We pushed our way forward to about mid-central, looking through the glass at the line of merchandise. Detran had his arm around Lew’s shoulder at the front on the dais, beaming like a new groom. Bids had started on some of the lower end junkers, and low indeed they were. 80k, 82k…A few people had raised their hands with tentative bids.
The auctioneer stood on the podium next to the CEOs, yammering auction talk through a black mic at a mile a minute,
“Anybody for a Mars Mink! Mars Mink going for 83, 83, yes, 83! Reserved to the gentleman in the pink tie, yes, 85 anyone? 85 anyone? Going for 85, who will bid 85? Yes, yes, you there with the busk hat and the bright smile. New, fun, relaxing, hip, gotta love a Mars Mink, she’s ready to fly to your doorstep!…”
I grinned and studied the crowd. Flushed faces, speculative murmurs, backslapping, claps, mingled laughter with drunken murmurs. A bunch of kids excited at the prospect of gaining some new toys.
When the bidding skipped to the last of the eight junkers, a surprised murmur rang through the throng. “What of the other ships?” someone cried. I gave a sly grin. Probably Detran canned them because now that his drug scheme had fouled, he gained nothing by selling his ships. But the show must go on. I was curious to see how big wheeler Detran played it.
He approached the mic all apologetic and held up his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to say the majority of ships are not for sale. Only two of the former line will be up for grabs today. Sorry, a technicality.”
“What’s this nonsense?” There came another fierce hum of disappointment and loud grumbles from the crowd.
Detran waved a conciliatory hand. “As a consolation, the vintage cruiser Lady Lou will be featured today, as our primary giveaway. Not a bad catch.”
“Cheater, Detran. Shamster!” cried a red-faced bidder. “What kind of a cheap stunt you pulling here?”
“Now hold on,” cried Detran. “I’ve never been called a shamster in all my twenty years of doing business.”
“Well, there’s always a first time.”
I chuckled. Good little gambit, Detran. Too bad it’s failing.
Detran roared, “Some security people have found a need to check certain of my papers—If you want to blame anyone, blame them. It’s out of my control.” He pulled at his cherry red nose and snuffled. Flourishing a fake document in a gesture of frustration and wearing that Jim-Bob-dandy flushed face and Aw shucks look, he boomed, “Be assured sales will resume on all other craft at 0400 sharp tomorrow!”
“Now the fun begins.” I turned to Noss and silently engaged the spider’s remote.
The Alastar broke free of her mooring. Her docking arms ripped away and with it the covered walkway leading up to her.
People’s heads turned in surprise. The station’s air locks closed in automatic response to avoid vacuum engulfing the main wing. For a second everybody froze. Then pandemonium broke out.
The Alastar floated on low impulse power like a big obedient butterfly ninety degrees to the radial axis of the station. I stifled a murmur as her wings and many dips and angles glinted in the station’s artificial light. Noss and Blest blinked in unison.
Gistron’s security cameras would show nothing. I’d remain out of sight. It’d remain a mystery to everyone how the starship had made her sudden exit.
I feigned my own gasp of innocence while a klaxon rang somewhere down the docking hall.
I turned to watch Detran’s expression.
His face boiled in pure fury. “What the bloody hell—” He patted his side, felt for the missing passkey.
He clawed at grey-bearded Lew’s arm. “The woman—” he rasped. “Where is the she bitch?”
“There were a few dames on that last ride out,” growled Lew. “Could have been on any of them.”
“Go after them, for shit sakes!”
Detran scrambled to pull on the arm of one of his lackeys. Soon all were talking at once into coms.
I couldn’t resist wading through the crowd to watch more of Detran’s panicked antics. Fun being a fly on the wall.
“Stolen in broad daylight?” Detran blinked. “It makes no sense. Why aren’t they going after my ship?” He turned and his big brown hound eyes bugged out of their sockets. “Damn RSA. They instigated this.” He reached to his side and his face curled in a mean, prune-like grimace. “I’m sure that bitch must have been working in cahoots with those rotten RSA meddlers.”
He turned to gaze in wild contempt at the dispersing crowd. Lew gripped his arm. “Wait, Hal. There’s our so-called RSA agent there. He looks as surprised as the rest.”
“Then who the fuck…?” Halley’s perplexed moon face pinched and mouth pursed in a little ‘o’. “Find the woman,” he croaked.
“She’ll be long gone now,” Lew objected.
“Find her!” The big man waved a fist.
Lew stumbled off on a run.
Noss, Blest and I waited some minutes before the bedlam reached its peak then followed with a more leisurely gait after a few who made for the landing dock, perhaps gripped with the thought that their ships would do the same magic disappearing act. None of them looked as if they liked the way things were progressing. We headed up the padded carpetway down the boarding hall to the moored ships.
“Slow,” I muttered at Noss. “Don’t look so freaked out. You look like your granny drowned your hamster.”
Noss murmured an apology while Blest looked at me in dogged wonder, itching to get to Bantam.
We approached the checkpoint and its wire mesh
