The first apartment turned out to be two little stalls in the back of a private home — share refresher with family. The second was large enough but was in sniffing range of a large plastics plant; one of its exhalations seemed to be butyl mercaptan though Hazel insisted it put her more in mind of a dead goat. The third — but none of them approached the standard of comfort they had enjoyed on the Moon, nor even that of the Rolling Stone.
Hazel came out of the last one they had looked at, jumped back suddenly to keep from being run over by a delivery boy pulling a large hand truck, caught her breath and said, ‘What’ll it be, children? Pitch a tent, or go back up to the Stone?’
Pollux protested, ‘But we can’t do that. We’ve got to sell our bicycles.’
‘Shut up, Junior,’ his brother told him ‘Hazel, I thought there was one more? “Casa” something?’
‘Casa Mañana Apartments, way out south along the canal — and likely no better than the rest. Okay, troops, mush on!’
The buildings thinned out and they saw some of the heliotropic Martian vegetation, spreading greedy hands to the Sun. Lowell began to complain at the walk. ‘Carry me, Grandma Hazel!’
‘Nothing doing, pet,’ she said emphatically, ‘your legs are younger than mine.’
Meade stopped. ‘My feet hurt, too.’
‘Nonsense! This is just a shade over one-third gravity.’
‘Maybe so, but it’s twice what it is back home and we’ve been in free fall for half a year and more. Is it much farther?’
‘Sissy!’
The twins’ feet hurt, too, but they would not admit it. They alternated taking Buster piggy-back the rest of the way. Casa Mañana turned out to be quite new and, by their suddenly altered standards, acceptable. The walls were of compacted sand, doubled against the bitter nights; the roof was of sheet metal sandwich with glass-wool core for insulation. It was a long, low building which made Hazel think of chicken coops but she kept the thought to herself. It had no windows but there were sufficient glow tubes and passable air ducting.
The apartment which the owner and manager showed to them consisted of two tiny cubicles, a refresher, and a general room. Hazel looked them over. ‘Mr d’Avril, don’t you have something a bit larger?’
‘Well, yes, ma’am, I do — but I hate to rent larger ones to such a small family with the tourist season just opening up: I’ll bring in a cot for the youngster.’
She explained that two more adults would be coming. He considered this. ‘You don’t know how long the War God will be quarantined?
‘Not the slightest’
‘Then why don’t we play that hand after it’s dealt? We’ll accomodate you somehow; that’s a promise.’
Hazel decided to close the deal; her feet were killing her. ‘How much?’
‘Four hundred and fifty a month — four and a quarter if you take a lease for the whole season.’
At first Hazel was too surprised to protest She had not inquired rents at the other places since she had not considered renting them. ‘Pounds or credits?’ she said feebly.
‘Why, pounds, of course.’
‘See here, I don’t want to buy this du — this place. I just want to use it for a while.’
Mr d’Avril looked hurt. ‘You needn’t do either one, ma’am. With ships arriving every day now I’ll have my pick of tenants. My prices are considered very reasonable. The Property Owner’s Association has tried to get me to up ’em — and that’s a fact’
Hazel dug into her memory to recall how to compare a hotel price with a monthly rental — add a zero to the daily rate; that was it Why, the man must be telling the truth! — if the hotel rates she had gotten were any guide. She shook her head. ‘I’m just a country girl, Mr d’Avril. How much did this place cost to build?’
Again he looked hurt ‘You’re not looking at it properly, ma’am. Every so often we have a big load of tourists dumped on us. They stay awhile, then they go away and we have no rent coming in at all. And you’d be surprised how these cold nights nibble away at a house. We can’t build the way the Martians could.’