Kamens looked thoughtful. “We could incorporate the land company in Panama and advertise by video and radio from Mexico. Do you really think you can sell the stuff?”
“You can sell snowballs in Greenland,” put in Montgomery. “It’s a matter of promotion.”
Harriman added, “Did you ever read about the Florida land boom, Saul? People bought lots they had never seen and sold them at tripled prices without ever having laid eyes on them. Sometimes a parcel would change hands a dozen times before anyone got around to finding out that the stuff was ten-foot deep in water. We can offer bargains better than that—an acre, a guaranteed dry acre with plenty of sunshine, for maybe ten dollars—or a thousand acres at a dollar an acre. Who’s going to turn down a bargain like that? Particularly after the rumor gets around that the Moon is believed to be loaded with uranium?”
“Is it?”
“How should I know? When the boom sags a little we will announce the selected location of Luna City—and it will just happen to work out that the land around the site is still available for sale. Don’t worry, Saul, if it’s real estate, George and I can sell it. Why, down in the Ozarks, where the land stands on edge, we used to sell both sides of the same acre.” Harriman looked thoughtful. “I think we’ll reserve mineral rights—there just might actually be uranium there!”
Kamens chuckled. “Delos, you are a kid at heart. Just a great big, overgrown, lovable—juvenile delinquent.”
Strong straightened up. “I make it half a million,” he said.
“Half a million what?” asked Harriman.
“For the cancelled philatelic covers, of course. That’s what we were talking about. Five thousand is my best estimate of the number that could be placed with serious collectors and with dealers. Even then we will have to discount them to a syndicate and hold back until the ship is built and the trip looks like a probability.”
“Okay,” agreed Harriman. “You handle it. I’ll just note that we can tap you for an extra half million toward the end.”
“Don’t I get a commission?” asked Kamens. “I thought of it.”
“You get a rising vote of thanks—and ten acres on the Moon. Now what other sources of revenue can we hit?”
“Don’t you plan to sell stock?” asked Kamens.
“I was coming to that. Of course-but no preferred stock; we don’t want to be forced through a reorganization. Participating common, non-voting—”
“Sounds like another banana-state corporation to me.”
“Naturally—but I want some of it on the New York Exchange, and you’ll have to work that out with the Securities Exchange Commission somehow. Not too much of it—that’s our show case and we’ll have to keep it active and moving up.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I swam the Hellespont?”
“Don’t be like that, Saul. It beats chasing ambulances, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, that’s what I want you—wups!” The screen on Harriman’s desk had come to life. A girl said, “Mr. Harriman, Mr. Dixon is here. He has no appointment but he says that you want to see him.”
“I thought I had that thing shut off,” muttered Harriman, then pressed his key and said, “O.K., show him in.”
“Very well, sir—oh, Mr. Harriman, Mr. Entenza came in just this second.”
“Look who’s talking,” said Kamens.
Dixon came in with Entenza behind him. He sat down, looked around, started to speak, then checked himself. He looked around again, especially at Entenza.
“Go ahead, Dan,” Harriman encouraged him. “‘Tain’t nobody here at all but just us chickens.”
Dixon made up his mind. “I’ve decided to come in with you, D.D.,” he announced. “As an act of faith I went to the trouble of getting this.” He took a formal-looking instrument from his pocket and displayed it. It was a sale of lunar rights, from Phineas Morgan to Dixon, phrased in exactly the same fashion as that which Jones had granted to Harriman.
Entenza looked startled, then dipped into his own inner coat pocket. Out came three more sales contracts of the same sort, each from a director of the power syndicate. Harriman cocked an eyebrow at them. “Jack sees you and raises you two, Dan. You want to call?”