"My group?"
"Certainly, my friend. There are five of you; the other four must still be unconscious."
Four? That would be Lasser, Sager, Pederson, and—and Dorrine!
Juan Pedro de Cadiz picked up the whole thought-process easily.
"The girl—I'm sorry," he said. "But the other three—of us all, I think, they deserve this."
"Juan!" came another thought-voice. "Have our newcomers awakened?"
"Just one of them, my sweet," replied the Spaniard. "Sonali, may I present Mr. David Houston. Mr. Houston, the lovely Sonali Siddhartha."
"Juano has a habit of jumping to conclusions, David," said the girl. "He's never even seen me, and I'm sure that after three weeks of being locked in this prison whatever beauty I may have had has disappeared."
"Your thoughts are beautiful, Sonali," said Juan Pedro, "and with us, that is all that counts."
"It is written," said a third voice, "that he who disturbs the slumber of his betters will wake somebody up. You people are giving me dreams, with your ceaseless mental chatter."