The pale eyes stared into his. The sardonic smile stayed on the man's lips. "Told that you'll have to work all day, every day, dawn to dark"--his voice hardened viciously--"to pay for the oxygen you breathe." His smile widened as he saw the alarm in Harvey's face. Harvey loosened his grip, but the man kept his face close to his. "You see that tube of oxygen on your back? That will last you one day. When you get a new one, you will owe a hundred credits. Do you understand now? You'll never be able to stop working, because you can't get ahead of that hundred credits a day, you just about make it if you work all day--and you have to make it, do you understand, you fool?--you have to, if you want your oxygen tomorrow, if you want to breathe." Harvey watched dazedly as the two guides turned and started away down the road, and then, abruptly, the stocky one looked back and yelled back, "You're slaves! All of you! You're the same as us! You're slaves!" Ruth, wide-eyed, was waiting at the doorway for him, when he came back. "You heard them?" Harvey said shakily. "I heard," Ruth said in a quiet voice. "Lord, what did I get you into?" She put a hand on his arm. "There's nothing to grieve about. If we find that things just don't work out, we'll stick it out for two years and save up enough for our return passage." Harvey looked at her brokenly. "If what they say is true, how can you save anything?" * * * * * Of course, Harvey reflected afterward, the guide could have been talking nonsense, he could have been some sort of nut. So Harvey said nothing about his encounter to the other settlers. But after three days, everybody knew the true conditions of their existence. The story was made explicit by the little debit-and-credit book that each settler was given. Every evening a caravan of Baker's men, pulling carts, came down the road, collected what the settlers had harvested during the day, and marked the credits in their books. Those who worked from dawn to dusk usually managed to achieve 100 credits. A few went over 100--three, four, or five credits over--and were told that if they kept this rate up, why, in six months or so, they'd have enough credits to buy some clothes at the central commissary. Several settlers fell short each day. They got particular attention from the man who collected the depleted oxygen tanks from the settlers and handed each a new one. "We're not cutting anybody's oxygen off--not right away," he said. "But if I were you, I'd get working--fast. The Colonel looks these accounts over every night. He doesn't like anybody getting far in arrears." Dr. Lurie, who, with his wife, had averaged only 96 credits on each of the first three days, spoke up puzzledly. "Do you mean--do you mean you actually let people--asphyxiate?" The leader gave a nasty grin. "I didn't say that--I just said we don't give them any more oxygen. What they do after that is _their_ business."