are working to make a bomb. No bomb that we can make is
hard enough. We can only try once. If it fails the noise
would ruin us. There is no second chance. We try our
bombs in the crucible. They crumble. They have no strength.
We are ignorant. We are only learning. We studied it in
the books, the forbidden books. It took a month to learn
to set the wires to fire the bomb. The tunnel was there.
We did not have to dig it. It was for my father, Vangorod
Vasselitch. He would not let them use it. He tapped a
message through the wall, 'Keep it for a greater need.'
Now it is his daughter that is there."

Halfoff paused. He was panting and his chest heaved.
There was perspiration on his face and his black hair
was wet.

"Courage, little brother," said Kwitoff. "She shall not
die."

"Listen," went on Halfoff. "The bomb is made. It is there
beside the crucible. It has power in it to shatter the
prison. But the wires are wrong. They do not work. There
is no current in them. Something is wrong. We cannot
explode the bomb."

"Courage, courage," said Kwitoff, and his hands were busy
among the wires before him. "I am working still."

Serge looked at the brothers.