"What you don't know," said Doctor Chedwick almost as if reading Joel's mind, "is that there is a chance for you to escape this!"
Joel went rigid. He leaned forward, his eyes fastened on the pale gray eyes of the man behind the desk.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. There's an acute labor shortage on Asgard, second planet of Alpha Centauri A. Last year the planters petitioned the Senate to assign them a number of malcontents from the Experimental Stations. There has been an alarming increase in maladjusted cases recently. More than the stations could handle. The Senate jumped at the chance to get rid of the excess."
In spite of his eagerness Joel felt a vague shock. "But that's slavery."
Doctor Chedwick shrugged. "Would you rather work on the plantations or die in some experiment?"
"Why—why—" Joel burst out, "I'd rather work!"
"Exactly. So would the others."
Joel said, "But why the tattoo mark? Why all the secrecy? And the guard. What is the guard?"
"The less you know about that the safer you'll be." Doctor Chedwick's mouth shut like a trap. He stabbed at a button on his desk. "You'll be contacted on Asgard. Everything will be explained then. Meanwhile say nothing about the tattoo mark. Say nothing about our conversation to any one. Understand?"