CHAPTER IIt was a good proposition, the way the lean, grey man from Associated Independents told it. He ticked off the points on his fingers:
“Ten thousand credits an Earth year, Boone, win or lose. Full command of the field force. Five percent cut on the profits if you get a mekronal processing unit in production on one of the unassigned satellites ahead of the Cartel.”
“Sorry, Terral.” Again, Boone glanced at his chronox. “It’s like I said. Any other time I might be interested. But right now I’ve got something else on my mind.”
“Fifteen thousand, then. And ten percent if you spot in more than one satellite.” Terral leaned forward. “Hell, man, that’s more than you can hope to make as a GX if you stay with the Cartel!”
Boone grinned, after a fashion. “Sorry.”
The lean man pushed back
