“We have to catch the rocket for Zarabar in an hour and a half,” Dalla reminded him.

“Don’t worry about that; if you miss the commercial rocket, our police rockets can give it an hour’s start and pass it before it gets to Zarabar,” Tortha Karf said.  Then he turned to Vall.  “Here’s what’s happened,” he said.  “One of our field agents on detached duty as guard captain for Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs on a fruit plantation in western North America, Third Level Esaron Sector, was looking over a lot of slaves who had been sold to the plantation by a local slave dealer.  He heard them talking among themselves—­in Kharanda.”

Dalla caught the significance of that before Vall did.  At first, she was puzzled; then, in spite of herself, she was horrified and angry.  Tortha Karf was explaining to Vall just where and on what paratemporal sector Kharanda was spoken.

“No possibility that this agent, Skordran Kirv, could have been mistaken.  He worked for a while on Kholghoor Sector, himself; knew the language by hypno-mech and by two years’ use,” Tortha Karf was saying.  “So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and the slave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal to report.  The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him in charge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple of detectives and a psychist.”

“When was this?” Vall asked.

“Yesterday.  One-Five-Nine Day.  About 1500 local time.”

“Twenty-three hundred Dhergabar time,” Vall commented.

“Yes.  And I just found out about it.  Came in in the late morning generalized report-digest; very inconspicuous item, no special urgency symbol or anything.  Fortunately, one of the report editors spotted it and messaged Police Terminal for a copy of the original report.”

“It’s been a long time since we had anything like that,” Vall said, studying the glowing tip of his cigarette, his face wearing the curiously withdrawn expression of a conscious memory recall.  “Fifty years ago; the time that gang kidnaped some girls from Second Level Triplanetary Empire Sector and sold them into the harem of some Fourth Level Indo-Turanian sultan.”

“Yes.  That was your first independent case, Vall.  That was when I began to think you’d really make a cop.  One renegade First Level citizen and four or five ServSec Prole hoodlums, with a stolen fifty-foot conveyer.  This looks like a rather more ambitious operation.”  Dalla got one of her own cigarettes out and lit it.  Vall and Tortha Karf were talking cop talk about method of operation and possible size of the gang involved, and why the slaves had been shipped all the way from India to the west coast of North America.

“Always ready sale for slaves on the Esaron Sector,” Vall was saying.  “And so many small independent states, and different languages, that outtimers wouldn’t be particularly conspicuous.”