Free Watchers of the Dark by Lloyd Biggle jr.

for three passages. Take the sample case. Maybe these people know about fingerprints. Have we touched anything?”
    “I don’t think so. The doors?”
    “Go ahead. I’ll wipe the latches.”
    He rubbed quickly with his handkerchief, snatched his suitcase, and leaped into the transmitter. Miss Schlupe stood waiting for him; EIGHT was already hurrying away.
    They were in a public garden. Above a transparent dome the night sky blazed with stars. The walks were faintly luminous, and huge, glowing flowers gave off a soft effusion of light that bathed the park in a ghostly halo. Their pungent perfume hung heavily in the motionless air. Miss Schlupe sniffed gingerly, sneezed, and muttered, “Vicks Vaporub.”
    EIGHT chose a route that avoided the strange-looking figures who walked the paths. At the opposite side of the park he halted at a transmitter station and waited for them impatiently.
    He touched out another destination. They stepped through and found themselves in the main transmitting exchange.
    Darzek murmured approvingly. “I don’t think any police science could trace us through this place.”
    “I don’t think he’s worried about the police,” Miss Schlupe said. “He’s just like Smith—afraid of the Dark. I’m beginning to be a little afraid of it myself.”
    EIGHT had paused for thought again. Darzek turned an anxious eye on the stream of unlikely shaped passengers that flowed around them. He said softly, “Can’t we go somewhere, and then think about it?”
    EIGHT started. “I was wondering—yes. Of course.”
    He led them to the alcove and offered his hand for a transmitter’s scrutiny, a large, puffy, hairless hand with a vast row of short, stubby, hairy fingers. EIGHT motioned to Miss Schlupe. “Quickly!” he said.
    “I’ll go first,” Darzek told him, and stepped through the transmitter. He inventoried the room with a glance and leaped to investigate the adjoining rooms. Miss Schlupe and EIGHT were waiting when he emerged from the last one, EIGHT looking about for him bewilderedly.
    “Are we safe here?” Darzek demanded.
    “I am EIGHT! I am a member of the Council of Supreme! The transmitter admits no one without my seal.”
    “How many people have your seal?”
    “This is my official residence,” EIGHT protested. “There are few places in the galaxy where we could be safe if we were not safe here.”
    “I’ll take his word for it,” Miss Schlupe said wearily. She dropped onto a hassock and kicked off her shoes.
    “The Council will meet soon,” EIGHT said. “I have already convoked it. I did so as soon as I learned that you were coming.”
    “You look tired, Schluppy,” Darzek said. “Are you up to a meeting with the Council?”
    EIGHT said protestingly, “But only you are to meet with the Council.”
    “Is that so? Supposing I were to tell your Council to go soak its collective heads, of which it probably has a surplus.”
    “We did not know you would bring an assistant. No one can be present at a Council meeting without a pass certified by all of the members, and I obtained only one.”
    “Then obtain another one.”
    “Never mind,” Miss Schlupe said. “If it’s like other council meetings I’ve attended, I won’t be missing anything.”
    “How long will this meeting take?” Darzek asked.
    “I do not know. Perhaps a long time. Perhaps several days. There may be much planning to do.”
    “Can she stay here? Is there a service transmitter?”
    “Of course.”
    “All right. I’ll meet with your Council. But first I’d like to remedy certain deficiencies in my education, and before that I’d like all of the official information about the Dark.”
    EIGHT moved over to the table and opened a panel. The ceiling glowed softly, and a pattern emerged. “This,” EIGHT said, “is the galaxy.”
    Darzek glanced indifferently at the spiraling haze of light. Then he started. This was no theoretical projection, but a map.
    “And this,” EIGHT whispered, “is what