Hazel gave up. ‘Is that season discount you mentioned good from now to Venus departure?’
‘Sorry, ma’am. It has to be the whole season.’ The next favorable time to shape an orbit for Venus was ninety-six Earth-standard days away — ninety-four Mars days — whereas the ‘whole season’ ran for the next fifteen months, more than half a Martian year before Earth and Mars would again be in a position to permit a minimum-fuel orbit.
‘We’ll take it by the month. May I borrow your stylus? I don’t have that much cash on me.’
Hazel felt better after dinner. The Sun was down and the night would soon be too bitter for any human not in a heated suit, but inside Casa Mañana it was cozy, even though cramped. Mr d’Avril, for an extra charge only mildly extortionate, had consented to plug in television for them and Hazel was enjoying for the first time in months one of her own shows. She noted that they had rewritten it in New York, as usual, and, again as usual, she found the changes no improvement. But she could recognise some of the dialogue and most of the story line.
That Galactic Overlord — he was a baddy, he was! Maybe she should kill him off again.
They could try to find a cheaper place tomorrow. At least as long as the show kept up its audience rating the family wouldn’t starve, but she hated to think of Roger’s face when he heard what rent he was paying. Mars! All right to visit, maybe, but no place to live. She frowned.
The twins were whispering in their own cubicle about some involved financial dealing; Meade was kitting quietly and watching the screen. She caught Hazel’s expression. ‘What were you thinking about, Grandmother?’
‘I know what she’s thinking about!’ announced Lowell.
‘If you do, keep it to yourself.’
‘Nothing much, Meade — that pipsqueak clerk. Imagine the nerve of him, saying I couldn’t pack a gun!’
XII — FREE ENTERPRISE
The twins started out to storm the marts of trade next morning after breakfast Hazel cautioned them. ‘Be back in time for dinner. And try not to commit any capital crimes.’
‘What are they here?’
‘Um, let me see. Abandonment without shelter… pollution of the water supply … violation of treaty regulations with the natives — I think that’s about all.’
‘Murder?’
‘Killing is largely a civil matter here — but they stick you for the prospective earnings of your victim for whatever his life expectancy was. Expensive. Very expensive, if the prices we’ve run into are any guide. Probably leave you indentured the rest of your life.’
‘Hmm — We’ll be careful. Take note of that, Pol. Don’t kill anybody.’
‘You take note of it. You’re the one with the bad temper.’
‘Back sharp at six, boys. Have you adjusted your watches?’
‘Pol slowed his down; I’m leaving mine on Greenwich rate.’
‘Sensible.’
‘Pol!’ put in Lowell. ‘Cas! Take me along!’
‘Can’t do it, sprout. Business.’
‘Take me! I want to see a Martian. Grandma Hazel, when am I going to see a Martian?’
She hesitated. Ever since an unfortunate but instructive incident forty years earlier a prime purpose of the planetary government had been to keep humans as far away from the true Martians as possible — tourists most especially. Lowell had less chance of getting his wish than a European child visiting Manhattan would have of seeing an American Indian. ‘Well, Lowell, it’s like this—’ The twins left hastily, not wishing to be drawn into what was sure to be a fruitless debate.
They soon found the street catering to the needs of prospectors. They picked a medium-sized shop displaying the sign of Angelo & Sons, Ltd., General Outfitters, which promised ‘Bed-rolls, Geiger Counters, Sand Cycles, Assaying Service, Black-Light Lamps, Firearms, Hardware-Ironmongery — Ask for It; We’ve Got It or Can Get It’.
Inside they found a single shopkeeper leaning against a counter while picking his teeth and playing with something that moved on the counter top. Pollux glanced curiously at it; aside from the fact that it was covered with fur and seemed to be rougly circular, he could not make out what it was. Some sort of Martian dingus probably. He would investigate later — business first.