"I don't believe you," Manet stated flatly. His conversation had grown blunt with disuse. "What possible profit could your principals turn from running a trading ship among scattered exploration posts on the planets? What could you give us that a benevolent government doesn't already supply us with? And if there was anything, how could we pay for it? My year's salary wouldn't cover the transportation costs of this glass of whiskey."
"Do you find it good whiskey?"
"Very good."
"Excellent?"
"Excellent, if you prefer."
"I only meant—but never mind. We give you what you want. As for paying for it—why, forget about the payment. You may apply for a Trader Tom Credit Card."
"And I could buy anything that I wanted with it?" Manet demanded. "That's absurd. I'd never be able to pay for it."
"That's it precisely!" Trader Tom said with enthusiasm. "You never pay for it. Charges are merely deducted from your estate."
"But I may leave no estate!"
Trader Tom demonstrated his peculiar shrug. "All businesses operate on a certain margin of risk. That is our worry."