"This one will return you to your own kind," said the priest. "You will not come here again, for this cavern is sacred to us. And there must be no more seizing and eating of Pit Men." "There will be none," Wilding promised savagely. "Not after I warn the convicts that if any incidents occur, I will turn the human offenders over to you for punishment." The priest shook his head. "No, we don't want that." "I don't understand," protested Wilding. "You must take responsibility for your own kind. That is our law. In your dealings with us, it must be yours." Wilding shrugged, then agreed soberly. It seemed that his authority carried accumulating responsibility with it. Return to the prison colonies of the outer caverns was without incident. Though surprised to see him alive, his fellow convicts received his news boisterously. Wilding cut short their enthusiasm and rapidly assigned tasks. Time was short, and there was much to be done. For reasons concerned with the relative proximity to a new-type spaceship that he had previously cached in the asteroid belt, everything must be accomplished before the next scheduled arrival of the supply ship, or even sooner if an unscheduled prisoner delivery should occur. With atomic power, anything was possible. Prisoners turned to with a will as soon as radioactive ores, already processed, began to pour into the caverns, proving the Pit Men as good as their word. Grouth and Wilding oversaw the tooling of weapons and stockpiling of vital supplies. Concor supervised technical jobs. Work went on. In any subsurface world, time is arbitrary, an artificial thing of clockwork and labor expended. It passed rapidly. IV A full day before the two weeks were up, Wilding was rushing conversion of the lighter to completion. Everything else was in readiness. Food, weapons and a store of ammunition were stacked on the landing stages for loading. Some would go into the lighter, the rest would be at hand awaiting the capture of the supply ship. Aboard the lighter, technicians made final adjustments and tests. Among them, making herself both useful and ornamental, was Amyth. Tiny had parked herself at Wilding's elbow. She reeked of poisonous mushroom beer. She was drunk and talking. "Your eyes follow her," Tiny observed shrewdly. "They do," Wilding admitted. "I'm curious about her. What could she have done to be sent here?" "Amyth was born here. She's never had a chance to do anything. Can you imagine what such a life means to a girl like that?" Wilding shuddered. "I don't have to imagine." "She's tough," went on Tiny. "Only the tough ones survive. The authorities don't recognize their existence. They send men and women here, with all the fences down, then close their eyes. Maybe nobody told them about the birds and bees. Amyth is my sister's child. She grew up here, knows nothing but this prison life." "She grew up all over," commented Wilding.