“Yes.  A field agent named Kostran Galth,” Tortha Karf said.  “We ran the personal description cards for the whole Force through the machine; Kostran checked to within one-twentieth of one per cent; he’s on Police Terminal, now, coming by rocket from Ravvanan Equivalent.  We ought to have the whole thing ready for telecast by 1730 tomorrow.”

“He can’t learn to imitate Salgath’s voice convincingly in that time, with all the work the cosmeticians’ll have to be doing on him,” Dalla said.

“Make up a tape of Salgath’s own voice, out of that pile of recordings we got at his apartment, and what we can get out of the news file.”  Vall said.  “We have phoneticists who can split syllables and splice them together.  Kostran will deliver his speech in dumb-show, and we’ll dub the sound in and telecast them as one.  I’ve messaged PolTerm to get to work on that; they can start as soon as we have the speech written.”

[Illustration:]

“The more it succeeds now, the worse the blow-up will be when we finally have to admit that Salgath was killed here tonight,” the Chief Inter-officer Cooerdinator, Zostha Olv said.  “We’d better have something to show the public to justify that.”

“Yes, we had,” Tortha Karf agreed.  “Vall, how about the Kholghoor Sector operation.  How far’s Ranthar Jard gotten toward locating one of those Wizard Trader time lines?”

“Not very far,” Vall admitted.  “He has it pinned down to the sub-sector, 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—­”