​     Just then, four men walked up to the table, or at least of them could legally and logically be described as ​"men". The fourth figure, however...

​     "Mr. Forwarder?" the fourth "person" inquired. He was, easily, seven feet tall, and, just as easily, half that width. His body below the neck was covered with a tent-like overcoat. He wore thick, leather gloves. Only his head was clearly visible. 

​     Only it wasn't a head at all. It was a metal helmet with slits for eyes and that tapered to look like a squat rocket making ready to take off.

​     He sat across from Adam at the table. The man's voice didn't sound metallic or artificial at all but deep and human. "Mr. Forwarder?" he asked again.

     "You're a Valtair," Adam said. "My evaluation of this whole situation has just jumped up a couple notches." 

     "Here's our problem, Mr. Forwarder. It's about your invitation."

     "My invitation? Would you like to see it?" 

​     "I would. Thank you."

     Adam handed it over.                                                                                                   Valtair waved it over a hand scanner, then handed it back.  

     "Thank you."

     "Still a problem?"

     "Yes, and I'll tell you why. Look around you."

     "I don't have to do that. I know what this place looks like."

     "I want you to understand how meticulously this has all been put together."

​     "To what purpose, I wonder?"

     "We intend to be for this century what Disneyland was for the last. After today, there's not a person on Earth who will not have heard of the Skymaster."

     "Blah. Blah Blah. What's a Valtair doing here?" 

​     "Some day, more people will live in space than on Earth."

​     "Ever hear of The Fours, Valtair?"

     Valtair had no reply to this. 

     "Are you here to oversee the Seven Talons, Valtair?"

     "Let's get back to the original topic. Your invitation..."

     "What about it?" 

​     "It's a phony."

​     "I'd be the last the know. I got the invitation, I made a few calls, and I decided to go."

     "No. No, that isn't what happened."

     "Isn't this something you should be bringing up with Mr. Goldbody himself? I mean, he's the one who invited me in the first..."

     "In fact, I am acting on Mr. Goldbody's express orders. I spoke with him not fifteen minutes ago." 

     "And he's the one who claims this invitation is..." 

     "He said that under no circumstances did he invite you on this flight."

     Adam went to rise from the table. "I find this all fascinating, but now if you'll all excuse me..." ​

     Valtair's three associates stood. Their body language told Adam that they weren't about to let him leave. 

     "Oh, I see, you want to make a scene," Adam said. "If that's what you want, then I'm your man."

     "Actually, that's the last thing we want," Valtair replied. "Please resume your seat, Mr. Forwarder. I assure you, we have no malicious intentions."

     "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" 

​     "But we do need to get to the underlying truth of this situation. Again, it's not so much that the invitation is an imitation, but that it's such a quality imitation. Not only is it a perfect facsimile, but our computer actually states that you were invited. Now how can that be, Mr. Forwarder?" 

     "I don't know. Your boss forgot that he invited me? I mean, inject yourself with as much gold dye as he does, sooner or later that mind goes and...you know..." Adam made circles around his temple with a forefinger. "Coo-coo. Coo-coo." 

     "Gideon Goldbody did not invite you, Mr. Forwarder. No, he definitely did not do that. No, someone, or, more likely, some other computer, injected your invitation into our computer and made it look like it was initiated by us."

​     Tana whistled over that one. "You're good," she said to Adam.

     Valtair turned to look at her. "And you are?" 

     Tana didn't reply. She didn't like his attitude.

     "Perhaps you'd like to dance." To one of his associates, Valtair said, "Thomas, dance with this young lady."

     "I don't want to dance," Tana said. 

     "Nonsense. Of course you do."

     "I..." 

     "You are here under false pretenses, Mr. Forwarder. So, I'm sorry, but, until we know more, we can't allow you to roam free around the casino." 

​     "Can't I even finish my coffee?"

     An associate grabbed each of Adam's shoulders. 

     "You're coming with us," one of them said. 

     "You're going with them," Valtair said.

     I'm not going anywhere with these assholes, Adam thought.

                                                  CONTINUE