"You must take responsibility for your own kind. That is our law. In your dealings with us, it must be yours."
Wilding shrugged, then agreed soberly. It seemed that his authority carried accumulating responsibility with it.
Return to the prison colonies of the outer caverns was without incident. Though surprised to see him alive, his fellow convicts received his news boisterously. Wilding cut short their enthusiasm and rapidly assigned tasks.
Time was short, and there was much to be done. For reasons concerned with the relative proximity to a new-type spaceship that he had previously cached in the asteroid belt, everything must be accomplished before the next scheduled arrival of the supply ship, or even sooner if an unscheduled prisoner delivery should occur. With atomic power, anything was possible. Prisoners turned to with a will as soon as radioactive ores, already processed, began to pour into the caverns, proving the Pit Men as good as their word. Grouth and Wilding oversaw the tooling of weapons and stockpiling of vital supplies. Concor supervised technical jobs.
Work went on. In any subsurface world, time is arbitrary, an artificial thing of clockwork and labor expended. It passed rapidly.
IV
A full day before the two weeks were up, Wilding was rushing conversion of the lighter to completion. Everything else was in readiness. Food, weapons and a store of ammunition were stacked on the landing stages for loading. Some would go into the lighter, the rest would be at hand awaiting the capture of the supply ship.
Aboard the lighter, technicians made final adjustments and tests. Among them, making herself both useful and ornamental, was Amyth.
Tiny had parked herself at Wilding's elbow. She reeked of poisonous mushroom beer. She was drunk and talking.