If I hadn’t known otherwise, I would have said that back in the Twentieth Century the forefathers of Jimmy Dumont must have operated a mail-order business. Either that; or he had a postal-rocket for a godmother. His one interest in life seemed to be the purchase of goods by remote control.
Of course I’ll admit that out here on the Sixth Moon of Jupiter the arrival of the monthly mail ship is an event of great importance. We count the days until the ship arrives, and then for the next five or six hours we curse the whim that led us to sign up for a three-year hitch with Sounds Ltd.
There were five of us at BeTaba, five Earthmen surrounded by some pretty alien landscape and by a couple of hundred treacherous Mutants. The former accounts no doubt for the “96 or better” psychiatric test requ
