"How long do you think I'd get away with that?" Salgath Trod demanded.
"I can only stretch parliamentary immunity so far. Sooner or later,
I'd have to make formal charges to a special judicial committee, and
that would mean narco-hypnosis, and then it would all come out."

"You'll have proof," the young man said. "We'll produce a couple of
these Kharandas whom Verkan Vall didn't get hold of. Under
narco-hypnosis, they'll testify that they saw a couple of Wizard
Traders take their robes off. Under the robes were Paratime Police
uniforms. Do you follow me?"

Salgath Trod made a noise of angry disgust.

"That's ridiculous! I suppose these Kharandas will be given what is
deludedly known as memory obliteration, and a set of pseudo-memories;
how long do you think that would last? About three ten-days. There is
no such thing as memory obliteration; there's memory-suppression, and
pseudo-memory overlay. You can't get behind that with any quickie
narco-hypnosis in the back room of any police post, I'll admit that,"
he said. "But a skilled psychist can discover, inside of five minutes,
when a narco-hypnotized subject is carrying a load of false memories,
and in time, and not too much time, all that top layer of false
memories and blockages can be peeled off. And then where would we be?"

"Now wait a minute, Councilman. This isn't just something I dreamed
up," the visitor said. "This was decided upon at the top. At the very
top."

"I don't care whose idea it was," Salgath Trod snapped. "The whole
thing is idiotic, and I won't have anything to do with it."