Kefira Qay pushed herself up, trembling, and turned to rush out of the communications room, where all the screens were babbling news of death, destruction, defeat. Haviland Tuf was standing behind her, his pale white face impassive, Ingratitude sitting calmly on his broad left shoulder.
“What is happening?” the Guardian demanded.
“I should think that would be obvious, Guardian, to any person of normal intelligence. We are losing. Perhaps we have lost already.”
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