r, and got himself shot
trying to escape. I felt badly about that, but--" Tortha Karf shrugged.
"Anything else happen on the trip?"

"I ran through a belt of intermittent nucleonic bombing on the Second
Level." Verkan Vall mentioned an approximate paratime location.

"Aaagh! That Khiftan civilization--by courtesy so called!" Tortha Karf
pulled a wry face. "I suppose the intra-family enmities of the Hvadka
Dynasty have reached critical mass again. They'll fool around till
they blast themselves back to the stone age."

"Intellectually, they're about there, now. I had to operate in that
sector, once--Oh, yes, another thing, sir. This rifle." Verkan Vall
picked it up, emptied the magazine, and handed it to his superior.
"The supplies office slipped up on this; it's not appropriate to my
line of operation. It's a lovely rifle, but it's about two hundred
percent in advance of existing arms design on my line. It excited the
curiosity of a couple of police officers and a game-protector, who
should be familiar with the weapons of their own time-line. I evaded
by disclaiming ownership or intimate knowledge, and they seemed
satisfied, but it worried me."

"Yes. That was made in our duplicating shops, here in Dhergabar." Tortha
Karf carried it to a photographic bench, behind his desk. "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. 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.

"There seems to be quite a few things going wrong, in that area,"
he said. "Let's see, now."

He punched the designation on a keyboard; instantly, it appeared on
a translucent screen in front of him. He punched another combination,
and, at the top of the screen, under the number, there appeared:

EVENTS, PAST ELAPSED FIVE YEARS.

He punched again; below this line appeared the sub-heading:

EVENTS INVOLVING PARAT