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Updated: June 12, 2025
"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.
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.
"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 have it checked, while you're taking your hypno-mech. Want to exchange it for something authentic?" "Why, no, sir. It's been identified to me, and I'd excite less suspicion with it than I would if I abandoned it and mysteriously acquired another rifle. I just wanted a check, and Supplies warned to be more careful in future." Tortha Karf nodded approvingly.
This would seem to exclude the sender of the package bomb." Tortha Karf nodded. He had reached that conclusion, himself. "Thus," Verkan Vall continued, "if her disappearance was the work of an enemy, she must have two enemies, each working in ignorance of the other's plans." "What do you think she did to provoke such enmity?"
"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.
Tortha Karf nodded, pointing to a row of booths along the far wall of the office. "Make set-up for wired transmission; I'll take it here." "Very well, sir; in fifteen minutes," a voice replied out of the communicator. Verkan Vall slid the communicator back. "By the way, sir; I had a hitchhiker, on the way back.
The young Mavrad of Nerros was thinking as a paratimer should. "What's the designation of your line, again?" Verkan Vall told him. It was a short numerical term of six places, but it expressed a number of the order of ten to the fortieth power, exact to the last digit. Tortha Karf repeated it into his stenomemograph, with explanatory comment.
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.
"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.
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