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I'mgoing to transpose to Police Terminal Time Line and make my report tothe Sector-Regional Subchief. Then--"

  "Now wait a moment, Kirv," Dosu Golan protested. "After all, I'm themanager, 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. "Youknow the terms under which I was hired by the Company. I'm still afield agent of the Paratime Police, and I'm reporting back on duty assoon as I can transpose to Police Terminal. Look; here are a hundredmen and women who have been shifted from one time-line, on oneparatemporal sector of probability, to another. Why, the world fromwhich these people came doesn't even exist in this space-timecontinuum. There's only one way they could have gotten here, andthat's the way we did--in a Ghaldron-Hesthor paratemporaltransposition field. You can carry it on from there as far as youlike, but the only thing it adds up to is a case for the ParatimePolice. You had better include in your report mention that I'vereverted to police status; my Company pay ought to be stopped as ofnow. And until somebody who outranks me is sent here, I'm in completecharge. Paratime Transposition Code, Section XVII, Article 238."

  The plantation manager nodded. Kiro Soran knew how he must feel; helaid 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 lookedat the brown-skinned slaves, and lines of horror and loathing appearedaround his mouth. "To think that some of our own people would do athing like this! I hope you can catch the devils! Are you transposingout, now?"

  "In a few minutes. While I'm gone, have the doctor look at thosewhip-injuries. Those things could get infected. Fortunately, he's oneof our own people."

  "Yes, of course. And I'll have these slaves isolated, and if Adaradabrings back Coru-hin-Irigod and his gang before you get back, I'llhave them locked up and waiting for you. I suppose you want tonarco-hypnotize and question the whole lot, slaves and slavers?"

  The labor foreman, known locally as Urado Alatena, entered thestockade.

  "What's wrong, Kirv?" he asked.

  The Paratime Police agent told him, briefly. The labor foremanwhistled, threw a quick glance at the nearest slaves, and nodded.

  "I knew there was something funny about them," he said. "Doth, what asimply beastly thing to happen, two days after you take charge here!"

  "Not his fault," the Paratime Police agent said. "I'm the one theCompany'll be sore at, but I'd rather have them down on me rather thanold Tortha Karf. Well, sit on the lid till I get back," he told bothof them. "We'll need some kind of a story for the locals. Let'ssee--Explain to the guards, in the hearing of some of the moretalkative slaves, that these slaves are from the Asian mainland, thatthey are of a people friendly to our people, and that they werekidnaped by pirates, our enemies. That ought to explain everythingsatisfactorily."

  On his way back to the plantation house, he saw a clump of localslaves staring curiously at the stockade, and noticed that the guardshad unslung their rifles and fixed their bayonets. None of them hadany idea, of course, of what had happened, but they all seemed toknow, by some sort of ESP, that something was seriously wrong. It wasgoing to get worse, too, when strangers began arriving, apparentlyfrom nowhere, at the plantation.

  * * * * *

  Verkan Vall waited until the small, dark-eyed woman across thecircular table had helped herself from one of the bowls on therevolving disk in the middle, then rotated it to bring the platter ofcold boar-ham around to himself.

  "Want some of this, Dalla?" he asked, transferring a slice of ham anda spoonful of wine sauce to his plate.

  "No, I'll have some of the venison," the black-haired girl beside himsaid. "And some of the pickled beans. We'll be getting our fill ofpork, for the next month."

  "I thought the Dwarma Sector people were vegetarians," Jandar Jard,the theatrical designer, said. "Most nonviolent peoples are, aren'tthey?"

  "Well, the Dwarma people haven't any specific taboo against takinglife," Bronnath Zara, the dark-eyed woman in the brightly coloredgown, told him. "They're just utterly noncombative, nonaggressive.When I was on the Dwarma Sector, there was a horrible scandal at thevillage where I was staying. It seems that a farmer and a meat butcherfought over the price of a pig. They actually raised their voices andshouted 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 andVall 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 Dwarmasongs by hypno-mech," Dalla said. "And Transtime Tours is fitting Vallout 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 thefine decorative work they do, they're the most incompetent practicalmechanics I've ever seen or heard of. You're going to travel fromvillage to village?"

  "Yes. The cover-story is that we're lovers who have left our villagein order not to make Vall's former wife unhappy by our presence,"Dalla said.

  "Oh, good! That's entirely in the Dwarma romantic tradition," BronnathZara approved. "Ordinarily, you know, they don't like to travel. Theyhave a saying: 'Happy are the trees, they abide in their own place;sad are the winds, forever they wander.' But that'll be a fineexplanation."

  Thalvan Dras, the big man with the black beard and the long red coatand cloth-of-gold sash who lounged in the host's seat, laughed.

  "I can just see Vall mending pots, and Dalla playing that mandolin andsinging," 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 talkto him about it till he gets ashamed, then they all forgive him andhave a feast. They're lovely people, so kind and gentle. But you'llget awfully tired of them in about a month. They have absolutely norespect for anybody's privacy. In fact, it seems slightly indecent tothem for anybody to want privacy."

  One of Thalvan Dras' human servants came into the room, coughedapologetically, and said:

  "A visiphone-call for His Valor, the Mavrad of Nerros."

  Vall went on nibbling ham and wine sauce; the servant repeated theannouncement a trifle more loudly.

  ]

  "Vall, you're being paged!" Thalvan Dras told him, with a touch ofimpatience.

  Verkan Vall looked blank for an instant, then grinned. It had been solong since he had even bothered to think about that antiquated titleof nobility--

  "Vall's probably forgotten that he has a title," a girl across thetable, 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 beencattishness.

  Thalvan Dras gave him a hastily repressed look of venomous anger, thensaid something, more to Verkan Vall than to Jandar Jard, about titlesof nobility being the marks of social position and responsibilitywhich their bearers should never forget. That jab, Vall thought,following the servant out of the room, had been a mistake on Jard'spart. A music-drama, for which he had designed the settings, was dueto open here in Dhergabar in another ten days. Thalvan Dras wouldcherish spite, and a word from the Mavrad of Mnirna and Thalvabarwould set a dozen critics to disparaging Jandar's work. On the otherhand, maybe it had been smart of Jandar Jard to antagonize ThalvanDras; for every critic who bowed slavishly to the wealthy nobleman,there were at least two more who detested him unutterably, and theywould rush to Jandar Jard's defense, and in the ensuing uproar, thesettings would get more publicity than the drama itself.

  * *
* * *

  In the visiphone booth, Vall found a girl in a green blouse, with theParatime 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 Chiefwants to talk to you. Just a moment, please."

  The screen exploded into a kaleidoscopic flash of lights and colors,then cleared