"The only beer on Mars comes forty million miles, with interplanetary freight charges tacked on," said Matheny. "Heineken's!"
Doran shrugged, dialed the dispenser and fed it coins.
"This is a real interesting talk, Pete," he said. "You are being very frank with me. I like a man that is frank."
Matheny shrugged. "I haven't told you anything that isn't known to every economist."
Of course I haven't. I've not so much as mentioned the Red Ankh, for instance. But, in principle, I have told him the truth, told him of our need; for even the secret operations do not yield us enough.
The beer arrived. Matheny engulfed himself in it. Doran sipped at a whiskey sour and unobtrusively set another full bottle in front of the Martian.
"Ahhh!" said Matheny. "Bless you, my friend."
"A pleasure."
"But now you must let me buy you one."
"That is not necessary. After all," said Doran with great tact, "with the situation as you have been describing—"