"Wait," he said, licking his lips. "I have one more thing to say." He lowered his voice. "I can make a deal with you, Captain. A deal like you never had in your whole life." He patted the brown leather bag. "Name your price," he said. "And don't be shy about the figure."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I'm talking about, Mr. Moore. Money. Real, hard, Earth dollars. Just name the amount it would take to buy a few small creature comforts around this place—and the right to live my own life."
"You can't buy your way out of working, mister—"
"Don't give me that! You'll sing a different tune when I tell you how much is in this bag. All you have to do is quote a figure—and it's yours!"
"Sorry, Mr. Monk," said the captain tersely.
"What do you mean by sorry?"
"I'm on a lifetime assignment here, and so are practically all the members of the Colony. It's a job that can barely be completed in a lifetime. And the economy we operate under doesn't call for money. Your dollars are so much excess baggage on Mars."
"What are you talking about?" Monk rasped. "I'm offering you a fortune. Money is money, you fool!"