"Let him down slowly." Her voice again. Flip stared up at her with mute passion.
The mud caressed his chin, repulsive and warm. Slowly, he felt it creep higher, moist against the back of his head.
"Speak, fool! Where is the mine?"
He stared up at her with bulging eyes, couldn't speak. Her words were meaningless. He felt only the pain in his throat, the pressure of the mire against his body. He knew only that he hated the voice that spoke and that his body was weak with that hatred. The mud crawled into his ears and the voice stopped. The mud rose to his lips. He could taste the thick salty warmth of it. He closed his mouth tightly but the taste remained. The mud bubbled at his nostrils. He couldn't breathe. He saw the vast flat plain of black become level with his eyes.
The mud covered his eyes.
The air was good and he gulped at it. He was lying on the rock. He felt his throat, wiped his face and saw somebody standing over him in the rain. The man had a scar across his cheek.
"Try the other one." It was the woman's voice. "Perhaps the muddy Earthian will talk to save his friend if not himself."
Flip sat up and stared at them, gathering his wits. Charlie had a rope about his neck. The man Voss held a pistol at his back. Charlie grinned at him.
"Proud of you, boy," he said. His right arm dangled at his side. Failing the first time, Flip's scene was to be repeated with a new performer.