“No like beef? Well, walrus steak good instead —”
“Never mind,” Mr. Fairchild groaned. “Bring it all, anything you think is good. How soon can we have all of it?”
“What you want again, please?”
“Fuel, enough to fill our tanks and then enough to fill them again. Food for many months. Everything you don’t need here we’ll take. And clothing—complete winter outfits for five.”
“What about the crews of the spaceships that’ll be coming in?” Ganymede Gus demanded.
“Don’t worry about them. They’ll have their spacesuits, and that’s probably the best outfit you can wear down here, anyway. Now,” Mr. Fairchild turned back to the Indian, “when can you have that?”
“Soon. Very soon. Two week all right?”
“Two weeks? That’s ridiculous!”
Smiling, the Indian shrugged. “We are on, what you say, vacatio
