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Updated: July 1, 2025
"Up until a few months ago I never even considered leaving Anvhar. The Twenties are such a big thing at home that it is hard to imagine that anything else exists while you are still taking part in them." "Spare me the Twenties," she pleaded. "After listening to you and Ihjel, I know far more about them than I shall ever care to know. But what about Anvhar itself?
You can outguess your opponent because you know his movements even as his body tenses to make them. You accept this without ever questioning it." "How do you know?" This was Brion's understood, but never voiced secret. Ihjel smiled. "Just guessing. But I won the Twenties too, remember, also without knowing a thing about empathy at the time.
Everything we today accept as normal was at one time an innovation. And one of the most recent innovations is the attempt to guide the societies of mankind into something more consistent with the personal happiness of individuals." "The God complex," Brion said; "forcing human lives into a mold whether they want to be fitted into it or not." "Societies can be that," Ihjel agreed.
Ihjel yawned, put away the report he had been reading, and started for the control room. He shuddered when he passed the room where Brion was listening to a playback of his Disan efforts. "Turn off that dying brontosaurus and get strapped in," he called through the thin door. "We're coming to the point of optimum possibility and we'll be dropping back into normal space soon."
"This is Ihjel. Retinal pattern 490-BJ4-67 which is also the code that is supposed to get me through your blockade. Do you want to check that pattern?" "There will be no need, thank you. If you will turn on your recorder I have a message relayed to you from Prime-four." "Recording and out," Ihjel said. "Damn! Trouble already, and four days to blowup. Prime-four is our headquarters on Dis.
A warning bell chimed and the drive cut on and off so quickly that the two acts seemed simultaneous. This happened again, twice, before the brain was satisfied it had made as good a fix as possible and flashed a NAVIGATION POWER OFF light. Ihjel unstrapped, stretched, and made them a meal. Ihjel had computed their passage time with precise allowances.
"Here are the tech reports." Ihjel dropped them on the table. "Dis has some spacers as well as the cobalt bombs though these aren't the real threat. A tramp trader was picked up leaving Dis. It had delivered a jump-space launcher that can drop those bombs on Nyjord while anchored to the bedrock of Dis.
Why is it that the people of Anvhar, in a galaxy filled with warring, hate-filled, backward planets, should be the only ones who base their entire existence on a complicated series of games?" This time there was no way to hold the door. Ihjel didn't try. He stepped aside and two men stumbled into the room. He walked out behind their backs without saying a word. "What happened?
The silent battle he fought against death had left its mark. His square, jutting jaw now seemed all bone, as did his long nose and high cheekbones. They were prominent landmarks rising from the limp greyness of his skin. Only the erect bristle of his close-cropped hair was unchanged. He had the appearance of having suffered a long and wasting illness. "You look like sin," Ihjel said.
This thin, helpless, frightened woman was his only resource. She had to work. He had to make her work. Ihjel had done it used projective empathy to impress his emotions upon Brion. Now Brion must do it with Lea. He had had some sessions in the art, but not nearly enough to make him proficient. Nevertheless he had to try. Strength was what Lea needed. Aloud he said simply, "You can do it.
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