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people disappearing from this project in alarming numbers."
    "Centauri are soft." There was clear disgust in his voice. "That's always been our problem. Whenever any sort of difficulty is involved, we fold up. Call it quits. In some ways, you have to admire the Narn. Say what you want about them, but we conquered them and they still never quit. Took them years and years, but they fought for their freedom and obtained it. We wouldn't fight for freedom. Someone conquered us, we'd roll over and die, and that would be that."
    "I'm so pleased we're having the opportunity to discuss this," Vir said, "but it's not exactly what I wanted to focus on right now, if that's okay. People aren't just leaving because they're tired or bored or they've had enough. There is a great evil here, and your men are in terrible danger. Terrible, terrible danger."
    "And you know this ... how?" inquired Renegar.
    "Sources."
    "What sort of sources?"
    Vir endeavored to remember just where Renegar was on the social scale. He drew himself up haughtily, or at least as close to haughtily as he could get, and informed Renegar, "The sort of sources who choose not to be identified at this time."
    "So you can't tell me."
    "That is correct."
    "And this great danger facing us ... you can't tell me about that, either."
    "I'm afraid not."
    "But I'm just supposed to halt work on this project, on your say-so. Tell me, Ambassador Cotto, do you know Minister Durla?"
    "I've ... had some dealings with him, yes," said Vir somewhat wryly.
    "Minister Durla, he's not vague at all. He tells me exactly what he wants done, and exactly when he wants it done by. Because of that, I tend to listen to him. Have you taken this matter up with him?"
    "No."
    "What do you think would happen if you did?"
    Dissembling was not one of Vir's skills, learned or otherwise.
    "I doubt that he would be particularly amenable to listening to me."
    "So why should I be more so?"
    "Because," Vir said with unexpected vehemence, "you're here and he's not. Because he," and he pointed in the general direction of Centauri Prime, many light-years away, "is not going to care about the lives of the people here. And I thought that perhaps, since you are directly in charge of them, you just might care. Look, while we're talking here, going back and forth and around and around, the risk is growing with each passing minute. We're running out of time. In fact, we may already be out of time. Don't you understand? People aren't just disappearing. They're dying."
    For just a moment, Renegar seemed slightly uncertain. Then his face, and hearts, hardened once more.
    "I have no proof of that."
    "You have my word and the evidence of your own eyes: your populace is dropping. What else do you need?"
    And at that moment, lending support to Vir's long-held notion that the Great Maker had a fairly perverse sense of humor, there was a sound of an explosion. It came from the direction of the excavation, but it was far more than just an explosion. It was as if the entire planet had been struck by a massive object, and nearly shattered by the impact. The office shook so violently that Vir didn't have the slightest chance of retaining his footing. One moment he was standing, the next he was on his back. Renegar fared no better: his chair titled backward and spilled him to the ground. Oddly enough, there was some benefit to that happenstance, for a huge chunk of the ceiling came free and crashed down right where Renegar had been. It might not have been of sufficient weight or impact to kill him, but it certainly would have been enough to give him a concussion – or worse.
    Renegar, moving with surprising grace for one so large, tumbled out of his chair and scrambled to his feet. He looked at Vir with confusion, and Vir was pleased to see that – for the first time since they'd made each other's acquaintance – Renegar didn't seem smug or self-satisfied. Apparently Vir's predictions of imminent disaster carried a bit more weight when