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Brion rejected any idea he had of letting the man know that he himself was only a novice in the foundation. He was going to need all the authority he could muster, since they would undoubtedly hate him for what he was going to do. "Better take notes of this, Faussel, and have it typed. I'll sign it." The printed word always carried more weight.
The Comte de Brion, whom, I believe, you may remember under the title of Duc d'Amville, was deeply in love with Mademoiselle de Vendome, since Madame de Nemours; and, besides, he was a great favourite of M. de Turenne, who, to do him a pleasure and to give him the more opportunities to see Mademoiselle de Vendome, affected to be a great admirer of the Bishop of Lisieux and to hear his exhortations with a world of attention.
Things it must have done, since the magter are obviously the dominant life form on this planet. They paid a high price for the symbiote, but it didn't matter to race survival until now. Did you notice that the magter's brain is no smaller than normal?" "It must be or how else could that brain-symbiote fit in inside the skull with it?" Brion said.
He was halfway there when the spell broke and the rush began. One of the magter knelt and touched the body, and shouted a single word: "Dead!" Brion hadn't waited for the official announcement. At the first movement of feet, he dived headlong for the shelter of the exit.
Brion had an insane vision of him breaking the man's other arm, fracturing both his legs, and the limbless broken creature still coming forward. Crawling, rolling, teeth bared, since they were the only remaining weapon. There was only one way to end it. Brion feinted and the Lig-magte's arm moved clear of his body.
His tone was between hope and despair. Brion couldn't help him. "If I succeed you'll know. Otherwise, that will be the end of it. End of Transmission." He switched the radio off. Lea was sleeping easily when he looked at her, and there was still a good part of the hour left before he could wake her. How could he put it to use?
Welling up around these was a strong desire not to commit violence, this time, to communicate instead. Brion felt and recognized all this in a fraction of a second. He had to act instantly to avoid a tragic happening. A jerk of his wrist threw the gun to one side. As soon as it was gone he regretted its loss. He was gambling their lives on an ability he still was not sure of.
There's nothing can frighten you, since you were so undaunted on this extraordinary occasion." I told her I was afraid, but being not so devout as M. de Brion, my fears did not turn to litanies. "You feared not," said she, "and I fancy you do not believe there are devils, for M. de Turenne, who is very brave, was much surprised, and did not march on so briskly as you."
"There is no more war," Brion translated for Ulv, knowing that the Disan had understood nothing of the explanation. As he said it, he realized that there was one glaring error in the story. "You couldn't have done it," Brion said. "You landed on this planet before you had my message about the tower.
When it had been pulled around his neck it had sliced the surface skin and flesh like a knife, halted only by the corded bands of muscle below. Brion threw it from him, into the darkness where it had come from. He could think again, and he carefully kept his thoughts from the men he had killed. Knowing it was useless, he went to Ihjel's body. A single touch of the scorched flesh was enough.
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