“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.” “Why? Does it make any difference?” “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. “Oh, Jerry!” “I hope we win them over.” “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. The girl turned to her work. “There’s no place else except the sleeping cubicles. I suppose I’ll be there. When will you be twenty-five?” she asked abruptly. “One month from today.” “I don’t see why ...” Mona’s voice died away as the guards worked their way down the tunnel. They were herding the humans back to the slave compartment for the night. * * * * * Rod Harrow entered the compartment for the first time. He was one of the last on Earth to be captured and sent on the slave ship to Tetrarch IV. His eyes were narrow, waiting for the first sign of inevitable recognition. He had divested himself of his tight, transparent space suit. Heated space suits were necessary on Tetrarch IV, except in the compartments assigned to human slaves. In them there was air and heat. The planet itself was bitterly cold. Its only atmosphere was inert Krypton which the tetrarchians breathe. Through this dead gas activated sand coursed in eternal swirls. Slaves were pouring through the door in droves. There were no oldsters in this crowd. None over twenty-five. Earth’s two hundred year life span had been considerably reduced.