So Wilding knew nothing about it when the lighter eventually came out. His body was blue, puffed and more dead than alive, the spark-blue eyes glazed and sightless. He could not see the small craft circle and draw in the supplies with magnetic nets. He was unaware of the skyhooks that reached out to haul him through the airlock into the lighter, and was too far gone to care. For a man attempting death and rebirth, he had a good start on the first half of his project. Pangs of returning sensation brought him sharply conscious and reminded him of his plan. If he were to be the first man ever to escape from Alcatraz Asteroid, he must start at once by establishing his place in a dangerous and hard-bitten society. He began his task by opening his eyes. Blistered and stiffened lids responded slowly. The cubicle was dim and murky, air stale but cool. Grunting, he tried to sit up. Someone bent over him. A woman's face blocked further view. The face was old and wise and ugly; the woman huge and muscular, a graying Amazon who might be a good foot taller than Wilding when she straightened up. Sound boomed from her as if from a cracked bell, and most of the cracks showed on her weathered skin. She was mildly drunk, her breath poisonous with mushroom beer. "What's new in Venusport?" she asked. "Who in Hell cares?" demanded Wilding. Her laugh boomed again. "He knows where he is," she jeered. "So I win my bet." "What bet?" The big woman drew back and let Wilding have a look at her companions. Behind the woman stood a man and a girl. A spidery Mercurian straddled Wilding's legs and massaged numbed flesh with rough efficiency. "My bet with Grouth," explained the Amazon, indicating the Mercurian. "Not decorative, is he? Mercurian twilight men never are. But he's what passes for my husband here." Wilding stared at her, and past her at the others. "Now I know for sure where I am," he said. "I read in a book once that there's no marriage or giving in marriage in Heaven. Since I'm obviously dead, that leaves only--" The Amazon slapped her ample thigh and vented some more loud rumbles of laughter. "Proves my point," she bellowed. "Grouth figured your first words would be 'Where am I?' or something else trite. You looked to me like a man who always knows where he is and how he got there, so I bet on it. Alcatraz or Hell--it's all one. Do I win?" "Near enough," Grouth snorted unhappily. "I'll concede--" "What stakes?" Wilding asked. For his plan, he must have the respect and co-operation of the veteran convicts. Such an attitude must be earned, so he carefully disciplined himself to register neither shock nor surprise whatever he encountered. Even so, his hair nearly stood on end as the noisy Amazon explained.