Erik is the one. Smiling, blond, slow-witted Erik is the mastermind that Rockledge planted on the Argo. It’s like one of those damned mystery novels where the murderer turns out to be the stupid butler. Who would have suspected Erik? Not me, that’s for sure.
Lonz, Will and I had put in a long, tough day finishing up our operations on Pittsburgh. All the mining and smelting equipment we had put onto the asteroid was finally shut down. That cluster of steel grapes bulked very nicely on one side of the ship. The sheets of platinum and the ingots of gold and silver were all neatly tucked into our cargo bays. Our identification beacon was on the asteroid, beeping satisfactorily.
I scrolled through the checklist on the main console’s screen one final time. We had done everything we had to do. The partners were all asleep—at least they were all in their beds. Or somebody’s beds.
“Okay,” I said to Lonz. “That’s it. Let’s see the nav program and set up the trajectory for home.”
“Um, there’s been a change in the mission plan, Sam,” Erik said.
I turned around from the console to look at him. I hadn’t even realized he’d entered the control center. His usual station was down by the galley, next to the lounge. He stood in the middle of the floor, smiling that slow, genial smile of his, like always.
“Whattaya mean?” I asked.
“We can’t start the homeward trip just yet,” he said.
“Why not?”
His smile didn’t change one iota as he explained, “We’ve got to put you and your partners off the ship first.”
“Put me and … ?”
“You’re staying on Pittsburgh, Sam,” Erik told me. “You’re not coming back.” And he pulled a slim little automatic pistol from his belt. It looked big enough to me, probably because he pointed it straight at my eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?” But the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach told me that I knew the answer to my own question.
I spun around toward Lonz and Will. They both looked unhappy, but neither one of them made a move to help me.
“You guys, too?” All of a sudden I felt like Julius Caesar.
“You wouldn’t believe how much money we’ll be getting,” Will muttered.
“For chrissakes, didn’t I treat you guys fair and square?” I yelped.
“You didn’t make us partners, Sam,” said Lonz.
“Holy shit. Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy? I could’ve …”
“Never mind,” Erik said, suddenly forceful, in charge. “Sam, you’ll have to stay in your quarters until we get everything arranged. Don’t try anything. I don’t want to make this messy.”
Three against one would have made a mess all right, and the mess would be me. So I huffed and puffed and slinked to my quarters like a good, obedient prisoner. My mind was spinning, looking for an out, but I didn’t know what they planned to do. That made it tough to figure out my next move. I heard them attach some kind of a lock to the outside of the door as soon as I closed it after me. And then all my lights went off; not even the emergency lamps lit. They had cut off all electrical power to my quarters. No lights, no computer access, no communications with anybody, nothing but darkness.
And waiting.
After a few hours they bundled us all into space suits and—one by one—had each of us jet from the Argos main airlock to the surface of Pittsburgh, where we had left the mining and smelting equipment. I was the last one to be pushed out.
“We’ve set up an inflated dome for the eight of you,” Erik said, with that maddening slow grin of his, “and stocked with enough food to last a few months.”
“Thanks a bunch!” I snapped.
“We could have killed you all outright,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to after I made that slip about Liechtenstein in the lounge one of the first nights out.”
I felt like a complete idiot. It never occurred to me that one of the guys I hired might be the Rockwell plant.
The sonofabitch knew what he was doing; I have to hand him that. If he had tried anything violent all eight of us would have fought for our lives. As far as I could tell the only weapon they had was Erik’s one pistol. He might have killed several of us, but we might have swarmed him under. Lonz and Will, too. Eight against three. We might have carried it off.
But Erik worked it like an expert. He isolated us into individuals and, instead of killing us outright, merely forced us to go from the ship to the asteroid. Merely. It was a slow way of killing us. Food and shelter notwithstanding, nobody will return to Pittsburgh in less than a couple of years. Nobody can, even if Erik would leave us a radio and we screamed our lungs out for help.
“This is piracy,” I said as the three of them nudged me toward the airlock. “To say nothing of murder.”
“It’s business, Sam,” Erik said. “Nothing personal.”
I turned to Lonz. “Do you think he’s going to let you live?” Then to Will. “Or you? Neither one of you is going to make it back to Earth.”
Lonz looked grim. “They’re giving us enough money to set us up for life. There’s no reason for us to talk, and no reason for Erik to worry about us.”
I huffed at him from inside my helmet. “Dead men tell no tales, pals.” Then I snapped the visor shut and stepped into the airlock.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” I heard Will’s voice say, muffled by my helmet.
“Sorry don’t get the job done,” I answered in my bravest John Wayne imitation.
Then the hatch closed and the pumps started sucking the air out of the lock.
The outer hatch slid open. There was Pittsburgh, hanging big and black and ugly against the even blacker background of space. Through the heavy tinting of my visor I could only see a few of the brighter stars. They looked awfully cold, awfully far away.
“Get going Sam,” Erik’s voice sounded genially in my earphones, “or we’ll have to open your suit with a laser torch.”
Like walking the goddamned plank. I jetted over to the asteroid. Sure enough, there was an inflated dome next to the equipment we had left. And seven space-suited figures standing outside it. Even in the bulky suits they looked scared shitless, huddled together, clinging to one another.
I planted my feet on the asteroid and turned back toward the Argo, spinning lazily against the backdrop of stars.
Raising one clenched fist over my head I yelled into my suit radio’s microphone, “I’ll see you—all of you—hanging from the highest yardarm in the British fleet!”
It was the only damned thing I could think of. About five minutes later a blazing flare of light bellowed from the Argo’s rocket nozzles and the ship—my ship—suddenly leaped away and dwindled in the dark sky until I couldn’t see it any more.
To say that my partners are upset is putting it so mildly that it’s like saying that Custer’s Seventh Cavalry was not terribly friendly with the Sioux Nation.
They’re terrified. They’re weeping. They’re cursing and swearing and calling down the wrath of the gods. Who (as usual) remain totally aloof and unconcerned about our plight. It took me nearly half an hour to get them to stop babbling, and by that time I finally got it through my thick skull that they’re mad at me!
“This is all your fault!” Rick Darling screamed at me. “I begged them to let me stay on the ship. I promised them I’d never inform on them. I even told them that I was glad they wanted to get rid of you! But they wouldn’t listen! Now I’m going to die and it’s all your fault!”
Funny thing is, each and every one of them is yelling some variation of the same story. Each one of them begged Erik to let them stay aboard, promised to go along with killing me—and all the others—providing they were allowed to get home safely.