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Updated: June 6, 2025
In his enthusiasm Brion had forgotten the hate campaign he had directed against himself. "Suit yourself," he said shortly, getting back into the role. "But the next time you yawn there'll be a negative entry in your service record. If that's clear you can brief me on this organization's visible relations with the Disans. How do they take us?" Faussel choked and swallowed a yawn.
Faussel stamped out, and a minute later Brion saw the shocked, angry looks from the workers in the outer office. Turning his back to them, he opened the drawers in the desk, one after another. The top drawer was empty, except for a sealed envelope. It was addressed to Winner Ihjel. Brion looked at it thoughtfully, then ripped it open. The letter inside was handwritten.
And trying to be polite to them even when they are killing my friends, and those Nyjord bombers up there with their hands on the triggers. One of those bombardiers is going to start thinking about home and about the cobalt bombs down here and he's going to press that button, deadline or no deadline." "Sit down, Faussel. Sit down and take a rest."
The screen flowed with the black and white patterns of the scrambler. "That's all, Faussel," Brion said. "I want privacy for this talk. What's the commander's name?" "Professor Krafft he's a physicist. They have no military men at all, so they called him in for the construction of the bombs and energy weapons. He's still in charge." Faussel yawned extravagantly as he went out the door.
Brion wondered who this Lig-magte was who appeared to have killed Mervv. A forged cough broke through Brion's concentration, and he realized that Faussel had been standing in front of his desk for some minutes. Brion looked up and mopped perspiration from his face. "Your air conditioner seems to be out of order," Faussel said. "Should I have the mechanic look at it?"
"There's nothing wrong with the machine; I'm just adapting to Dis's climate. What else do you want, Faussel?" The assistant had a doubting look that he didn't succeed in hiding. He also had trouble believing the literal truth. He placed the small stack of file folders on the desk. "These are the reports to date, everything we have uncovered about the Disans.
Maybe it was a provincial attitude to hold in this big universe Anvhar was certainly far enough away from here but honor is very important to a man who must stand alone. He had a debt to Ihjel, and he was going to pay it off. Once the decision had been made, he felt easier. There was an intercom on the desk in front of him and he leaned with a heavy thumb on the button labeled Faussel. "Yes?"
"Nyjord is a cooperating planet, and has full knowledge at all executive levels. They are giving us all the aid they can." "Well, now is the time to ask for more. Can I contact the commander of the blockading fleet?" "There is a scrambler connection right through to him. I'll set it up." Faussel bent over the desk and punched a number into the phone controls.
When Faussel came in he was still yawning behind his fist obviously a low morning-sugar type. "Before you fall on your face, go out and get some coffee," Brion said. "Two cups. I'll have a cup too." "That won't be necessary," Faussel said, drawing himself up stiffly. "I'll call the canteen if you wish some." He said it in the iciest tone he could manage this early in the morning.
As to your second question, I have to answer yes and no. We found Director Mervv's head outside the door next morning with all the skin gone. We knew who it was because the doctor identified the bridgework in his mouth. Do you understand?" All pretense of control had vanished, and Faussel almost shrieked the last words. They were all close to cracking up, if he was any example.
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