"How?" Jason asked.
"By armored truck to the delivery site. Then I go back later to pick up the food they've left in exchange."
"Can I go with you on the next delivery?"
Krannon frowned over the idea for a minute. "Yeah, I suppose it's all right if you're stupid enough to come. You can help me load. They're between harvests now, so the next trip won't be for eight days—"
"But that's after the ship leaves—it'll be too late. Can't you go earlier?"
"Don't tell me your troubles, mister," Krannon grumbled, climbing to his feet. "That's when I go and the date's not changing for you."
Jason realized he had got as much out of the man as was possible for one session. He started for the door, then turned.
"One thing," he asked. "Just what do these savages—the grubbers—look like?"
"How do I know," Krannon snapped. "I trade with them, I don't make love to them. If I ever saw one, I'd shoot him down on the spot." He flexed his fingers and his gun jumped in and out of his hand as he said it. Jason quietly let himself out.
Lying on his bunk, resting his gravity-weary body, he searched for a way to get Krannon to change the delivery date. His millions of credits were worthless on this world without currency. If the man couldn't be convinced, he had to be bribed. With what? Jason's eyes touched the locker where his off-world clothing still hung, and he had an idea.