Difference between revisions of "HPA3 Auction Day Pt 1"
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(New page: Norman sipped his coffee. People moved and jostled around him. Contracted auction staff adjusted their equipment up the front of the gala room. The dozen and a half bidders milled aro...) |
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| − | Norman sipped his coffee. People moved and jostled around him. Contracted auction staff adjusted their equipment up the front of the gala room. The dozen and a half bidders milled around the seats, talking, drinking and doing last minutes credit rating calculations. Only a few had taken their seats as Norman had done. |
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| + | {{Deleteme|Later version available on website, which is linked from [[The HPA Saga]].}} |
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| − | And in between them all, New Rossyth Staff hurried back and forth keeping the bidders happy. It was organised chaos. |
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| − | Norman breathed deeply, sucking in the coffee vapour. Reiquatan Ultra may have had the reputation, but Phekdan coffee outshone it quality. The rich creamy texture massaged his throat as he drank. He couldn’t have dreamed of anything as satisfying. |
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| − | Then a man walked through the door, shattering any visions of paradise Norman had. |
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| − | Kim Stenson. |
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| − | Norman mentally cursed, but his practiced façade remained rock still. |
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| − | Kim stood in the doorway for a moment, hands on his hips, surveying the crowd. His eyes focused on Norman for a moment before continuing past. He carried his obviously rented suit well, but he still had ‘COP’ written all over him. |
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| − | Norman chuckled. You could take the man out of the policemen, but you couldn’t take the policeman out of the man, even when supposedly undercover. |
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| − | Kim stepped forward, flanked by two other men. They wore black, anti flash sunglasses, had trim, almost crew-cut hairlines and wore plain, non-descript suits. |
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| − | INRA. They looked so plain, they stood out more that Stenson. They took defiant stances at the door and tried to disguise it by leaning an the coffee counter and looking thoroughly bored. Kim took the seat nearest the door and stretched out as if he were digging in for the long run. |
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| − | Norman pursed his lips. The room's only exit suddenly seemed along way away. |
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| − | Aloyisus Grant strutted into the room. Norman’s eyes widened. Why hadn't Sam taken his place? Norman worked his jaw as he extrapolated through events to their horrible conclusion: If Sam hadn't succeeded, he must have been captured. What the hell had gone wrong? |
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| − | Aloysius tilted his head and itched his moustache. He paused mid action before joining a group of laughing businessmen. |
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| − | Norman sagged forward, sighing in relief. Sam had taken Aloysius's place. The lump in his stomach instantly dissolved. Faking a cramp, he limped over to the coffee. He focused on the brew; it might have been paranoia, but he could feel Stenson's hawk-like eyes boring into his back. |
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| − | Norman laughed at his nervousness. A first year Imperial Agent would be showing more resolve than this. He had planned everything out to the nth degree. Nothing could go wrong. |
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| − | He shook off the veil of uncertainty and filled his cup. He poured slowly, taking his time, keeping his eyes on the coffee. Wandering eyes could create suspicion. |
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| − | "I hear you're from Terra Conquera Mining?" said someone behind him. |
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| − | Norman turned. Sam stood behind him, eyebrows raised in question. Norman nodded. "That's right." He extended his hand. "TK Dover." |
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| − | "Aloysius Grant," said Sam in an unrecognisable voice. He pushed past to grab the percolator. |
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| − | Norman narrowed his eyes. Something didn't feel right. Could he have imagined the Sam's signal earlier? |
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| − | Sam's eyes weren't giving anything away. People were moving behind him. Sara checked her watch and signalled to the doormen. Things were about to start. |
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| − | Norman clenched his teeth. If he had to abort, he needed to know now. He risked the code phrase. "I'm not sure this coffee is doing the trick for me." |
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| − | Sam sipped the brown fluid and sloshed it around his mouth. His eyes lost focus. |
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| − | Norman's blood boiled at Sam's impudence. The seconds ticked away. What was Sam playing at? Norman stared at Sam exasperated, waiting for an answer. |
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| − | The door men moved toward the back; Sara the front. People sensing a change drifted toward their seats. |
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| − | Norman sucked in a deep breath. The plan was dependent on Sam. If he did not give the go ahead, Norman would have to get out, fast. |
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| − | Finally, Sam swallowed the coffee and sighed. "Putrid is the word I would use. I’ve drunk better coffee in a Vequess slave mine café." He seemed to draw the words out, as if it hurt to form them. |
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| − | Norman had to hide his smile at the key words: putrid and Vequess. Too crude for Aloysius, but part of Sam’s regular vocab. The loose strands of the plan were finally in place. So why did Sam have such attitude? Norman hoped he hadn’t lost his nerve; He needed him now more than ever, but couldn’t allow anything to endanger this mission. |
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| − | He would have to keep an eye on Sam. |
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| − | Sara cleared her throat from behind the dais. The room collapsed into silence under her amplified voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, the time is now eight o'clock." She nodded toward the back. "The door's are now closed. All latecomers will be barred entry. We shall begin the bidding in five minutes. Please take your seats." |
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| − | Only now did Sam's eyes carry a twinkle. Norman knew Sam intimately. The man couldn’t help being who he was. When the game started, he would play all-in until the end and would love every second of it. |
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| − | Norman drifted to his seat. Only three quarters of the seats were taken. He had hoped a few more would have had incidents delaying them, but he hadn’t done too badly, considering the time frame. It had been expensive to organise; he hoped it would end up worth it. |
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| − | He checked out each of his remaining competitors, recalling their names, faces and bios from his neural lace. Quite a few of the significant threats were missing, but Aegean Corporation, Centrix Division and Obertex were still in attendance. |
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| − | This time Norman did allow himself a half grin. Sam sat three rows back and to Norman's left. Stenson hadn't moved from his seat by the door. His cohorts were still hovering, more interested in the bidders than the bidding. |
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| − | The auctioneer stood up to the dais. He tightened his tie, cracked his neck and tapped his wooden gavel against the block. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to another P&O auction.. The first item tonight is the modified Long Range Cruiser _Ajax_." He paused as the screen behind him came to life. A dot in the centre grew into a fully detailed LRC, which spun around its centre of gravity in both planes. A list of specifications and details appeared down the right hand side of the screen. The auctioneer ran through his required spiel, explaining the main variances of the ex-military ship over the civilian version. |
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| − | Norman watched the others as they studied the graphic display. Their expressions varied for mild interest to jaw gaping excitement. Norman knew the _Ajax_ was the mid life crisis cure that many of the bidders were looking for. Probably not for the two women though. Norman knew little of them, but women in positions of wealth and power were often more unpredictable and dangerous than men. |
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| − | The auctioneer finished his blurb then smacked the gavel down. "Who'll give me a quarter of a billion credits?” |
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| − | A half dozen hand thrust into the air, but a tuxedo clad man claimed the opening bid. The rest of the hands fell as the auctioneer continued. “Who’ll give me point three billion credits? Quarter of a billion credits bid, now point three, now point three, will you give me point three?” |
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| − | Norman sat back and watched with interest. With no desire for the _Ajax_, he had the luxury of studying the competition. There were several other bidders sitting back, seemingly uninterested in the _Ajax_. |
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| − | To Norman’s dismay, one of the women, a grey haired lady in a pressed suit kept her hands down, not even holding her numbered paddle, idling looking around the room with bored eyes. |
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| − | The auctioneer’s cry began to slow but his hands continued to thrust out toward the bidders, the gavel swishing through the air. As the price climbed, the number of bidders dwindled. “Who'll give me a three quarter billion? Half billion bid, now three quarter, now three quarter, will you give me three quarters?" |
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| − | Only three bidders were left at the billion credit mark: one of the women, Mr Costello from Aegean Corp and the representative of Riverdance Industries. Riverdance fell out at the one point five mark. Tuxedo was frantically whispering to an aide, who had a calculator in hand. The lady fell away quickly after. |
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| − | "Who'll give me two billion credits? One seven five bid, now two billion, now two billion. Will you give me two billion?" |
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| − | Silence descended on the room, punctuated by the rustle of papers and a muted cough. The auctioneers head bobbed around almost desperately, pleading the bidders to continue. "Who'll give me one eight five? I'll take one eight five." |
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| − | The crowd stayed silent. The Mr Costello’s face of unadulterated glee contrasted with the auctioneers. He was clearly on commission. He drew the bidding out, lowering his asking rate, but no one took the bait. |
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| − | "One seven five going once, one seven five going twice," the auctioneer voice was laced with doom. With a defeated shrug, he raised the gavel high, dramatically above his head. |
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| − | "One Eight zero." |
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| − | The room froze as three dozen sets of eyes turned to the door. Kim Stenson had his arm held high, still, unwavering. |
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| − | The auctioneer stared wide eyed before gathering himself. "One eight zero bid, now one eight five, now one eight five, will you give me one eight five?" |
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| − | Tuxedo shot his arm up, piping Aegean by a split second. Aegean twisted around, eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to stare Tuxedo down. |
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| − | The auctioneer didn't give him the chance however as he returned to his chant with renewed vigour. Tuxedo and Aegean went head to head, raising the price past two billion, while Stenson sat back, arms folded, a grin weaved into his face. |
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| − | Norman raised an eyebrow. The cop was planning something. But what? Norman gave him a glance, but didn’t stare. He couldn’t raise attention to himself. |
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| − | It took ten minutes for the bidding to ease. The auctioneer smacked his gavel on the board, relief in his strained voice. Mr Costella shook hands with his aide, a triumphant smile on his face. The auctioneer made notes in his book as Sara knelt down to whisper to Mr Costello. Norman couldn't hear the exchange. |
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| − | Sara stood up and moved to the dais. "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen. With the conclusion of the first sale, we shall take a quick fifteen minute break. Please remember that the doors are to remain closed for the duration of this auction." |
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| − | The hum of human noise enveloped Norman as he made his way back to the coffee station. The caffeine wasn’t doing his jittery nerves any favours, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t get another chance to savour the Phekdan brew. |
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| − | Stenson stretched, stood up and went over to his INRA friends. Sara made a beeline for Norman. |
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| − | Norman sucked in a breath. What did she want? He didn’t have time for an in depth conversation. He risked a glance at Sam. He was playing with his moustache. The final signal. |
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| − | “Mr Dover,” Sara said. “Where’s Mr Bond?” |
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| − | “Ahh,” said Norman. In truth he had been waiting for her to ask this question, but he couldn’t appear that way. “He had to return planet side. The spinning of the space station plays havoc with his equilibrium.” |
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| − | Sara nodded. It was less a nod of belief, but more of not having time to follow through. She changed tact. “The Ajax didn’t hold any interest for you?” |
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| − | Norman shrugged. “I told you I wanted the _Repulse_. I wasn’t kidding.” |
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| − | Sara regarded him, hands on her hips. “The ships are identical in all but name, Mr Dover.” |
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| − | Norman gave a toothy grin. “You’re not a ‘ship’ person, are you Miss Douglass?” |
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| − | Sara paled. “Excuse me?” |
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| − | Norman shook his head, an old timer regaling a child with a tall story. “A name can make all the difference. I’ll bid on her, Miss Douglass, and I’ll win her. Don’t have any doubt of that.” |
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| − | Sara straightened her suit jacket and gave a satisfied humph. “Excellent.” She nodded and disappeared into the throng of people. |
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| − | Norman sipped his drink and moved around the room. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up to see Stenson staring straight through him. |
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| − | Norman almost coughed up his drink. Alarm bells rang through his head. Stenson suspected his identity. He had to. Norman tried to nod casually, but knew it looked like the nervous bob of a pigeon’s head. He raised his cup in acknowledgement to strengthen his case. |
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| − | Stenson pursed his lips and turned away, but he continued to scan the crowd. Sara suddenly appeared beside him. Stenson almost back-pedalled, clearly surprised by the ambush. |
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| − | Norman couldn’t hear their conversation over the room noise, but Stenson fidgeted as if on a sugar rush. Norman smiled and took another sip. _See how you like it, bud._ |
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| − | The auctioneer drummed his gavel on the board and called people to return to their seats. Norman checked Sam for what must have been the fiftieth time. He looked ready. The butterflies worked their way up Norman’s stomach, but he channelled the nervous energy to his mind and arms, where he needed it the most. Their plans required perfect timing. If anything went wrong. . . |
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| − | The auctioneer started with the preamble for the _Repulse_, a repeat of the one for the _Ajax_. No one appeared to listen too hard. |
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| − | With the preliminaries done, the auctioneer ran into his chant. Norman thrust his hand up to claim the opening bid. He wanted to make a statement of intent more than anything else: he meant business this time. He hoped his lack of interest in the _Ajax_ would strengthen that image. |
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| − | A flurry of arms waved through the room as every single bidder wrested for the top spot. Tuxedo and Riverdance, who missed out on the _Ajax_, seemed hungrier than ever. |
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| − | The price sky rocketed. Past one billion, then past two. Bidders faded away, but ten people were still in the game at three billion. |
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| − | Norman kept up with the bidding, but didn’t needlessly push it higher. |
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| − | The auctioneer’s face grew redder as he cry continued unabated. His eyes were shining bright however, under the vision of his commission. |
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| − | Tuxedo dropped out at four billion. The two women followed soon after. |
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| − | Mr Costello pushed the price to five billion. Did he need both, Norman wondered, or did he simply not want anyone else to have them? Costello's aide whispered animatedly into his ear. Were they over their limit? Norman hoped so. He didn't want it to go much higher. |
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| − | "Who'll give me five six billion? Five five billion bid, now five six, now five six, will you give me five six?" The auctioneer licked his lips, the vision of money clearly streaming past his eyes. |
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| − | Sam raised a hand, eyes misted over, face relaxed, like a bored student answering the teacher's question. |
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| − | Norman raised his hand to counter. The auctioneer turned to Mr Costello, greed overpowering his regular protocol. Costello leaned toward his aide, mouthing something inaudible. The aide shook his head. Costello dropped his shoulders and ran his finger past his neck. He had reached the end of his rope. |
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| − | Norman turned to Sam. They were the only two left. His hands and legs tingled. He could almost taste the sweet nectar of victory. |
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| − | Sam edged the price to six billion. He lowered his hand, an almost malevolent grin on his face. The auctioneer turned to Norman, eyes wide, mouth agape. |
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| − | Norman frowned and mouthed a curse he had learnt during his military days. He raised his head, locked eyes with the auctioneer and slowly shook his head. He couldn’t go any further. |
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| − | The auctioneer's eyes dropped and he puckered his lips, but he checked the crowd with misplaced optimism. The room stayed silent. |
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| − | The auctioneer wouldn’t give in. “Six Billion going once. I’ll take ten thousand increments. Six Billion going twice.” A long pause. The hammer swivelled past the crowd one more time. “Sold!” |
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| − | Norman flinched as the gavel slammed down, ringing through the room. The bidding war had drained him, yet the real action was about to start. He tensed his legs and clenched his fists. He checked Stenson's position. Two rows back, five seats across. Two rows back, five seats across. |
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| − | The auctioneer gathered himself up to full height, his greedy eyes replaced with a condescending aristocratic air. “Congratulations Mr Grant. You are the new owner of the _Repulse_.” |
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| − | Sam jumped up, arms thrust into the air. "Yes. Victory!” He pumped his fists again. |
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| − | Then his moustache fell off. |
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