He sat down and rang for the messman.
"How long does this last?" he inquired pointing at the fresh food. "When do we start on concentrates?"
"We don't."
"Don't use concentrates! But the bulk! And the water. Isn't it rationed?"
Nadia laughed infectiously. Just then the messman, a huge negro, appeared and took Gavin's order.
The girl said, "We carry only a little over two weeks' supplies."
Gavin recalled the chief engineer's prediction that the Nova would be at Jupiter in two weeks. He glanced at the chart on the forward bulkhead. The Nova's position was marked with a pin. The slaver, he saw, had been traveling at a good clip, but nothing phenomenal.
"We'll have to go faster than that," he said dryly.
Nadia's long black eyes sparkled. "You don't know about the little death yet?"
"The little death? Yes, the chief mentioned it. Just what is this little death?"