Tamis giggled. "We can control them--a little. They don't think. They
react to external stimuli."
"I see," said Joel. But he didn't.
He heard a wailing siren overhauling them fast from the direction
of the spaceport. The bus pulled over to let an escort of guards
on armored prowl-cycles roar past. Immediately following them, came
a plastic tear-drop tri-wheeler. The governor and his daughter were
lounging back in its roomy seats.
Priscilla glimpsed Joel and waved mockingly. Then the procession was
gone, a second detachment of guards bringing up the rear.
Buildings, Joel noticed, had begun to replace the jungle, buildings of
thick opaque plastic without windows. The moving sidewalks, shaded by
gaudy awnings, were crowded with men and women clad in little more than
shorts and sandals.
The air, Joel realized, was stifling. The dazzling yellow ball that was
Alpha Centauri A rode high in the steel blue sky. Alpha Centauri B was
a smaller molten-orange sun swimming just above the horizon. Joel had
never felt such heat before. It was like the engine room of a tramp
spacer.
The bus slowed down, swung into the curb. Captain Goplerud shouted,
"Pile out!"
Joel saw a detachment of guards drawn up at the curb. They wore white
uniforms and pith helmets and carried small automatic paralyzers. A
crowd began to collect behind the double line of guards, which ran like
a gauntlet into a massive prison-like structure. From behind him, Nick
Thorp said, "Here's an old friend of yours."
"Who?" He glanced up in surprise, recognized Priscilla Cameron grinning
at him with an impish expression.
* * * * *
She was dressed in crisp white shorts and a brief jacket. Her green
hair wasn't so startling as it had been aboard ship. Joel had noticed
other women on the street of Eden with green hair, with yellow hair,
with cerise, vermillion, chartreuse hair. It obviously was the latest
mode of Asgard.
"That's the one, Colonel!" he heard Priscilla say to the man beside
her. "Be sure to notify me when he comes up for sale."
Joel reddened.
The colonel touched his cap. "I'll be glad to, Miss Cameron." He turned
to Captain Goplerud.
"Move them inside, Captain. They're not used to the suns. Have a good
crossing?"
"Rotten," said Goplerud. "I'm glad to get 'em off my hands. Watch that
fellow Hakkyt, by the way. He's a killer."
Then the line began to move. He had been carried beyond earshot into
the dim warmth of the prison.