"Our own version of Russian roulette. We load the blaster clip with alternating charges and blanks, then stick the muzzle in each other's mouth and pull the trigger to find out which load is first. Now Grouth owes me one. Not that I'll collect just yet. I like to be sure I'm through with a man before I blow his head off." Wilding shrugged. "It should simplify divorce." With some effort, Wilding sat up and shoved the Mercurian violently from his perch. "Get off my legs...." Grouth glared and gave an unpleasant whickering sound. "I was only trying to work enough life back into you so you could give us some news. Mortality is high among newcomers. You won't last long." "I may surprise you," Wilding said casually. Deliberately, his eyes fixed upon each of the four, impressing their features into his memory, evaluating personalities to determine potential usefulness to his plan. Savages, as he had expected. Debased and degenerate, all of them, but intelligent. Dangerous tools, but he had sometimes worked miracles with worse. * * * * * The other man was a bald giant, of curious complexion, obviously not of Earth stock, very tall but so heavily built that he looked squat. Grinning, apelike, he thrust out something between a hand and a paw. Wilding took it and did not wince under the pressure. "I'm Concor," said the bullet-head. "Martian, though origin is not important here. Welcome to our pesthole." Wilding nodded, turning his attention to the fourth of the odd group. She was a girl, young, sullen and striking. Lips writhed in scorn as she returned his frank stare, and the play of expression on her features was light flickering from a moving swordblade. She was not beautiful, nor even pretty in any ordinary sense. Everything about her suggested metal--her skin was snow on copper, her hair curling shreds of brass, her body posture suggested the temper and resilience of steel, even the eyes quivered like heated mercury and did something as poisonous to a man's bones. Half-caste Callistan, he thought, and not quite human. Her voice was coldly sibilant as a needle sliding in metallic groove. "Better enjoy us while you can, Halfling. If we seem so distasteful to you, brace yourself. We're the nice people here." "My niece, Amyth," said the Amazon, touching the girl's shoulder fondly. "I should warn you about her. She's killed three men in a year for less than you're thinking." Wilding gave a grim chuckle. "I'll remember that. If I ever start thinking about her, I'll break both her arms first." "We're not too formal about such things here. You take whatever you're strong and clever enough to hold. The man who wants Amyth is likely to have his hands full. Even for me, there were some other suitors, but Grouth was man enough to hold me against all comers. So don't sell him short, for all his runt-size and odd complexion."