"New guys," Sanderson said scornfully. "They're always figuring it'll
be easy to escape. They try it, and we all suffer. The Swamja are tough
babies. Take it easy, do what you're told, and everything's okay. See?"
"Not quite." There was a roughness in Vanning's tone. "How long have
you been here?"
"A few weeks, about. I don't recall exactly. What of it?"
"You don't look yellow. It just seems funny that you'd give up so
easily. You look pretty tough."
Sanderson snarled deep in his throat. "I am tough! I'm also smart.
Listen, Mr. Jerry Vanning, two days after I got here I saw the Swamja
punish a guy who tried to escape. They skinned him alive! You hear
that? And his bunk-mates--they weren't killed, but one of 'em went
crazy. Those Swamja--it's crazy to try and buck them."
"They've got you out-bluffed already, eh?"
Sanderson strode forward and gripped Vanning's shoulder in a bruising
clutch. "You talk too much. Trouble-makers don't go here. Get that
through your head."