"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."