"Nonsense," Manet said. "No group of private individuals can build a spaceship. It takes a combine of nations." "But remember only that businessmen are reactionary. It's well-known. Ask anyone on the street. Businessmen are reactionary even beyond the capitalistic system. Money is a fiction that exists mostly on paper. They play along on paper to get paper things, but to get real things they can forego the papers. Comprehend, <i>mon ami</i>? My businessmen have gone back to the barter system. Between them, they have the raw materials, the trained men, the man-hours to make a spaceship. So they make it. Damned reactionaries, all of my principals." "I don't believe you," Manet stated flatly. His conversation had grown blunt with disuse. "What possible profit could your principals turn from running a trading ship among scattered exploration posts on the planets? What could you give us that a benevolent government doesn't already supply us with? And if there was anything, how could we pay for it? My year's salary wouldn't cover the transportation costs of this glass of whiskey." "Do you find it good whiskey?" "Very good." "Excellent?" "Excellent, if you prefer." "I only meant--but never mind. We give you what you want. As for paying for it--why, forget about the payment. You may apply for a Trader Tom Credit Card." "And I could buy anything that I wanted with it?" Manet demanded. "That's absurd. I'd never be able to pay for it." "That's it precisely!" Trader Tom said with enthusiasm. "You <i>never</i> pay for it. Charges are merely deducted from your <i>estate</i>." "But I may leave no estate!" Trader Tom demonstrated his peculiar shrug. "All businesses operate on a certain margin of risk. That is our worry." <tb> Manet finished the mellow whiskey and looked into the glass. It seemed to have been polished clean. "What do you have to offer?" "Whatever you want?" Irritably, "How do I know what I want until I know what you have?" "You know." "I know? All right, I know. You don't have it for sale." "Old chap, understand if you please that I do not only <i>sell</i>. I am a trader--Trader Tom. I trade with many parties. There are, for example ... extraterrestrials." "Folk legend!" "On the contrary, <i>mon cher</i>, the only reality it lacks is political reality. The Assembly could no longer justify their disposition of the cosmos if it were known they were dealing confiscation without representation. Come, tell me what you want." Manet gave in to it. "I want to be not alone," he said. "Of course," Trader Tom replied, "I suspected. It is not so unusual, you know. Sign here. And here. Two copies. This is yours. Thank you so much." Manet handed back the pen and stared at the laminated card in his hand.