MacVickers’ grey-green eyes narrowed. He didn’t move. Birek breathed in slow, deep sighs. He was a Venusian, a coal-swamper from his size and pallor and the filthy-white hair clubbed in his neck.
He shimmered, very faintly in the dim light. The first jewel-crust was forming across his skin.
Knife-sharp and startling across the silence, a round hatch-cover in the floor clashed open. Sweat broke cold on MacVickers. Men began to come out of the hole, just at the edge of his vision. n***d, dirty men with silver collars.
They had been talking, cursing, jostling. The first ones saw Birek and stopped, and the silence trickled back down the shaft. It was utterly quiet again, except for the harsh straining of lungs against the hot, wet air and the soft sounds of n***d men climbing the ladder.
T
