Grudo laughed coarsely. "What matter? When these slaves die there are thousands more on our colony."
"Nevertheless," said Steve, "the human's point was well taken. Sick slaves are valueless. I told the man I would do something to assure them a supply of cleaner water. But—" he added hastily—"I also told him we would turn no hand to provide for their comfort. What they want done they must do for themselves.
"Still it will do no harm for us to provide them with the needed equipment. You can requisition a distillation unit, Grudo? Some vats, coils, storage containers ... that sort of thing?"
"Why," acknowledged Grudo frowning, "I suppose so. But—"
And he glanced at the Lady Loala questioningly. Her gray-green eyes had never left Steve's face. Now those eyes hardened to the color of frosted agate. She said slowly,
"Yes, Captain Huumo, that seems harmless enough, and can be done. Perhaps you yourself would like to help the earthlings install this unit?"
Duane said eagerly, "Why—why, yes. I should be glad to help in any way—" Then he stopped abruptly, warned by the note of sarcasm in the girl's voice. "I, my Lady? I soil my hands in labor for such as these? I do not understand."
"On the contrary," said Loala, her voice more harshly grating than Duane had ever heard it, "I think you understand too well, Captain Huumo! So you learned nothing from the earthman, eh? You suspect there are no such creatures as Slumberers? But while you tarried, plotting with your friend—we have learned otherwise! Grudo, call the informer!"
Her voice cracked like the bite of a lashing whip. Steve stared.
"What? I don't—"