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realized what it was that had disturbed him.
It had been Salgath Trod, himself, less than half an hour ago, who had
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introduced the term, "the Organization," to the Paratime Police. At that time,
if these people were what they claimed to be, they would have been in
transposition from Industrial Twenty-four, on the Fifth Level. Immediately, he
reached for his needier. He was clearing it of the holster when things began
happening.
The handcuffs fell from the "prisoner's" wrists; he jerked a
neutron-disruption blaster from under his jacket. Vail, his needier already
drawn, rayed the fellow dead before he could aim it, then saw that the two
pseudo-policemen had drawn their needlers and were aiming in the direction of
Salgath Trod. There were no flashes or reports; only the spot of light that
had winked on and off under Vail's rear sight had told him that his weapon had
been activated. He saw it appear again as the sights centered on one of the
"policemen." Then he saw the other imposter's needier aimed at himself. That
was the last thing he expected ever to see, in that life; he tried to shift
his own weapon, and time seemed frozen, with his arm barely moving. Then there
was a white blur as Dalla's cloak moved in front of him, and the needier
dropped from the fingers of the disguised murderer.
Time went back to normal for him; he safetied his own weapon and dropped it,
jumping forward.
He grabbed the fellow in the green uniform by the nose with his left hand, and
punched him hard in the pit of the stomach with his right fist. The man's
mouth flew open, and a green capsule, the size and shape of a small bean, flew
out.
Pushing Dalla aside before she would step on it, he kicked the murderer in the
stomach, doubling him over, and chopped him on the base of the skull with the
edge of his hand. The pseudo-policeman dropped senseless.
With a handful of handkerchief-tissue from his pocket, he picked up the
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disgorged capsule, wrapping it carefully after making sure that it was
unbroken.
Then he looked around. The other two assassins were dead. Tortha Karf, who had
been looking at the man in Proletarian dress whom Vail had killed first,
turned, looked in another direction, and then cursed. Vail followed his eyes,
and cursed also. One of the two policemen who had gotten out of the aircar was
dead, too, and so was the all-important witness, Salgath Trod as dead as Nebu-
hin-Abenoz, a hundred thousand parayears away.
The whole thing had ended within thirty seconds; for about half as long,
everybody waited, poised in a sort of action-vacuum, for something else to
happen. Dalla had dropped the shoulder-bag with which she had clubbed the
prisoner's needier out of his hand, and caught up the fallen weapon. When she
saw that the man was down and motionless, she laid it aside and began picking
up the glittering or silken trifles that had spilled from the burst bag. Vail
retrieved his own weapon, glanced over it, and holstered it. Sothran Barth,
the lieutenant in charge of the landing stage, was bawling orders, and men
were coming out of the ready-room and piling into vehicles to pursue the
aircar which had brought the assassins.
"Barth!" Vail called. "Have you a hypodermic and a sleep-drug ampoule? Well,
give this boy a shot; he's only impact-stunned. Be careful of him; he's
important." He glanced around the landing stage. "Fact is, he's all we have to
show for this business."
Then he stopped to help Dalla gather her things, picking up a few of them a
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lighter, a tiny crystal perfume flask, miraculously unbroken, a face-powder
box which had sprung open and spilled half its contents. He handed them to
her, while Sothran Barth bent over the prisoner and gave him an injection,
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to the body of the other pseudo-policeman, forcing open his mouth. In his
cheek, still unbroken, was a second capsule, which he added to the first.
Tortha Karf was watching him.
"Same gang that killed that Carera slaver on Esaron Sector? " he asked. "Of
course, exactly the same general procedure. Let's have a look at the other
one."
The man in Proletarian dress must have had his capsule between his molars when
he had been killed; it was broken, and there was a brownish discoloration and
chemical odor in his mouth.
"Second time we've had a witness killed off under our noses," Tortha Karf
said.
"We're going to have to smarten up in a hurry."
"Here's one of us who doesn't have to, much," Vail said, nodding toward Dalla.
"She knocked a needier out of one man's hand, and we took him alive. The Force
owes her a new shoulder-bag; she spoiled that one using it for a club."
"Best shoulder-bag we can find you, Dalla," Tortha Karf promised. "You're
promoted, herewith, to Special Chief's Assistant's Special Assistant You know,
this Organization murder-section is good; they could kill anybody. It won't be
long before they assign a squad to us. Blast it, I don't want to have to go
around bodyguarded like a Fourth Level dictator, but "
A detective came out of the control room and approached.
"Screen call for you, sir," he told Tortha Karf. "One of the news services
wants a comment on a story they've just picked up that we've illegally
arrested
Councilman Salgath and are holding him incommunicado and searching his
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apartment."
"That's the Organization," Vail said. "They don't know how their boys made
out;
they're hoping we'll tell them."
"No comment," Tortha Karf said. "Call the girl on my switchboard and tell her
to answer any other news-service calls. We have nothing to say at this time,
but there will be a public statement at& at 2330," he decided after a glance at
his watch. "That'll give us time to agree on a publicity line to adopt.
Lieutenant
Sothran! Take charge up here. Get all these bodies out of sight somewhere,
including those of Councilman Salgath and Detective Malthor. Don't let anybody
talk about this; put a blackout on the whole story. Vail, you and Dalla and&
oh, you, over there; take the prisoner down to my office. Sothran, any reports
from any of the cars that were chasing that fake police car?"
Verkan Vail and Dalla were sitting behind Tortha Karf's desk; Vail was issuing
orders over the intercom and talking to the detectives who had remained at
Salgath Trod's apartment by visiscreen; Dalla was sorting over the things she
had spilled when her bag had burst. They both looked up as Tortha Karf came in
and joined them.
"The prisoner's still under the drug," the Chief said. "He'll be out for a
couple of hours; the psych-techs want to let him come out of it naturally and
sleep naturally for a while before they give him a hypno. He's not a ServSec
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Prole;
uncircumcised, never had any syntho-enzyme shots or immunizations, and none of
the longevity operations or grafts. Same thing for the two stiffs. And no
identity records on any of the three."
"The men at Salgath's apartment say that his housekeeper and his two servants
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checked out through the house conveyer for ServSec One-Six-Five, at about
1830," Vail said. "There's a Prole entertainment center on that time line. I
suppose Salgath gave them the evening off before he called you."
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