Special Chief's
Assistant Verkan Vall," he identified himself. "Speaking from office of
Tortha Karf, Chief Paratime Police. I want a complete hypno-mech on
Venusian nighthounds, emphasis on wild state, special emphasis
domesticated nighthounds reverted to wild state in terrestrial
surroundings, extra-special emphasis hunting techniques applicable to
same. The word 'nighthound' will do for trigger-symbol." He turned to
Tortha Karf. "Can I take it here?"

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. Carried him about a hundred or so
parayears; picked him up about three hundred parayears after leaving
my other-line terminal. Nasty-looking fellow, in a black uniform;
looked like one of these private-army storm troopers you find all
through that sector. Armed, and hostile. I thought I'd have to ray
him, but he blundered outside the field almost at once. I have a
record, if you'd care to see it."

"Yes, put it on," Tortha Karf gestured toward the solidograph-projector.
"It's set for miniature reproduction here on the desk; that be all
right?"

Verkan Vall nodded, getting out the film and loading it into the
projector. When he pressed a button, a dome of radiance appeared on
the desk top; two feet in width and a foot in height. In the middle
of this appeared a small solidograph image of the interior of the
conveyor, showing the desk, and the control board, and the figure
of Verkan Vall seated at it. The little figure of the storm trooper
appeared, pistol in hand. The little Verkan Vall snatched up his tiny
needler; the storm trooper moved into one side of the dome and
vanished.

Verkan Vall flipped a switch and cut out the image.

"Yes. I don't know what causes that, but it happens, now and then,"
Tortha Karf said. "Usually at the beginning of a transposition. I
remember, when I was just a kid, about a hundred and fifty years ago--a
hundred and thirty-nine, to be exact--I picked up a fellow on the Fourth
Level, just about where you're operating, and dragged him a couple of
hundred parayears. I went back to find him and return him to his own
time-line, but before I could locate him, he'd been arrested by the
local authorities as a suspicious characte