“Mona Darlanan!” he breathed in wonderment.
Even in the mines--in the serfdom of Tetrarch--her beauty caught him. This was the girl who would always make him uncomfortable ... as it had back in the old days--when Earth was free. She had gone on the stage. He had buried himself in a science laboratory. They had lost touch. When the tetrarchs overran Earth he had lost all knowledge of her. Besides, he had been busy ... busy on the most important project of Earth’s Thirtieth Century A.D.
“How long have you been here?” he asked. He felt awkward. This was not the way he had pictured their meeting.
“I’ve been in the mines longer than you have.” Her face was quiet, almost submissive. “Don’t talk, or the guards will be back. Besides, I want to change places with you.”
“Yes.” She brushed him aside impatiently and turned to the sniveling youth at his side.
“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.
“They almost killed me,” the whimpering slave was trembling.
“I know now that’s the only way.” The girl looked about her furtively, “I’ve been talking to Latham Koler....”
Rod swung his pick with a vicious twist and unearthed a red cloud of Mercury oxide. His reaction boiled like the crimson dust as it mingled with the swirling sand in the tunnel. When he’d gotten control of himself he spoke flatly.
“A man just died here,” he said. “Don’t taint his death with a traitor’s name.”
“Latham Koler’s not a traitor!” the girl flashed. “At least he has enough influence to get some of us out of the mines.”
Rod eyed her angrily. The memory of the human torch ripped words from him.
“We’re humans! Remember? From Earth! There was a time when a human from Earth would prefer dying to licking a conqueror’s boots!”
Mona shrugged her shoulders. She swung a pick on a gryxon outcropping. “That may be,” she said briefly, “but we’re slaves now. And we die within a day or so of our twenty-fifth birthday. If Latham Koler can get Jerry out of the mines,” Mona indicated the youth by her side, “I’ll mention his name--I’ll do anything--if Jerry can be saved.”
Jerry patted her shoulder. “He’ll help us, I know,” he soothed.
Rod Harrow bent to wisp sandy ice from a blob of red oxide. He put the crimson dust into his pocket.
“You’ll be in the slave compartment tonight?” he asked.