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 co-operation--but could you possibly tell me how to contact them?" Krafft 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 small deadline. "Have you told the Disans this as yet?" "No," Krafft told him. "The decision was reached just 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 concerns 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 sandcar we have, a driver who knows his way around and two men, who can handle a gun and know how to take orders. We're going to get some positive action at last." X "It's suicide," the taller guard grumbled. "Mine not yours, so don't worry about it," Brion snapped at him. "Your job is to remember your orders and keep them straight. Now--let's hear them again."