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Like a jewel, the spaceship had many facets. It was worth more, though , than many camels. At least, that Persian rogue had admitted as much, saying "I dig these boosters!" And boost they did! On a test run, throttle open halfway it got halfway to Uranus where it stalled, with typical aplomb, for hours lilting elegantly among asteroids. It ran out of gas , but not the two passengers! They drifted in a fog until the refueling ship docked and started pumping out the foul vapors into the vacuum of space.
"I'll take her! said Mr. Milkworth. A deal was struck on the mouth, signed in spittle tasting of profit. Pridefully the Persian rogue handed his voluminous references to the sales Droid and a spattering of ticker-tape ensued. It beeped and meeped in fluent Persian, producing title, insurance and espresso (for Farid). Pocketing cash, he oozed into the lobby, leaving Mr. Milkworth with a trail to clean.
"Lemons for cash," thought the Droid adroitly , following his roguish master with the enthusiasm of a bacon-wrapped brick. Farid, watching for authorities, didn't notice Mr. Milkworth slip up behind him. Old-man appearance abandoned, his youthful countenance distorted, he was out of countenance but counting on surprise. Milkworth, aka "Milky", aka 'The Milkdud', was actually Milton, aka "Milt", aka "Atomic Miltdown" aka "Milting Pott," Chief Inspector of The Great Cavern of Uranus could finally begin his retirement.
