ait.

XII

On Brion's desk when he came in, were two neat piles of paper. As he
sat down and reached for them he was conscious of an arctic coldness
in the air, a frigid blast. It was coming from the air-conditioner
grill, which was now covered by welded steel bars. The control unit
was sealed shut. Someone was either being very funny or very
efficient. Either way, it was cold. Brion kicked at the cover plate
until it buckled, then bent it aside. After a careful look into the
interior he disconnected one wire and shorted it to another. He was
rewarded by a number of sputtering cracks and a quantity of smoke.
The compressor moaned and expired.

Faussel was standing in the door with more papers, a shocked
expression on his face. "What do you have there?" Brion asked.

Faussel managed to straighten out his face and brought the folders
to the desk, arranging them on the piles already there. "These are
the progress reports you asked for, from all units. Details to date,
conclusions, suggestions, et cetera."

"And the other pile?" Brion pointed.

"Offplanet correspondence, commissary invoices, requisitions." He
straightened the edges of the stack while he answered. "Daily
reports, hospital log...." His voice died away and stopped as Brion
carefully pushed the stack off the edge of the desk into the
wastebasket.

"In other words, red tape," Brion said. "Well, it's all filed."

One by one the progress reports followed the first stack into the
basket, until the desk was clear. Nothing. It was just what he had
expected. But there had always been the off chance that one of the
specialists could come up with a new approach. They hadn't; they
were all too busy specializing.

Outside the sky was darkening. The front entrance guard had been
told to let in anyone who came asking for the director. There was
nothing else Brion could do until the Nyjord rebels made contact.
Irritation bit at him. At least Lea was doing something
constructive; he could look in on her.

He opened the door to the lab with a feeling of pleasant
anticipation. It froze and shattered instantly. Her microscope was
hooded and she was gone. _She's having dinner_, he thought,
or--_she's in the hospital_. The hospital was on the floor below,
and he went there first.

"Of course she's here!" Dr. Stine grumbled. "Where else should
a girl in her condition be? She was out of bed long enough today.
Tomorrow's the last day, and if you want to get an