"Well," Kaminski said, putting down his fountain pen, removing his glasses, and folding his meaty hands, "as you know, violations fall into three main classifications. It's all based on Hoff's Primer of Relativism; I don't have to tell you that." He tapped the familiar blue-bound book at the edge of his desk. "Go read your copy again."

"I know it by heart," Cussick said impatiently, "but I'm still confused. The individual in question isn't asserting personal taste for statements of fact—he's making a statement about things unknowable."

"In particular?"

"About the future. He claims to know what's going to happen in the next year."

"Prediction?"

"Prophecy," Cussick corrected. "If I understand the distinction. And I claim prophecy is self-contradictory. Nobody can have absolute knowledge about the future. By definition, the future hasn't happened. And if knowledge existed, it would change the future—which would make the knowledge invalid."

"What was this, a fortuneteller at some carnival?"

Cussick colored. "Yes."

The older man's mustache quivered angrily. "And you're going to report it? You're going to recommend action against some entertainer trying to make a few dollars reading palms in a traveling circus? Over-zealous kids like you... don't you understand how serious this is? Don't you know what a conviction means? Loss of civil rights, confinement in a forced labor camp—" He shook his head. "So you can make a good impression on your superiors, some harmless fortuneteller is going to get the ax."

With controlled dignity, Cussick said: "But I think it's a violation of the law."