do."

Faussel had dropped heavily into one of the seats and he sprang to
his feet again, clutching the seat back to keep his balance in the
swaying car.

"Three days, three weeks, three minutes--what difference does it
make?" His voice rose shrilly with each word, and he had to make a
definite effort to master himself before he could go on. "Look. You
don't know anything about this. You just arrived and that's your bad
luck. My bad luck is being assigned to this death trap and watching
the depraved and filthy things the natives do. 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." There was sympathy in
Brion's voice--but also the firmness of an order. Faussel swayed for
a second longer, then collapsed. He sat with his cheek against the
window, eyes closed. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple and his
lips worked. He had been under too much tension for too long a time.

This was the atmosphere that hung heavily in the air at the C.R.F.
building when they arrived. Despair and defeat. The doctor was the
only one who didn't share this mood as he bustled Lea off to the
clinic with prompt efficiency. He obviously had enough patients to
keep his mind occupied. With the others the feeling of depression
was unmistakable. From the instant they had driven through the
automatic garage door, Brion had swum in this miasma of defeat.
It was omnipresent and hard to ignore.

As soon as he had eaten he went with Faussel into what was to have
been Ihjel's office. Through the transparent walls he could see the
staff packing the records, crating them for shipment. Faussel seemed
less nervous now that he was no longer in command. 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. "All preparations
for leaving are to be stopped at once. Records are to be returned
to the files. We are going to stay here just as long as we have
clearance from the