Colin: The last point on my list is this, er... this "cosmic clause" thing. "Rights to exploitation on any planet now, or yet to be, known to man."
Rachel: Yeah.
Colin: Well, what does that mean?
Rachel: Oh, that's just a little bit of nonsense. I mean, all it means is, when we land on Mars and find lots of little Martians there who, let's face it, are bound to be into Bad News, we can sell your records to them.
Den: Far out!
Colin: Oh. (Laughs.) Okay, okay. Right, so to sum up the main points again... The contract lasts five years, but you don't have to put out any records if you don't want to, although if you don't want to, we're still under contract to you, and we're not allowed to make any records for anybody else. And we get four and three-quarter percent of ninety percent of a hundred, minus fifteen percent of retail, but there's no advance, which means absolutely no cash whatsoever for us upfront.
Rachel: Yeah, that's about right, yeah.
Colin: Mm. (Inhales thoughtfully, sticks his pen in his mouth, thinks for a second, looks at Rachel, smiles and nods.) Well, alright, I'll sign that.