Sometimes they would do interviews:
Castor: ‘A few words with one of our leading citizens, Rocks-in-his-Head Rudolf. Mr Rudolf, all Rock City is waiting to hear from you. Tell me, do you like it out here?’
Pollux: ‘Naw!’
Castor: ‘But you’re making lots of money, Mr Rudolf?’
Pollux: ‘Naw!’
Castor: ‘At least you bring in enough high grade to eat well
‘Naw!’
‘No? Tell me, why did you come out here in the first place?’
Pollux, ‘Bub, was you ever married?’
Sound effect of blow with blunt instrument, groan, and the unmistakable cycling of an air lock — Castor: ‘Sorry, folks. My assistant has just spaced Mr Rudolf. To the purchaser of the flat cat we had been saving for Mr Rudolf we will give away — absolutely free! — a beautiful pin-up picture printed in gorgeous living colors on fireproof paper. I hate to tell you what these pictures ordinarily sell for on Ceres; it hurts me to say how little we are letting them go for now, until our limited stock is exhausted. To the very first customer who comes in that door wanting to purchase a flat cat we will — Lock that door! Lock that door! All right, all right — all three of you will receive pin-up pictures; we don’t want anyone fighting here. But you’ll have to wait until we finish this broadcast. Sorry, neighbours — a slight interruption but we settled it without bloodshed. But I find myself in a dilemma. I made you a promise and I did not know what would happen, but the truth is, too many customers were already here, pounding on the door of Flat Cat Alley. But to make good our promise I am enlarging it: not to the first customer, not to the second, nor to the third — but to the next twenty persons purchasing flat cats will go, absolutely free, one of these gorgeous pictures. Bring no money — we accept high grade or core material at the standard rates.’
Sometimes they varied it by having Meade sing. She was not of concert standards, but she had a warm, intimate contralto. After hearing her, a man possessing not even a flat cat felt lonely indeed. She pulled even better than the slick professional recordings; the twins found it necessary to cut her in for a percentage.
But in the main they depended on the flat cats themselves. The boomers from Mars, almost to a man, bought flat cats as soon as they heard that they were available, and each became an unpaid travelling salesman for the enterprise. Hardrock men from Luna, or directly from Earth, who had never seen a flat cat, now had opportunities to see them, pet them, listen to their hypnotic purr — and were lost. The little things not only stirred to aching suppressed loneliness, but, having stimulated it, gave it an outlet.
Castor would hold Fuzzy Britches to the mike and coo, ‘Here is a little darling — Molly Malone. Sing for the boys, honey pet.’ While he stroked Fuzzy Britches Pollux would step up the power. ‘No, we can’t let Molly go — she’s a member of the family. But here is Bright Eyes. We’d like to keep Bright Eyes, too, but we mustn’t be selfish. Say hello to the folks,. Bright Eyes.’ Again he would stroke Fuzzy Britches. ‘Mr P., now hand me Velvet.’
The stock of flat cats in deep freeze steadily melted. Their stock of high grade grew.
Roger Stone received their suggestion that they save out a few for breeding stock with one of his more emphatic refusals; once, he declaimed, was enough to be swamped in flat cats. Fuzzy Britches could stay, safely on short rations — but one was enough.
They had reached the last few at the back of the hold and were thinking about going out of business when a tired-looking, grey-haired man showed up after their broadcast. There were several other customers; he hung back and let the twins sell flat cats to the others. He had with him a girl child, little older than Lowell. Castor had not seen him before but he guessed that he might be Mr Erska; bachelors far out-numbered families in the node and families with children were very rare. The Erskas picked up a precarious living down orbit and north; they were seldom seen at City Hall. Mr Erska spoke Basic with some difficulty; Mrs Erska spoke it not at all. The family used some one of the little lingos — Icelandic, it might have been.