"Esta, it is not mine. What is it?"
"Just a case." Vanning stowed it away, and sat down on one of the cots, wondering. As he saw it, he had two objectives to reach. First—escape. Second—bring in Callahan.
Not merely escape, though. He thought of Lysla. A slave ... damn! And the other two hundred slaves of the Swamja ... He couldn't leave them here.
But what could he do? Conquer the Swamja? The thought was melodramatically crazy. Perhaps alone he might contrive to escape, and bring a troop of Space Patrolmen to wipe out the Swamja. An army, if necessary.
The others, he saw, had seated themselves on the cots. Hobbs kicked off his sandals and sighed. "Wish I had a smoke. Oh, well."
Vanning said sharply, "Callahan!" His eyes flicked from one to another, and found nothing but surprise in the faces turned to him. Sanderson rumbled,
"What the devil are you jabbering about?"
Vanning sighed. "I'm wondering something. When did you boys get here?"
It was the mild-faced Hobbs who answered. "A couple of weeks ago, I believe. Within a few days of each other. Just before you arrived, in fact. But we recovered long before you did. It was only a miracle that saved your life, Vanning."
"And before you three got here—any others come from outside? Lately, I mean."