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Updated: May 24, 2025
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.
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?"
"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.
"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?"
"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.
"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.
"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.
"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.
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.
"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.
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