"Certainly, Mr. Centers. In fact I insist on it. If we were looking for foolish investors we never would have called you. I'll be happy to provide the government property report—"
"Thanks, no. I just want a few days to make some calls." He was hardly going to use Mars, Ltd. data to check out Mars, Ltd.
"By all means. I wouldn't have it otherwise." Bondman paused as though remembering something. "Of course, I can't guarantee your price, Mr. Centers. That increase is going to come through any day now—perhaps tomorrow. They never let us salesmen know in advance, of course, because some might—uh—profiteer at the expense of the customer. But I know it's soon. Your bonus will still apply, naturally, but five or six thousand per lot is a pretty hefty penalty for a day's time. Uh—do you think you could make it by this afternoon? Say, four o'clock? I don't want to rush you—and of course it might be as late as next week before the rise—but I would feel terrible if—"
Bondman would feel terrible if he lost his commission because an irate customer balked at the higher price, Fisk thought. "I think I can make it by four." That would give him six hours—time enough.
"Excellent. I'll see you then. Bye-bye." And the screen faded.
Fisk had not been bluffing. The Marslot investment seemed attractive indeed, but he never made snap decisions about money. It wasn't just a matter of checking—he wanted to appraise his own motives and inclinations. The best buy in the world—or Mars—was pointless if it failed to relate to his basic preferences and needs.
He punched an early lunch and ate it slowly. Then he began his calls.
First the library informational service for a summary of Mars, Ltd. operations. While that was being processed for faxing to him he read the sample contract carefully and completely. It was tight—he would not actually own the lot until it was completely paid for and he couldn't sell it until he owned it. Leverage? Ha!
But apart from that trap, it was straight. He could defang it by purchasing outright. Not to mention the interest he would save.
The rundown on Mars, Ltd. arrived. He settled down to his real homework.
Interesting—there was a cautionary note about that "Ltd."
"Limited" meant that the developer's liability was limited to its investments on Earthsoil—of which it had none. Its only Earthly enclave was, as Bondman had claimed, legally Mars soil. A nice device for impressive "interplanetary" calls to clients—but perhaps even nicer as a defense against lawsuit. An irate party might obtain a judgment for a million dollars—but unless he sued on Mars there was nothing for him to collect. What a beautiful foil against crackpots and opportunists.
The company was legitimate. In fact it was the largest of its kind, having sold billions of dollars worth of Marsland to speculators in the past few years. The Elysium Acres project was listed, too. A note read: SEE GOVERNMENT PROPERTY REPORT. Fisk sighed and punched for it—it had not been attached to the main commentary. He had a lot of dull reading to do.
The phone lighted. The hour was already four. He had meant to make some other checks—well, they hardly mattered. He had verified that Mars, Ltd. was no fly-by-night outfit.
"Did you come to a decision, Mr. Centers?" Bondman inquired, sounding like an old friend.
Fisk had decided—but a certain innate and cussed caution still restrained him. The deal seemed too good to be true and that was a suspicious sign. But aside from the "leverage" hoax he could find no fault in it. He decided not to query the salesman about the time payment trap—to do so would only bring a glib explanation and more superfluous compliments on his intelligence. Better to let Bondman think he was fooling the client.
"I might be interested in more than one lot," Fisk said.
"Absolutely no problem, Mr. Centers." Fisk was sure the salesman's warmth was genuine this time. "Simply enter the number of lots you are buying on the line on page three where it says 'quantity,' write your name on the line below, and make out a check to Mars, Limited for your first payment. That's all there is to it, since I have already countersigned. Fax a copy back to us and—"
Fisk's mail chime sounded. "Oh—the property report," he said. "Do you mind if I just glance at it first? A formality, of course."
"Oh, I thought you'd already read that. Didn't I send you one? By all means—"
A buzzer on Bondman's desk interrupted him. "I'm in conference," he snapped into his other phone. "Can't it wait?" Then his expression changed. "Oh, very well." He turned to Fisk. "I beg your pardon—a priority call has just signaled on my other line and—well, it's from my superior. Can't say no to him, ha-ha, even if it is bad form to interrupt a sales conference. If you don't mind waiting a moment—"
"Not at all. I'll read the property report."
"Excellent. I'll wrap this up in a moment, I'm sure." Bondman faded, to be replaced by a dramatic artist's conception of Elysium Acres, buttressed by sweet music. The connection remained. This was merely Mars, Ltd.'s privacy shunt.
There was a snap as of a shifting connection and Bondman's voice was superimposed on the music. "...tell you I'm closing a sale for several lots. I can't just pull the rug out—he's signing the contract right now..." A pause, as he listened to a response that Fisk couldn't hear. Then: "To fifty thousand? As of this morning? Why didn't you call me before?"
Fisk realized that Bondman's privacy switch hadn't locked properly. It wouldn't be ethical to listen and he did want to skim that property report. But the voice wrested his attention away from the printed material.
"Look, boss—I just can't do it. I quoted him the thirty-grand bonus... no, I can't withdraw it. He's sharp—and he's got the contract! He'd make a good Mars, Limited exec... terms, I think... yes, if we could get him to default on the payments, so the reversion clause... hate to bilk him like that—I like him... no, I'm sure he wouldn't go for the new price. Not with the cancellation of the bonus and all. That's a twenty-grand jump just when he's about to sign... okay, okay, I'll try it—but listen, boss, you torpedo me in midsale again like this and I'm signing with Venus, Limited before you finish the call... I know they're a gyp outfit. But I promised this client the bonus price and now you're making a liar out of me and cheating him out of the finest investment of the century on a time-payment technicality. If I have to operate that way I might as well go whole Venus hog—"
There was a long pause. Fisk smiled, thinking of the tongue-lashing Bondman must be getting for putting integrity ahead of business.
Fisk knew it was unfair for him to take advantage of a slipped switch and private information—but he had been promised the bonus price and now someone was trying to wipe it out. If Mars. Ltd. were trying to con him out of his investment, he had a right to con himself back in.
"... all right." Bondman's voice came again. "That's best. I'll try to talk him out of it so nobody loses. But get those new quotations in the slot right away. Couple of other clients I have to call—they're going to be furious about that increase, but at least they were warned about delaying... yes... yes... okay. Sorry I blew up. Bye-bye."
The music faded. The picture vanished and Bondman reappeared, looking unsettled. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Mr. Centers," he said. "Bad news, The offer I was describing to you—well, I'm afraid we'll have to call it off."
"But I just signed the contract," Fisk protested innocently. "Are you telling me to tear it up already?"
Bondsman's eyelids hardly flickered. "What I meant to say is that the conditions have changed. New government restrictions have forced up construction costs and the whole Elysium Acres project is in jeopardy. In fact, Mr. Centers, we now have no guarantee that there will even be a dome on Mars. Under the circumstances I don't see how I can recommend—"