“Well, Chief, let me remind you that this vacation, which I’ve had to postpone four times already, has been overdue for four years,” Vall said.

“Yes, Vall, I know.  You’ve been working very hard, and you and Dalla are entitled to a little time together.  I just want you to look into something, before you leave.”

“It’ll have to take some fast looking.  Our rocket blasts off in two hours.”

“It may take a little longer; if it does, you and Dalla can transpose to Police Terminal and take a rocket for Zarabar Equivalent, and transpose from there to Passenger Sixteen.  It would save time if you brought Dalla with you to Headquarters.”

“Dalla won’t like this,” Vall understated.

“No.  I’m afraid not.”  Tortha Karf looked around apprehensively, as though estimating the damage an enraged Hadron Dalla could do to his office furnishings.  “Well, try to get here as soon as you can.”

* * * * *

Thalvan Dras was holding forth, when Vall returned, on one of his favorite preoccupations.

“...  Reason I’m taking such an especially active interest in this year’s Arts Exhibitions; I’ve become disturbed at the extent to which so many of our artists have been content to derive their motifs, even their techniques, from outtime art.”  He was using his vocowriter, rather than his conversational, voice.  “I yield to no one in my appreciation of outtime art—­you all know how devotedly I collect objects of art from all over paratime—­but our own artists should endeavor to express their artistic values in our own artistic idioms.”

Vall bent over his wife’s shoulder.

“We have to leave, right away,” he whispered.

“But our rocket doesn’t blast off for two hours—­”

Thalvan Dras had stopped talking and was looking at them in annoyance.

“I have to go to Headquarters before we leave.  It’ll save time if you come along.”

“Oh, no, Vall!” She looked at him in consternation.  “Was that Tortha Karf, calling?” She replaced her plate on the table and got to her feet.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Dras,” he addressed their host.  “I just had a call from Tortha Karf.  A few minor details that must be cleared up, before I leave Home Time Line.  If you’ll accept our thanks for a wonderful luncheon—­”

“Why, certainly, Vall.  Brogoth, will you call—­” He gave a slight chuckle.  “I’m so used to having Brogoth Zaln at my elbow that I’d forgotten he wasn’t here.  Wait.  I’ll call one of the servants to have a car for you.”

“Don’t bother; we’ll take an aircab,” Vall told him.

“But you simply can’t take a public cab!” The black-bearded nobleman was shocked at such an obscene idea.  “I will have a car ready for you in a few minutes.”

“Sorry, Dras; we have to hurry.  We’ll get a cab on the roof.  Good-by, everybody; sorry to have to break away like this.  See you all when we get back.”