He walked toward them, conscious of his own strength. The exercising of the others went on around him. Slap and soft wind of breath and creak of apparatus. The heat was a nearly-tangible cloud.
"Why aren't you two working out like the rest?" Caffrey asked slowly.
One of the androids said in a weary voice, "I'm tired. I can't when I'm tired."
Caffrey's fingers tightened on the stick. They had to be in perfect shape! Had to be! This was his last shipload, and by God....
He swung the stick up over his shoulder and brought it down in a blurring arc. There was a flat smacking sound. The android choked. Caffrey struck the other one, and the anger came up from his stomach like fire boiling over. He screamed at them and beat them. Again the stick fell, again, again, again....
Finally he stood back, feeling the sweat running down him. He tilted his head and gulped air. "Now," he said very quietly, "now, you inhuman sonsofslate, start working...."
The two of them watched from the gray mats where they were crouched. Brief resentment was in their eyes.
Caffrey bunched his muscles and kicked. The android's head snapped backward against the bars. He grunted. Then both of them got up and walked over to the pulleys. They began to exercise, rapidly.
Caffrey laughed and walked on through the gym, not watching them any more. He went through the next bulkhead and spun the lock wheel, then padded down the corridor under the ceiling lights that shone like foggy blue eyes.
Dillman, his astrogator, a young kid with yellow hair and an aggressive jaw, was in the chart room. He was working with the course computer. Dillman had been a student at the University of Venus, Cloud City, when he killed an officer of the Control Police in a fight over a girl. Dillman was good in the slave game. Dillman was getting hard.