"A megabuck isn't so bad, Pete," soothed Doran. "I personally will see
that you earn it back in--"
"Oh, never mind." Tears stood in Matheny's eyes. "You win." He took out
his checkbook.
"None of that," rapped Sam. "Cash. Now."
"But you claimed this was a legitimate--"
"You heard me."
"Well--could I have a receipt?" begged Matheny.
Sam grinned.
"I just thought I'd ask," said Matheny. He opened a drawer and counted
out one hundred ten-kilo-buck bills. "There! And, and, and I hope you
choke on it!"
Sam stuffed the money in a pocket and lumbered out.
Doran lingered. "Look here, Pete," he said, "I will make this up to
you. Honest. All you have got to do is trust me."
"Sure." Matheny slumped on the bed. "Not your fault. Let me alone for a
while, will you?"
"Listen, I will come back in a few hours and buy you the best dinner in
all the Protectorates and--"
"Sure," said Matheny. "Sure."
Doran left, closing the door with great gentleness.
* * * * *
He returned at 1730, entered, and stopped dead. The floor space was
half taken up by a screen and a film projector.
"What happened, Pete?" he asked uncertainly.
Matheny smiled. "I took some tourist movies," he said. "Self-developing
soundtrack film. Sit down and I'll show you."
"Well, thanks, but I am not so much for home movies."
"It won't take long. Please."
Doran shrugged, found a chair and took out a cigarette. "You seem
pretty well cheered up now," he remarked. "That is a spirit I like to
see. You have got to have faith."
"I'm thinking of a sideline business in live photography," said the
Martian. "Get back my losses of today, you know."
"Well, now, Pete, I like your spirit, like I say. But if you are really
interested in making some of that old baroom, and I think you are,
then listen--"
"I'll sell prints to people for home viewing," went on Matheny. "I'd
like your opinion of this first effort."
He dimmed the transparency and started the projector. The screen sprang
into colored motion. Sam Wendt blocked the doorway with his shoulders.
"Who knows, I might even sell you one of the several prints I made
today," said Matheny.
"Okay, louse," said Sam.
"Life is hard on Mars," commented Matheny in an idle tone, "and we're
an individualistic culture. The result is pretty fierce competition,
though on a person-to-person rather than organizational basis. All
friendly enough, but--Oh, by the way, how do you like our Martian
camera technology? I wore this one inside my buttonhole."
Doran in the screen shrugged and said: "I am sorry, Pete." Doran in
the chair stubbed out his cigarette, very carefully, and asked, "How
much do you want for that film?"
"Would a megabuck be a fair price?" inquired Matheny.
"Uh ... huh."
"Of course, I am hoping Sam will want a copy too."