"I've seen firearms like these; have a lot of them in my collection,"
he said, handing back the sketches. "Low-order mechanical or
high-order pre-mechanical cultures. Fact is, things like those could
have been made on the Kholghoor Sector, if the Kharandas had learned
to combine sulfur, carbon and nitrates to make powder."

The interrogator at one of the tables had evidently heard all his
subject could tell him. He rose, motioning the slave to stand.

"Now, go with that man," he said in Kharanda, motioning to one of the
detectives in native guard uniform. "You will trust him; he is your
friend and will not harm you. When you have left this room, you will
forget everything that has happened here, except that you were kindly
treated and that you were given wine to drink and your hurts were
anointed. You will tell the others that we are their friends and that
they have nothing to fear from us. And you will not try to remove the
mark from the back of your left hand."

As the detective led the slave out a door at the other side of the
room, the psychist came over to the long table, handing over a card
and lighting a cigarette.

"Suicide story," he said to one of the girls, who took the card.

"Anything new?"

"Some minor details about the sale to the Caleras on this time line. I
think we've about scraped bottom."