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Updated: July 1, 2025
"The Nyjorders believe it, and that's good enough for me," Ihjel said. "They are paying our Cultural Relationships Foundation a good sum to try and prevent this war. Since they are our employers, we must do what they ask." Brion ignored this large lie, since it was obviously designed as an explanation for Lea. But he made a mental note to query Ihjel later about the real situation.
Ihjel stayed in a different part of the ship when Brion used the voice mirror and analysis scope, claiming that the awful noises interfered with his digestion. Their ship angled through jump-space along its calculated course. It kept its fragile human cargo warm, fed them and supplied breathable air.
"I want to meet a man who thinks there is something more important than the Twenties." While the doctor stood undecided, Ihjel moved quickly around him and closed the door in his flushed face. He looked down at the Winner in the bed. There was a drip plugged into each one of Brion's arms. His eyes peered from sooty hollows; the eyeballs were a network of red veins.
"The man who was here today," Brion said, "Winner Ihjel. Do you know where he is? I must contact him." For some reason this flustered her professional calm. The nurse started to answer, excused herself, and blanked the screen. When it lit again a man in guard's uniform had taken her place. "You made an inquiry," the guard said, "about Winner Ihjel.
They were strictly local affairs in the beginning, but were soon well established on a planet-wide scale." "True enough," Ihjel said. "But you're describing what happened. I asked you how the Twenties originated.
Brion had felt the surety of the man's conviction that Brion was the only one who might possibly succeed in this difficult spot. Let it go at that. If he had any qualms it would be best to put them behind him. Aside from everything else, there was a primary bit of loyalty involved. Ihjel had been an Anvharian and a Winner.
Ihjel shifted his immense weight and grunted from the console, where he was having a coded conversation with the ship's brain. He hit the keys quickly, and read the answer from the screen. "You took away his medical moment of glory. How many times in his life will he have a chance to nurse back to rugged smiling health the triumphantly exhausted Winner of the Twenties?" "Not many, I imagine.
There was a thin note of hysteria in her voice. "We can't stay here alone. We don't know where to go or what to do. With Ihjel dead, the whole thing's spoiled. We have to get out...." There are some things that can't sound gentle, no matter how gently they are said. This was one of them. "I'm sorry, Lea, but the ship is out of our reach right now.
"Med disse kilder når vi dog kun til det egenlige sagamands-område, Norge og Island. I Danmark er fortællingen ukendt; og Sakse og Svend Ågesön er enige on den lige modsatte overlevering: det er Halvdan, der slår sin broder Frode eller begge sine brödre ihjel for at vinde herredömmet alene.
Brion wasn't dead, though there had been some doubt about that the night before. Now, a full day later, he was on the mend and that was all Ihjel wanted to know. He bullied and strong-armed his way to the new Winner's room, meeting his first stiff resistance at the door. "You're out of order, Winner Ihjel," the doctor said.
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