Twitching.
There was a lot of twitching as Minister Kordell stood there, bracing as though the sky itself was about to fall.
He felt sick. Not because House Orell and House Aramont were throwing money around like spoiled children, but because he was being prevented from winning.
He couldn't care less how much they planned to dump into the pot; he was sure the Federation was behind them anyway. But how could he stand here and just watch while something this game-changing slipped into the hands of others?
Down below, the auction house was bedlam.
The numbers on the screen flipped so fast that poor Master of Ceremonies Mitchel wasn't even able to say them aloud before they changed again.
"Ten billion… ten point two… no, ten point five… ten point seven—wait—eleven point—oh twelve!"
The man was practically tearing his hair out while the audience clutched their seats with white-knuckled grips. Every bid came with anguished groans, gasps, and the occasional howl.
