Her voice was coldly sibilant as a needle sliding in metallic groove. "Better enjoy us while you can, Halfling. If we seem so distasteful to you, brace yourself. We're the nice people here."
"My niece, Amyth," said the Amazon, touching the girl's shoulder fondly. "I should warn you about her. She's killed three men in a year for less than you're thinking."
Wilding gave a grim chuckle. "I'll remember that. If I ever start thinking about her, I'll break both her arms first."
"We're not too formal about such things here. You take whatever you're strong and clever enough to hold. The man who wants Amyth is likely to have his hands full. Even for me, there were some other suitors, but Grouth was man enough to hold me against all comers. So don't sell him short, for all his runt-size and odd complexion."
Wilding nodded, understanding. Women would be scarce, and men exiles would fight over them like male rats over scarce females. He had expected strange and difficult social organization in Alcatraz, even chaos, and the presence of women would be an additional cause of dissension. It might be used to his advantage.
"Who's the bull of this scrub herd?" he asked. "None of you?"
Amyth's laugh was a jangling of steel-shards. Taming her could be an interesting project, but held jagged possibilities.
"Most of us take orders from Tichron," the girl replied. "A few follow Credus, an Earthman. If you have ideas about me, you'll have to fight Tichron for the privilege."
Wilding grunted. "Small privilege. But I'd fight him anyhow. While I'm here, I rule. I lead, not follow."
"Big talk for a newcomer," she said. "When you're here a while—"