“Please examine this warrant,” Captain Heinrich said with careful patience. “Then—”

“Get your go-cart out of my flower beds at once or I’ll make a civil-rights case out of this that will cost you your pension!”

Heinrich hesitated. “Now!” Jubal screamed. “And tell those other yokels getting out to pick up their big feet! That idiot with the buck teeth is standing on a prize Elizabeth M. Hewitt!”

Heinrich turned his head. “You men—careful of those flowers. Paskin, you’re standing on one. Rogers! Raise the car and move it back about fifty feet, clear of the garden.” He turned his attention back to Harshaw. “Does that satisfy you?”

“Once he actually moves it—but you’ll still pay damages. Let’s see your credentials . . . and show them to the Fair Witness and state loud and clearly to her your name, rank, organization, and pay number.”

“You know who I am. Now I have a warrant to—”

“I have a common-law warrant to part your hair with a shotgun unless you do things legally and in order! I don’t know who you are. You look remarkably like a stuffed shirt I saw over the telephone earlier today—but that’s not evidence and I don’t identify you. You must identify yourself, in the specified legal fashion, World Code paragraph 1602, part II, before you can serve a warrant. And that goes for all those other apes, too, and that pithecan parasite piloting for you.”

“They are police officers, acting under my orders.”

“I don’t know that they are anything of the sort. They might have hired those ill-fitting clown suits at a costumer’s. The letter of the law, sir! You’ve come barging into my castle. You say you are a police officer—and you allege that you have a warrant for this intrusion. But I say you are trespassers until you prove otherwise . . . which invokes my sovereign right to use all necessary force to eject you—which I shall start to do in about three seconds.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Who are you to advise? If I am hurt in attempting to enforce this my right, your action becomes constructive assault—with deadly weapons, if those things those mules are toting are guns, as they appear to be. Civil and criminal, both—why, my man, I’ll wind up with your hide for a door mat!” Jubal drew back a skinny arm and clenched a bony fist. “Off my property!”

“Hold it, Doctor. We’ll do it your way.” Heinrich had turned bright red, but he kept his voice under tight control. He offered his identification, which Jubal glanced at, then turned back to him for him to show to Anne. Heinrich then stated his full name, said that he was a captain of police, Federation Special Service Bureau, and recited his pay number. One by one, the other six men who had left the car, and at last the driver, went through the same rigamarole at Heinrich’s frozen-faced orders.

When they were done, Jubal said sweetly, “And now, Captain Heinrich, how may I help you?”

“I have a search warrant here for Gilbert Berquist, which warrant names this property, its buildings and grounds.”

“Show it to me, then show it to the Witness.”

“I will do so. But I have another search warrant, similar to the first, for Gillian Boardman.”

“Who?”

“Gillian Boardman. The charge is kidnapping.”

“My goodness!”

“And another for Hector C. Johnson . . . and one for Valentine Michael Smith . . . and one for you, Jubal Harshaw.”

“Me? Taxes again?”

“No. Look at it. Accessory to this and that . . . and material witness on some other things . . . and I’d take you in on my own for obstructing justice if the warrant didn’t make it unnecessary.”

“Oh, come now, Captain! I’ve been most cooperative since you identified yourself and started behaving in a legal manner. And I shall continue to be. Of course, I shall still sue all of you—and your immediate superior and the government—for your illegal acts before that time . . . and I am not waiving any rights or recourses with respect to anything any of you may do hereafter. Mmm . . . quite a list of victims. I see why you brought an extra wagon. But—dear me! something odd here. This, uh, Mrs. Borkmann?—I see that she is charged with kidnapping this Smith fellow . . . but in this other warrant he seems to be charged with fleeing custody. I’m confused.”

“It’s both. He escaped—and she kidnapped him.”

“Isn’t that rather difficult to manage? Both, I mean? And on what charge was he being held? The warrant does not seem to state?”

“How the devil do I know? He escaped, that’s all. He’s a fugitive.”