Angry words had dragged Brion from a deep and exhausted sleep. The words were whispered but clear, two voices, just outside the thin metal of his door. Someone spoke his name.
"... Brion Brandd. Of course not. Whoever said you could was making a big mistake and there is going to be trouble—"
"Don't talk like an idiot!" This other voice snapped with a harsh urgency, clearly used to command. "I'm here because the matter is of utmost importance, and Brandd is the one I must see. Now stand aside!"
"The Twenties—"
"I don't give a damn about your games, hearty cheers and physical exercises. This is important or I wouldn't be here!"
The other didn't speak—he was surely one of the officials—and Brion could sense his outraged anger. He must have drawn his gun, because the other man said quickly, "Put that away. You're being a fool!"
"Out!" was the single snarled word of the response. There was silence then and, still wondering, Brion was once more asleep.
"Ten seconds."
The voice chopped away Brion's memories and he let awareness seep back into his body. He was unhappily conscious of his total exhaustion. The month of continuous mental and physical combat had taken its toll. It would be hard to stay on his feet, much less summon the strength and skill to fight and win a touch.