He was still pounding Rod’s back when Bunny came puffing up. “You’d better come in a hurry, boss,” he said, “that guy down there wants to talk to you and he ain’t got much time left.”
Rod frowned. “Lets go,” he said briefly.
He ran down the slope to the inert figure that lay like a blade of mown grass at the base.
When the others arrived he was kneeling by the fallen slave, supporting him by the head and shoulders. There was no mistaking the ghastly pallor spreading over the waxen face.
His breathing was jerky—almost spasmodic as he whispered, “And then they worked on Rickter. They had grown suspicious when things started to disappear ... when more slaves escaped and never got caught.”
His breathing paused. The skin on the man’s forehead lost its waxy pallor. It became dry—harsh—yellow-tinged.
Rod braced him more firmly—the tortured chest heaved again. “When they found out ... about the Survivors ... they decided to finish us. They had been working to find out about a cure for the gryxon burn. Koler worked with them and discovered how to make it work faster ... said it was a catalyst ... forced us to eat it ... one by one.”
“Mona?” Rod asked gently.
“They’ve saved her and a few more ... going to experiment ... operate ... say humans no use as slaves ... too stiff-necked ... make better guinea pigs ... we’re finished.”