“Well, have some fun while you can,” the driver advised, reaching for the car-radio phone.  “Want me to check you in here, sir?”

“Yes, if you will.  Thank you.  Drenth.”

Kandagro, his human servant, admitted him to the apartment six floors down.

“Mistress Dalla is dressing,” he said.  “She asked me to tell you that you are invited to dinner, this evening, with Thalvan Dras at his apartment.”

Vall nodded.  “Ill talk to her about it now,” he said.  “Lay out my dress uniform:  short jacket, boots and breeches, and needler.”

“Yes, master:  I’ll go lay out your things and get your bath ready.”

The servant turned and went into the alcove which gave access to the dressing rooms, turning right into Vall’s.  Vall followed him, turning left into his wife’s.

“Oh, Dalla!” he called.

“In here!” her voice came out of her bathroom.

He passed through the dressing room, to find her stretched on a plastic-sheeted couch, while her maid, Rendarra, was rubbing her body vigorously with some pungent-smelling stuff about the consistency of machine-grease.  Her face was masked in the stuff, and her hair was covered with an elastic cap.  He had always suspected that beauty was the real feminine religion, from the willingness of its devotees to submit to martyrdom for it.  She wiggled a hand at him in greeting.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“So-so.  I organized myself a sort of miniature police force within a police force and I have liaison officers in every organization down to Sector Regional so that I can be informed promptly in case anything new turns up anywhere.  What’s been happening on Home Time Line?  I picked up a news-summary at Paratime Police Headquarters; it seems that a lot more stuff has leaked out.  Kholghoor Sector, Wizard Traders and all.  How’d it happen?”

Dalla rolled over to allow Rendarra to rub the blue-green grease on her back.

“Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs let a gang of reporters in, today.  I think they’re afraid somebody will accuse them of complicity, and they want to get their side of it before the public.  All our crowd are off that Time line except a couple of detectives at the plantation.”

“I know.”  He smiled; Dalla was thinking of the Paratime Police as “our crowd” now.  “How about this dinner at Dras’ place?”

“Oh, that was easy.”  She shifted position again.  “I just called Dras up and told him that our vacation was off, and he invited us before I could begin hinting.  What are you going to wear?”

“Short-jacket greens; I can carry a needler with that uniform, even wear it at the table.  I don’t think it’s smart for me to run around unarmed, even on Home Time Line.  Especially on Home Time Line,” he amended.  “When’s this affair going to start, and how long will Rendarra take to get that goo off you?”

* * * * *