"I plan to escape with the bulk of the prisoners," he said. "If you will help, you can have your asteroid to yourselves again." "How could we help you?" "The Pit Folk are immune to radiation that is deadly to us. We have no shielding, so we cannot handle or process the radioactive ores. We can provide equipment, if you will supply the labor. All we want is enough to power heavy machines for two weeks, and sufficient purified atomic fuel to power the space-lighter on a short voyage. It will not require much knowledge or labor for that." The gray priest was thoughtful. "If you escape in that small lighter, not many of the prisoners can go with you." "Not many," agreed Wilding. "Not in the lighter. I intend to seize the supply ship and take along all who wish to go." "There will still not be space enough for all," said the priest gravely. "What of those who will remain behind?" * * * * * Wilding grunted. "That is not my problem. Perhaps the guards will send out and pick them up. Certainly there will be an investigation and no more prisoners will be sent here. I will leave you the means to dispose of the remaining prisoners. If they try to harm you, I leave the decision in your hands. You can destroy all of them." "You are a more ruthless people than my race," commented the old Pit Man. "Circumstances sometimes require me to be ruthless," Wilding replied, without apology. "It is like surgery, needed to remove cancerous tissue. Will you help?" "I do not know," said the priest. He moved to the edge of the platform, and suddenly was surrounded by swarming hordes of the Pit Men. There was no audible consultation, no words, no waving of the flipper limbs. Music died away into silence. Finally the gathering broke up and the Pit Men swooped away in all directions. "What was that--a council talk?" asked Wilding. The gray old priest goggled at him. "Not in words. Not talk in the sense you mean. My people are a symbiotic group, all parts of one personality. Each colony is group-brain, a group nervous system, the individuals are its limbs and organs. We have no speech, and communicate with each other by what you would call telepathy--though it is not that. We are not individuals at all, but parts of a great organism. Vocal sound with us is not communication, but an expression of mood-music." Wilding looked upward at the gigantic image. "If you are still undecided, why not ask your gods?" he inquired cynically. The priest whistled words in an eery tone. "One does not disturb the gods with questions unless he wants disturbing answers. We have already reached our decision. We will help you escape." Wilding gave swift instructions and the priest agreed upon terms and methods of carrying them out. Without visible or audible summons, Wilding's Pit Man guide reappeared suddenly, swooping down from the brilliance near the roof of the cavern. He settled with a flutter of membranes and a flurry of flippers.