"Did the mighty brains on Nyjord bother to tell you that they have chopped another day off the deadline? That this world is about to come to an end?" "Yes, I know," Brion said. "That's why I'm asking your group for help. Our time is running out too fast." The man didn't answer, merely grunted and gave his full attention to the radar pings and glowing screen. The electronic senses reached out as he made a check on all the search frequencies to see if they were being followed. "Where are we going?" Brion asked. "Out into the desert," the driver made a vague wave of his hand. "Headquarters of the army. Since the whole thing will be blown up in another day, I guess I can tell you it's the only camp we have. All the cars, men and weapons are based there. And Hys. He's the man in charge. Tomorrow it will be all gone--along with this cursed planet. What's your business with us?" "Shouldn't I be telling Hys that?" "Suit yourself." Satisfied with the instrument search the driver kicked the car to life again and churned on across the desert. "But we're a volunteer army and we have no secrets from each other. Just from the fools at home who are going to kill this world." There was a bitterness in his words that he made no attempt to conceal. "They fought among themselves and put off a firm decision so long that now they are forced to commit murder." "From what I had heard, I thought that it was the other way around. They call your Nyjord Army terrorists." "We are. Because we are an army and we're at war. The idealists at home only understood that when it was too late. If they had backed us in the beginning, we would have blown open every black castle on Dis--searched until we found those bombs. But that would have meant wanton destruction and death. They wouldn't consider that. Now they are going to kill everyone, destroy everything." He flicked on the panel lights just long enough to take a compass bearing, and Brion saw the tortured unhappiness in his twisted body. "It's not over yet," Brion said. "There is more than a day left, and I think I'm onto something that might stop the war--without any bombs being dropped." "You're in charge of the Cultural Relationships Free Bread and Blankets Foundation, aren't you? What good can your bunch do when the shooting starts?" "None. But maybe we can put off the shooting. If you are trying to insult me--don't bother. My irritation quotient is very high." The driver just grunted at this, slowing down as they ran through a field of broken rock. "What is it you want?" he asked. "We want to make a detailed examination of one of the magter. Alive or dead, it doesn't make any difference. You wouldn't happen to have one around?" "No. We've fought with them often enough, but always on their home grounds. They keep all their casualties, and a good number of ours. What good will it do you anyway? A dead one won't tell you where the bombs or the jump-space projector is."