ed.

This was the vital fact. If they were not interested he could have
no further value to them. Since he came from the enemy, he was the
enemy. Therefore he would be killed. Because this was vital to his
existence, Brion took the time to follow the thought through. It
made logical sense--and logic was all he could depend on now. He
could be talking to robots or alien creatures, for all the human
response he was receiving.

"You can't win this war--all you can do is hurry your own deaths."
He said this with as much conviction as he could, realizing at the
same time that it was wasted effort. No flicker of response stirred
in the men before him. "The Nyjorders know you have the cobalt
bombs, and they have detected your jump-space projector. They can't
take any more chances. They have pushed the deadline closer by an
entire day. There are one and a half days left before the bombs fall
and you are all destroyed. Do you realize what that means--"

"Is that the message?" Lig-magte asked.

"Yes," Brion said.

Two things saved his life then. He had guessed what would happen as
soon as they had his message, though he hadn't been sure. But even
the suspicion had put him on his guard. This, combined with the
reflexes of a Winner of the Twenties, was barely enough to enable
him to survive.

From frozen mobility Lig-magte had catapulted into headlong attack.
As he leaped forward he drew a curved, double-edged blade from under
his robes. It plunged unerringly through the spot where Brion's body
had been an instant before.

There had been no time to tense his muscles and jump, just the space
of time to relax them and fall to one side. His reasoning mind
joined the battle as he hit the floor. Lig-magte plunged by him,
turning and bringing the knife down at the same time. Brion's foot
lashed out and caught the other man's leg, sending him sprawling.

They were both on their feet at the same instant, facing each other.
Brion now had his hands clasped before him in the unarmed man's
best defense against a knife, the two arms protecting the body,
the two hands joined to beat aside the knife arm from whichever
direction it came. The Disan hunched low, flipped the knife quickly
from hand to hand, then thrust it again at Brion's midriff.

Only by the merest fractional margin did Brion evade the attack for
the second time. Lig-magte fought with utter violence. Every action
was as intense as possible, deadly and thorough. There co