"What do you mean 'no'? You putting in your resignation?"
"I mean no, I'm going down to the library and check up on the Ragalians, before we get sucked into something that'll clean the shirts the rest of the way off our backs. If this were any good we'd at least have had to fight Monarch and Apex for it. I've got a feeling that before this is over we'll wish Monarch or Apex did have the job!"
There was nothing to support his pessimism, however, in the data available from the central library. He studied the tapes for three hours and discovered their potential customers lived twenty seven light years away. They were peaceful—they had to be to get a license to import spacecraft!—and they were modest in technical accomplishments, hardly a step away from the agrarian level. But they were highly intelligent.
Physically, they were one of the weirdest that George Mahoney had ever encountered, but this was to be taken in stride. That's why cultural modification of ships was standard practice in foreign sales. Controls had to be specially designed for operation of the buyers. Tools had to be properly designed so that they could maintain their own vessels. Atmosphere mechanisms had to be installed to accommodate their environmental requirements, and physical size of the accommodations had to be adjusted, although, of course, there were limits to which this could be done.
As he scanned this data, George mentally pictured the modifications necessary to accommodate the Ragalians. Everything seemed well within the limits of tolerability. No special problems would be encountered as far as he could see.
But he still didn't like the set-up. There had to be a reason why Wilkinson was getting the deal, and not the big outfits who were subsidized to assist in development of long-range interstellar communication. Wilkinson had the benefit of the Monarch and Apex patents, but that still was not enough to offset the financial advantage enjoyed by the bigger companies.
It was true that this one order, if successfully completed, would put Wilkinson on a competitive basis, but George felt sure that their rivals were sure that the order would not be completed. Why, remained to be seen.
He knew he was missing the initial modification conference. He purposely stayed away long enough that he would miss it. There was never anything accomplished at the first meeting except a lot of meaningless introductory chit-chat about "How's the weather in March on Hemoglobin VI?" and "Our kids mature at sixteen percent of life expectancy; yours must be terribly retarded, old man."
Well, maybe not quite that bad, but close to it.
When he got back to the office.
