y agent. Apparently the Galactic system of book
publishing didn't work quite the way the Terrestrial system did; Clem
took his commission from the publisher instead of the author, but was
considered a representative of the author, not the publisher. McLeod
hadn't quite understood how that sort of thing would work out, but he
let it pass. There were a lot of things he didn't understand about
Galactics.

All Clem wanted was to act as McLeod's agent for the publication of
"Interstellar Ark."

"And what did you tell him?" Jackson asked.

"I told him I'd think it over."

Jackson leaned forward. "How much money did he offer?" he asked
eagerly.

"Not much," McLeod said. "That's why I told him I'd think it over. He
said that, considering the high cost of transportation, relaying,
translation, and so on, he couldn't offer me more than one thousandth
of one per cent royalties."

Jackson blinked. "One _what_?"

"One thousandth of one per cent. If the book sells a hundred thousand
copies at a credit a copy, they will send me a nice, juicy check for
one lousy credit."

Jackson scowled. "They're cheating you."

"Clem said it was the standard rate for a first book."

Jackson shook his head. "Just because we don't have interstellar
ships and are confined to our own solar system, they treat us as
though we were ignorant savages. They're cheating you high, wide, and
handsome."

"Maybe," said McLeod. "But if they really wanted to cheat me, they
could just pirate the book. There wouldn't be a thing I could do about
it."

"Yeah. But to keep up their facade of high ethics, they toss us a sop.
And we have to take whatever they hand out. You _will_ take it, of
course." It was more of an order than a question.

"I told him I'd think it over," McLeod said.

Jackson stood up. "Professor McLeod, the human race needs every
Galactic credit it can lay its hands on. It's your duty to accept the
offer, no matter how lousy it is. We have no choice in the matter. And
a Galactic credit is worth ten dollars American, four pounds U.K., or
forty rubles Soviet. If you sell a hundred thousand copies of your
book, you can get yourself a meal in a fairly good restaurant and
Earth will have one more Galactic credit stashed away. If you don't
sell that many, you aren't out anything."

"I suppose not," McLeod said slowly. He knew that the Government could
force him to take the offer. Under the Planetary Security Act, the
Government had broad p