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"You're tootin' well right it isn't!" somebody directly in front of me said, very distinctly. "I'm very sorry to have to bring this news to you, but the fact is that Kapstaad Chemical Products, Ltd., is no longer able to pay forty-five centisols a pound. This price is being scaled down to thirty-five centisols.
"I move that the motion, as amended, read, and stipulate a price of seventy-five centisols a pound." "You're crazy!" Belsher almost screamed. Seventy-five was the old price, from which he and Ravick had been reducing until they'd gotten down to forty-five. Just at that moment, my radio began making a small fuss. I unhooked the handphone and brought it to my face. "Yeah?"
"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?"
They were very careful to make sure they had enough for a legal quorum under the bylaws, and then they voted to accept the new price of thirty-five centisols a pound." "That's what I was afraid of," Joe Kivelson said. "Did they arrest any of my crew?" "Not that I know of," Bish said. "They made a few arrests, but turned everybody loose later. They're still looking for you and your son.
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