"Our most prominent novelist was co-opted to ghostwrite that one. Again, though, local income taxes took most of the money; authors never have been protected the way a businessman is. We do make a high percentage of profit on those little certificates you see around--you know, the title deeds to one square inch of Mars--but expressed absolutely, in dollars, it doesn't amount to much when we start shopping for bulldozers and thermonuclear power plants." "How about postage stamps?" inquired Doran. "Philately is a big business, I have heard." "It was our mainstay," admitted Matheny, "but it's been overworked. Martian stamps are a drug on the market. What we'd like to operate is a sweepstakes, but the anti-gambling laws on Earth forbid that." * * * * * Doran whistled. "I got to give your people credit for enterprise, anyway!" He fingered his mustache. "Uh, pardon me, but have you tried to, well, attract capital from Earth?" "Of course," said Matheny bitterly. "We offer the most liberal concessions in the Solar System. Any little mining company or transport firm or--or anybody--who wanted to come and actually invest a few dollars in Mars--why, we'd probably give him the President's daughter as security. No, the Minister of Ecology has a better-looking one. But who's interested? We haven't a thing that Earth hasn't got more of. We're only the descendants of a few scientists, a few political malcontents, oddballs who happen to prefer elbow room and a bill of liberties to the incorporated state--what could General Nucleonics hope to get from Mars?" "I see. Well, what are you having to drink?" "Beer," said Matheny without hesitation. "Huh? Look, pal, this is on me." "The only beer on Mars comes forty million miles, with interplanetary freight charges tacked on," said Matheny. "Heineken's!" Doran shrugged, dialed the dispenser and fed it coins. "This is a real interesting talk, Pete," he said. "You are being very frank with me. I like a man that is frank." Matheny shrugged. "I haven't told you anything that isn't known to every economist." _Of course I haven't. I've not so much as mentioned the Red Ankh, for instance. But, in principle, I have told him the truth, told him of our need; for even the secret operations do not yield us enough._ The beer arrived. Matheny engulfed himself in it. Doran sipped at a whiskey sour and unobtrusively set another full bottle in front of the Martian. "Ahhh!" said Matheny. "Bless you, my friend." "A pleasure." "But now you must let me buy you one." "That is not necessary. After all," said Doran with great tact, "with the situation as you have been describing--" "Oh, we're not _that_ poor! My expense allowance assumes I will entertain quite a bit." Doran's brows lifted a few minutes of arc. "You're here on business, then?" "Yes. I told you we haven't any tourists. I was sent to hire a business manager for the Martian export trade."