"It's true enough," Tolliver assured her. "We need people out here, and it costs a lot to make the trip. They found they could send back loaded ships by 'automatic' flight—that is, a long, slow, economical orbit and automatic signalling equipment. Then they're boarded approaching Earth's orbit and landed by pilots who don't have to waste their time making the entire trip."
He followed the signals of a spacesuited member of the port staff and maneuvered out of the dome. Then he headed the tractor across the frozen surface of Ganymede toward the permanent domes of the city.
"How is it here?" asked the girl. "They told me it's pretty rough."
"What did you expect?" asked Tolliver. "Square dances with champagne?"
"Don't be silly. Daddy says I'm supposed to learn traffic routing and the business management of a local branch. They probably won't let me see much else."
"You never can tell," said the pilot, yielding to temptation. "Any square inch of Ganymede is likely to be dangerous."
I'll be sorry later, he reflected, but if Jeffers keeps me jockeying this creeper, I'm entitled to some amusement. And Daddy's little girl is trying too hard to sound like one of the gang.
"Yeah," he went on, "right now, I don't do a thing but drive missions from the city to the spaceport."
"Missions! You call driving a mile or so a mission?"