I pulled away from him and made my way back to the restaurant, passing easily through security. The attendant at the open cargo bay to Alastar just stared at me. Sure enough, he held out a hand blocking me with his R3. “Hold it.”
“Inspection, sir,” I said. “I’m with Gistron security, contracted by Secure-A1, LLU #4155, and we have to check the drive codes, for the usual stolen goods. Halley Detran gave me this chit.” I held up the red tablet, the master passkey. “You can check it out with him if you want.”
The monitor shrugged, grumbled and waved a hand. “Go on. Don’t bother any potential buyers though in The Alastar. Tough enough as it is to sell a starship these days. Scares them away. People might think there’s something wrong with our ships.”
“Not to worry. I’ll be discreet.”
And discreet I’d be. I put on the deadpan look of a security inspector. “If everything checks, I’ll be out in no time.”
He turned away.
I entered The Alastar’s cargo hatch and made my way into the inner service bay. A series of halls branched out to various areas of the ship. I took the main one toward Alastar’s bridge. The ship was roomy enough and built with class. High-ceiling, pleasant grey and black panels. Not a lot of glitter on the bridge like a lot of the newer space yachts. Simple design. Simpler was better, in my opinion.
Did I have a backup plan if the monitor decided to call Detran? No. Bit of a risktaker there, Rusco. My crooked grin grew crookeder. Seems I didn’t even need Myscol to work up the nerve for these scams anymore. The evolution of small time operator, Jet Rusco.
I made my way to the nav com, bent under the console that housed the main nav controls, with spider in hand. A couple of wires plugged into the right places and I’d be done. I shone a light under the cowling and saw the serial number lit in red underneath. Perfect. I punched the codes into the spider and let the magnetic strip latch itself to the cowling out of sight. I’d already entered 661XA, the secret passcode Detran had whispered back in the loo. The thing was smart enough to assume wireless control once it had the codes. A couple appeared, browsing the bridge, voicing their admiration for its roominess, its sleek lines and teal and enamel decor. I had to agree.
The guard had followed me in and was scrutinizing me with more than lively suspicion. “Find what you’re looking for?”
I put on a frown. I pulled out a tablet from my breast pocket and punched in some codes into a fictitious fact checker, then nodded and raised my hand. “Checks out, mister. This here’s an older model, manufactured at Orizon Enterprises on Falcion. Has had eleven maintenance checks, three owners over its lifetime. All legitimate sales of transactions. Looks like we’re good to go.” I gave him a clever smile and took a deep breath. Good thing I had Wren back on board radio me background info once I gave her the drive codes. I saluted and left.
With a grunt of relief, I made directly for the loo to chuck out this ridiculous disguise and wash the grease off my face. I unfurled my lovely hair, whisked it back with my fingers, sprayed it with more purple dye. There, back to Jorry Rambo again. Much better.
I came out a new man, but not too quickly. I headed back to Bantam for the final prep.
“All smooth,” I said to Wren. Noss and Blest lounged nearby. “Now we work fast. In the next half hour the auction starts. When the buyers go in to bid, our Vega-6 star queen Alastar will suddenly come to life, start to lift of its own accord.”
“Shouldn’t we get the hell out of here first?” asked Blest. “Why stick around?”
“That’s the safest thing to do, Blest, but it looks suspicious. Some too-obvious cons taking off before a heist. We’ll wait a while here then we’ll take our silent leave. I mean, what dope would be stupid enough to stick around as a suspect when he could have flown off in advance? Security’ll go after all the ships that left before the heist.”
“You’re a sly bastard, Rusco,” Wren murmured.
“Yeah, well we’ll see how sly I am if they catch us. If they find the spider beforehand, we’re in trouble. Let’s hope that doesn’t come to pass. That attendant’ll squawk bloody murder and they’ll backtrace it to me, or at least, Jorry Rambo.”
I set to programming the wireless controller for the spider, setting The Alastar’s course for Deneb, light years away. Next thing I did was reset the passcode to a new one, Mr_Rambunctious, in case Detran decided to get cute and alter the course, if he had remote access.
Blest didn’t like his part in playing bidding stooge, but then again, he was always tending to be a little bitch. Noss was good to go and convinced skeptic Blest to go down to the floor with him and hodge the bids. “Let’s get some more duty free liquor. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
“Like the last time?” Blest quipped.
Chapter 8
The bidding had begun. A crowd of three hundred or more must have been herded into that hot, sweaty rotunda, milling about, most standing holding drinks, clutching bid cards, a few sitting at tables at the bar, murmuring the talk of big gamblers and bidders. Noss and Blest joined me near the back as the bidding started. Wren had stayed back on Bantam. She’d played her part and I didn’t want her face anywhere near the action. I added Noss to the bid roster
