"_No. Wait there--we'll get in touch with you after dark._" The carrier wave went dead. Thirty-five hours to the end of the world--and all he could do was wait. 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 grille 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 good quantity of smoke. The compressor moaned and expired. Faussel was standing in the door with more papers and a shocked expression. "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 report, 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 his 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 any more work out of her before the deadline, you have better let her rest tonight. Better let the whole staff rest. I've been handing out tranquilizers like aspirin all day. They're falling apart." "The world's falling apart. How is Lea doing?" "Considering her shape she's fine. Go in and see for yourself if you won't take my word for it. I have other patients to look at."