The man smiled. "Our organization has access to a great deal of
information; it's an integral part of our business, this information,
serving as a springboard for contacting prospective clients like you."
"You mean," she said testily, "you'd like to help me get a divorce?"
She smiled, adding, "For a fee, naturally."
The man shook his head no. "Something more permanent. We'd like to make
a widow of you."
For a moment Silvia sat paralyzed, thinking she had not heard right.
After awhile, she said, "You'd like to what?"
"You were carefully studied," the man went on, "and we know the idea of
your husband's death is not repugnant to you; that's why I'm suggesting
the idea simply, without any cat-and-mouse tactics. Your husband has
insurance amounting to slightly less than one hundred thousand credits;
our fee will be one-tenth of that plus one-tenth of any other monies
which may accrue as a result of his death."
Silvia sat in shocked silence, not knowing what to say. "You're crazy,"
she managed finally. "I'll call the officers--"
"Who wouldn't believe you because the story is fantastic," the man
pointed out, certain of himself. "Only our clients and potential
clients know we are in existence, for not one of our--er--operations
has been discovered. Think it over, Mrs. Bennet. Even though Arcturan
divorces can be quick, they aren't always painless. It's like war with
them, just as everything is, and wars can be lost. Our way is more
certain; you're assured of your husband's estate and nine-tenths of all
insurance money. I'll be around when you change your mind."
He got up and walked down the aisle in back of her. Silvia didn't look
to follow him. She was thinking, _when_ I change my mind; the man was
that sure of it, was he? Or was that just to put her in a positive
frame of mind, making her think it was not a question of yes or no,
but when. She had quarrels with George, sure, and sometimes she even
felt she hated him--but the idea of murder had not entered her mind.
Mentally she added, _at least until now!_ She shook her head--no, it
was out of the question.
* * * * *
She had to admit to herself, though, now that she _was_ thinking
of it, that she would miss the easy living being married to George
entailed, even with any alimony she might receive. He was the android
version of the old Horatio Alger story, though very few persons knew
or even suspected George was not human. The World Congress had passed
equalizing laws for androids just as they had for the various races,
with the difference that it worked for androids since they had no
outward mark of being different from the select group.
While not wealthy, they had lived well, with George trying in his
simple fashion to please her. She thought once she had loved him, for
after all he was a rather likable person. He had told her of his being
a non-human and had proposed in almost the same breath, and it had
shocked her at first the way any normal woman would be shocked at being
told such a thing. But George was on his way to becoming somebody in
the business world, and after going mentally over the pros and cons of
the thing she had decided she could do much worse. There were times
during the two years of marriage, however, when she wasn't even certain
of that.
She had considered the possibility of forcing him after the divorce
to give her some of his real estate or investments in return for not
disclosing his secret; for while technically there was supposed to
be no ill will toward androids there was an instinctive repulsion on
the part of many humans for someone who was not of their kind, and
George's business contacts would inevitably suffer if the knowledge got
out. It was not blackmail, she rationalized--she disliked the unlawful
sound of the word--but a business deal in which she supplied silence in
return for his money. It was the least he could do, she thought, after
taking up two years of her life.
But murder was another thing, a totally different thing that had
entered her mind only briefly during arguments and then not seriously.
Even blackmail would be lily-white compared to it. She had never
actually entertained the idea for any length of time, but now she
considered it--not seriously even now, she told herself hastily, but
merely as an intellectual diversion.
Android or not, as far as the courts were concerned, it was murder just
as though the victim were a human. But the case might never reach the
courts, for the "organization" would handle all homicidal details, she
remembered, and they were probably professionals in the art. Strange,
no one had discovered the organization, but that probably testified to
its ability. They could probably kill someone, even George, and no one
would ever know....
She shook her head in mild disdain, wondering at the sudden flood of
criminal thoughts started by the stranger. She reminded herself that
she was going to Arcturus to divorce her husband, not to kill him. She
wondered disinterestedly if he were sulking up there on the observation
platform.
The loudspeaker crackled and a feminine voice said, "The mechanical
difficulties have been located and are being repaired. It will be
approximately thirty minutes, Earth rating, before we enter subspace
again. Meanwhile, the lounge is open for those wishing to patronize it.
May we suggest a cocktail, followed by a dinner from any of the planets
of any system. The view from the observation platform--"
The voice droned on, telling of the swimming pool, the
three-dimensional (off-gravity) tennis rooms, and other diversions
designed to get passengers' minds off the fact that they were
temporarily stalled in open space.
* * * * *
George appeared in the doorway at one end of the aisle and walked
toward her. She gave a small gasp as she saw the stranger come through
the doorway behind him. They came down the aisle, and George dropped
into his seat. The stranger looked questioningly at her before he
passed. She shook her head no.
"There's a good view from the observation platform," George said, as
though making an effort to be conversational. "Now's the time to see
it, when the ship's in normal space. They've got a large transparent
dome, like half a bubble, and when you look up it seems as though
you're out there in space, floating."
"Really?" she said drily. "I'm not exactly a tourist, you know. I
_have_ been on observation platforms before."
For a moment he looked at her as though wondering if there were
anything he could say that wouldn't bring out a disagreeable word.
"Silvia, I wish--" he began.
"All right, all right," she interrupted wearily. "If there's anything
I've said to injure your poor sensitive feelings, I apologize. But
please don't give me that lost sheep-dog look; I can't stand it."
He started to say something, then changed his mind at the futility of
it and fell silent. She regarded him from the corner of her vision for
a moment, feeling strangely sympathetic toward him. It made her feel
something of a heel when he fell silently accusing like that, and she
didn't like the feeling. If only he'd rant and rave at her, stand on
his own two feet and maybe even beat her once in a while. She wouldn't
like that, but at least it would be better than this outwardly placid
pacificism. She suspected his attitude stemmed from an inferior
complex due to his being android; he could spin the world on its tail,
corner all the credits in the solar system, but still he could not
escape the fact of his artificial birth. That fact was her weapon, and
he knew it and was afraid of it.