thingslike this would be assigned supernatural explanations, and imbeddedin the locally accepted religion. But this culture, while nominallyreligious, is highly rationalistic in practice. Typical lag-effect,characteristic of all expanding cultures. And this Europo-American Sectorreally has an expanding culture. A hundred and fifty years ago, theinhabitants of this particular time-line didn't even know how to applysteam power; now they've begun to release nuclear energy, in a fewcrude forms."
Tortha Karf whistled, softly. "That's quite a jump. There's a sectorthat'll be in for trouble, in the next few centuries."
"That is realized, locally, sir." Verkan Vall concentrated onrelighting his pipe, for a moment, then continued: "I would predictspace-travel on that sector within the next century. Maybe the nexthalf-century, at least to the Moon. And the art of taxidermy is veryhighly developed. Now, suppose some farmer shoots that thing; whatwould he do with it, sir?"
Tortha Karf grunted. "Nice logic, Vall. On a most uncomfortablepossibility. He'd have it mounted, and it'd be put in a museum,somewhere. And as soon as the first spaceship reaches Venus, andthey find those things in a wild state, they'll have the mountedspecimen identified."
"Exactly. And then, instead of beating their brains about _where_their specimen came from, they'll begin asking _when_ it came from.They're quite capable of such reasoning, even now."
"A hundred years isn't a particularly long time," Tortha Karfconsidered. "I'll be retired, then, but you'll have my job, and it'llbe your headache. You'd better get this cleaned up, now, while it canbe handled. What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure, now, sir. I want a hypno-mech indoctrination, first."Verkan Vall gestured toward the communicator on the desk. "May I?"he asked.
"Certainly." Tortha Karf slid the instrument across the desk."Anything you want."
"Thank you, sir." Verkan Vall snapped on the code-index, found thesymbol he wanted, and then punched it on the keyboard. "Special Chief'sAssistant Verkan Vall," he identified himself. "Speaking from office ofTortha Karf, Chief Paratime Police. I want a complete hypno-mech onVenusian nighthounds, emphasis on wild state, special emphasisdomesticated nighthounds reverted to wild state in terrestrialsurroundings, extra-special emphasis hunting techniques applicable tosame. The word 'nighthound' will do for trigger-symbol." He turned toTortha Karf. "Can I take it here?"
Tortha Karf nodded, pointing to a row of booths along the far wallof the office.
"Make set-up for wired transmission; I'll take it here."
"Very well, sir; in fifteen minutes," a voice replied out of thecommunicator.
Verkan Vall slid the communicator back. "By the way, sir; I had ahitchhiker, on the way back. Carried him about a hundred or soparayears; picked him up about three hundred parayears after leavingmy other-line terminal. Nasty-looking fellow, in a black uniform;looked like one of these private-army storm troopers you find allthrough that sector. Armed, and hostile. I thought I'd have to rayhim, but he blundered outside the field almost at once. I have arecord, if you'd care to see it."
"Yes, put it on," Tortha Karf gestured toward the solidograph-projector."It's set for miniature reproduction here on the desk; that be allright?"
Verkan Vall nodded, getting out the film and loading it into theprojector. When he pressed a button, a dome of radiance appeared onthe desk top; two feet in width and a foot in height. In the middleof this appeared a small solidograph image of the interior of theconveyor, showing the desk, and the control board, and the figureof Verkan Vall seated at it. The little figure of the storm trooperappeared, pistol in hand. The little Verkan Vall snatched up his tinyneedler; the storm trooper moved into one side of the dome andvanished.
Verkan Vall flipped a switch and cut out the image.
"Yes. I don't know what causes that, but it happens, now and then,"Tortha Karf said. "Usually at the beginning of a transposition. Iremember, when I was just a kid, about a hundred and fifty years ago--ahundred and thirty-nine, to be exact--I picked up a fellow on the FourthLevel, just about where you're operating, and dragged him a couple ofhundred parayears. I went back to find him and return him to his owntime-line, but before I could locate him, he'd been arrested by thelocal authorities as a suspicious character, and got himself shottrying to escape. I felt badly about that, but--" Tortha Karf shrugged."Anything else happen on the trip?"
"I ran through a belt of intermittent nucleonic bombing on the SecondLevel." Verkan Vall mentioned an approximate paratime location.
"Aaagh! That Khiftan civilization--by courtesy so called!" Tortha Karfpulled a wry face. "I suppose the intra-family enmities of the HvadkaDynasty have reached critical mass again. They'll fool around tillthey blast themselves back to the stone age."
"Intellectually, they're about there, now. I had to operate in thatsector, once--Oh, yes, another thing, sir. This rifle." Verkan Vallpicked it up, emptied the magazine, and handed it to his superior."The supplies office slipped up on this; it's not appropriate to myline of operation. It's a lovely rifle, but it's about two hundredpercent in advance of existing arms design on my line. It excited thecuriosity of a couple of police officers and a game-protector, whoshould be familiar with the weapons of their own time-line. I evadedby disclaiming ownership or intimate knowledge, and they seemedsatisfied, but it worried me."
"Yes. That was made in our duplicating shops, here in Dhergabar." TorthaKarf carried it to a photographic bench, behind his desk. "I'll have itchecked, while you're taking your hypno-mech. Want to exchange it forsomething authentic?"
"Why, no, sir. It's been identified to me, and I'd excite less suspicionwith it than I would if I abandoned it and mysteriously acquired anotherrifle. I just wanted a check, and Supplies warned to be more careful infuture."
Tortha Karf nodded approvingly. The young Mavrad of Nerros was thinkingas a paratimer should.
"What's the designation of your line, again?"
Verkan Vall told him. It was a short numerical term of six places, butit expressed a number of the order of ten to the fortieth power, exactto the last digit. Tortha Karf repeated it into his stenomemograph,with explanatory comment.
"There seems to be quite a few things going wrong, in that area,"he said. "Let's see, now."
He punched the designation on a keyboard; instantly, it appeared ona translucent screen in front of him. He punched another combination,and, at the top of the screen, under the number, there appeared:
EVENTS, PAST ELAPSED FIVE YEARS.
He punched again; below this line appeared the sub-heading:
EVENTS INVOLVING PARATIME TRANSPOSITION.
Another code-combination added a third line:
(ATTRACTING PUBLIC NOTICE AMONG INHABITANTS.)
He pressed the "start"-button; the headings vanished, to be replaced bypage after page of print, succeeding one another on the screen as thetwo men read. They told strange and apparently disconnected stories--ofunexplained fires and explosions; of people vanishing without trace; ofunaccountable disasters to aircraft. There were many stories of anepidemic of mysterious disk-shaped objects seen in the sky, singly orin numbers. To each account was appended one or more reference-numbers.Sometimes Tortha Karf or Verkan Vall would punch one of these, and read,on an adjoining screen, the explanatory matter referred to.
Finally Tortha Karf leaned back and lit a fresh cigarette.
"Yes, indeed, Vall; very definitely we will have to take action in thematter of the runaway nighthound of the late Gavran Sarn," he said."I'd forgotten that that was the time-line onto which the _Ardrath_expedition launched those antigrav disks. If this extraterrestrialmonstrosity turns up, on the heels of that 'Flying Saucer' business,everybody above the order of intelligence of a cretin will suspectsome connection."
"What really happened, in the _Ardrath_ matter?" Verkan Vall inquired."I was on the Third Level, on that Luvarian Empire operation, at the time."
"That's right; you missed that. Well, it was one of thesejoint-operation things. The Paratime Commission and the Sp
ace Patrolwere experimenting with a new technique for throwing a spaceship intoparatime. They used the cruiser _Ardrath_, Kalzarn Jann commanding. Wentinto space about halfway to the Moon and took up orbit, keeping on thesunlit side of the planet to avoid being observed. That was all right.But then, Captain Kalzarn ordered away a flight of antigrav disks, fullymanned, to take pictures, and finally authorized a landing in thewestern mountain range, Northern Continent, Minor Land-Mass. That'swhen the trouble started."
He flipped the run-back switch, till he had