“Right; we’ll be on the top south-west landing stage in a few minutes.”

Dalla was still heatedly repudiating any resemblance between the normal First Level methods of labor-recruitment and the activities of the Wizard Traders; she had just finished the story of the woman whose child had been brained when Vall rejoined the group.

“Dras, I’m awfully sorry,” he said.  “This is the second time in succession that Dalla and I have had to bolt away from here, but policemen are like doctors—­always on call, and consequently unreliable guests.  While you’re feasting, think commiseratingly of Dalla and me; we’ll probably be having a sandwich and a cup of coffee somewhere.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”  Thalvan Dras replied.  “We had all been looking forward—­Well!  Brogoth, have a car called for Vall and Dalla.”

“Police car coming for us; it’s probably on the landing stage now,” Vall said.  “Well, good-by, everybody.  Coming, Dalla?”

* * * * *

They had a few minutes to wait, under the marquee, before the green police aircar landed and came rolling across the rain-wet surface of the landing stage.  Crossing to it and opening the rear door, he put Dalla in and climbed in after her, slamming the door.  It was only then that he saw Tortha Karf hunched down in the rear seat.  He motioned them to silence, and did not speak until the car was rising above the building.

“I wanted to fill you in on this, as soon as possible,” he said.  “Your hunch about Salgath Trod was good; just a few minutes before I called you, he called me.  He says this slave trade is the work of something he calls the Organization; says he’s been taking orders from them for years.  His attack on the Management and motion for a censure-vote were dictated from Organization top echelon.  Now he’s convinced that they’re going to force him to make false accusations against the Paratime Police and then kill him before he’s compelled to repeat his charges under narco-hypnosis.  So he’s offered to surrender and trade information for protection.”

“How much does he know?” Vall asked.

Tortha Karf shook his head.  “Not as much as he claims to, I suppose; he wouldn’t want to reduce his own trade-in value.  But he’s been involved in this thing for the last fifteen years, and with his political prominence, he’d know quite a lot.”

“We can protect him from his own gang; can we protect him from psycho-rehabilitation?”

“No, and he knows it.  He’s willing to accept that.  He seems to think that death at the hands of his own associates is the only other alternative.  Probably right, too.”

The floodlighted green towers of the Paratime Building were wheeling under them as they circled down.

“Why would they sacrifice a valuable accomplice like Salgath Trod, in order to make a transparently false accusation against us?” Vall wondered.