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And Terra-Baldur-Marduk Spacelines would lose their monopolistic franchise and get sticky about it in the courts, and in any case, the Company's import-export monopoly would go out the airlock. And the squatters rushing in and swamping everything "Why, we won't be any better off than the Yggdrasil Company, squatting on a guano heap on one continent!" he burst out.
Glenn Murell, who had his office open by now and was grumbling that there had been a man from Interstellar Import-Export out on the Cape Canaveral, and if the competition got any stiffer the price of tallow-wax would be forced up on him to a sol a pound.
"Were you serious when you made that motion about a price of seventy-five centisols?" "I sure was!" Joe declared. "That's the real price, and always has been, and that's what we get or Kapstaad doesn't get any more wax." "If Murell can top it, maybe Kapstaad won't get any more wax, period," I said. "Who's he with Interstellar Import-Export?"
In particular, he watched Astro. "I warned you, sir," whispered Tom, as the Venusian went to work on his second steak. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything," said Bernard. He smiled, lit a cigar of fine Mercurian leaf tobacco and settled back comfortably. "And now," he said, "let me explain why I was so anxious to have dinner with you. I'm in the import-export business. Ship to Mars, mostly.
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