Manet finished the mellow whiskey and looked into the glass. It seemed to have been polished clean. "What do you have to offer?"
"Whatever you want?"
Irritably, "How do I know what I want until I know what you have?"
"You know."
"I know? All right, I know. You don't have it for sale."
"Old chap, understand if you please that I do not only sell. I am a trader—Trader Tom. I trade with many parties. There are, for example ... extraterrestrials."
"Folk legend!"
"On the contrary, mon cher, the only reality it lacks is political reality. The Assembly could no longer justify their disposition of the cosmos if it were known they were dealing confiscation without representation. Come, tell me what you want."
Manet gave in to it. "I want to be not alone," he said.