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again. This time, a man looked out of it. He was wellinto middle age; close to his three hundredth year. His hair, auniform iron-gray, was beginning to thin in front, and he wasacquiring 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 Dallaleaving?"

  "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 toPassenger Terminal Sixteen, and from there to the Dwarma Sector."

  "Well, Vall, I hate to bother you like this," Tortha Karf said, "but Iwish 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 totalk to you about it."

  "Well, Chief, let me remind you that this vacation, which I've had topostpone four times already, has been overdue for four years," Vallsaid.

  "Yes, Vall, I know. You've been working very hard, and you and Dallaare entitled to a little time together. I just want you to look intosomething, before you leave."

  "It'll have to take some fast looking. Our rocket blasts off in twohours."

  "It may take a little longer; if it does, you and Dalla can transposeto Police Terminal and take a rocket for Zarabar Equivalent, andtranspose from there to Passenger Sixteen. It would save time if youbrought Dalla with you to Headquarters."

  "Dalla won't like this," Vall understated.

  "No. I'm afraid not." Tortha Karf looked around apprehensively, asthough estimating the damage an enraged Hadron Dalla could do to hisoffice furnishings. "Well, try to get here as soon as you can."

  * * * * *

  Thalvan Dras was holding forth, when Vall returned, on one of hisfavorite preoccupations.

  "... Reason I'm taking such an especially active interest in thisyear's Arts Exhibitions; I've become disturbed at the extent to whichso many of our artists have been content to derive their motifs, eventheir techniques, from outtime art." He was using his vocowriter,rather than his conversational, voice. "I yield to no one in myappreciation of outtime art--you all know how devotedly I collectobjects of art from all over paratime--but our own artists shouldendeavor 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 youcome along."

  "Oh, no, Vall!" She looked at him in consternation. "Was that TorthaKarf, calling?" She replaced her plate on the table and got to herfeet.

  "I'm dreadfully sorry, Dras," he addressed their host. "I just had acall 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 awonderful luncheon--"

  "Why, certainly, Vall. Brogoth, will you call--" He gave a slightchuckle. "I'm so used to having Brogoth Zaln at my elbow that I'dforgotten he wasn't here. Wait. I'll call one of the servants to havea 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 noblemanwas shocked at such an obscene idea. "I will have a car ready for youin 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 weget back."

  * * * * *

  Hadron Dalla watched dejectedly as the green crags and escarpments ofthe Paratime Building loomed above the city in front of them, andbegan slipping under the aircab. She felt like a prisoner recapturedat the moment when attempted escape was about to succeed.

  "I knew it," she said. "I knew he'd find something. He's trying tobreak things up between us, the way he did twenty years ago.'"

  Vall crushed out his cigarette and said nothing. That hadn't beentrue, and she knew it as well as he did. There had been many otherfactors involved in the disintegration of their previous marriage,most of them of her own contribution. But that had been twenty yearsago, 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 thinksI'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 ofhis, on Fifth Level Sicily? It's just that this job of ours has noend; 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 ofhim. Something in the cab's electronic brain gave a rapid series ofclicks as it shifted from the general Paratime Building beam to thebeam of the Paratime Police landing stage, then it said, "Thank you."The building below seemed to rotate upward toward them as it settleddown. 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, andfloated downward; at the end of a hallway, below, Vall opened the doorof Tortha Karf's office and ushered her through ahead of him.

  Tortha Karf, inside the semicircle of his desk, was speaking into arecording 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--somethingabout prompter evaluation and transmission of reports and lessreliance on robot equipment. "Sign that up, my personal order, and seeit's transmitted to everybody down to and including Sector RegionalSubchief level," he finished, then hung up the phone and turned tothem.

  "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 handson her lap.

  "This won't interfere with your vacation, Vall," Tortha Karf wassaying. "I just need a little help before you transpose out."

  "We have to catch the rocket for Zarabar in an hour and a half," Dallareminded him.

  "Don't worry about that; if you miss the commercial rocket, our policerockets can give it an hour's start and pass it before it gets toZarabar," Tortha Karf said. Then he turned to Vall. "Here's what'shappened," he said. "One of our field agents on detached duty as guardcaptain for Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs on a fruit plantation inwestern North America, Third Level Esaron Sector, was looking over alot of slaves who had been sold to the plantation by a local slavedealer. He heard them talking among themselves--in Kharanda."

  Dalla caught the significance of that before Vall did. At first, shewas puzzled; then, in spite of herself, she was horrified and angry.Tortha Karf was explaining to Vall just where and on what paratemporalsector Kharanda was spoken.

  "No possibility that this agent, Skordran Kirv, could have beenmistaken. He worked for a while on Kholghoor Sector, himself; knew thelanguage by hypno-mech and by two years' use," Tortha Karf was saying."So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and theslave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal toreport. The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him incharge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple ofdetectives 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 morninggeneralized report-digest; very inconspicuous item, no special urgencysymbol or anything. Fortunately, one of the report editors spotted itand messaged Police Ter
minal 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 thecuriously withdrawn expression of a conscious memory recall. "Fiftyyears ago; the time that gang kidnaped some girls from Second LevelTriplanetary Empire Sector and sold them into the harem of some FourthLevel Indo-Turanian sultan."

  "Yes. That was your first independent