"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?" Joe asked.
"We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't land here unless they're in trouble."
"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off."
"Mayor takes care of that," replied the saloon owner. "If you gents're finished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos."
Harvey grinned puzzledly. "We didn't take any whiskey."
"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with every chaser."
Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. "That—that's robbery!" the lanky man managed to get out in a thin quaver.
The barkeeper shrugged. "When there ain't many customers, you gotta make more on each one. Besides—"
"Besides nothing!" Joe roared, finding his voice again. "You dirty crook—robbing poor spacemen! You—"