tside of Hovedstad. We do not officially approve of
them, though they have a good deal of popular support. They are
mostly young men, operating as raiders, killing and destroying with
very little compunction. They are attempting to uncover the weapons
by sheer strength of arms."

This was the best news yet. Brion controlled his voice and kept his
expression calm when he spoke. "I don't know how far I can stretch
your cooperation--but could you possibly tell me how to get in touch
with them?"

Kraft allowed himself a small smile. "I'll give you the wave length
on which you can reach their radio. They call themselves the 'Nyjord
army.' When you talk to them you can do me a favor. Pass on a
message. Just to prove things aren't bad enough, they've become
a little worse. One of our technical crews has detected jump-space
energy transmissions in the planetary crust. The Disans are
apparently testing their projector, sooner than we had estimated.
Our deadline has been revised by one day. I'm afraid there are only
two days left before you must evacuate." His eyes were large with
compassion. "I'm sorry. I know this will make your job that much
harder."

Brion didn't want to think about the loss of a full day from his
already close deadline. "Have you told the Disans this yet?"

"No," Krafft told him. "The decision was reached a few minutes
before your call. It is going on the radio to Lig-magte now."

"Can you cancel the transmission and let me take the message in
person?"

"I can do that." Krafft thought for a moment. "But it would surely
mean your death at their hands. They have no hesitation in killing
any of our people. I would prefer to send it by radio."

"If you do that you will be interfering with my plans, and perhaps
destroying them under the guise of saving my life. Isn't my life
my own--to dispose of as I will?"

For the first time Professor Krafft was upset. "I'm sorry, terribly
sorry. I'm letting my concern and worry wash over into my public
affairs. Of course you may do as you please; I could never think of
stopping you." He turned and said something inaudible offscreen.
"The call is cancelled. The responsibility is yours. All our wishes
for success go with you. End of transmission."

"End of transmission," Brion said, and the screen went dark.

"Faussel!" he shouted into the intercom. "Get me the best and
fastest sand car we have, a driver who knows his way around, and two
men who can handle a gun a