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With each passing second the power drew at the basic reserves of life, draining it from his body. When the buzzer sounded he pulled his foil from his second's startled grasp, and ran forward. Irolg had barely time to grab up his own weapon and parry Brion's first thrust. The force of his rush was so great that the guards on their weapons locked, and their bodies crashed together.
Do you want any more information on the radio? "No. Wait there we'll get in touch with you after dark." The carrier wave went dead. Thirty-five hours to the end of the world and all he could do was wait. On Brion's desk when he came in, were two neat piles of paper. As he sat down and reached for them he was conscious of an arctic coldness in the air, a frigid blast.
The Anvharians had always taken pride in this as if being so unimportant that no one else even wanted to come near you could possibly be a source of pride. All the other worlds of man grew, fought, won, lost, changed. Only on Anvhar did life repeat its sameness endlessly, like a loop of tape in a player.... Brion's eyes were moist; he blinked. Tears!
We landed from space two nights ago and have been walking in the desert ever since. Now don't get excited and shoot the gun when I tell you this but both Vion and Ihjel are dead." The man with the gun gasped, his eyes widened. The driver threw a single frightened look over his shoulder, then turned quickly back to the wheel. Brion's probe had hit its mark.
The brutal impact of the man's death had driven all thought of its consequences from Brion's mind. Now he began to realize. Telt had never sent word of his discovery of the radioactive trace to the Nyjord army. He had been afraid to use the radio, and had wanted to tell Hys in person, and to show him the tape.
The men turned quickly towards him, guns raised. Both of them carried ion rifles. They relaxed when they saw his offworld clothes. "Bloody damned savages!" one of them growled. He was a heavy-planet man, a squashed-down column of muscle and gristle, whose head barely reached Brion's chest. A pushed-back cap had the crossed slide-rule symbol of ship's computer man.
When it grew thin he knew they had left the frequently used tunnels and entered deserted ones. They could only retrace their steps and start again in a different direction. More maddening than the walking was the way time was running out. Inexorably the glowing hands crept around the face of Brion's watch until they stood at fifteen minutes before twelve.
Except for a stasis of very long duration, there is no sensation of time. To Brion's consciousness, Ihjel flipped the switch off with a continuation of the same motion that had turned it on. The ship was unchanged, only outside of the port was the red-shot blankness of jump-space. "How do you feel?" Ihjel asked. Apparently the ship was wondering the same thing.
It plunged unerringly through the spot where Brion's body had been an instant before. There had been no time to tense his muscles and jump, just the space of time to relax them and fall to one side. His reasoning mind joined the battle as he hit the floor. Lig-magte plunged by him, turning and bringing the knife down at the same time.
The Disan had the tube to his mouth when the gun hit the ground. He held the pose, unmoving, thinking. Then he accepted Brion's action and thrust the tube back into his waistband. "Do you have any water?" Brion asked, the guttural Disan words hurting his throat. "I have water," the man said. He still didn't move. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "We're from offplanet.
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