“We have our friends on Executive Council,” Tortha Karf said.  “I’ll see that that point is raised when Council re-convenes.”  He looked at the clock.  “That’ll be in three hours, by the way.  If it doesn’t accomplish another thing, it’ll put Salgath Trod in the middle.  He can’t demand an investigation of the Paratime Police out of one side of his mouth and oppose an investigation of Psychological Hygiene out of the other.  Now what else have we to talk about?”

[Illustration:]

“Those hundred slaves we got off the Esaron Sector,” Vall said.  “What are we going to do with them?  And if we locate the time line the slavers have their bases on, we’ll have hundreds, probably thousands, more.”

“We can’t sort them out and send them back to their own time lines, even if that would be desirable,” Tortha Karf decided.  “Why, settle them somewhere on the Service Sector.  I know, the Paratime Transposition Code limits the Service Sector to natives of time lines below second-order barbarism, but the Paratime Transposition Code has been so badly battered by this business that a few more minor literal infractions here and there won’t make any difference.  Where are they now?”

“Police Terminal, Nharkan Equivalent.”

“Better hold them there, for the time being.  We may have to open a new ServSec time line to take care of all the slaves we find, if we can locate the outtime base line these people are using—­Vall, this thing’s too big to handle as a routine operation, along with our other work.  You take charge of it.  Set up your headquarters here, and help yourself to anything in the way of personnel and equipment you need.  And bear in mind that this confidence vote is coming up in ten days—­on the morning of One-Seven-Two Day.  I’m not asking for any miracles, but if we don’t get this thing cleared up by then, we’re in for trouble.”

“I realize that, sir.  Dalla, you’d better go back to Home Time Line, with the Chief,” he said.  “There’s nothing you can do to help me, here, at present.  Get some rest, and then try to wangle an invitation for the two of us to dinner at Thalvan Dras’ apartments this evening.”  He turned back to Tortha Karf.  “Even if he never pays any attention to business, Dras still owns Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs,” he said.  “He might be able to find out, or help us find out, how the story about those slaves leaked out of his company.”

“Well, that won’t take much doing,” Dalla said.  “If there’s as much excitement on Home Time Line as I think, Dras would turn somersaults and jump through hoops to get us to one of his dinners, right now.”

* * * * *

Salgath Trod pushed the litter of papers and record-tape spools to one side impatiently.

“Well, what else did you expect?” he demanded.  “This was the logical next move.  BuPsychHyg is supposed to detect anybody who believes in looking out for his own interests first, and condition him into a pious law-abiding sucker.  Well, the sacred Bureau of Sucker-Makers slipped up on a lot of us.  It’s a natural alibi for Tortha Karf.”