"I can't stop people from thinking about it--but I can stop them
from talking. Our job is to contact the Disans and stop this
suicidal war. I have done more in one day than you all have done
since you arrived. I have accomplished this because I am better at
my work than the rest of you. That is all the information any of you
are going to receive. You are dismissed."

White with anger, Faussel turned on his heel and stamped out--to
spread the word about what a slave-driver the new director was. They
would then all hate him passionately, which was just the way he
wanted it. He couldn't risk exposure as the tyro he was. And perhaps
a new emotion, other than disgust and defeat, might jar them into a
little action. They certainly couldn't do any worse than they had
been doing.

It was a tremendous amount of responsibility. For the first time
since setting foot on this barbaric planet Brion had time to stop
and think. He was taking an awful lot upon himself. He knew nothing
about this world, nor about the powers involved in the conflict.
Here he sat pretending to be in charge of an organization he had
first heard about only a few weeks earlier. It was a frightening
situation. Should he slide out from under?

There was just one possible answer, and that was _no_. Until he
found someone else who could do better, he seemed to be the one best
suited for the job. And Ihjel's opinion had to count for something.
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. 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?" Even through the speaker the man's voice was cold with
ill-concealed hatred.

"Who is Lig-magte? And did the former director ever return from
seeing him?"

"Magte is a title that means roughly noble or lord. Lig-magte is the
local overlord. He has an ugly stoneheap of a building just outside
the ci