ector, but the belt seems to be one we haven't any information at
all for. Never been any legitimate penetration by paratimers. He has
his own hagiologists, and a couple borrowed from Outtime Religious
Institute; they've gotten everything the slaves can give them on that.
About the only thing to do is start random observation with
boomerang-balls."

"Over about a hundred thousand time lines," Zostha Olv scoffed. He was
an old man, even for his long-lived race; he had a thin nose and a
narrow, bitter, mouth. "And what will he look for?"

"Croutha with guns." Tortha Karf told him, then turned to Vall. "Can't
he narrow it more than that? What have his experts been getting out of
those slaves?"

"That I don't know, to date." Vall looked at the clock. "I'll find
out, though; I'll transpose to Police Terminal and call him up. And
Skordran Kirv. No. Vulthor Tharn; it'd hurt the old fellow's feelings
if I by-passed him and went to one of his subordinates. Half an hour
each way, and at most another hour talking to Ranthar and Vulthor;
there won't be anything doing here for two hours." He rose. "See you
when I get back."

Dalla had turned on the telescreen again; after tuning out a dance
orchestra and a comedy show, she got the image of an angry-faced man
in evening clothes.

"... And I'm going to demand a full investigation, as soon as Council
convenes tomorrow morning!" he was shouting. "This whole story is a
preposterous insult to the integrity of the entire Executive Council,
your elected representatives, and it shows the criminal lengths to
which this would-be dictator, Tortha Karf, and his jackal Verkan Vall
will go--"

"So long, jackal." Dalla called to him as he went out.

* * * * *

He spent the half-hour transposition to Police Terminal sleeping.
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. It was 0600 in India; the
Sector Regional Deputy Subchief who was holding down Ranthar Jard's
desk looked equally sleepy; he had a mug of coffee in front of him,
and a brown-paper cigarette in his mouth.

"Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. Want me to call Subchief Ranthar?"

"Is he sleeping? Then for mercy's sake don't. What's the present
status of the investigation?"

"Well, we were dropping