Left hand, right hand

By JAMES H. SCHMITZ
Illustrated by SCHELLING
Men were tortured ... men were killed ... and the Earth Scientists chatted pleasantly with the Tareeg. Were they traitors or were they waiting for The Ice Men?
Jerry Newland was sitting up on the side of his bunk, frowning at the floor, when Troy Gordon came quietly into the room and stopped at the entrance to watch him. Not too good, Troy thought after a moment, studying Newland's loose mouth, the slow blinking of the eyes and the slumped immobility of position. Not too bad either—not for a man who, in most practical respects, had been dead for the better part of three years and come awake again only the day before.
But the question was whether Newland was going to recover quickly enough now to be of any use as an ally.
Troy moved forward a few steps into the room, stopped again as Newland raised his head in a sluggish motion to stare at him. For a few seconds, the man's face remained blank. Then he grinned. A strained, unpleasant-looking grin, but a grin.
Troy waited. Newland cleared his throat, said, I ... I recognized you almost immediately this time! And ... I remembered that this same thing had happened before.
Troy grinned, too, guardedly. My coming into the room this way?
Newland nodded.
It happened yesterday, Troy said. What's my name?
Troy Gordon.
And yours?