The young man in the loose wrap-around tunic who entered was a stranger.  At least, his face and his voice were strange, but voices could be mechanically altered, and a skilled cosmetician could render any face unrecognizable.  He looked like a student, or a minor commercial executive, or an engineer, or something like that.  Of course, his tunic bulged slightly under the left armpit, but even the most respectable tunics showed occasional weapon-bulges.

“Good afternoon, councilman,” the newcomer said, sitting down across the desk from Salgath Trod.  “I was just talking to ... somebody we both know.”

Salgath Trod offered cigarettes, lighted his visitor’s and then his own.

“What does Our Mutual Friend think about all this?” he asked, gesturing toward the screen.

“Our Mutual Friend isn’t at all happy about it.”

“You think, perhaps, that I’m bursting into wild huzzas?” Salgath Trod asked.  “If I were to act as everybody expects me to, I’d be down there on the floor, now, clawing into the Management tooth and nail.  All my adherents are wondering why I’m not.  So are all my opponents, and before long one of them is going to guess the reason.”

“Well, why not go down?” the stranger asked.  “Our Mutual Friend thinks it would be an excellent idea.  The leak couldn’t be stopped, and it’s gone so far already that the Management will never be able to play it down.  So the next best thing is to try to exploit it.”

Salgath Trod smiled mirthlessly.  “So I am to get in front of it, and lead it in the right direction?  Fine ... as long as I don’t stumble over something.  If I do, it’ll go over me like a Fifth Level bison-herd.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the stranger laughed reassuringly.  “There are others on the floor who are also friends of Our Mutual Friend.  Here:  what you’d better do is attack the Paratime Police, especially Tortha Karf and Verkan Vall.  Accuse them of negligence and incompetence, and, by implication, of collusion, and demand a special committee to investigate.  And try to get a motion for a confidence vote passed.  A motion to censure the Management, say—­”

Salgath Trod nodded.  “It would delay things, at least.  And if Our Mutual Friend can keep properly covered, I might be able to overturn the Management.”  He looked at the screen again.  “That old fool of a Nanthav is just getting started; it’ll be an hour before I could get recognized.  Plenty of time to get a speech together.  Something short and vicious—­”

“You’ll have to be careful.  It won’t do, with your political record, to try to play down these stories of a gigantic criminal conspiracy.  That’s too close to the Management line.  And at the same time, you want to avoid saying anything that would get Verkan Vall and Tortha Karf started off on any new lines of investigation.”

Salgath Trod nodded.  “Just depend on me; I’ll handle it.”

After the stranger had gone, he shut off the sound reception, relying on visual dumb-show to keep him informed of what was going on on the Council floor.  He didn’t like the situation.  It was too easy to say the wrong thing.  If only he knew more about the shadowy figures whose messengers used his private door—­