An important bulletin has just come in from
Nagorabar, Home Time Line, on the Indian subcontinent--"
"You can stop swearing, now, Karf," Dalgroth Sorn grinned. "I think
this is it."
* * * * *
Kostran Galth sat on the edge of the couch, with one arm around
Zinganna's waist; on the other side of him, Hadron Dalla lay at full
length, her elbows propped and her chin in her hands. The screen in
front of them showed a fading sunset, although it was only a little
past noon at Dhergabar Equivalent. A dark ship was coming slowly in
against the red sky; in the center of a wire-fenced compound a
hundred-foot conveyer hung on antigrav twenty feet from the ground,
and beyond, a long metal prefab-shed was spilling light from open
doors and windows.
"That crowd that was just taken in won't be finished for a couple of
hours," a voice was saying. "I don't know how much they'll be able to
tell; the psychists say they're all telling about the same stories.
What those stories are, of course, I'm not able to repeat. After the
trouble caused by a certain news commentator who shall be
nameless--he's not connected with this news service, I'm happy to
say--we're all leaning over backward to keep from breaking Paratime
Police security.
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