"One of the dormitories. Four to an apartment is the rule. You'll be lodged with three men who arrived a little while before you did—two Earthmen and a Venusian."
"I see. What am I supposed to do?"
"Just wait here till you're summoned. And Jerry—" She came toward him, placing her palms flat on his broad chest, her blue eyes looking up into his appealingly. "Jerry, please don't do anything foolish. I know it's hard at first. But—they—punish rebellious slaves rather awfully."
Vanning smiled down at her. "Okay, Lysla. I'll look around before I do anything. But, believe me, I intend to start a private little revolution around here."
She shook her head hopelessly, auburn curls flying. "It isn't any use. I've seen that already. You'll see it, too. I must go now. And be careful, Jerry."
He squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Sure. I'll see you again?"
"Yes. But now—"
She was gone. Vanning whistled softly, and turned to examine the room. Sight of his face in a mirror startled him. Under the stubbly growth of beard, his familiar features had altered, grown haggard and strained.
A razor lay handy—or, rather, a sharp dagger with a razor-sharp edge. There was a bar of gray substance that gave a great deal of lather when Vanning moistened it in the metal bowl that served as a wash-basin. He shaved, and felt much better.
His weakness had almost entirely gone. The medical science of the Swamja, at least, was above reproach. Nevertheless, he tired easily.... That would pass.