It was to be one way or another. Kevin had spent the entire afternoon sitting in the lobby of the Leviatan Hotel in Washington, formerly known as the white house in other sorrier days. He had tipped the two hotel security agents to allow him to stay beyond the reasonable time without checking in.
He scanned the faces of everyone who walked out of the door to his left; a high-frame two-sided wooden door with active-vision glass windows that showed the local financial news. Part of the tip kevin gave was to allow him to keep track of the auction news ticker embeded in the image. Hyde Dynasty was ahead of the next bidder by almost a full ten percent.
Ten billion credits, thought Kevin, as he examined this figure against other astronomical units he had heard in his life. That should be enough money to pay complete coverage by the best DRO in town to every human on the continent for over fifty years. Or it was enough money to start a DRO with coverage of a billion people. He found third year arithmetics a good way to kill time.
Ten billion was just too much money. Of course, no organization owned the moon, so nobody could sell it. The money from the auction would just go to the companies that had worked together in preparing the logistics for the colonization and building the lunar infrastructure. THese companies didn't have direct incentive to work on the moon other than aid mining and realstate companies settle in with ease. THey were offering exclusivity of service to the company that offered the hiest bid.
This is the single fact that puzzled Kevin. Why would a company like the Hyde Dynasty invest so much money from it's own capital and that of its investors on the moon, if it was not in the realstate nor the mining industries?
The double door opened quickly and several men dressed in expensive suits walked out without noticing Kevin. He started to gather his things quickly and prepared to follow. He didn't need to see the face of the man walking behind them with more casual clothes. The sudden tightness in the postures of the security guards told him this was the guy.
"Mr. Boudaker," called out Kevin, and one of the escorting men turned immediatelly. His up and down glances suggested he was reading and evaluating Kevin as a potential target.
Kevin pulled out his credentials. "I work for Cymbal News." The escort ignored the digital ID and focused on Kevin's eyes.
"Mr. Boudaker," repeated Kevin, now sounded a little desperate and intimidated.
The man in casual clothes half turned and caught a glimpse at Kevin. He suddenly stopped and turned. The other escorts positioned themselves at the door out of the hotel. The man walked a few steps passed the first escort, who was still staring menacing at Kevin. "You are the reporter who is covering the auction. My name is Yousef Boudaker." The man extended his right hand.
Kevin gripped the extended hand, giving an angry look at the escort as he positioned himself behind Mr. Boudaker. "A placer, Mr. Boudaker. It's nice meeting you. Perhaps you can answer a few questions."
"Of course. Anything that may help the public and our investors." Boudaker signaled the escort behind him. He contacted the others with some unseen electonics and they began to rotate their position between the lobby and the entrance.
"Mr. Boudaker, our audience is interested in knowing what is your interest in the moon. Many other companies have legitimate reasons for wanting to obtain this exclusivity contract. Some are expeculating that Hyde is looking to block the developement of lunar colonies, and others have gone so far as to propose that your company is into monopolies; that you are infact only interested in this venture because of the possibility of stablishing a pseudo-state on the moon. What can you tell us about that?"
"
I won't let go of past me, but rather invite him to chill at my birthday.