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The bullet-headed man shifted his dope-stick to the other corner of his mouth. "Zoop is a great little game. Two teams of players buy into the pot. Each player takes a lever; the object is to make the ball drop from the top of the tower into your net. Okay?" "What's the ante?" "I got a hundred-credit pot workin' now, gents." Retief nodded. "We'll try it."
Zorn ground out his dope-stick, lit another. He snorted angrily. "Okay; what's your idea?" he asked after a moment. "You know what Petreac is getting in the way of imports as a result of the agreement?" "Sure. A lot of junk."
And there's more. They want the CDT delegation included in the massacre for a reason. It will put Petreac out of the picture; the trade agreement will go to Rotune; and you and your new regime will find yourselves looking down the muzzles of your own blasters." Zorn threw his dope-stick to the floor with a snarl. "I should have smelled something when that Rotune smoothie made his pitch."
He sniffed at his dope-stick. "What's keeping Shoke?" he muttered. Magnan stepped to a tall glass door, eased it open and poked his head through the heavy draperies. As he moved to draw back, a voice was faintly audible. Magnan paused, head still through the drapes. "What's going on there?" Zorn rasped. He and Retief stepped up behind Magnan. " breath of air, ha-ha," Magnan was saying.
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