A hard-thewed, ice-eyed youngster recognized him first. Steel fingers closed on Rod’s wrist.
“Rod Harrow!” he whispered. “I’m Don Rickter. I thought you were holding out on Earth.”
Rod kept his eyes on a card game that had started. “I left our hideaway in the Rockies when I found out how I could help up here. There was no way of getting here except by the slave route.” He paused thoughtfully. “We haven’t been idle on Earth—the few of us that are left.”
“But, man!” Rickter was dubious. “We’re trapped here. Right now those devils are watching us. We can’t even talk, but that they know about it. Sometimes even before we say anything. I swear they can read our thoughts.”
“It’s not quite as bad as that. How about getting some of our old gang together for a game of cards?”
“Just as you say, Rod. But it won’t do any good to talk business.”
Rod grinned. “Remember the game we all played when we were kids?” He emphasized his remark with a quick gesture.
Rickter’s answering grin was sufficient response. “I remember,” he said.
“There’s a grey-eyed girl around here. Name’s Mona.”
“Oh, Mona Darlanan. She’s hipped on getting that adopted brother of hers out of the mines. The Lord knows why! He’s a cowardly little wretch.”