"Metastasis—the migration of cancer cells. They move from one part of the body to the other."
"Like we're moving people to Mars?" Greg laughed tiredly and started to get up.
"Take it easy, bud." A hand was on Greg's shoulder, and the doctor's voice was in his ear. "We've all got troubles. Look up this guy, if you really want to do something about the wife and kids." A hand slipped a card into Greg's pocket.
"What can you do?" The recruiting officer eyed Greg suspiciously.
"Anything." Greg spoke slowly, his eyes on the officer. "A fellow gave me this card, and told me I could get work on a freighter at this address."
The man glanced at the card and shrugged. "Sign this." He shoved a dogeared form toward Greg. The table shook slightly as a spaceship blasted off. Greg signed, glancing over the form.
"This isn't a contract," he said, handing it back. "It's just a release for you in case something happens to a crew member."
"So we aren't running pleasure trips or slumming expeditions for rich guys. You were born yesterday if you don't know the freighters are a little dangerous. We don't know how much money we'll make out of a trip until we've made it. So we can't settle on any pay now."
"Get me onto the surface of the planet and you get my services free the whole trip out," Greg said. "Isn't that fair enough?"