a series of blue flashes, and, an instant later, a blossoming of
red-and-white parachutes, ejected from the photo-reconnaissance balls
that had returned from the Kholghoor Sector.

"All right; drop away," the boat captain called. There was a gush,
from underneath, of eight-inch spheres, their conductor-mesh twinkling
golden-bright in the sunlight. They dropped in a tight cluster for a
thousand or so feet and then flashed and vanished. From the ground,
six or eight aircars rose to meet the descending parachutes and catch
them.

The screen went cubist for a moment, and then Ranthar Jard's swarthy,
wide-jawed face looked out of it again. He took his pipe from his
mouth.

"We'll probably get a positive out of the batch you just saw coming
in," he said. "We get one out of about every two drops."

"Message a list of the time-line designations you've gotten so far to
Zulthran Torv, at Computer Office here," Vall said. "He's working on
the Esaron Sector dope; we think a pattern can be established. I'll be
seeing you in about five hours; I'm rocketing out of here as soon as I
get a few more things cleared up here."

Zulthran Torv, normally cautious to the degree of pessimism, was
jubilant when Vall called him.

"We have something, Vall," he said. "It is, roughly, what Dr. Nentrov
suggested--each of the intervals between the designations is a very
minute but very exact fraction of the difference between lesser