"What do you want?"
"I have a message of vital urgency for you—and I would also like your help. Do you want any more information on the radio?"
"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.