United States or Marshall Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Brion Brandd?" a voice spoke harshly from the car. "Get in." The motor roared as soon as he had closed the door. Without lights the sand car churned a path through the city and out into the desert. Though the speed picked up, the driver still drove in the dark, feeling his way with a light touch on the controls. The ground rose, and when they reached the top of a mesa he killed the engine.
The Professor-Commander was very old, with wispy grey hair and a network of wrinkles surrounding his eyes. His image shimmered, then cleared as the scrambler units aligned. "You must be Brion Brandd," he said. "I have to tell you how sorry we all are that your friend Ihjel and the two others had to die, after coming so far to help us. I'm sure you are very happy to have had a friend like that."
He stared glassy-eyed into space for a moment, nervously working his teeth against his lip. Startled at his own inattention, he raised the gun again. "If you're Brandd, there's something I want to know." Rummaging in his breast pocket with his free hand, he brought out a yellow message form. He moved his lips as he reread the message.
Her hands clasped him and their lips sought each other's in the darkness. "Gently ..." she whispered. "I bruise easily...." "He wouldn't come in, sir. Just hammered on the door and said, 'I'm here, tell Brandd." "Good enough," Brion said, fitting his gun in the holster and sliding the extra clips into his pocket. "I'm going out now, and I should return before dawn.
The doors of his senses were pushed wide and he was overwhelmed. "Dis ..." Ihjel said aloud. "Seven million people ... hydrogen bombs ... Brion Brandd." These were just key words, landmarks of association. With each one Brion felt the rushing wave of the other man's emotions. There could be no lies here Ihjel was right in that.
When he switched to receive all he heard was static. There was always a chance the set was broken. He quickly twisted the transmitter to the frequency of his personal radio, then whistled in the microphone. The received signal was so loud that it hurt his ears. He tried to call Hys again, and was relieved to get a response this time. "Brion Brandd here. Can you read me?
He didn't want to tell her too much, lest this bring on the shock again. Ulv had shown great presence of mind in not talking to her. "If you must know," Lea said, "I remember quite a lot, Brion Brandd. I shan't go into details, since this sort of thing is best kept from the natives. For the record then, I can recall going to sleep after you left. And nothing since then. It's weird.
The operator plugged in a handset and gave it to Brion. "Circuit open," he mumbled around a mouthful of still unswallowed sandwich. "This is Brandd, director of the C.R.F. Come in, please." He went on repeating this for more than ten minutes before he got an answer. "What do you want?" "I have a message of vital urgency for you and I would also like your help.
Particularly so on this last night, when only two of the little cubicles were occupied, the thousands of others standing with dark, empty doors. Angry words had dragged Brion from a deep and exhausted sleep. The words were whispered but clear two voices, just outside the thin metal of his door. Someone spoke his name. "... Brion Brandd. Of course not.
Commander Krafft is waiting for this call and it is being put directly through to him now." Krafft's voice broke in while the operator was still talking. "Who is making this call is it anyone from the Foundation?" The old man's voice was shaky with emotion. "Brandd here. I have Lea Morees with me...." "No more? Are there no other survivors from the disaster that destroyed your building?"
Word Of The Day