Special Notes: This is more a first draft of a first chapter to see if there's a story here worth telling High Bid, a Short Story As dawn cast its first pale light over the auction yard, a hushed congregation formed a half-circle around a particular relic of the past. The sealed storage unit stood like an enigma, its age-old facade a canvas for curiosity and conjecture. Ember's gaze lingered on the striking blue and orange strip that clung to the unit's edges, the colors still vibrant despite the centuries. This tape was the only barrier between the present and secrets six hundred years old, sealing in history with a vacuum that had remained unbroken. She took a step closer, her boots crunching on the gravel. A few heads turned in her direction, recognizing the shrewd look that often presaged a winning bid. But their attention quickly drifted back to the unit as whispers swirled through the air, imaginations painting wild pictures of what could reside within such an ancient vault. Ember’s eyes narrowed, not at the unit itself but at the sticker adhered to its door. The emblem of the Freighters Guild was unmistakable, a symbol that spoke of vast networks spanning the stars and pilots brave enough to traverse them. It was a legacy of reliability and honor—until one month ago, when fate's cruel hand claimed one of their own. The Freighter Pilot whose belongings lay entombed beyond the metal door had met an untimely demise, a victim to the perilous dance between man and the cosmos. In the absence of family or inheritors, his worldly possessions had defaulted to the whims of public auction. Ember felt a twinge of something—respect, maybe, or the kinship of one fortune hunter to another—in knowing the pilot's story would continue through the items he left behind. With the early morning sun warming her back, Ember folded her arms and waited. The auctioneer would soon arrive, and the crowd's murmurs would crescendo into a frenzy of bids. For now, she contented herself with studying the details, the silent clues that might just give her an edge in the bidding war to come. Ember’s fingers brushed against the glossy surface of the Auction Information Pamphlet, her gaze flickering over the sparse details it offered. It painted a picture of modesty; the Freighter Pilot had navigated the void without amassing wealth or property. Yet as a cryo-pilot for the Freighters Guild, he could have been storing anything from mundane personal effects to a small fortune's worth of contraband. The thought that there might be a vehicle hidden within those confines, possibly an antique or a rare model, sent a flutter of anticipation through her. The auctioneer, a portly man with a voice that cut through the morning air like a beacon, signaled the start of the bidding with a practiced flourish. Ember joined the fray with conservative offers, her voice melding into the chorus of numbers that ebbed and flowed around her. She marked the moment the bid crossed the thousand mark, her participation waning as the figure climbed — 1,100... 1,200... That's when Ember's instincts perked up, sharp and probing. Amidst the sea of stained shirts and weathered hands, one bidder stood out. His attire was nondescript but neat, too clean for someone accustomed to rummaging through the remnants of others' lives. The cut of his hair, the kind that never seemed to grow out of place, spoke of regimen and order, not the chaotic hustle of auction lots. Her eyes lingered on his hands, conspicuously pristine. No trace of grime lined his nails, no smudges marred his skin. He didn't belong here among the scavengers and treasure seekers. A casual observer would miss it, but Ember, with years of experience in assessing both people and relics, saw the incongruity for what it was — a clue that this man had been drawn here by more than the luck of the draw. As the bidding pressed onward, she stepped back, her mind racing. What did he know? What had drawn him, so polished and precise, to this dusty gathering? Ember wasn't one to shy away from competition, but caution was the companion of curiosity. She would watch and wait, her decisions calculated, as the mystery of the well-groomed bidder unfurled before her. "Thirteen hundred," Ember called out, her voice slicing through the murmurs of the crowd. Heads turned her way, but the man with the suspiciously clean nails merely nodded to the auctioneer, countering with an even "Fourteen hundred" without a twitch in his expression. Ember's gut tightened. He was too calm, too collected; it set her instincts ablaze with warning signals. With a determined tilt of her chin, she upped the ante to fifteen hundred. The man didn’t hesitate, immediately offering sixteen hundred in return. The air around them grew thick with tension as the small audience held their collective breath, sensing the stakes climb alongside the numbers. The storage unit had become an enigma, a siren's call luring them into uncharted waters, and Ember could not shake the feeling that this was no ordinary auction. She could almost taste the potential significance of what lay behind the sealed door, and she was not one to let opportunity slip through her fingers. Six thousand six hundred—the bid hung in the air, an audacious figure, unprecedented in Ember's seasoned history of such events. A flicker of annoyance finally marred the man's stoic façade, and the moment it did, Ember knew she had him. His next move was retreat; he folded, withdrawing from the bidding with a curt nod. Amidst the gasps and low whistles from onlookers, Ember stood victorious yet solemn, aware of the gravity of her gamble. Her empire of pawn shops and antique stores hadn't been built on recklessness but rather on astute risks. This was another such risk—one that could either be her greatest triumph or an expensive folly. "Sold for six thousand six hundred!" The auctioneer's voice cut through her reverie, sharp and final. Ember let out a slow breath, not quite a sigh of relief, but a silent acknowledgment of the plunge she had just taken into unknown depths. The storage manager's hand hovered over the device, a sleek piece of machinery that bore the promise of revealing long-buried secrets. The crowd leaned forward collectively, breaths held in anticipation. Ember's voice cut through the tension, clear and firm. "I don’t have a truck available until later, leave it sealed." A collective exhale rippled through the throng as the manager's frown deepened. "You have to have the unit cleared out by noon," he insisted, the rules of the facility reflecting in his stern gaze. Ember merely shrugged, her casual demeanor belying the strategic machinations whirring behind her sharp eyes. "I need another unit for inventory storage, I’ll rent this one." The manager's brow arched skeptically. "This is a long-term storage facility, the minimum lease is five years." "Not a problem," Ember replied, her nod decisive. "Get the paperwork ready, I’ll sign the lease." Her words were not just a commitment to property but a calculated move in the chess game she found herself unwittingly playing against an unknown opponent. As the manager trundled away on his golf cart to fetch the necessary documents, a murmur of disappointment buzzed among the spectators. Ember ignored them, her focus narrowing on the lingering presence of the man who had driven the price of the unit so high. The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting elongated shadows across the pavement. And there he was, still haunting the periphery of the lot like a discreet sentinel. His persistence piqued Ember's curiosity further; it clung to her like the scent of mystery—a scent she had learned to track with the precision of a huntress. Without ado, Ember orchestrated her own watch. Security teams, inconspicuous in their plainness, set up camp across the street in rotating trucks, their eyes vigilant, their presence a silent challenge to the man's intentions. Unwilling to let enigma slip through her fingers, Ember enlisted a private detective to unmask the stranger. Yet, every inquiry, every lead, seemed to dissolve into dead ends, as if the man existed in the shadows between records and recognition. With a strategy secured and the day slipping into dusk, Ember left her sentries in their covert vigil. The thrill of the unknown was a familiar dance partner, one that led her steps now as she retreated, patient and watchful, waiting for the opportune moment to turn enigma into revelation. Time had etched itself into the routine, a dance of observation and patience. For six months, the man's watchful gaze had become as much a fixture at the storage facility as the rusted sign that swayed above its gate. But Ember was no stranger to the long game, her acumen sharpened by countless auctions, each victory hard-won through cunning and resolve. As the clock struck noon, the man rose from his post like clockwork, disappearing around the corner for his daily reprieve. It was an hour Ember had come to anticipate with a predator's focus. Today, she'd pounce. "Let's move," Ember commanded, her voice low but insistent. Her team, a blend of muscle and keen eyes, sprang into motion behind her, their movements a symphony of efficiency honed through years of trust and shared conquests. They entered the facility with purpose, Ember's heels clicking on the concrete in a steady beat. The storage manager awaited them, the device in hand—a silent testament to the moment they had all been anticipating. Without a word, he engaged the mechanism, the seal hissing as it surrendered its integrity to the air. "Privacy, please." Ember's request came veiled in a smile that did little to mask the steel in her tone. She held the manager's gaze just long enough to convey the gravity of her demand. Begrudgingly, the storage manager nodded, casting one last longing glance towards the now unsealed unit before he retreated. His golf cart puttered away, a soft growl fading into the distance, leaving Ember alone with the enigma that had drawn them all here. The silence was palpable, the tension a tangible shroud enveloping the unit as Ember prepared to unveil the secret that had eluded her for half a year. Ember's fingers, steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins, gripped the cold metal handle of the storage unit door. With a firm yank, it rolled upwards, unveiling darkness pierced by thin shafts of light that outlined a solitary object—a cryo-pod, its presence leaving the air charged with unexpected mystery. She stepped closer, and her breath caught as she discovered the pod was not a relic or an empty husk, but a vessel cradling life. Through the frost-fringed window, a man lay in suspended animation, his existence reduced to a serene stillness that belied the storm of questions raging in Ember's mind. "Who is it?" The question came from her security man, who had materialized at her side, his posture rigid with tension. Ember couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at her lips—a mix of triumph and intrigue—as she gazed down at the frosted figure. "That," she said with a note of sly satisfaction, "is the allegedly dead pilot that rented this unit. I do believe this is the first time I’ve bought a pilot at an auction." The security man’s frown etched deeper grooves into his weather-beaten face. "We should seal this unit and walk away," he murmured, his voice low but urgent. "Something foul is going on." She nodded, her eyes never leaving the cryo-pod. "Oh yes, something very foul, and interesting." Ember's curiosity, that insatiable force that had driven her success in the cutthroat world of auctions, ignited with renewed fervor. "Let's wake him up and find out what this was all about." With that, Ember reached for the controls of the pod, her fingers dancing over the interface with a deftness born of countless encounters with the forgotten and the hidden. This was the moment where risk met reward, where history could be rewritten with the press of a button.