A flash of spirit illuminated the girl's tragic, immature face.
"They call us a different race!" she exclaimed. "True—but not an inferior race! They are the inferior race, though the stronger. They depend on our knowledge, our labor, to live! My father told me so!"
Kass, who had been studying her silently, asked, "Your father?"
"Yes. The technic in charge of the machinery below. He was ordered to escort you around. But his scars from the rays make it hard for him to breathe today. He is in his bunk. So he sent me in his place."
Sine wondered if life under such unnatural and destructive conditions would some day reduce this graceful girl to a horrible parody of humanity. He asked;
"Do you work below?"
Her clear gray eyes fell on him.
"No. I was selected by the Committee to work in the Baths when I am sixteen. I am fifteen now."
"Holy twisted nebulae!" Sine swore under his breath. "The kid doesn't know what her work in the Baths is going to be! So the Committee selected her for the Baths!" He felt suddenly a violent dislike for the very rich Jovians, a feeling of fraternity with the Mugs.