Above the sound of digging rose the sharp voices of the giant women of Teris, each with a battalion under her command. As far as Ben’s eyes could reach men were digging at the ground.
He was hustling along to a point where a dirt spattered group struggled with a metallic lining for the half-mile hole it had excavated. At that point his escort turned him over to the woman who bossed that crew. Ben saw in the hand of the overseer one of the violet ray cylinders.
“Down there,” she said curtly, pointing to where a small knot of men worked on a terrace fifty feet below. “They will tell you what to do.”
Ben had found nothing strange in the fact that his escort had spoken English fluently. She had been present at his electroanalysis. But he doubted that all the women of Teris could have the same command of the language. Nevertheless he said nothing and clambered down the ladder to the terrace beneath. Ben’s unasked question was answered when he saw the five faces turned up toward him.
Earth men! Even the grime that covered them could not hide that. And there was added proof in their widening eyes. They were sorry to see another Earth man captive, yet happy at sight of one of their own kind. Willing hands helped Ben down from the bottom rung of the ladder.
“We’d heard they had picked up another ship,” one of the men said. “But we weren’t sure the rumor was true.”
“True enough, as you can see. I’m Ben Sessions.”
His outstretched hand was grasped and shaken cordially. Names were flung at him. Murchison, Davies, Kennard, Bannon, Murchison.
“Wait a second,” Ben said. “I thought I heard Murchison twice.”