"He has, eh?"
"Yeah, he has. Had a whole crew up here. What makes it nice for him is that he's on a cost plus basis. If he never succeeds, it'll still be money in his pocket; if he does, he gets a whopping big bonus. Every time he sends another man up here to take a crack at getting a zloor, he makes money. No doubt the way he told you the story, you'd think you were the only one trying."
I snorted, "He told me I'd been picked because I was the smallest pro hunter in the game."
Mike Holiday grinned. "He picked me because I was so big.—I could stand the rigors of life on Mars, he said."
"Well, if it's a racket, why doesn't everybody go home on the next ship?"
"Probably for the same reason you won't. That sharper made me so sore I bet him five hundred credits I could catch a zloor."
"I bet him a thousand," I groaned.
Mike whistled. "Where'd you ever get a thousand credits, Nap?"
"I broke into my piggy bank," I growled. "It's every cent I had in the world."
"Well, we're all in the same boat. He made bets with all the boys. If we go back, we lose. As long as we stay here we make five credits a month, plus expenses.—And, besides, all of us are just conceited enough to think we can figure out eventually how to get one of the things home."