"But I name my own price. What do you pay Kersey?"
Bullen looked up with a grim smile. "Fifty thousand a year. I wonder
now if he worths it."
"What's that? Dollars?"
"We call them fiscals. Probably somehow much the same. Why?"
"Listen, Bullen. If I help introduce color TV, there'll be big money
in it. I won't be a hog. You pay me forty thousand a year until we go
into production. Then we'll make a new deal, giving me a royalty on
sales."
Kersey's face was scarlet. "You young greenshoot! Who do you think you
are? You'll work for nothing, if we say so."
"Guess again," Jeff said. "Your slave trader won't be bringing any more
engineers for you. So you take me at my price--or nobody."
The big man laughed. "You got rid of Snader, eh? Well, well. He was a
rogue. I thought he would run into trouble soon or late."
* * * * *
Kersey swore, but Bullen seemed to grasp the situation and waved him
to silence. "I like your fire, young man. With chromatics, we'll make
millions, so you're worth forty thousand plus royalties. Am I true in
thinking you won't want the apartment I reserved for you?"
"Right. We'll retain our home in my own time. I'll commute to work here
every morning--it's quicker than commuting to the city in my own time."
"In your thorough way," Kersey said sarcastically, "you have doubtless
figured out how you can spend our money back in your time."
"I've thought about it," Jeff agreed. "There will be something I can
convert it into and carry back. Diamonds, maybe."
Bullen laughed again. "You're solid, my boy. Get his work papers ready,
Kersey. These young people want to get home. I'll take Jeff to the
factory when he comes workward in the morning."
Jeff stood up. "See you tomorrow, Bullen. Come on, Ann. We're going
home--home to our own time."