On impulse, Vanning took out the make-up kit and held it up. "I found
this under the shelves. Yours, Hobbs? Or Sanderson?"
Both men shook their heads, frowning. Vanning glanced at the Venusian.
"Yours, Zeeth?"
"_Esta_, it is not mine. What is it?"
"Just a case." Vanning stowed it away, and sat down on one of the cots,
wondering. As he saw it, he had two objectives to reach. First--escape.
Second--bring in Callahan.
Not merely escape, though. He thought of Lysla. A slave ... _damn_! And
the other two hundred slaves of the Swamja ... He couldn't leave them
here.
But what could he do? Conquer the Swamja? The thought was
melodramatically crazy. Perhaps alone he might contrive to escape, and
bring a troop of Space Patrolmen to wipe out the Swamja. An army, if
necessary.
The others, he saw, had seated themselves on the cots. Hobbs kicked off
his sandals and sighed. "Wish I had a smoke. Oh, well."
Vanning said sharply, "Callahan!" His eyes flicked from one to another,
and found nothing but surprise in the faces turned to him. Sanderson
rumbled,
"What the devil are you jabbering about?"