She lowered her head. Richard watched her, realized he’d met her type before. The type that imagined what they’d do, then did it, and wondered why nothing quite worked the way they’d planned.
“You should’ve just shoved him out of an airlock,” Richard said.
Everyone looked at him. He realized he’d said too much.
He shrugged, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t entirely feel.
“What I mean is that had you done something simple, no one would’ve thought twice about it. All this elaborate stuff was your downfall.”
That still sounded bad. He sounded like one killer giving advice to another. Which, in fact, he was.
Hunsaker crossed his arms, watching Richard, a slight frown on his face. Anne Marie stood in the back of the room, listening. The captain was still at his table, drowning himself in drink. Carmichael kept checking the time, hoping that her father’s ship would get here soon.
Everyone else sat very far away from Lysa, as if her particular brand of insanity was catching.
Richard didn’t stay that far away though. For all her brand of insanity, her elaborate kills, and her mistakes, she was what a murderer should be.
Someone who had a reason to do what she did—not a bloodless reason. A personal reason. An important reason. Something that was, to her, life and death. So she acted, in a life-or-death manner.
And he found that both inspirational and appropriate.
He didn’t ask her any more. Carmichael’s father could take them all in his various ships. Somewhere Lysa would get prosecuted for what she had done. Not that this was a happy ending for anyone.
The captain would probably lose his job. Carmichael was going back to a situation that she clearly didn’t want to be in.
And Richard would have no way to get to Ansary.
Not to mention all the people who had died. Their families would never be the same.
He walked back to Anne Marie Devlin. Pretty woman. Or she would’ve been if she weren’t a depressive and a drunk. She was sober right now, but he could see the tendencies. She was the kind who didn’t want to change because she saw no point in it.
Besides, change was hard. That was becoming clearer to him, each and every day.
* * * *
The ships arrived in fifteen hours, not eighteen, and they took everyone away. Once Hunsaker realized who Carmichael’s father was—he truly was a mucky-muck of high muck who had a lot of mucking money—he made noises about the damage to his resort and how embarrassing it would be if it ever came out that his daughter had been a target.
When that hadn’t moved her father, Hunsaker added that it would also be embarrassing for people to know that his daughter had been fleeing from him when all of this occurred.
Hunsaker got a tidy payout, enough to renovate the entire resort if he felt like it. And he felt like it. He wanted this place as tamper proof as possible. He didn’t ever want to be in this situation again.
Ilykova hadn’t left with the rest. He wasn’t going to testify either, no matter how much everyone pleaded with him. He sat in the bar these days and watched Anne Marie drink, which was a sight to behold. He didn’t seem miserable, but he didn’t seem happy either.
He was waiting for the next ship, for a way out. Although he clearly didn’t know where he was going.
And Hunsaker had been thinking about it. The station was a world unto itself. Technically, anything that happened here was prosecuted in the Commons System, but no prosecution had ever happened.
Hunsaker wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if Ilykova hadn’t been here. Ilykova wasn’t big or burly and he didn’t seem tough. But he had experience.
And he had no qualms about doing what it took to keep the peace.
You should’ve just shoved him out of an airlock.
Hunsaker couldn’t’ve done that to anyone. Ever. But he could pay someone to do it while he looked the other way.
That wouldn’t’ve worked in this circumstance, of course. But it might in future circumstances.
And if Hunsaker had learned anything from this experience, he had learned it was better to be prepared.
If he had been prepared, none of this would’ve happened.
The doors would’ve locked properly, the environmental controls would’ve been up-to-date, and all the rooms would’ve been cleaned.
Woulda coulda shoulda
He wasn’t going to have any regrets. He was going to move forward.
He squared his shoulders and walked to the bar. He paused for a brief jealous moment when he saw how close Ilykova was sitting to Anne Marie. Then he saw the look of disgust on Ilykova’s face, and realized that the man would never be interested in her.
So Hunsaker sat down at their table, and offered Ilykova a job.
No one was surprised when Ilykova said yes.
THE WORLD WITH A THOUSAND MOONS by Edmond Hamilton
CHAPTER 1
Thrill Cruise
Lance Kenniston felt the cold realization of failure as he came out of the building into the sharp chill of the Martian night. He stood for a moment, his lean, drawn face haggard in the light of the two hurtling moons.
He looked hopelessly across the dark spaceport. It was a large one, for this ancient town of Syrtis was the main port of Mars. The forked light of the flying moons showed many ships docked on the tarmac—a big liner, several freighters, a small, shining cruiser and other small craft. And for lack of one of those ships, his hopes were ruined!
A squat, brawny figure in shapeless space-jacket came to Kenniston’s side. It was Holk Or, the Jovian who had been waiting for him.
“What luck?” asked the Jovian in a rumbling whisper.
“It’s hopeless,” Kenniston answered heavily. “There isn’t a small cruiser to be had at any price. The meteor-miners buy up all small ships here.”
“The devil!” muttered Holk Or, dismayed. “What are we going to do? Go on to Earth and get a cruiser there?”
“We can’t do that,” Kenniston answered. “You know we’ve got to get back to that asteroid within two weeks. We’ve got to get a ship here.”
Desperation made Kenniston’s voice taut. His lean, hard face was bleak with knowledge of disastrous failure.
The big Jovian scratched his head. In the shifting moonslight his battered green face expressed ignorant perplexity as he stared across the busy spaceport.
“That shiny little cruiser there would be just the thing,” Holk Or muttered, looking at the gleaming, torpedo-shaped craft nearby. “It would hold all the stuff we’ve got to take; and with robot controls we two could run it.”
“We haven’t a chance to get that craft,” Kenniston told him. “I found out that it’s under charter to a bunch of rich Earth youngsters who came out here in it for a pleasure cruise. A girl named Loring, heiress to Loring Radium, is the head of the party.”
The Jovian swore. “Just the ship we need, and a lot of spoiled kids are using it for thrill-hunting!”
Kenniston had an idea. “It might be,” he said slowly, “that they’re tired of the cruise by this time and would sell us the craft. I think I’ll go up to the Terra Hotel and see this Loring girl.”
“Sure, let’s try it anyway,” Holk Or agreed.
The Earthman looked at him anxiously. “Oughtn’t you to keep under cover, Holk? The