any other people of this land. +See, they are uncircumcised!" + +"Many of the slaves whom Nebu-hin-Abenoz brought to Careba from the +hills have been uncircumcised," Coru-hin-Irigod said. "Jeseru, I think +you have your sights on the heart of it." He frowned. "Now, think you, +will those who had this done be satisfied, or will they carry on their +hatred against all of us?" + +"A hard question," Antrath Alv said. "You Caleras do not serve our +gods, but you are our friends. Suffer me to go apart and pray; I would +take counsel with the gods, that they may aid us all in this." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +[Illustration:] + + + + +Part 2 + + +It was full daylight, but the sun was hidden; a thin rain fell on the +landing around at Police Terminal Dhergabar Equivalent when Vall and +Dalla left the rocket. Across the black lavalike pavement, they could +see the bulky form of Tortha Karf, hunched under a long cloak, with +his flat cap pulled down over his brow. He shook hands with Vall and +kissed cheeks with Dalla when they joined him. + +"Car's over here," he said, nodding toward the waiting vehicle. +"Yesterday wasn't one of our better days, was it?" + +"No. It wasn't." Vall agreed. They climbed into the car, and the +driver lifted straight up to two thousand feet and turned, soaring +down to land on the Chief's Headquarters Building, a mile away. "We're +not completely stopped, sir. Ranthar Jard is working on a few ideas +that may lead him to the Kholghoor time lines where the Wizard Traders +are operating. If we can't get them through their output, we may nail +them at the intake." + +"Unless they've gotten the wind up and closed down all their +operations," Tortha Karf said. + +"I doubt if they've done that, Chief," Vall replied. "We don't know +who these people are, of course, and it's hard to judge their +reactions, but they're willing to take chances for big gains. I +believe they think they're safe, now that they've closed out the +compromised time line and killed the only witness against them." + +"Well, what's Ranthar Jard doing?" + +"Trying to locate the sub-sector and probability belt from what the +slaves can tell him about their religious beliefs, about the local +king, and the prince of Jhirda, and the noble families of the +neighborhood," Vall said. "When he has it localized as closely as he +can, he's going to start pelting the whole paratemporal area with +photographic auto-return balls dropped from aircars on Police Terminal +over the spatial equivalents of a couple of Croutha-conquered cities. +As soon as he gets a photo that shows Croutha with firearms, he'll +have a Wizard Trader time line." + +"Sounds simple," the Chief said. The car landed, and he helped Dalla +out. "I suppose both you and he know how many chances against one he +has of finding anything." They went over to an antigrav-shaft and +floated down to the floor on which Tortha Karf had a duplicate of the +office in the Paratime Building on Home Time Line. "It's the only +chance we have, though." + +"There's one thing that bothers me," Dalla said, as they entered the +office and went back behind the horseshoe-shaped desk. "I understand +that the news about this didn't break on Home Time Line till the late +morning of One-Six-One Day. Nebu-hin-Abenoz was murdered at about 1700 +local time, which would be 0100 this morning Dhergabar time. That +would give this gang fourteen hours to hear the news, transmit it to +their base, and get these three men hypno-conditioned, disguised, +transposed to this Esaron Sector time line, and into Careba." She +shook her head. "That's pretty fast work." + +Tortha Karf looked sidewise at Verkan Vall. "Your girl has the makings +of a cop, Vall," he commented. + +"She's been a big help, on Esaron and Kholghoor Sectors," Vall said. +"She wants to stay with it and help me; I'll be very glad to have her +with me." + +Tortha Karf nodded. He knew, too, that Dalla wouldn't want to have to +go back to Home Time Line and wait the long investigation out. + +"Of course; we can use all the help we can get. I think we can get a +lot from Dalla. Fix her up with some kind of a title and police +status--technical-expert, assistant, or something like that." He +clasped hands, man-fashion, with her. "Glad to have you on the cops +with us, Dalla," he said. Then he turned to Vall. "There was almost +twenty-four hours between the time I heard about this and when this +blasted Yandar Yadd got hold of the story. Of all the infernal, +irresponsible--" He almost choked with indignation. "And it was +another fourteen hours between the time Skordran sent in his report +and I heard about it." + +"Golzan Doth sent in a report to his company about the same time +Skordran Kirv made his first report to his Sector-Regional Subchief." +Vall mentioned. + +"That might be it," Tortha Karf considered. "I wish there were another +explanation, because that implies a very extensive intelligence +network, which means a big organization. But I'm afraid that's it. I +wish I could pull in everybody in Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs who +handled that report, and narco-hypnotize them. Of course, we can't do +things like that on Home Time Line, and with the political situation +what it is now--" + +"Why, what's been happening, Chief?" + +Tortha Karf swore with weary bitterness. "Salgath Trod's what's been +happening. At first, after Yandar Yadd broke the story on the air, +there was just a lot of unorganized Opposition sniping in Council; +Salgath waited till the middle of the afternoon, when the Management +members were beginning to rally, and took the floor. The Centrists and +Right Moderates were trying the appeal-to-reason approach; that did as +much good as trying to put out a Fifth Level forest fire with a +hand-extinguisher. Finally. Salgath got a motion of censure against +the Management recognized. That means a confidence vote in ten days. +Salgath has a rabble of Leftists and dissident Centrists with him; I +doubt if he can muster enough votes to overturn the Management, but +it's going to make things rough for us." + +"Which may be just the reason Salgath started this uproar," Vall +suggested. + +"That," Tortha Karf said, "is being considered; there is a discreet +inquiry being made into Salgath Trod's associates, his sources of +income, and so on. Nothing has turned up as yet, but we have hopes." + +"I believe," Vall said, "that we have a better chance right on Home +Time Line than outtime." + +Tortha Karf looked up sharply. "So?" he asked. + +Vall was stuffing tobacco into a pipe. "Yes. Chief. We have a big +criminal organization--let's call it the Slave Trust, for a +convenience-label. The people who run it aren't stupid. The fact that +they've been shipping slaves to the Esaron Sector for ten years before +we found out about it proves that. So does the speed with which they +got rid of this Nebu-hin-Abenoz, right in front of a pair of our +detectives. For that matter, so does the speed with which they moved +in to exploit this Croutha invasion of Kholghoor Sector India. + +"Well, I've studied illegal and subversive organizations all over +paratime, and among the really successful ones, there are a few +uniform principles. One is cellular organization--small groups, acting +in isolation from one another, cooeperating with other cells but +ignorant of their composition. Another is the principle of no upward +contact--leaders contacting their subordinates through contact-blocks +and ignorant intermediaries. And another is a willingness to kill off +anybody who looks like a potential betrayer or forced witness. The +late Nebu-hin-Abenoz, for instance. + +"I'll be willing to bet that if we pick up some of these Wizard +Traders, say, or a gang that's selling slaves to some Nebu-hin-Abenoz +personality on some other time line, and narco-hypnotize them, all +they'll be able to do will be name a few immediate associates, and the +group leader will know that he's contacted from time to time by some +stranger with orders, and that he can make emergency contacts only +through some blind accommodation-address. The men who are running this +are right on Home Time Line, many of them in positions of prominence, +and if we can catch one of them and narco-hyp him, we can start a +chain-reaction of disclosures all through this Slave Trust." + +"How are we going to get at these top men?" Tortha Karf wanted to +know. "Advertise for them on telecast?" + +"They'll leave traces; they won't be able to avoid it. I think, right +now, that Salgath Trod is one of them. I think there are other +prominent politicians, and business people. Look for irregularities +and peculiarities in outtime currency-exchange transactions. For +instance, to sections in Esaron Sector _obus_. Or big gold bullion +transactions." + +"Yes. And if they have any really elaborate outtime bases, they'll +need equipment that can only be gotten on Home Time Line," Tortha Karf +added. "Paratemporal conveyer parts, and field-conductor mesh. You +can't just walk into a hardware store and buy that sort of thing." + +Dalla leaned forward to drop her cigarette ash into a tray. + +"Try looking into the Bureau of Psychological Hygiene," she suggested. +"That's where you'll really strike it rich." + +Vall and Tortha Karf both turned abruptly and looked at her for an +instant. + +"Go on," Tortha Karf encouraged. "This sounds interesting." + +"The people back of this," Dalla said, "are definitely classifiable as +criminals. They may never perform a criminal act themselves, but they +give orders for and profit from such acts, and they must possess the +motivation and psychology of criminals. We define people as criminals +when they suffer from psychological aberrations of an antisocial +character, usually paranoid--excessive egoism, disregard for the +rights of others, inability to recognize the social necessity for +mutual cooeperation and confidence. On Home Time Line, we have +universal psychological testing, for the purpose of detecting and +eliminating such characteristics." + +"It seems to have failed in this case," Tortha Karf began, then +snapped his fingers. "Of course! How blasted silly can I get, when I'm +not trying?" + +"Yes, of course," Verkan Vall agreed. "Find out how these people +missed being spotted by psychotesting; that'll lead us to _who_ missed +being tested adequately, and also who got into the Bureau of +Psychological Hygiene who didn't belong there." + +"I think you ought to give an investigation of the whole BuPsychHyg +setup very high priority," Dalla said. "A psychotest is only as good +as the people who give it, and if we have criminals administering +these tests--" + +"We have our friends on Executive Council," Tortha Karf said. "I'll +see that that point is raised when Council re-convenes." He looked at +the clock. "That'll be in three hours, by the way. If it doesn't +accomplish another thing, it'll put Salgath Trod in the middle. He +can't demand an investigation of the Paratime Police out of one side +of his mouth and oppose an investigation of Psychological Hygiene out +of the other. Now what else have we to talk about?" + +[Illustration:] + +"Those hundred slaves we got off the Esaron Sector," Vall said. "What +are we going to do with them? And if we locate the time line the +slavers have their bases on, we'll have hundreds, probably thousands, +more." + +"We can't sort them out and send them back to their own time lines, +even if that would be desirable," Tortha Karf decided. "Why, settle +them somewhere on the Service Sector. I know, the Paratime +Transposition Code limits the Service Sector to natives of time lines +below second-order barbarism, but the Paratime Transposition Code has +been so badly battered by this business that a few more minor literal +infractions here and there won't make any difference. Where are they +now?" + +"Police Terminal, Nharkan Equivalent." + +"Better hold them there, for the time being. We may have to open a new +ServSec time line to take care of all the slaves we find, if we can +locate the outtime base line these people are using--Vall, this +thing's too big to handle as a routine operation, along with our other +work. You take charge of it. Set up your headquarters here, and help +yourself to anything in the way of personnel and equipment you need. +And bear in mind that this confidence vote is coming up in ten +days--on the morning of One-Seven-Two Day. I'm not asking for any +miracles, but if we don't get this thing cleared up by then, we're in +for trouble." + +"I realize that, sir. Dalla, you'd better go back to Home Time Line, +with the Chief," he said. "There's nothing you can do to help me, +here, at present. Get some rest, and then try to wangle an invitation +for the two of us to dinner at Thalvan Dras' apartments this evening." +He turned back to Tortha Karf. "Even if he never pays any attention to +business, Dras still owns Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs," he said. +"He might be able to find out, or help us find out, how the story +about those slaves leaked out of his company." + +"Well, that won't take much doing," Dalla said. "If there's as much +excitement on Home Time Line as I think, Dras would turn somersaults +and jump through hoops to get us to one of his dinners, right now." + + * * * * * + +Salgath Trod pushed the litter of papers and record-tape spools to one +side impatiently. + +"Well, what else did you expect?" he demanded. "This was the logical +next move. BuPsychHyg is supposed to detect anybody who believes in +looking out for his own interests first, and condition him into a +pious law-abiding sucker. Well, the sacred Bureau of Sucker-Makers +slipped up on a lot of us. It's a natural alibi for Tortha Karf." + +"It's also a lot of grief for all of us," the young man in the +wrap-around tunic added. "I don't want my psychotests reviewed by some +duty-struck bigot who can't be reasoned with, and neither do you." + +"I'm getting something organized to counter that," Salgath Trod said. +"I'm going to attack the whole scientific basis of psychotesting. +There's Dr. Frasthor Klav; he's always contended that what are called +criminal tendencies are the result of the individual's total +environment, and that psychotesting and personality-analysis are +valueless, because the total environment changes from day to day, even +from hour to hour--" + +"That won't do," the nameless young man who was the messenger of +somebody equally nameless retorted. "Frasthor's a crackpot; no +reputable psychologist or psychist gives his opinions a moment's +consideration. And besides, we don't want to attack Psychological +Hygiene. The people in it with whom we can do business are our +safeguard; they've given all of us a clean bill of mental health, and +we have papers to prove it. What we have to do is to make it appear +that that incident on the Esaron Sector is all there is to this, and +also involve the Paratime Police themselves. The slavers are all +paracops. It isn't the fault of BuPsychHyg, because the Paratime +Police have their own psychotesting staff. That's where the trouble +is; the paracops haven't been adequately testing their own personnel." + +"Now how are you going to do that?" Salgath Trod asked disdainfully. + +"You'll take the floor, the first thing tomorrow, and utilize these +new revelations about the Wizard Traders. You'll accuse the Paratime +Police of being the Wizard Traders themselves. Why not? They have +their own paratemporal transposition equipment shops on Police +Terminal, they have facilities for manufacturing duplicates of any +kind of outtime items, like the firearms, for instance, and they know +which time lines on which sectors are being exploited by legitimate +paratime traders and which aren't. What's to prevent a gang of +unscrupulous paracops from moving in on a few unexploited Kholghoor +time lines, buying captives from the Croutha, and shipping them to the +Esaron Sector?" + +"Then why would they let a thing like this get out?" Salgath Trod +inquired. + +"Somebody slipped up and moved a lot of slaves onto an exploited +Esaron time line. Or, rather, Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs +established a plantation on a time line they were shipping slaves to. +Parenthetically, that's what really did happen; the mistake our people +made was in not closing out that time line as soon as Consolidated +Foodstuffs moved in," the young man said. + +"So, this Skordran Kirv, who is a dumb boy who doesn't know what the +score is, found these slaves and blatted about it to this Golzan Doth, +and Golzan reported it to his company, and it couldn't be hushed up, +so now Tortha Karf is trying to scare the public with ghost stories +about a gigantic paratemporal conspiracy, to get more appropriations +and more power." + +"How long do you think I'd get away with that?" Salgath Trod demanded. +"I can only stretch parliamentary immunity so far. Sooner or later, +I'd have to make formal charges to a special judicial committee, and +that would mean narco-hypnosis, and then it would all come out." + +"You'll have proof," the young man said. "We'll produce a couple of +these Kharandas whom Verkan Vall didn't get hold of. Under +narco-hypnosis, they'll testify that they saw a couple of Wizard +Traders take their robes off. Under the robes were Paratime Police +uniforms. Do you follow me?" + +Salgath Trod made a noise of angry disgust. + +"That's ridiculous! I suppose these Kharandas will be given what is +deludedly known as memory obliteration, and a set of pseudo-memories; +how long do you think that would last? About three ten-days. There is +no such thing as memory obliteration; there's memory-suppression, and +pseudo-memory overlay. You can't get behind that with any quickie +narco-hypnosis in the back room of any police post, I'll admit that," +he said. "But a skilled psychist can discover, inside of five minutes, +when a narco-hypnotized subject is carrying a load of false memories, +and in time, and not too much time, all that top layer of false +memories and blockages can be peeled off. And then where would we be?" + +"Now wait a minute, Councilman. This isn't just something I dreamed +up," the visitor said. "This was decided upon at the top. At the very +top." + +"I don't care whose idea it was," Salgath Trod snapped. "The whole +thing is idiotic, and I won't have anything to do with it." + +The visitor's face froze. All the respect vanished from his manner and +tone; his voice was like ice cakes grating together in a winter river. + +"Look, Salgath; this is an Organization order," he said. "You don't +refuse to obey Organization orders, and you don't quit the +Organization. Now get smart, big boy; do what you're told to." He took +a spool of record tape from his pocket and laid it on the desk. +"Outline for your speech; put it in your own words, but follow it +exactly." He stood watching Salgath Trod for a moment. "I won't bother +telling you what'll happen to you if you don't," he added. "You can +figure that out for yourself." + +With that, he turned and went out the private door. For a while, +Salgath Trod sat staring after him. Once he put his hand out toward +the spool, then jerked it back as though the thing were radioactive. +Once he looked at the clock; it was just 1600. + + * * * * * + +The green aircar settled onto the landing stage; Verkan Vall, on the +front seat beside the driver, opened the door. + +"Want me to call for you later, Assistant Verkan?" the driver asked. + +"No thank you, Drenth. My wife and I are going to a dinner-party, and +we'll probably go night-clubbing afterward. Tomorrow morning, all the +anti-Management commentators will be yakking about my carousing around +when I ought to be battling the Slave Trust. No use advertising myself +with an official car, and giving them a chance to add, 'at public +expense.'" + +"Well, have some fun while you can," the driver advised, reaching for +the car-radio phone. "Want me to check you in here, sir?" + +"Yes, if you will. Thank you. Drenth." + +Kandagro, his human servant, admitted him to the apartment six floors +down. + +"Mistress Dalla is dressing," he said. "She asked me to tell you that +you are invited to dinner, this evening, with Thalvan Dras at his +apartment." + +Vall nodded. "Ill talk to her about it now," he said. "Lay out my +dress uniform: short jacket, boots and breeches, and needler." + +"Yes, master: I'll go lay out your things and get your bath ready." + +The servant turned and went into the alcove which gave access to the +dressing rooms, turning right into Vall's. Vall followed him, turning +left into his wife's. + +"Oh, Dalla!" he called. + +"In here!" her voice came out of her bathroom. + +He passed through the dressing room, to find her stretched on a +plastic-sheeted couch, while her maid, Rendarra, was rubbing her body +vigorously with some pungent-smelling stuff about the consistency of +machine-grease. Her face was masked in the stuff, and her hair was +covered with an elastic cap. He had always suspected that beauty was +the real feminine religion, from the willingness of its devotees to +submit to martyrdom for it. She wiggled a hand at him in greeting. + +"How did it go?" she asked. + +"So-so. I organized myself a sort of miniature police force within a +police force and I have liaison officers in every organization down to +Sector Regional so that I can be informed promptly in case anything +new turns up anywhere. What's been happening on Home Time Line? I +picked up a news-summary at Paratime Police Headquarters; it seems +that a lot more stuff has leaked out. Kholghoor Sector, Wizard Traders +and all. How'd it happen?" + +Dalla rolled over to allow Rendarra to rub the blue-green grease on +her back. + +"Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs let a gang of reporters in, today. I +think they're afraid somebody will accuse them of complicity, and they +want to get their side of it before the public. All our crowd are off +that Time line except a couple of detectives at the plantation." + +"I know." He smiled; Dalla was thinking of the Paratime Police as "our +crowd" now. "How about this dinner at Dras' place?" + +"Oh, that was easy." She shifted position again. "I just called Dras +up and told him that our vacation was off, and he invited us before I +could begin hinting. What are you going to wear?" + +"Short-jacket greens; I can carry a needler with that uniform, even +wear it at the table. I don't think it's smart for me to run around +unarmed, even on Home Time Line. Especially on Home Time Line," he +amended. "When's this affair going to start, and how long will +Rendarra take to get that goo off you?" + + * * * * * + +Salgath Trod left his aircar at the top landing stage of his apartment +building and sent it away to the hangars under robot control; he +glanced about him as he went toward the antigrav shaft. There were a +dozen vehicles in the air above; any of them might have followed him +from the Paratime Building. He had no doubt that he had been under +constant surveillance from the moment the nameless messenger had +delivered the Organization's ultimatum. Until he delivered that +speech, the next morning, or manifested an intention of refusing to do +so, however, he would be safe. After that-- + +Alone in his office, he had reviewed the situation point by point, and +then gone back and reviewed it again; the conclusion was inescapable. +The Organization had ordered him to make an accusation which he +himself knew to be false; that was the first premise. The conclusion +was that he would be killed as soon as he had made it. That was the +trouble with being mixed up with that kind of people--you were +expendable, and sooner or later, they would decide that they would +have to expend you. And what could you do? + +To begin with, an accusation of criminal malfeasance made against a +Management or Paratime Commission agency on the floor of Executive +Council was tantamount to an accusation made in court; automatically, +the accuser became a criminal prosecutor, and would have to repeat his +accusation under narco-hypnosis. Then the whole story would come out, +bit by bit, back to its beginning in that first illegal deal in +Indo-Turanian opium, diverted from trade with the Khiftan Sector and +sold on Second Level Luvarian Empire Sector, and the deals in +radioactive poisons, and the slave trade. He would be able to name few +names--the Organization kept its activities too well compartmented for +that--but he could talk of things that had happened, and when, and +where, and on what paratemporal areas. + +No. The Organization wouldn't let that happen, and the only way it +could be prevented would be by the death of Salgath Trod, as soon as +he had made his speech. All the talk of providing him with +corroborative evidence was silly; it had been intended to lead him +more trustingly to the slaughter. They'd kill him, of course, in some +way that would be calculated to substantiate the story he would no +longer be able to repudiate. The killer, who would be promptly rayed +dead by somebody else, would wear a Paratime Police uniform, or +something like that. That was of no importance, however; by then, he'd +be beyond caring. + + * * * * * + +One of his three ServSec Prole servants--the slim brown girl who was +his housekeeper and hostess, and also his mistress--admitted him to +the apartment. He kissed her perfunctorily and closed the door behind +him. + +"You're tired," she said. "Let me call Nindrandigro and have him bring +you chilled wine; lie down and rest until dinner." + +"No, no; I want brandy." He went to a cellaret and got out a decanter +and goblet, pouring himself a drink. "How soon will dinner be ready?" + +The brown girl squeezed a little golden globe that hung on a chain +around her neck; a tiny voice, inside it, repeated: "Eighteen +twenty-three ten, eighteen twenty-three eleven, eighteen twenty-three +twelve--" + +"In half an hour. It's still in the robo-chef," she told him. + +He downed half the goblet-full, set it down, and went to a painting, a +brutal scarlet and apple-green abstraction, that hung on the wall. +Swinging it aside and revealing the safe behind it, he used his +identity-sigil, took out a wad of Paratemporal Exchange Bank notes and +gave them to the girl. + +"Here, Zinganna; take these, and take Nindrandigro and Calilla out for +the evening. Go where you can all have a good time, and don't come +back till after midnight. There will be some business transacted here, +and I want them out of this. Get them out of here as soon as you can; +I'll see to the dinner myself. Spend all of that you want to." + +The girl riffled through the wad of banknotes. "Why, _thank_ you, +Trod!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him +enthusiastically. "I'll go tell them at once." + +"And have a good time, Zinganna; have the best time you possibly can," +he told her, embracing and kissing her. "Now, get out of here; I have +to keep my mind on business." + +When she had gone, he finished his drink and poured another. He drew +and checked his needler. Then, after checking the window-shielding and +activating the outside viewscreens, he lit a cheroot and sat down at +the desk, his goblet and his needler in front of him, to wait until +the servants were gone. + +There was only one way out alive. He knew that, and yet he needed +brandy, and a great deal of mental effort, to steel himself for it. +Psycho-rehabilitation was a dreadful thing to face. There would be +almost a year of unremitting agony, physical and mental, worse than a +Khiftan torture rack. There would be the shame of having his innermost +secrets poured out of him by the psychotherapists, and, at the end, +there would emerge someone who would not be Salgath Trod, or anybody +like Salgath Trod, and he would have to learn to know this stranger, +and build a new life for him. + +In one of the viewscreens, he saw the door to the service hallway +open. Zinganna, in a black evening gown and a black velvet cloak, and +Calilla, the housemaid, in what she believed to be a reasonable +facsimile of fashionable First Level dress, and Nindrandigro, in one +of his master's evening suits, emerged. Salgath Trod waited until they +had gone down the hall to the antigrav shaft, and then he turned on +the visiphone, checked the security, set it for sealed beam +communication, and punched out a combination. + +A girl in a green tunic looked out of the screen. + +"Paratime Police," she said. "Office of Chief Tortha." + +"I am Executive Councilman Salgath Trod," he told her. "I am, and for +the past fifteen years have been, criminally involved with the +organization responsible for the slave trade which recently came to +light on Third Level Esaron. I give myself up unconditionally; I am +willing to make full confession under narco-hypnosis, and will accept +whatever disposition of my case is lawfully judged fit. You'll have to +send an escort for me; I might start from my apartment alone, but I'd +be killed before I got to your headquarters--" + +The girl, who had begun to listen in the bored manner of public +servants phone girls, was staring wide-eyed. + +"Just a moment, Councilman Salgath; I'll put you through to Chief +Tortha." + + * * * * * + +The dinner lacked a half hour of being served; Thalvan Dras' guests +loitered about the drawing room, sampling appetizers and chilled +drinks and chatting in groups. It wasn't the artistic crowd usual at +Thalvan Dras' dinners; most of the guests seemed to be business or +political people. Thalvan Dras had gotten Vall and Dalla into the +small group around him, along with pudgy, infantile-faced Brogoth +Zaln, his confidential secretary, and Javrath Brend, his financial +attorney. + +"I don't see why they're making such a fuss about it," one of the +Banking Cartel people was saying. "Causing a lot of public excitement +all out of proportion to the importance of the affair. After all, +those people were slaves on their own time line, and if anything, +they're much better off on the Esaron Sector than they would be as +captives of the Croutha. As far as that goes, what's the difference +between that and the way we drag these Fourth Level Primitive +Sector-Complex people off to Fifth Level Service Sector to work for +us?" + +"Oh, there's a big difference, Farn," Javrath Brend said. "We recruit +those Fourth Level Primitives out of probability worlds of Stone Age +savagery, and transpose them to our own Fifth Level time lines, +practically outtime extensions of the Home Time Line. There's +absolutely no question of the Paratime Secret being compromised." + +[Illustration:] + +"Beside, we need a certain amount of human labor, for tasks requiring +original thought and decision that are beyond the ability of robots, +and most of it is work our Citizens simply wouldn't perform," Thalvan +Dras added. + +"Well, from a moral standpoint, wouldn't these Esaron Sector people +who buy the slaves justify slavery in the same terms?" a woman whom +Vall had identified as a Left Moderate Council Member asked. + +"There's still a big difference," Dalla told her. "The ServSec Proles +aren't beaten or tortured or chained; we don't break up families or +separate friends. When we recruit Fourth Level Primitives, we take +whole tribes, and they come willingly. And--" + +One of Thalvan Dras' black-liveried human servants, of the class under +discussion, approached Vall. + +"A visiphone call for your lordship," he whispered. "Chief Tortha Karf +calling. If your lordship will come this way--" + +In a screen-booth outside, Vall found Tortha Karf looking out of the +screen; he was seated at his desk, fiddling with a gold multicolor +pen. + +"Oh, Vall; something interesting has just come up." He spoke in a +voice of forced calmness. "I can't go into it now, but you'll want to +hear about it. I'm sending a car for you. Better bring Dalla along; +she'll want in on it, too." + +"Right; we'll be on the top south-west landing stage in a few +minutes." + +Dalla was still heatedly repudiating any resemblance between the +normal First Level methods of labor-recruitment and the activities of +the Wizard Traders; she had just finished the story of the woman whose +child had been brained when Vall rejoined the group. + +"Dras, I'm awfully sorry," he said. "This is the second time in +succession that Dalla and I have had to bolt away from here, but +policemen are like doctors--always on call, and consequently +unreliable guests. While you're feasting, think commiseratingly of +Dalla and me; we'll probably be having a sandwich and a cup of coffee +somewhere." + +"I'm terribly sorry." Thalvan Dras replied. "We had all been looking +forward--Well! Brogoth, have a car called for Vall and Dalla." + +"Police car coming for us; it's probably on the landing stage now," +Vall said. "Well, good-by, everybody. Coming, Dalla?" + + * * * * * + +They had a few minutes to wait, under the marquee, before the green +police aircar landed and came rolling across the rain-wet surface of +the landing stage. Crossing to it and opening the rear door, he put +Dalla in and climbed in after her, slamming the door. It was only then +that he saw Tortha Karf hunched down in the rear seat. He motioned +them to silence, and did not speak until the car was rising above the +building. + +"I wanted to fill you in on this, as soon as possible," he said. "Your +hunch about Salgath Trod was good; just a few minutes before I called +you, he called me. He says this slave trade is the work of something +he calls the Organization; says he's been taking orders from them for +years. His attack on the Management and motion for a censure-vote +were dictated from Organization top echelon. Now he's convinced that +they're going to force him to make false accusations against the +Paratime Police and then kill him before he's compelled to repeat his +charges under narco-hypnosis. So he's offered to surrender and trade +information for protection." + +"How much does he know?" Vall asked. + +Tortha Karf shook his head. "Not as much as he claims to, I suppose; +he wouldn't want to reduce his own trade-in value. But he's been +involved in this thing for the last fifteen years, and with his +political prominence, he'd know quite a lot." + +"We can protect him from his own gang; can we protect him from +psycho-rehabilitation?" + +"No, and he knows it. He's willing to accept that. He seems to think +that death at the hands of his own associates is the only other +alternative. Probably right, too." + +The floodlighted green towers of the Paratime Building were wheeling +under them as they circled down. + +"Why would they sacrifice a valuable accomplice like Salgath Trod, in +order to make a transparently false accusation against us?" Vall +wondered. + +"Ha, that's our new rookie cop's idea!" Tortha Karf chuckled, nodding +toward Dalla. "We got Zortan Harn to introduce an urgent-business +motion to appoint a committee to investigate BuPsychHyg, this morning. +The motion passed, and this is the reaction to it. The Organization's +scared. Just as Dalla predicted, they don't want us finding out how +people with potentially criminal characteristics missed being spotted +by psychotesting. Salgath Trod is being sacrificed to block or delay +that." + +Vall nodded as the wheels bumped on the landing stage and the antigrav +field went off. That was the sort of thing that happened when you +started on a really fruitful line of investigation. They got out and +hurried over under the marquee, the car lifting and moving off toward +the hangars. This was the real break; no matter how this Organization +might be compartmented, a man like Salgath Trod would know a great +deal. He would name names, and the bearers of those names, arrested +and narco-hypnotized, would name other names, in a perfect chain +reaction of confessions and betrayals. + +Another police car had landed just ahead of them, and three men were +climbing out; two were in Paratime Police green, and the third, +hand-cuffed, was in Service Sector Proletarian garb. At first, Vall +though that Salgath Trod had been brought in disguised as a Prole +prisoner, and then he saw that the prisoner was short and stocky, not +at all like the slender and elegant politician. The two officers who +had brought him in were talking to a lieutenant, Sothran Barth, +outside the antigrav shaft kiosk. As Vall and Tortha Karf and Dalla +walked over, the car which had brought them lifted out. + +"Something that just came in from Industrial Twenty-four, Chief," +Lieutenant Sothran said in answer to Tortha Karf's question. "May be +for Assistant Verkan's desk." + +"He's a Prole named Yandragno, sir," one of the policemen said. +"Industrial Sector Constabulary grabbed him peddling Martian hellweed +cigarettes to the girls in a textile mill at Kangabar Equivalent. +Captain Jamzar thinks he may have gotten them from somebody in the +Organization." + + * * * * * + +A little warning bell began ringing in the back of Verkan Vall's mind, +but at first he could not consciously identify the cause of his +suspicions. He looked the two policemen and their prisoner over +carefully, but could see nothing visibly wrong with them. Then another +car came in for a landing and rolled over under the marquee; the door +opened, and a police officer got out, followed by an elegantly dressed +civilian whom he recognized at once as Salgath Trod. A second +policeman was emerging from the car when Vall suddenly realized what +it was that had disturbed him. + +It had been Salgath Trod, himself, less than half an hour ago, who had +introduced the term, "the Organization," to the Paratime Police. At +that time, if these people were what they claimed to be, they would +have been in transposition from Industrial Twenty-four, on the Fifth +Level. Immediately, he reached for his needler. He was clearing it of +the holster when things began happening. + +The handcuffs fell from the "prisoner's" wrists; he jerked a +neutron-disruption blaster from under his jacket. Vall, his needler +already drawn, rayed the fellow dead before he could aim it, then saw +that the two pseudo-policemen had drawn their needlers and were aiming +in the direction of Salgath Trod. There were no flashes or reports; +only the spot of light that had winked on and off under Vall's rear +sight had told him that his weapon had been activated. He saw it +appear again as the sights centered on one of the "policemen." Then he +saw the other imposter's needler aimed at himself. That was the last +thing he expected ever to see, in that life; he tried to shift his own +weapon, and time seemed frozen, with his arm barely moving. Then there +was a white blur as Dalla's cloak moved in front of him, and the +needler dropped from the fingers of the disguised murderer. Time went +back to normal for him; he safetied his own weapon and dropped it, +jumping forward. + +He grabbed the fellow in the green uniform by the nose with his left +hand, and punched him hard in the pit of the stomach with his right +fist. The man's mouth flew open, and a green capsule, the size and +shape of a small bean, flew out. Pushing Dalla aside before she would +step on it, he kicked the murderer in the stomach, doubling him over, +and chopped him on the base of the skull with the edge of his hand. +The pseudo-policeman dropped senseless. + +With a handful of handkerchief-tissue from his pocket, he picked up +the disgorged capsule, wrapping it carefully after making sure that it +was unbroken. Then he looked around. The other two assassins were +dead. Tortha Karf, who had been looking at the man in Proletarian +dress whom Vall had killed first, turned, looked in another direction, +and then cursed. Vall followed his eyes, and cursed also. One of the +two policemen who had gotten out of the aircar was dead, too, and so +was the all-important witness, Salgath Trod--as dead as +Nebu-hin-Abenoz, a hundred thousand parayears away. + + * * * * * + +The whole thing had ended within thirty seconds; for about half as +long, everybody waited, poised in a sort of action-vacuum, for +something else to happen. Dalla had dropped the shoulder-bag with +which she had clubbed the prisoner's needler out of his hand, and +caught up the fallen weapon. When she saw that the man was down and +motionless, she laid it aside and began picking up the glittering or +silken trifles that had spilled from the burst bag. Vall retrieved his +own weapon, glanced over it, and holstered it. Sothran Barth, the +lieutenant in charge of the landing stage, was bawling orders, and men +were coming out of the ready-room and piling into vehicles to pursue +the aircar which had brought the assassins. + +"Barth!" Vall called. "Have you a hypodermic and a sleep-drug ampoule? +Well, give this boy a shot; he's only impact-stunned. Be careful of +him; he's important." He glanced around the landing-stage. "Fact is, +he's all we have to show for this business." + +Then he stooped to help Dalla gather her things, picking up a few of +them--a lighter, a tiny crystal perfume flask, miraculously unbroken, +a face-powder box which had sprung open and spilled half its contents. +He handed them to her, while Sothran Barth bent over the prisoner and +gave him an injection, then went to the body of the other +pseudo-policeman, forcing open his mouth. In his cheek, still +unbroken, was a second capsule, which he added to the first. Tortha +Karf was watching him. + +"Same gang that killed that Carera slaver on Esaron Sector?" he asked. +"Of course, exactly the same general procedure. Let's have a look at +the other one." + +The man in Proletarian dress must have had his capsule between his +molars when he had been killed; it was broken, and there was a +brownish discoloration and chemical odor in his mouth. + +"Second time we've had a witness killed off under our noses," Tortha +Karf said. "We're going to have to smarten up in a hurry." + +"Here's one of us who doesn't have to, much," Vall said, nodding +toward Dalla. "She knocked a needler out of one man's hand, and we +took him alive. The Force owes her a new shoulder-bag: she spoiled +that one using it for a club." + +"Best shoulder-bag we can find you, Dalla," Tortha Karf promised. +"You're promoted, herewith, to Special Chief's Assistant's Special +Assistant--You know, this Organization murder-section is good; they +could kill anybody. It won't be long before they assign a squad to us. +Blast it, I don't want to have to go around bodyguarded like a Fourth +Level dictator, but--" + +A detective came out of the control room and approached. + +"Screen call for you, sir," he told Tortha Karf. "One of the news +services wants a comment on a story they've just picked up that we've +illegally arrested Councilman Salgath and are holding him +incommunicado and searching his apartment." + +"That's the Organization," Vall said. "They don't know how their boys +made out; they're hoping we'll tell them." + +"No comment," Tortha Karf said. "Call the girl on my switchboard and +tell her to answer any other news-service calls. We have nothing to +say at this time, but there will be a public statement at ... at +2330," he decided after a glance at his watch. "That'll give us time +to agree on a publicity line to adopt. Lieutenant Sothran! Take charge +up here. Get all these bodies out of sight somewhere, including those +of Councilman Salgath and Detective Malthor. Don't let anybody talk +about this; put a blackout on the whole story. Vall, you and Dalla and +... oh, you, over there; take the prisoner down to my office. Sothran, +any reports from any of the cars that were chasing that fake police +car?" + +Verkan Vall and Dalla were sitting behind Tortha Karf's desk; Vall was +issuing orders over the intercom and talking to the detectives who had +remained at Salgath Trod's apartment by visiscreen; Dalla was sorting +over the things she had spilled when her bag had burst. They both +looked up as Tortha Karf came in and joined them. + +"The prisoner's still under the drug," the Chief said. "He'll be out +for a couple of hours; the psych-techs want to let him come out of it +naturally and sleep naturally for a while before they give him a +hypno. He's not a ServSec Prole; uncircumcised, never had any +syntho-enzyme shots or immunizations, and none of the longevity +operations or grafts. Same thing for the two stiffs. And no identity +records on any of the three." + +"The men at Salgath's apartment say that his housekeeper and his two +servants checked out through the house conveyer for ServSec +One-Six-Five, at about 1830," Vall said. "There's a Prole +entertainment center on that time line. I suppose Salgath gave them +the evening off before he called you." + +Tortha Karf nodded. "I suppose you ordered them picked up. The news +services are going wild about this. I had to make a preliminary +statement, to the effect that Salgath Trod was not arrested, came to +Headquarters of his own volition, and is under no restraint whatever." + +"Except, of course, a slight case of rigor mortis," Dalla added. "Did +you mention that, Chief?" + +"No, I didn't." Tortha Karf looked as though he had quinine in his +mouth. "Vall, how in blazes are we going to handle this?" + +"We ought to keep Salgath's death hushed up, as long as we can," Vall +said. "The Organization doesn't know positively what happened here; +that's why they're handing out tips to the news services. Let's try to +make them believe he's still alive and talking." + +"How can we do it?" + +"There ought to be somebody on the Force close enough to Salgath +Trod's anthropometric specifications that our cosmeticians could work +him over into a passable impersonation. Our story is that Salgath is +on PolTerm, undergoing narco-hypnosis. We will produce an audio-visual +of him as soon as he is out of narco-hyp. That will give us time to +fix up an impersonator; We'll need a lot of sound-recordings of +Salgath Trod's voice, of course--" + +"I'll take care of the Home Time Line end of it; as soon as we get you +an impersonator, you go to work with him. Now, let's see whom we can +depend on to help us with this. Lovranth Rolk, of course; Home Time +Line section of the Paratime Code Enforcement Division. And--" + + * * * * * + +Verkan Vall and Dalla and Tortha Karf and four or five others looked +across the desk and to the end of the room as the telecast screen +broke into a shifting light-pattern and then cleared. The face of the +announcer appeared; a young woman. + +"And now, we bring you the statement which Chief Tortha of the +Paratime Police has promised for this time. This portion of the +program was audio-visually recorded at Paratime Police Headquarters +earlier this evening." + +Tortha Karf's face appeared on the screen. His voice began an +announcement of how Executive Councilman Salgath Trod had called him +by visiphone, admitting to complicity in the recently-discovered +paratemporal slave-trade. + +"Here is a recording of Councilman Salgath's call to me from his +apartment to my office at 1945 this evening." + +The screen-image shattered into light-shards and rebuilt itself: +Salgath Trod, at his desk in the library of his apartment, the +brandy-goblet and the needler within reach, appeared. He began to +speak: from time to time the voice of Tortha Karf interrupted, +questioning or prompting him. + +"You understand that this confession renders you liable to +psycho-rehabilitation?" Tortha Karf asked. + +Yes, Councilman Salgath understood that. + +"And you agree to come voluntarily to Paratime Police Headquarters, +and you will voluntarily undergo narco-hypnotic interrogation?" + +Yes, Salgath Trod agreed to that. + +"I am now terminating the playback of Councilman Salgath's call to +me," Tortha Karf said, re-appearing on the screen. "At this point +Councilman Salgath began making a statement about his criminal +activities, which we have on record. Because he named a number of his +criminal associates, whom we have no intention of warning, this +portion of Councilman Salgath's call cannot at this time be made +public. We have no intention of having any of these suspects escape, +or of giving their associates an opportunity to murder them to prevent +their furnishing us with additional information. Incidentally, there +was an attempt, made on the landing stage of Paratime Police +Headquarters, to murder Councilman Salgath, when he was brought here +guarded by Paratime Police officers--" + +He went on to give a colorful and, as far as possible, truthful, +account of the attack by the two pseudo-policemen and their +pseudo-prisoner. As he told it, however, all three had been killed +before they could accomplish their purpose, one of them by Salgath +Trod himself. + +The image of Tortha Karf was replaced by a view of the three assassins +lying on the landing stage. They all looked dead, even the one who +wasn't; there was nothing to indicate that he was merely drugged. +Then, one after another, their faces were shown in closeup, while +Tortha Karf asked for close attention and memorization. + +"We believe that these men were Fifth Level Proles; we think that they +were under hypnotic influence or obeying posthypnotic commands when +they made their suicidal attack. If any of you have ever seen any of +these men before, it is your duty to inform the Paratime Police." + + * * * * * + +That ended it. Tortha Karf pressed a button in front of him and the +screen went dark. The spectators relaxed. + +"Well! Nothing like being sincere with the public, is there?" Della +commented. "I'll remember this the next time I tune in a Management +public statement." + +"In about five minutes," one of the bureau-chiefs, said, "all hell is +going to break loose. I think the whole thing is crazy!" + +"I hope you have somebody who can give a convincing impersonation," +Lovranth Rolk said. + +"Yes. A field agent named Kostran Galth," Tortha Karf said. "We ran +the personal description cards for the whole Force through the +machine; Kostran checked to within one-twentieth of one per cent; he's +on Police Terminal, now, coming by rocket from Ravvanan Equivalent. We +ought to have the whole thing ready for telecast by 1730 tomorrow." + +"He can't learn to imitate Salgath's voice convincingly in that time, +with all the work the cosmeticians'll have to be doing on him," Dalla +said. + +"Make up a tape of Salgath's own voice, out of that pile of recordings +we got at his apartment, and what we can get out of the news file." +Vall said. "We have phoneticists who can split syllables and splice +them together. Kostran will deliver his speech in dumb-show, and we'll +dub the sound in and telecast them as one. I've messaged PolTerm to +get to work on that; they can start as soon as we have the speech +written." + +[Illustration:] + +"The more it succeeds now, the worse the blow-up will be when we +finally have to admit that Salgath was killed here tonight," the Chief +Inter-officer Cooerdinator, Zostha Olv said. "We'd better have +something to show the public to justify that." + +"Yes, we had," Tortha Karf agreed. "Vall, how about the Kholghoor +Sector operation. How far's Ranthar Jard gotten toward locating one of +those Wizard Trader time lines?" + +"Not very far," Vall admitted. "He has it pinned down to the +sub-sector, but the belt seems to be one we haven't any information at +all for. Never been any legitimate penetration by paratimers. He has +his own hagiologists, and a couple borrowed from Outtime Religious +Institute; they've gotten everything the slaves can give them on that. +About the only thing to do is start random observation with +boomerang-balls." + +"Over about a hundred thousand time lines," Zostha Olv scoffed. He was +an old man, even for his long-lived race; he had a thin nose and a +narrow, bitter, mouth. "And what will he look for?" + +"Croutha with guns." Tortha Karf told him, then turned to Vall. "Can't +he narrow it more than that? What have his experts been getting out of +those slaves?" + +"That I don't know, to date." Vall looked at the clock. "I'll find +out, though; I'll transpose to Police Terminal and call him up. And +Skordran Kirv. No. Vulthor Tharn; it'd hurt the old fellow's feelings +if I by-passed him and went to one of his subordinates. Half an hour +each way, and at most another hour talking to Ranthar and Vulthor; +there won't be anything doing here for two hours." He rose. "See you +when I get back." + +Dalla had turned on the telescreen again; after tuning out a dance +orchestra and a comedy show, she got the image of an angry-faced man +in evening clothes. + +"... And I'm going to demand a full investigation, as soon as Council +convenes tomorrow morning!" he was shouting. "This whole story is a +preposterous insult to the integrity of the entire Executive Council, +your elected representatives, and it shows the criminal lengths to +which this would-be dictator, Tortha Karf, and his jackal Verkan Vall +will go--" + +"So long, jackal." Dalla called to him as he went out. + + * * * * * + +He spent the half-hour transposition to Police Terminal sleeping. +Paratime-transpositions and rocket-flights seemed to be his only +chance to get any sleep. He was still sleepy when he sat down in front +of the radio telescreen behind his duplicate of Tortha Karf's desk and +put through a call to Nharkan Equivalent. It was 0600 in India; the +Sector Regional Deputy Subchief who was holding down Ranthar Jard's +desk looked equally sleepy; he had a mug of coffee in front of him, +and a brown-paper cigarette in his mouth. + +"Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. Want me to call Subchief Ranthar?" + +"Is he sleeping? Then for mercy's sake don't. What's the present +status of the investigation?" + +"Well, we were dropping boomerang balls yesterday, while we had sun to +mask the return-flashes. Nothing. The Croutha have taken the city of +Sohram, just below the big bend of the river. Tomorrow, when we have +sunlight, we're going to start boomerang-balling the central square. +We may get something." + +"The Wizard Traders'll be moving in near there, about now," Vall said. +"The Croutha ought to have plenty of merchandise for them. Have you +gotten anything more done on narrowing down the possible area?" + +The deputy bit back a yawn and reached for his coffee mug. + +"The experts have just about pumped these slaves empty," he said. "The +local religion is a mess. Seems to have started out as a Great Mother +cult; then it picked up a lot of gods borrowed from other peoples; +then it turned into a dualistic monotheism; then it picked up a lot of +minor gods and devils--new devils usually gods of the older pantheon. +And we got a lot of gossip about the feudal wars and faction-fights +among the nobility, and so on, all garbled, because these people are +peasants who only knew what went on on the estate of their own lord." + +"What did go on there?" Vall asked. "Ask them about recent +improvements, new buildings, new fields cleared, new paddies flooded, +that sort of thing. And pick out a few of the highest IQ's from both +time lines, and have them locate this estate on a large-scale map, and +draw plans showing the location of buildings, fields and other visible +features. If you have to, teach them mapping and sketching by +hypno-mech. And then drop about five hundred to a thousand boomerang +balls, at regular intervals, over the whole paratemporal area. When +you locate a time line that gives you a picture to correspond to their +description, boomerang the main square in Sohram over the whole belt +around it, to find Croutha with firearms." + +The deputy looked at him for a moment then gulped more coffee. + +"Can do, Assistant Verkan. I think I'll send somebody to wake up +Subchief Ranthar, right now. Want to talk to him." + +"Won't be necessary. You're recording this call, of course? Then play +it back to him. And get cracking with the slaves; you want enough +information out of them to enable you to start boomerang balling as +soon as the sun's high enough." + + * * * * * + +He broke off the connection and sent out for coffee for himself. Then +he put through a call to Novilan Equivalent, in western North America. + +It was 1530, there, when he got Vulthor Tharn on the screen. + +"Good afternoon. Assistant Verkan. I suppose you're calling about the +slave business. I've turned the entire matter over to Field Agent +Skordran; gave him a temporary rank of Deputy Subchief. That's subject +to your approval and Chief Tortha's, of course--" + +"Make the appointment permanent," Vall said. "I'll have a confirmation +along from Chief Tortha directly. And let me talk to him now, if you +please. Subchief Vulthor." + +"Yes, sir. Switching you over now." The screen went into a beautiful +burst of abstract art, and cleared, after a while, with Skordran Kirv +looking out of it. + +"Hello, Deputy Skordran, and congratulations. What's come up since we +had Nebu-hin-Abenoz cut out from under us?" + +"We went in on that time line, that same night, with an airboat and +made a recon in the hills back of Careba. Scared the fear of Safar +into a party of Caleras while we were working at low altitude, by the +way. We found the conveyer-head site: hundred-foot circle with all the +grass and loose dirt transposed off it and a pole pen, very unsanitary +where about two-three hundred slaves would be kept at a time. No +indications of use in the last ten days. We did some pretty thorough +boomeranging on that spatial equivalent over a couple of thousand time +lines and found thirty more of them. I believe the slavers have closed +out the whole Esaron Sector operation, at least temporarily." + +That was what he'd been afraid of; he hoped they wouldn't do the same +thing on the Kholghoor Sector. + +"Let me have the designations of the time lines on which you found +conveyer heads," he said. + +"Just a moment, Chief's Assistant; I'll photoprint them to you. Set +for reception?" + +Vall opened a slide under the screen and saw that the photoprint film +was in place, then closed it again, nodding. Skordran Kirv fed a sheet +of paper into his screen cabinet and his arm moved forward out of the +picture. + +"On, sir," he said. He and Vall counted ten seconds together, and then +Skordran Kirv said: "Through to you." Vall pressed a lever under his +screen, and a rectangle of microcopy print popped out. + +"That's about all I have, sir. Want me to keep my troops ready here, +or shall I send them somewhere else?" + +"Keep them ready, Kirv," Vall told him. "You may need them before +long. Call you later." + +He put the microcopy in an enlarger, and carried the enlarged print +with him to the conveyer room. There was something odd about the list +of time line designations. They were expressed numerically, in First +Level notation; extremely short groups of symbols capable of exact +expression of almost inconceivably enormous numbers. Vall had only a +general-education smattering of mathematics--enough to qualify him for +the chair of Higher Mathematics at any university on, say, the Fourth +Level Europo-American Sector--and he could not identify the +peculiarity, but he could recognize that there existed some sort of +pattern. Shoving in the starting lever, he relaxed in one of the +chairs, waiting for the transposition field to build up around him, +and fell asleep before the mesh dome of the conveyer had vanished. He +woke, the list of time line designations in his hand, when the +conveyor rematerialized on Home Time Line. Putting it in his pocket, +he hurried to an antigrav shaft and floated up to the floor on which +Tortha Karf's office was. + + * * * * * + +Tortha Karf was asleep in his chair; Dalla was eating a dinner that +had been brought in to her--something better than the sandwich and mug +of coffee Vall had mentioned to Thalvan Dras. Several of the bureau +chiefs who had been there when he had gone out had left, and the +psychist who had taken charge of the prisoner was there. + +"I think he's coming out of the drug, now," he reported. "Still +asleep, though. We want him to waken naturally before we start on him. +They'll call me as soon as he shows signs of stirring." + +"The Opposition's claiming, now, that we drugged and hypnotized +Salgath into making that visiscreen confession," Dalla said. "Can you +think of any way you could do that without making the subject +incapable of lying?" + +"Pseudo-memories," the psychist said. "It would take about three times +as long as the time between Salgath Trod's departure from his +apartment and the time of the telecast, though--" + +"You know much higher math?" Vall asked the psychist. + +"Well, enough to handle my job. Neuron-synapse inter-relations, +memory-and-association patterns, that kind of thing, all have to be +expressed mathematically." + +Vall nodded and handed him the time-line designation list. + +"See any kind of a pattern there?" he asked. + +The psychist looked at the paper and blanked his face as he drew on +hypnotically-acquired information. + +"Yes. I'd say that all the numbers are related in some kind of a +series to some other number. Simplified down to kindergarten level, +say the difference between A and B is, maybe, one-decillionth of the +difference between X and A, and the difference between B and C is +one-decillionth of the difference between X and B, and so on--" + +A voice came out of one of the communication boxes: + +"Dr. Nentrov; the patient's out of the drug, and he's beginning to +stir about." + +"That's it," the psychist said. "I have to run." He handed the sheet +back to Vall, took a last drink from his coffee cup, and bolted out of +the room. + +Dalla picked up the sheet of paper and looked at it. Vall told her +what it was. + +"If those time lines are in regular series, they relate to the base +line of operations," she said. "Maybe you can have that worked out. I +can see how it would be; a stated interval between the Esaron Sector +lines, to simplify transposition control settings." + +"That was what I was thinking. It's not quite as simple as Dr. Nentrov +expressed it, but that could be the general idea. We might be able to +work out the location of the base line from that. There seems to be a +break in the number sequence in here; that would be the time line +Skordran Kirv found those slaves on." He reached for the pipe he had +left on the desk when he had gone to Police Terminal and began filling +it. + +A little later, a buzzer sounded and a light came on on one of the +communication boxes. He flipped the switch and said, "Verkan Vall +here." Sothran Barth's voice came cut of the box. + +"They've just brought in Salgath Trod's servants. Picked them up as +they came out of the house conveyer at the apartment building. I don't +believe they know what's happened." + +Vall flipped a switch and twiddled a dial; a viewscreen lit up, +showing the landing stage. The police car had just landed: one +detective had gotten out, and was helping the girl, Zinganna, who had +been Salgath Trod's housekeeper and mistress, to descend. She was +really beautiful. Vall thought: rather tall, slender, with dark eyes +and a creamy light-brown skin. She wore a black cloak, and, under it, +a black and silver evening gown. A single jewel twinkled in her black +hair. She could have very easily passed for a woman of his own race. + +The housemaid and the butler were a couple of entirely different +articles. Both were about four or five generations from Fourth Level +Primitive savagery. The maid, in garishly cheap finery, was big-boned +and heavy-bodied, with red-brown hair; she looked like a member of one +of the northern European reindeer-herding peoples who had barely +managed to progress as far as the bow and arrow. The butler was +probably a mixture of half a dozen primitive races; he was wearing one +of his late master's evening suits, a bright mellow-pink, which was +distinctly unflattering to his complexion. + +The sound-pickup was too far away to give him what they were saying, +but the butler and maid were waving their arms and protesting +vehemently. One of the detectives took the woman by the arm; she +jerked it loose and aimed a backhand slap at him. He blocked it on his +forearm. Immediately, the girl in black turned and said something to +her, and she subsided. Vall said, into the box: + +"Barth, have the girl in the black cloak brought down to Number Four +Interview Room. Put the other two in separate detention cubicles; +we'll talk to them later." He broke the connection and got to his +feet. "Come on, Dalla. I want you to help me with the girl." + +"Just try and stop me," Dalla told him. "Any interviews you have with +that little item, I want to sit in on." + + * * * * * + +The Proletarian girl, still guarded by a detective, had already been +placed in the interview room. The detective nodded to Vall, tried to +suppress a grin when he saw Dalla behind him, and went out. Vall saw +his wife and the prisoner seated, and produced his cigarette case, +handing it around. + +"You're Zinganna; you're of the household of Councilman Salgath Trod, +aren't you?" he asked. + +"Housekeeper and hostess," the girl replied. "I am also his mistress." + +Vall nodded, smiling. "Which confirms my long-standing respect for +Councilman Salgath's exquisite taste." + +"Why, thank you," she said. "But I doubt if I was brought here to +receive compliments. Or was I?" + +"No, I'm afraid not. Have you heard the newscasts of the past few +hours concerning Councilman Salgath?" + +She straightened in her seat, looking at him seriously. + +"No. I and Nindrandigro and Calilla spent the evening on ServSec +One-Six-Five. Councilman Salgath told me that he had some business and +wanted them out of the apartment, and wanted me to keep an eye on +them. We didn't hear any news at all." She hesitated. "Has anything +... serious ... happened?" + +Vall studied her for a moment, then glanced at Dalla. There existed +between himself and his wife a sort of vague, semitelepathic, rapport; +they had never been able to transmit definite and exact thoughts, but +they could clearly prehend one another's feelings and emotions. He was +conscious, now, of Dalla's sympathy for the Proletarian girl. + +"Zinganna, I'm going to tell you something that is being kept from the +public," he said. "By doing so, I will make it necessary for us to +detain you, at least for a few days. I hope you will forgive me, but I +think you would forgive me less if I didn't tell you." + +"Something's happened to him," she said, her eyes widening and her +body tensing. + +"Yes, Zinganna. At about 2010, this evening," he said, "Councilman +Salgath was murdered." + +"Oh!" She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. "He's dead?" +Then, again, statement instead of question: "He's dead!" + +For a long moment, she lay back in the chair, as though trying to +reorient her mind to the fact of Salgath Trod's death, while Vall and +Dalla sat watching her. Then she stirred, opened her eyes, looked at +the cigarette in her fingers as though she had never seen it before, +and leaned forward to stuff it into an ash receiver. + +"Who did it?" she asked, the Stone Age savage who had been her +ancestor not ten generations ago peeping out of her eyes. + +"The men who actually used the needlers are dead," Vall told her. "I +killed a couple of them myself. We still have to find the men who +planned it. I'd hoped you'd want to help us do that, Zinganna." + +He side-glanced to Dalla again; she nodded. The relationship between +Zinganna and Salgath Trod hadn't been purely business with her; there +had been some real affection. He told her what had happened, and when +he reached the point at which Salgath Trod had called Tortha Karf to +confess complicity in the slave trade, her lips tightened and she +nodded. + +"I was afraid it was something like that," she said. "For the last few +days, well, ever since the news about the slave trade got out, he's +been worried about something. I've always thought somebody had some +kind of a hold over him. Different times in the past, he's done things +so far against his own political best interests that I've had to +believe he was being forced into them. Well, this time they tried to +force him too far. What then?" + +Vall continued the story. "So we're keeping this hushed up, for a +while. The way we're letting it out, Salgath Trod is still alive, on +Police Terminal, talking under narco-hypnosis." + +She smiled savagely. "And they'll get frightened, and frightened men +do foolish things," she finished. She hadn't been a politician's +mistress for nothing. "What can I do to help?" + +"Tell us everything you can," he said. "Maybe we can be able to take +such actions as we would have taken if Salgath Trod had lived to talk +to us." + +"Yes, of course." She got another cigarette from the case Vall had +laid on the table. "I think, though, that you'd better give me a +narco-hypnosis. You want to be able to depend on what I'm going to +tell you, and I want to be able to remember things exactly." + +Vall nodded approvingly and turned to Dalla. + +"Can you handle this, yourself?" he asked. "There's an audio-visual +recorder on now; here's everything you need." He opened the drawers in +the table to show her the narco-hypnotic equipment. "And the phone has +a whisper mouthpiece; you can call out without worrying about your +message getting into Zinganna's subconscious. Well, I'll see you when +you're through; you bring Zinganna to Police Terminal; I'll probably +be there." + +He went out, closing the door behind him, and went down the hall, +meeting the officer who had taken charge of the butler and housemaid. + +"We're having trouble with them, sir," he said. "Hostile. Yelling +about their rights, and demanding to see a representative of +Proletarian Protective League." + +Vall mentioned the Proletarian Protective League with unflattering +vulgarity. + +"If they don't cooeperate, drag them out and inject them and question +them anyhow," he said. + +The detective-lieutenant looked worried. "We've been taking a pretty +high hand with them as it is," he protested. "It's safer to kill a +Citizen than bloody a Prole's nose; they have all sorts of laws to +protect them." + +"There are all sorts of laws to protect the Paratime Secret," Vall +replied. "And I think there are one or two laws against murdering +members of the Executive Council. In case P.P.L. makes any trouble, +they aren't here; they have faithfully joined their beloved master in +his refuge on PolTerm. But one or both of them work for the +Organization." + +"You're sure of that?" + +"The Organization is too thorough not to have had a spy in Salgath's +household. It wasn't Zinganna, because she's volunteered to talk to us +under narco-hyp. So who does that leave?" + +"Well, that's different; that makes them suspects." The lieutenant +seemed relieved. "We'll pump that pair out right away." + +When he got back to Tortha Karf's office, the Chief was awake, and +doodling on his notepad with his multicolor pen. Vall looked at the +pad and winced; the Chief was doodling bugs again--red ants with black +legs, and blue-and-green beetles. Then he saw that the psychist, +Nentrov Dard, was drinking straight 150-proof palm-rum. + +"Well, tell me the worst," he said. + +"Our boy's memory-obliterated," Nentrov Dard said, draining his glass +and filling it again. "And he's plastered with pseudo-memories a foot +thick. It'll be five or six ten-days before we can get all that stuff +peeled off and get him unblocked. I put him to sleep and had him +transposed to Police Terminal. I'm going there, myself, tomorrow +morning, after I've had some sleep, and get to work on him. If you're +hoping to get anything useful out of him in time to head off this +Council crisis that's building up, just forget it." + +"And that leaves us right back with our old friends, the Wizard +Traders," Tortha Karf added. "And if they've decided to suspend +activities on the Kholghoor Sector, too--" He began drawing a big blue +and black spider in the middle of the pad. + +Nentrov Dard crushed out his cigar, drank his rum, and got to his +feet. + +"Well, good night, Chief; Vall. If you decide to wake me up before +1000, send somebody you want to get rid of in a hurry." He walked +around the deck and out the side door. + +"I hope they don't," Vall said to Tortha Karf. "Really, though, I +doubt if they do. This is their chance to pick up a lot of slaves +cheaply; the Croutha are too busy to bother haggling. I'm going +through to PolTerm, now; when Dalla and Zinganna get through, tell +them to join me there." + + * * * * * + +On Police Terminal, he found Kostran Galth, the agent who had been +selected to impersonate Salgath Trod. After calling Zulthran Torv, the +mathematician in charge of the Computer Office and giving him the +Esaron time-line designations and Nentrov Dard's ideas about them, he +spent about an hour briefing Kostran Galth on the role he was to play. +Finally, he undressed and went to bed on a couch in the rest room +behind the office. + +It was noon when he woke. After showering, shaving and dressing +hastily, he went out to the desk for breakfast, which arrived while he +was putting a call through to Ranthar Jard, at Nharkan Equivalent. + +"Your idea paid off, Chief's Assistant," the Kholghoor SecReg Subchief +told him. "The slaves gave us a lot of physical description data on +the estate, and told us about new fields that had been cleared, and a +dam this Lord Ghromdour was building to flood some new rice-paddies. +We located a belt of about five parayears where these improvements had +been made: we started boomeranging the whole belt, time line by time +line. So far, we have ten or fifteen pictures of the main square at +Sohram showing Croutha with firearms, and pictures of Wizard Trader +camps and conveyer heads on the same time lines. Here, let me show +you; this is from an airboat over the forest outside the equivalent of +Sohram." + +There was no jungle visible when the view changed; nothing but +clusters of steel towers and platforms and buildings that marked +conveyer heads, and a large rectangle of red-and-white antigrav-buoys +moored to warn air traffic out of the area being boomeranged. The +pickup seemed to be pointed downward from the bow of an airboat +circling at about ten thousand feet. + +"Balls ready to go," a voice called, and then repeated a string of +time-line designations. "Estimated return, 1820, give or take four +minutes." + +"Varth," Ranthar Jard said, evidently out of the boat's radio. "Your +telecast is being beamed on Dhergabar Equivalent; Chief's Assistant +Verkan is watching. When do you estimate your next return?" + +"Any moment, now, sir; we're holding this drop till they +rematerialize." + +Vall watched unblinkingly, his fork poised halfway to his mouth. +Suddenly, about a thousand feet below the eye of the pickup, there was +a series of blue flashes, and, an instant later, a blossoming of +red-and-white parachutes, ejected from the photo-reconnaissance balls +that had returned from the Kholghoor Sector. + +"All right; drop away," the boat captain called. There was a gush, +from underneath, of eight-inch spheres, their conductor-mesh twinkling +golden-bright in the sunlight. They dropped in a tight cluster for a +thousand or so feet and then flashed and vanished. From the ground, +six or eight aircars rose to meet the descending parachutes and catch +them. + +The screen went cubist for a moment, and then Ranthar Jard's swarthy, +wide-jawed face looked out of it again. He took his pipe from his +mouth. + +"We'll probably get a positive out of the batch you just saw coming +in," he said. "We get one out of about every two drops." + +"Message a list of the time-line designations you've gotten so far to +Zulthran Torv, at Computer Office here," Vall said. "He's working on +the Esaron Sector dope; we think a pattern can be established. I'll be +seeing you in about five hours; I'm rocketing out of here as soon as I +get a few more things cleared up here." + +Zulthran Torv, normally cautious to the degree of pessimism, was +jubilant when Vall called him. + +"We have something, Vall," he said. "It is, roughly, what Dr. Nentrov +suggested--each of the intervals between the designations is a very +minute but very exact fraction of the difference between lesser +designation and the base-line designation." + +"You have the base-line designation?" Vall demanded. + +"Oh, yes. That's what I was telling you. We worked that out from the +designations you gave me." He recited it. "All the designations you +gave me are--" + +Vall wasn't listening to him. He frowned in puzzlement. + +"That's not a Fifth Level designation," he said. "That's First Level!" + +"That's correct. First Level Abzar Sector." + +"Now why in blazes didn't anybody think of that before?" he marveled, +and as he did, he knew the answer. Nobody ever thought of the Abzar +sector. + +[Illustration:] + +Twelve millennia ago, the world of the First Level had been +exhausted; having used up the resources of their home planet, Mars, a +hundred thousand years before, the descendants of the population that +had migrated across space had repeated on the third planet the +devastation of the fourth. The ancestors of Verkan Vall's people had +discovered the principle of paratime transposition and had begun to +exploit an infinity of worlds on other lines of probability. The +people of the First Level Dwarma Sector, reduced by sheer starvation +to a tiny handful, had abandoned their cities and renounced their +technologies and created for themselves a farm-and-village culture +without progress or change or curiosity or struggle or ambition, and a +way of life in which every day was like every other day that had been +or that would come. + +The Abzar people had done neither. They had wasted their resources to +the last, fighting bitterly over the ultimate crumbs, with fission +bombs, and with muskets, and with swords, and with spears and clubs, +and finally they had died out, leaving a planet of almost uniform +desert dotted with vast empty cities which even twelve thousand years +had hardly begun to obliterate. + +So nobody on the Paratime Sector went to the Abzar Sector. There was +nothing there--except a hiding-place. + +"Well, message that to Subchief Ranthar Jard, Kholghoor Sector at +Nharkan Equivalent, and to Subchief Vulthor, Esaron Sector, Novilan +Equivalent," Vall said. "And be sure to mark what you send Vulthor, +'Immediate attention Deputy Subchief Skordran.'" + +That reminded him of something; as soon as he was through with +Zulthran, he got out an order in the name of Tortha Karf authorizing +Skordran Kirv's promotion on a permanent basis and messaged it out. +Something was going to have to be done with Vulthor Tharn, too. A +promotion of course--say Deputy Bureau Chief. Hypno-Mech Tape Library +at Dhergabar Home Time Line; there Vulthor's passion for procedure and +his caution would be assets instead of liabilities. He called Vlasthor +Arph, the Chief's Deputy assigned to him as adjutant. + +"I want more troops from ServSec and IndSec," he said. "Go over the +TO's and see what can be spared from where; don't strip any time line, +but get a force of the order of about three divisions. And locate all +the big antigrav-equipped ship transposition docks on Commercial and +Passenger Sectors, and a list of freighters and passenger ships that +can be commandeered in a hurry. We think we've spotted the time line +the Organization's using as a base. As soon as we raid a couple of +places near Nharkan and Novilan Equivalents, we're going to move in +for a planet-wide cleanup." + +"I get it, Chief's Assistant. I do everything I can to get ready for a +big move, without letting anything leak out. After you strike the +first blow, there won't be any security problem, and the lid will be +off. In the meantime, I make up a general plan, and alert all our own +people. Right?" + +"Right. And for your information, the base isn't Fifth Level; it's +First Level Abzar." He gave the designation. + +Vlasthor Arph chuckled. "Well, think of that! I'd even forgotten there +was an Abzar Sector. Shall I tell the reporters that?" + +"Fangs of Fasif, no!" Vall fairly howled. Then, curiously: "What +reporters? How'd they get onto PolTerm?" + +"About fifty or sixty news-service people Chief Tortha sent down here, +this morning, with orders to prevent them from filing any stories from +here but to let them cover the raids, when they come off. We were +instructed to furnish them weapons and audio-visual equipment and +vocowriters and anything else they needed, and--" + +Vall grinned. "That was one I'd never thought of," he admitted. "The +old fox is still the old fox. No, tell them nothing; we'll just take +them along and show them. Oh, and where are Dr. Hadron Dalla and that +girl of Salgath Trod's?" + +"They're sleeping, now. Rest Room Eighteen." + + * * * * * + +Dalla and Zinganna were asleep on a big mound of silk cushions in one +corner, their glossy black heads close together and Zinganna's brown +arm around Dalla's white shoulder. Their faces were calmly beautiful +in repose, and they smiled slightly, as though they were wandering +through a happy dream. For a little while, Vall stood looking at them, +then he began whistling softly. On the third or fourth bar, Dalla +woke and sat up, waking Zinganna, and blinked at him perplexedly. + +"What time is it?" she asked. + +"About 1245," he told her. + +"Ohhh! We just got to sleep," she said. "We're both bushed!" + +"You had a hard time. Feel all right after your narco-hyp, Zinganna?" + +"It wasn't so bad, and I had a nice sleep. And Dalla ... Dr. Hadron, I +mean--" + +"Dalla," Vall's wife corrected. "Remember what I told you?" + +"Dalla, then," Zinganna smiled. "Dalla gave me some hypno-treatment, +too. I don't feel so badly about Trod, any more." + +"Well, look, Zinganna. We're going to have a man impersonate +Councilman Salgath on a telecast. The cosmeticians are making him over +now. Would you find it too painful to meet him, and talk to him?" + +"No, I wouldn't mind. I can criticize the impersonation; remember, I +knew Trod very well. You know, I was his hostess, too. I met many of +the people with whom he was associated, and they know me. Would things +look more convincing if I appeared on the telecast with your man?" + +"It certainly would; it would be a great help!" he told her +enthusiastically. "Maybe you girls ought to get up, now. The telecast +isn't till 1930, but there's a lot to be done getting ready." + +Dalla yawned. "What I get, trying to be a cop," she said, then caught +the other girl's hands and rose, pulling her up. "Come on, Zinna; we +have to get to work!" + + * * * * * + +Vall rose from behind the reading-screen in Ranthar Jard's office, +stretching his arms over his head. For almost an hour, he had sat there +pushing buttons and twiddling selector and magnification-adjustment +knobs, looking at the pictures the Kholghoor-Nharkan cops had taken with +auto-return balls dropped over the spatial equivalent of Sohram. One set +of pictures, taken at two thousand feet, showed the central square of +the city. The effects of the Croutha sack were plainly visible; so were +the captives herded together under guard like cattle. By increasing +magnification, he looked at groups of the barbarian conquerors, big men +with blond or reddish-brown hair, in loose shirts and baggy trousers and +rough cowhide buskins. Many of them wore bowl-shaped helmets, some had +shirts of ring-mail, all of them carried long straight swords with +cross-hilts, and about half of them had pistols thrust through their +belts or muskets slung from their shoulders. + +The other set of pictures showed the Wizard Trader camps and conveyer +heads. In each case, a wide oval had been burned out in the jungle, +probably with heavy-duty heat guns. The camps were surrounded with +stout wire-mesh fence: in each there were a number of metal +prefab-huts, and an inner fenced slave-pen. A trail had been cut from +each to a similarly cleared circle farther back in the forest, and in +the centers of one or two of these circles he saw the actual conveyer +domes. There was a great deal of activity in all of them, and he +screwed the magnification-adjustment to the limit to scrutinize each +human figure in turn. A few of the men, he was sure, were First Level +Citizens; more were either Proles or outtimers. Quite a few of them +were of a dark, heavy-featured, black-bearded type. + +"Some of these fellows look like Second Level Khiftans," he said. +"Rush an individual picture of each one, maximum magnification +consistent with clarity, to Dhergabar Equivalent to be transposed to +Home Time Line. You get all the dope from Zulthran Torv?" + +"Yes; Abzar Sector," Ranthar Jard said. "I'd never have thought of +that. Wonder why they used that series system, though. I'd have tried +to spot my operations as completely at random as possible." + +"Only thing they could have done," Vall said. "When we get hold of one +of their conveyers, we're going to find the control panel's just a +mess of arbitrary symbols, and there'll be something like a +computer-machine built into the control cabinet, to select the right +time line whenever a dial's set or a button pushed, and the only way +that could be done would be by establishing some kind of a numerical +series. And we were trustingly expecting to locate their base from one +of their conveyers! Why, if we give all those people in the pictures +narco-hyps, we won't learn the base-line designation; none of them +will know it. They just go where the conveyers take them." + +"Well, we're all set now," Ranthar Jard said. "I have a plan of attack +worked out; subject to your approval, I'm ready to start implementing +it now." He glanced at his watch. "The Salgath telecast is over, on +Home Time Line, and in a little while, a transcript will be on this +time line. Want to watch it here, sir?" + + * * * * * + +The telecast screen in the living room of Tortha Karf's town apartment +was still on; in it, a girl with bright red hair danced slowly to soft +music against a background of shifting color. The four men who sat in +a semicircle facing it sipped their drinks and watched idly. + +"Ought to be getting some sort of public reaction soon," Tortha Karf +said, glancing at his watch. + +"Well, I'll have to admit, it was done convincingly," Zostha Olv, the +Chief Interoffice Cooerdinator, admitted grudgingly. "I'd have believed +it, if I hadn't known the real facts." + +"Shooting it against the background of those wide windows was smart," +Lovranth Rolk said. "Every schoolchild would recognize that view of +the rocketport as being on Police Terminal. And including that girl +Zinganna; that was a real masterpiece!" + +"I've met her, a few times," Elbraz Vark, the Political Liaison +Assistant, said. "Isn't she lovely!" + +"Good actress, too," Tortha Karf said. "It's not easy to impersonate +yourself." + +"Well, Kostran Galth did a fine job of acting, too," Lovranth Rolk +said. "That was done to perfection--the distinguished politician, +supported by his loyal mistress, bravely facing the disgraceful end of +his public career." + +"You know, I believe I could get that girl a booking with one of the +big theatrical companies. Now that Salgath's dead, she'll need +somebody to look after her." + +"What sharp, furry ears you have, Mr. Elbraz!" Zostha Olv grunted. + +The music stopped as though cut off with a knife, and the slim girl +with the red hair vanished in a shatter of many colors. When the +screen cleared, one of the announcers was looking out of it. + +"We interrupt the program for an important newscast of a sensational +development in the Salgath affair," he said. "Your next speaker will +be Yandar Yadd--" + +"I thought you'd managed to get that blabbermouth transposed to +PolTerm," Zostha said. + +"He wouldn't go." Tortha Karf replied. "Said it was just a trick to +get him off Home Time Line during the Council crisis." + +Yandar Yadd had appeared on the screen as the pickup swung about. + +"... Recording ostensibly made by Councilman Salgath on Police +Terminal Time Line, and telecast on Home Time Line an hour ago. Well, +I don't know who he was, but I now have positive proof that he +definitely was not Salgath Trod!" + +"We're sunk!" Zostha Olv grunted. "He'd never make a statement like +that unless he could prove it." + +"... Something suspicious about the whole thing, from the beginning," +the newsman was saying. "So I checked. If you recall, the actor +impersonating Salgath gestured rather freely with his hands, in +imitation of a well-known mannerism of the real Salgath Trod; at one +point, the ball of his right thumb was presented directly to the +pickup. Here's a still of that scene." + +He stepped aside, revealing a viewscreen behind him; when he pressed a +button, the screen lighted; on it was a stationary picture of Kostran +Galth as Salgath Trod, his right hand raised in front of him. + +"Now watch this. I'm going to step up the magnification, slowly, so +that you can be sure there's no substitution. Camera a little closer, +Trath!" + +The screen in the background seemed to advance, until it filled the +entire screen. Yandar Yadd was still talking, out of the picture; a +metal-tipped pointer came into the picture, touching the right thumb, +which grew larger and larger until it was the only thing visible. + +"Now here," Yandar Yadd's voice continued. "Any of you who are +familiar with the ancient science of dactyloscopy will recognize this +thumb as having the ridge-pattern known as a 'twin loop.' Even with +the high degree of magnification possible with the microgrid screen, +we can't bring out the individual ridges, but the pattern is +unmistakable. I ask you to memorize that image, while I show you +another right thumb print, this time a certified photo-copy of the +thumb print of the real Salgath Trod." The magnification was reduced a +little, a card was moved into the picture, and it was stepped up +again. "See, this thumb print is of the type known as a 'tented arch.' +Observe the difference." + +"That does it!" Zostha Olv cried. "Karf, for the first and last time, +let me remind you that I opposed this lunacy from the beginning. Now, +what are we going to do next?" + +"I suggest that we get to Headquarters as soon as we can," Tortha Karf +said. "If we wait too long, we may not be able to get in." + +Yandar Yadd was back on the screen, denouncing Tortha Karf +passionately. Tortha went over and snapped it off. + +"I suggest we transpose to PolTerm," Lovranth Rolk said. "It won't be +so easy for them to serve a summons on us there." + +"You can go to PolTerm if you want to," Tortha Karf retorted. "I'm +going to stay here and fight back, and if they try to serve me with a +summons, they'd better send a robot for a process server." + +"Fight back!" Zostha Olv echoed. "You can't fight the Council and the +whole Management! They'll tear you into inch bits!" + +"I can hold them off till Vall's able to raid those Abzar Sector +bases," Tortha Karf said. He thought for a moment. "Maybe this is all +for the best, after all. If it distracts the Organization's +attention--" + + * * * * * + +"I wish we could have made a boomerang-ball reconnaissance," Ranthar +Jard was saying, watching one of the viewscreens, in which a film, +taken from an airboat transposed to an adjoining Abzar sector time +line, was being shown. The boat had circled over the Ganges, a mere +trickle between wide, deeply cut banks, and was crossing a gullied +plain, sparsely grown with thornbush. "The base ought to be about +there, but we have no idea what sort of changes this gang has made." + +"Well, we couldn't: we didn't dare take the chance of it being +spotted. This has to be a complete surprise. It'll be about like the +other place, the one the slaves described. There won't be any +permanent buildings. This operation only started a few months ago, +with the Croutha invasion; it may go on for four or five months, till +the Croutha have all their surplus captives sold off. That country," +he added, gesturing at the screen, "will be flooded out when the rains +come. See how it's suffered from flood-erosion. There won't be a thing +there that can't be knocked down and transposed out in a day or so." + +"I wish you'd let me go along," Ranthar Jard worried. + +"We can't do that, either," Vall said. "Somebody's got to be in charge +here, and you know your own people better than I do. Beside, this +won't be the last operation like this. Next time, I'll have to stay on +Police Terminal and command from a desk; I want first-hand experience +with the outtime end of the job, and this is the only way I can get +it." + +He watched the four police-girls who were working at the big terrain +board showing the area of the Police Terminal time line around them. +They had covered the miniature buildings and platforms and towers with +a fine mesh, at a scale-equivalent of fifty feet; each intersection +marked the location of a three-foot conveyer ball, loaded with a +sleep-gas bomb and rigged with an automatic detonator which would +explode it and release the gas as soon as it rematerialized on the +Abzar Sector. Higher, on stiff wires that raised them to what +represented three thousand feet, were the disks that stood for ten +hundred-foot conveyers; they would carry squads of Paratime Police in +aircars and thirty-foot air boats. There was a ring of big +two-hundred-foot conveyers a mile out; they would carry the armor and +the airborne infantry and the little two-man scooters of the +air-cavalry, from the Service and Industrial Sectors. Directly over +the spatial equivalent of the Kholghoor Sector Wizard Traders' +conveyers was the single disk of Verkan Vall's command conveyer, at a +represented five thousand feet, and in a half-mile circle around it +were the five news service conveyers. + +"Where's the ship-conveyer?" he asked. + +"Actually it's on antigrav about five miles north of here," one of the +girls said. "Representationally, about where Subchief Ranthar's +standing." + +Another girl added a few more bits to the network that represented the +sleep-gas bombs and stepped back, taking off her earphones. + +"Everything's in place, now, Assistant Verkan," she told him. + +"Good. I'm going aboard, now," he said. "You can have it, Jard." + +He shook hands with Ranthar Jard, who moved to the switch which would +activate all the conveyers simultaneously, and accepted the good +wishes of the girls at the terrain board. Then he walked to the +mesh-covered dome of the hundred-foot conveyer, with the five news +service conveyers surrounding it in as regular a circle as the +buildings and towers of the regular conveyer heads would permit. The +members of his own detail, smoking and chatting outside, saw him and +started moving inside; so did the news people. A public-address +speaker began yelping, in a hundred voices all over the area, warning +those who were going with the conveyers to get aboard. He went in +through a door, between two aircars, and on to the central +control-desks, going up to a visiscreen over which somebody had +crayoned "Novilan EQ." It gave him a view, over the shoulder of a man +in the uniform of a field agent third class, of the interior of a +conveyer like his own. + + * * * * * + +"Hello, Assistant Verkan," a voice came out of the speaker under the +screen, as the man moved his lips. "Deputy Skordran! Here's Chief's +Assistant Verkan, now!" + +Skordran Kirv moved in front of the screen as the operator got up from +his stool. + +"Hello, Vall; we're all set to move out as soon as you give the word," +he said. "We're all in position on antigrav." + +"That's smart work. We've just finished our gas-bomb net," Vall said. +"Going on antigrav now," he added, as he felt the dome lift. "I hope +you won't be too disappointed if you draw a blank on your end." + +"We realize that they've closed out the whole Esaron Sector," Skordran +Kirv, eight thousand odd miles away, replied. "We're taking in a +couple of ships; we're going to make a survey all up the coast. There +are a lot of other sectors where slaves can be sold in this area." + +In the outside viewscreen, tuned to a slowly rotating pickup on the +top of a tower spatially equivalent with a room in a tall building on +Second Level Triplanetary Empire Sector, he could see his own conveyer +rising vertically, with the news conveyers following, and the troop +conveyers, several miles away, coming into position. Finally, they +were all placed; he reported the fact to Skordran Kirv and then picked +up a hand-phone. + +"Everybody ready for transposition?" he called. "On my count. Thirty +seconds ... Twenty seconds ... Fifteen seconds ... Five seconds ... +Four seconds ... Three seconds ... Two seconds ... One second, _out!_" + +All the screens went gray. The inside of the dome passed into another +space-time continuum, even into another kind of space-time. The +transposition would take half an hour; that seemed to be the time +needed to build up and collapse the transposition field, regardless of +the paratemporal distance covered. The dome above and around them +vanished; the bare, tower-forested, building-dotted world of Police +Terminal vanished, too, into the uniform green of the uninhabited +Fifth Level. A planet could take pretty good care of itself, he +thought, if people would only leave it alone. Then he began to see the +fields and villages of Fourth Level. Cities appeared and vanished, +growing higher and vaster as they went across the more civilized Third +Level. One was under air attack--there was almost never a paratemporal +transposition which did not run through some scene of battle. + +He unbuckled his belt and took off his boots and tunic; all around +him, the others were doing the same. Sleep-gas didn't have to be +breathed; it could enter the nervous system by any orifice or lesion, +even a pore or a scratch. A spacesuit was the only protection. One of +the detectives helped him on with his metal and plastic armor; before +sealing his gauntlets, he reciprocated the assistance, then checked +the needler and blaster and the long batonlike ultrasonic paralyzer on +his belt and made sure that the radio and sound-phones in his helmet +were working. He hoped that the frantic efforts to gather several +thousand spacesuits onto Police Terminal from the Industrial and +Commercial and Interplanetary Sectors hadn't started rumors which had +gotten to the ears of some of the Organization's ubiquitous agents. + + * * * * * + +The country below was already turning to the parched browns and +yellows of the Abzar Sector. There was not another of the conveyers in +sight, but electronic and mechanical lag in the individual controls +and even the distance-difference between them and the central radio +control would have prevented them from going into transposition at the +same fractional microsecond. The recon-details began piling into their +cars. Then the red light overhead winked to green, and the dome +flickered and solidified into cold, inert metal. The screens lighted +up again, and Vall could see Skordran Kirv, across Asia and the +Pacific, getting into his helmet. A dot of light in the center of the +underview screen widened as the mesh under the conveyer irised open +around the pickup. + +Below, the Organization base--big rectangles of fenced slave pens, +with metal barracks inside; the huge circle of the Kholghoor Sector +conveyer-head building, and a smaller structure that must house +conveyers to other Abzar Sector time lines; the work-shops and living +quarters and hangars and warehouses and docks--was wreathed in +white-green mist. The ring of conveyers at three thousand feet were +opening and spewing out aircars and airboats, farther away, the +greater ring of heavy conveyers were unloading armored and shielded +combat-craft. An aircar which must have been above the reach of the +gas was streaking away toward the west, with three police cars after +it. As he watched, the air around it fairly sizzled blue with the rays +of neutron disruption blasters, and then it blew apart. The three +police cars turned and came back more slowly. The three-thousand-ton +passenger ship which had been hastily fitted with armament was +circling about; the great dock conveyer which had brought it was gone, +transposed back to Police Terminal to pick up another ship. + +He recorded a message announcing the arrival of the task-force, pulled +out the tape and sealed it in a capsule, and put the capsule in a mesh +message ball, attaching it to a couple of wires and flipping a switch. +The ball flashed and vanished, leaving the wires cleanly sheared off. +When it got back to Police Terminal, half an hour later, it would +rematerialize, eject a parachute, and turn on a whistle to call +attention to itself. Then he sealed on his helmet, climbed into an +aircar, and turned on his helmet-radio to speak to the driver. The car +lifted a few inches, floated out an open port, and dived downward. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +He landed at the big conveyer-head building. There were spaces for +fifty conveyers around it, and all but eight of them were in place. +One must have arrived since the gas bombs burst; it was crammed with +senseless Kharanda slaves. A couple of Paratime Police officers were +towing a tank of sleep-gas around on an antigrav-lifter, maintaining +the proper concentration in case any more came in. At the smaller +conveyer building, there were no conveyers, only a number of red-lined +fifty-foot circles around a central two-hundred-foot circle. The +Organization personnel there had been dragged outside, and a group of +paracops were sealing it up, installing robot watchmen, and preparing +to flood it with gas. At the slave pens, a string of two-hundred-foot +conveyers, having unloaded soldiers and fighting-gear, were coming in +to take on unconscious slaves for transposition to Police Terminal. +Aircars and airboats were bringing in gassed slavers; they were being +shackled and dumped into the slave barracks; as soon as the gas +cleared and they could be brought back to consciousness, they would be +narco-hypnotized and questioned. + +He had finished a tour of the warehouses, looking at the kegs of +gunpowder and the casks of brandy, the piles of pig lead, the stacks +of cases containing muskets. These must have all come from some +low-order handcraft time line. Then there were swords and hatchets +and knives that had been made on Industrial Sector--the Organization +must be getting them through some legitimate trading company--and +mirrors and perfumes and synthetic fiber textiles and cheap jewelry, +of similar provenance. It looked as though this stuff had been brought +in by ship from somewhere else on this time line; the warehouses were +too far from the conveyers and right beside the ship dock-- + +There was a tremendous explosion somewhere. Vall and the men with him +ran outside, looking about, the sound-phones of their helmets giving +them no idea of the source of the sound. One of the policemen pointed, +and Vall's eyes followed his arm. The ship that had been transposed in +in the big conveyer was falling, blown in half; as he looked, both +sections hit the ground several miles away. A strange ship, a +freighter, was coming in fast, and as he watched, a blue spark winked +from her bow as a heavy-duty blaster was activated. There was another +explosion, overhead; they all ran for shelter as Vall's +command-conveyer disintegrated into falling scrap-metal. At once, all +the other conveyers which were on antigrav began flashing and +vanishing. That was the right, the only, thing to do, he knew. But it +was leaving him and his men isolated and under attack. + + * * * * * + +"So that was it," Dalgroth Sorn, the Paratime Commissioner for +Security said, relieved when Tortha Karf had finished. + +"Yes, and I'll repeat it under narco-hyp, too," Tortha Karf added. + +"Oh, don't talk that way, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn scolded. He was at +least a century Tortha Karf's senior; he had the face of an elderly +and sore-toothed lion. "You wanted to keep this prisoner under wraps +till you could mind-pump him, and you wanted the Organization to think +Salgath was alive and talking. I approve both. But--" + +He gestured to the viewscreen across the room, tuned to a pickup back +of the Speaker's chair in the Council Chamber. Tortha Karf turned a +knob to bring the sound volume up. + +"Well. I'm raising this point," a member from the Management seats in +the center was saying, "because these earlier charges of illegal +arrest and illegal detention are part and parcel with the charges +growing out of the telecast last evening." + +"Well, that telecast was a fake; that's been established," somebody on +the left heckled. + +"Councilman Salgath's confession on the evening of One-Six-Two Day +wasn't a fake, the Management supporter, Nanthav Skov, retorted. + +"Well, then why was it necessary to fake the second one?" + +A light began winking on the big panel in front of the Speaker, Asthar +Varn. + +"I recognize Councilman Hasthor Flan," Asthar said. + +"I believe I can construct a theory that will explain that," Hasthor +Flan said. "I suggest that when the Paratime Police were questioning +Councilman Salgath under narco-hypnosis, he made statements +incriminating either the Paratime Police as a whole or some member of +the Paratime Police whom Tortha Karf had to protect--say somebody like +Assistant Verkan. So they just killed him, and made up this +impostor--" + +Tortha Karf began, alphabetically, to blaspheme every god he had ever +heard of. He had only gotten as far as a Fourth Level deity named +Allah when a red light began flashing in front of Asthar Varn, and the +voice of a page-robot, amplified, roared: + +"Point of special urgency! Point of special urgency! It has been +requested that the news telecast screen be activated at once, with +playback to 1107. An important bulletin has just come in from +Nagorabar, Home Time Line, on the Indian subcontinent--" + +"You can stop swearing, now, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn grinned. "I think +this is it." + + * * * * * + +Kostran Galth sat on the edge of the couch, with one arm around +Zinganna's waist; on the other side of him, Hadron Dalla lay at full +length, her elbows propped and her chin in her hands. The screen in +front of them showed a fading sunset, although it was only a little +past noon at Dhergabar Equivalent. A dark ship was coming slowly in +against the red sky; in the center of a wire-fenced compound a +hundred-foot conveyer hung on antigrav twenty feet from the ground, +and beyond, a long metal prefab-shed was spilling light from open +doors and windows. + +"That crowd that was just taken in won't be finished for a couple of +hours," a voice was saying. "I don't know how much they'll be able to +tell; the psychists say they're all telling about the same stories. +What those stories are, of course, I'm not able to repeat. After the +trouble caused by a certain news commentator who shall be +nameless--he's not connected with this news service, I'm happy to +say--we're all leaning over backward to keep from breaking Paratime +Police security. + +"One thing; shortly after the arrival of the second ship from Police +Terminal--and believe me, that ship came in just in the nick of +time!--the dead Abzar city which the criminals were using as their +main base for this time line, and from which they launched the air +attack against us, was located, and now word has come in that it is +entirely in the hands of the Paratime Police. Personally, I doubt if a +great deal of information has been gotten from any prisoners taken +there. The lengths to which this Organization went to keep their own +people in ignorance is simply unbelievable." + +A man appeared for a moment in the lighted doorway of the shed, then +stepped outside. + +"Look!" Dalla cried. "There's Vall!" + +"There's Assistant Verkan, now," the commentator agreed. "Chief's +Assistant, would you mind saying a few words, here? I know you're a +busy man, sir, but you are also the public hero of Home Time Line, and +everybody will be glad if you say something to them--" + + * * * * * + +Tortha Karf sealed the door of the apartment behind them, then +activated one of the robot servants and sent it gliding out of the +room for drinks. Verkan Vall took off his belt and holster and laid +them aside, then dropped into a deep chair with a sigh of relief. +Dalla advanced to the middle of the room and stood looking about in +surprised delight. + +"Didn't expect this, from the mess outside?" Vall asked. "You know, +you really are on the paracops, now. Nobody off the Force knows about +this hideout of the Chief's." + +"You'd better find a place like this, too," Tortha Karf advised. "From +now on, you'll have about as much privacy at that apartment in +Turquoise Towers as you'd enjoy on the stage of Dhergabar Opera +House." + +"Just what is my new position?" Vall asked, hunting his cigarette case +out of his tunic. "Duplicate Chief of Paratime Police?" + + * * * * * + +The robot came back with three tall glasses and a refrigerated +decanter on its top. It stopped in front of Tortha Karf and slewed +around on its treads; he filled a glass and sent it to the chair where +Dalla had seated herself; when she got a drink, she sent it to Vall. +Vall sent if back to Tortha Karf, who turned it off. + +"No; you have the modifier in the wrong place. You're Chief of +Duplicate Paratime Police. You take the setup you have now, and expand +it; continue the present lines of investigation, and be ready to +exploit anything new that comes up. You won't bother with any of this +routine flying-saucer-scare stuff; just handle the Organization +business. That'll keep you busy for a long time, I'm afraid." + +"I notice you slammed down on the first Council member who began +shouting about how you'd wiped out the Great Paratemporal Crime-Ring," +Vall said. + +"Yes. It isn't wiped out, and it won't be wiped out for a long time. I +shall be unspeakably delighted if, when I turn my job over to you, you +have it wiped out. And even then, there'll be a loose end to pick up +every now and then till you retire." + +"We have Council and the Management with us, now," Vall said. "This +was the first secret session of Executive Council in over two thousand +years. And I thought I'd drop dead when they passed that motion to +submit themselves to narco-hypnosis." + +"A few Councilmen are going to drop dead before they can be +narco-hypped," Dalla prophesied over the rim of her glass. + +"A few have already. I have a list of about a dozen of them who have +had fatal accidents or committed suicide, or just died or vanished +since the news of your raid broke. Four of them I saw, in the screen, +jump up and run out as soon as the news came in, on One-Six-Five Day. +And a lot of other people; our friend Yandar Yadd's dropped out of +sight, for one. You heard what we got out of those servants of Salgath +Trod's?" + +"I didn't," Dalla said. "What?" + +"Both spies for the Organization. They reported to a woman named +Farilla, who ran a fortune-telling parlor in the Prole district. Her +occult powers didn't warn her before we sent a squad of plain-clothes +men for her. That was an entirely illegal arrest, by the way, but it +netted us a list of about three hundred prominent political, business +and social persons whose servants have been reporting to her. She +thought she was working for a telecast gossipist." + +"That's why we have a new butler, darling," Vall interrupted. +"Kandagro was reporting on us." + +"Who did she pass the reports on to?" Dalla asked. + +Tortha Karf beamed. "She thinks more like a cop every time I talk to +her," he told Vall. "You better appoint her your Special Assistant. +Why, about 1800 every day, some Prole would come in, give the +recognition sign, and get the day's accumulation. We only got one of +them, a fourteen-year-old girl. We're having some trouble getting her +deconditioned to a point where she can be hypnotized into talking; by +the time we do, they'll have everything closed out, I suppose. What's +the latest from Abzar Sector? I missed the last report in the rush to +get to this Council session." + +"All stalled. We're still boomeranging the sector, but it's about five +billion time-lines deep, and the pattern for the Kholghoor and Esaron +Sectors doesn't seem to apply. I think they have a lot of these Abzar +time lines close together, and they get from one to another via some +terminal on Fifth Level." + +Tortha Karf nodded. It was impossible to make a transposition of less +than ten parayears--a hundred thousand time lines. It was impossible +that the field could build and collapse that soon. + +"We also think that this Abzar time line was only used for the +Croutha-Wizard Trader operation. Nothing we found there was more than +a couple of months old; nothing since the last rainy season in India, +for instance. Everything was cleaned out on Skordran Kirv's end." + +"Tell him to try the Mississippi, Missouri and Ohio Valleys," Tortha +Karf said. "A lot of those slaves are sure to have been sold to Second +Level Khiftan Sector." + +"Well, it looks as though our vacation's out the window for a long +time," Dalla said resignedly. + +"Why don't you and Vall go to my farm, on Fifth Level Sicily," Tortha +Karf suggested. "I own the whole island, on that time line, and you +can always be reached in a hurry if anything comes up." + +"We could have as much fun there as on the Dwarma Sector," Dalla +said. "Chief, could we take a couple of friends along?" + +"Well, who?" + +"Zinganna and Kostran Galth," she replied. "They've gotten interested +in one another; they're talking about a tentative marriage." + +"It'll have to be mighty tentative," Vall said. "Kostran Galth can't +marry a Prole." + +"She won't be a Prole very long. I'm going to adopt her as my sister." + +Tortha Karf looked at her sharply. "You sure you know what you're +doing, Dalla?" he asked. + +"Of course I'm sure. I know that girl better than she knows herself. I +narco-hypped her, remember. Zinna's the kind of a sister I've always +wished I'd had." + +"Well, that's all right then. But about this marriage. She was in love +with Salgath Trod," Tortha Karf said. "Now, she's identifying Agent +Kostran with him--" + +"She was in love with the kind of man Salgath could have been if he +hadn't gotten into this Organization filth," Dalla replied. "Galth is +that kind of a man. They'll get along all right." + +"Well, she'll qualify on IQ and general psych rating for Citizenship. +I'll say that. And she's the kind of girl I like to see my boys take +up with. Like you, Dalla. Yes, of course; take them along with you. +Sicily's big enough that two couples won't get in each others' way." + +A phone-robot, its slender metal stem topped by a metal globe, slid +into the room on its ball-rollers, moving falteringly, like a blind +man. It could sense Tortha Karf's electro-encephalic wave-patterns, +but it was having trouble locating the source. They all sat +motionless, waiting; finally it came over to Tortha Karf's chair and +stopped. He unhooked the phone and held a lengthy whispered +conversation with somebody before replacing it. + +"Now, there," he explained to Dalla. "That's a sample of why we have +to set up this duplicate organization. Revolution just broke out at +Ftanna, on Third Level Tsorshay Sector; a lot of our people, mostly +tourists and students, are cut off from their conveyers by street +fighting. Going to be a pretty bloody business getting them out." He +finished his drink and got to his feet. "Sit still; I just have to +make a few screen-calls. Send the robot for something to eat, Vall. +I'll be right back." + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Crime, by H. 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