And now Murain was offering him the big commerce job—one that held the purse strings of a fair share of the Martian budget. The post would give Rastol the power to spend, to let contracts, to make loans and parcel out a tremendous amount of business. That money could go to help the economy of Mars back on its feet, or it could be pork-barreled into the coffers of firms whose ties with the Rockheads had been only nominally broken.
Rastol's acceptance of the job, not yet forthcoming, and his confirmation in it by Parliament, would be a kick in the teeth to Martian democracy. The reason for this off-in-the-corner Landing Day soiree became a little clearer—although Scott still was unable to figure out why he'd been invited.
Scott shook the hand Rastol extended and said something noncommittal. Most Martians looked almost alike to Earth's eyes, except for their sex differences, but Rastol was distinctive. He was corpulent, a thing most Martians were not, and he was hairless, which also was unusual. His skin was whiter than that of most of his planetmen, and he had no neck to speak of. If Scott had been a caricaturist, he'd have drawn Rastol as an egg.
Ylia had left the room. She came back now with a tray, and served drinks. Scott took one of the small pottery cups and told himself he mustn't drink more than two of them. They contained a syrupy blue liquid with the kick of a rocket-exhaust.
Kring raised his cup. "To the Republic," he said. They all sipped their drinks.
"I've asked you here," Kring said, "for a purpose. I should not have chosen Landing Day if it had not been important. Some of you have very generously broken other engagements or left your work—" he bowed to Scott—"to be here."
Rastol spoke in a low, resonant voice. "It is an honor to be asked to your home, Mr. Kring."
The "mister" was something Earthmen had brought. Mars, before the Rockheads set up their semi-feudal system, had had no such term of address.
Kring bowed again. "I am especially happy that you were able to come, Mr. Rastol, because what I have to say should be of particular interest to you." He turned to Toby Black. "You, Mr. Black, are interested in construction, of course, and Mr. Warren's news service has an interest in something similar—reconstruction. So we are well met."
Scott didn't know what this preamble was leading to, but he wished Kring would get on with it. He did.