"Thank you, sir. We'd enjoy that."
"Good. His pay reverts to the ship's fund. That's all, men."
Feldman started to protest, but a fist lashed savagely against his
mouth.
He made no other protests as they dragged him into the crew shuttle that
took off for Southport. He avoided their eyes and sat hunched over. It
was Ben who finally broke the silence.
"What happened to Art's money? He had a pile on him."
"Go to hell!"
"Give, I said!" Ben twisted his arm back toward his shoulder, applying
increasing pressure.
"A doctor took it for his fee when Billings died of space-stomach. Damn
you, I couldn't help him!"
Ben looked at the others. "Med Lobby fee, eh? All the market will take.
Umm. It could be, maybe." He shrugged. "Okay, reasonable doubt. We
won't kill you, bo. Not quite, we won't."
The shuttle landed and Ben handed out the little helmets and aspirators
that made life possible in Mars' thin air. Outside, the tubemen took
turns holding Feldman and beating him while the passengers disembarked
from their shuttle. As he slumped into unconsciousness, he had a picture
of Chris Ryan's frozen face as she moved steadily toward the port
station.
IV
Martian
It was night when Feldman came to, and the temperature was dropping
rapidly. He struggled to sit up through a fog of pain. Somewhere in his
bag, he should have an anodyne tablet that would kill any ache.
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