The young man nodded.
"First," said the Mercurian, opening the satchel, "here are your
papers." He handed him a yellow envelope which contained a book similar
to the one the T.I.S. had issued when he left Earth.
"The individual shares from the _Jupiter's_ cargo," the Mercurian
droned on, "plus the Terrestial warship amount to twenty thousand
notes." He handed Norman a sheaf of yellow bills.
"Roughly," Koal interposed, "that is equal in value to twenty-five
thousand Earth notes."
"Twenty-five thousand Earth notes!" gasped Norman. "It's a fortune."
"Sign here, please," said the Mercurian, handing him a ledger.
Norman affixed his name in a daze.
"That doesn't, of course," added the Mercurian, "include your share
from the sale of the slaves. They are to be auctioned off at fourteen
hundred." He snapped shut his satchel, bowed himself out.
"What time is it now?" asked Norman.
"We've time for something to eat before going twelve-hundred."
The slave market resembled an open-air theatre minus the seats. The
same cosmopolitan crowd which Norman had observed on the streets eddied
about the block. He caught sight of a figure clad in civilian clothes.
It was Vermeer, the black-headed Outlander whom he had been sure was
instrumental in the _Jupiter's_ capture.
"Who's that?" he asked the Martian pointing to Vermeer.
"A Venusian Export Lines man. The Dohlmites needed an outlet for much
of the material they captured. They established their own line of
trading ships under a Venusian register because they are so much less
strict on Venus. By the way, keep away from anyone connected with that
company. Never talk sedition in front of them. Those men belong to the
Dohlmites body and soul."
Just then the auctioneer, a lean, yellow-skinned Venusian, moved to the
block. Two men led Dr. Pequod from the wings. The flaming shorts were
gone. He was clad in exactly nothing. The doctor stalked to the block,
glared at the buccaneers who had clustered around him.
"What am I offered?" began the auctioneer. "A little scrawny but sound
and with a heart of gold."
The free booters cackled.
"A hundred notes," said the representative of the Dohlmites dryly. He
was seated on the platform with the auctioneer.
"A hundred notes. I'm offered a hundred notes. Who'll say a hundred
and ten--A hundred and five? Going for a hundred notes. Going. Going.
Gone!" He cracked his gavel down. Dr. Pequod was led back into the
wings.
The next three passengers were purchased by the agent of the Dohlmites
for the standard one hundred notes. There was some lively bidding
for the ex-chef of the _Jupiter_, who was finally knocked down to a
big-bellied pirate. He hauled his prize off with triumph.
Then Norman's heart jumped. The sixth passenger to be led to the block
was Jennifer. She was barefooted, the metal band gleaming about her
naked ankle. A cape had been thrown about her erect shoulders.
[Illustration: _The sixth slave to be led to the auction block was
Jennifer._]
The auctioneer lifted it off. There was nothing but girl underneath.
"Two hundred notes," a voice shouted from Norman's elbow.
* * * * *
Norman swung about, recognized Vermeer, the Venusian Export Lines agent.
"Hello," said Vermeer, "I see you've joined us."
Norman nodded shortly. "So it was you who killed the T.I.S. agent. I
suspected it all along."
Vermeer merely smiled. The auctioneer cried, "Two hundred notes. Two
hundred and ten," as another man bid. "Twenty. Twenty. Thirty." The
bidding was growing lively.
"Three hundred," said Vermeer.
"Three hundred and five," Norman echoed.
"Five hundred," said Vermeer without blinking an eye.
Realizing that the two men were bidding against each other the rest
dropped out. The audience seemed to settle back in expectancy. Men had
been known to pay the complete prize money of a venture for a girl.
"Five hundred and five," Norman said in a determined voice.
"Really," said Vermeer; "you're wasting your time. I intend to have
that girl. From one venture you can't possibly have enough money to
outbid me. One thousand notes," he addressed the auctioneer.
"A thousand notes, I'm offered," chanted the auctioneer.
"A thousand notes. Do I hear more?"
Norman bit his lip. It was only too true that Vermeer could outbid him.
With a sudden grim determination he balled his fist, walloped Vermeer
in the temple. All his indignation was behind that blow, all the bone
and gristle of six-foot-two of lecturer on Ancient History. Vermeer
went down and out like a pole axed steer.
"One thousand and one," shouted Norman triumphantly.
For a moment a hush gripped the audience, then the men roared with
laughter. No one liked the Venusian Export Lines men, the pet of the
Dohlmites.
"Going," chanted the auctioneer, "going. Gone! To the impetuous
gentleman with the good right fist!"
For the life of him, Norman couldn't help swaggering a little as he
went up to claim the girl.
The auctioneer tossed Jennifer her cape. She snatched it closely about
herself, leaped down from the platform.
Norman counted out the bills. Jennifer, without glancing at her
purchaser, walked swiftly ahead of him through the throng.
A pirate reached out, clapped him on the shoulder. "She's worth it,"
he chortled. "She's worth it." But Norman was being beset by doubts.
He hadn't liked the steely glint in the girl's blue eyes. It foreboded
trouble. Koal joined them chuckling, as they left the market place.
Once outside Jennifer stopped, swung on Norman. "All right," she said
in a suppressed voice. "You've bought me. But you'll regret it as long
as you live, you, you--renegade!"
Her tone brought him up short. "Of all the ungrateful wenches," he
flared; "you are the prize. I joined the Dohlmites with the express
purpose of rescuing you. I plank down one thousand notes cash to save
you from what in the old days was considered a fate worse than death."
The girl's features registered surprise, incredulity, contrition. She
started to say, "I didn't know," but Norman was thoroughly wound up.
"Of course, I realize that view is no longer entertained by the best
informed people, but if you are so anxious for Vermeer to buy you, I'll
go throw a bucket of water in his face and present you to him with my
compliments."
Indignation swept away all other emotions from the girl's features. "I
think you're horrible," she said and turned her back on him.