cleared and they could be brought back to consciousness, they would be
narco-hypnotized and questioned.

He had finished a tour of the warehouses, looking at the kegs of
gunpowder and the casks of brandy, the piles of pig lead, the stacks
of cases containing muskets. These must have all come from some
low-order handcraft time line. Then there were swords and hatchets
and knives that had been made on Industrial Sector--the Organization
must be getting them through some legitimate trading company--and
mirrors and perfumes and synthetic fiber textiles and cheap jewelry,
of similar provenance. It looked as though this stuff had been brought
in by ship from somewhere else on this time line; the warehouses were
too far from the conveyers and right beside the ship dock--

There was a tremendous explosion somewhere. Vall and the men with him
ran outside, looking about, the sound-phones of their helmets giving
them no idea of the source of the sound. One of the policemen pointed,
and Vall's eyes followed his arm. The ship that had been transposed in
in the big conveyer was falling, blown in half; as he looked, both
sections hit the ground several miles away. A strange ship, a
freighter, was coming in fast, and as he watched, a blue spark winked
from her bow as a heavy-duty blaster was activated. There was another
explosion, overhead; they all ran for shelter as Vall's
command-conveyer disintegrated into falling scrap-metal. At once, all
the other conveyers which were on antigrav began flashing and
vanishing. That was the right, the only, thing to do, he knew. But it
was leaving him and his men isolated and under attack.

* * * * *