"There's no question about that," the Emperor said lustily. He was a portly man whose sartorial excesses made him seem even more imposing. His eyes, recessed under thickset brows, flared with triumph as he said, "McWorther's World must figure prominently in their planning. From the way they cut loose with everything they had when they found out we were stepping in too, damned if I'm not convinced this new system will be the pivotal point of their entire future strategy."
"Then we'd better order double production quotas on every world that flies the Eastern flag."
"Triple quotas. And have my space yacht refitted by tomorrow."
"You're going somewhere, Highness?" asked the adviser.
"This Potentate McWorther is likely to be the third most important political figure in the galaxy. I'm not going to lose any time getting over there and pumping his hand."
His face flushed with rage, Ogarm Netath tossed the space-o-gram at his foreign minister, then snatched it back out of Bataul's hands before he had a chance to read it.
"It's a bill!" Netath's voice quivered. "They sent us a bill for that damned bather monstrosity!"
Bataul's brow, to all appearances, was ready for spring planting. "Let me have another look at it."
Netath stood there trembling while the foreign minister sent his eyes darting over the paper.