The Martian growled, “I knew dis was a bad idea. Honey, I’m going. De more I see of dis guy, de less I like him.”
But Adne had her hand on his arm. “Please, Heinzie. Here.” She handed him a fizzy orange drink in a thing like a brandy inhaler with a hollow stem. “You know Charles is just out of the sleep-freeze. He’s kind of a slow learner, I’m afraid.”
“Dat’s his business. Killing him, dat’s my business.” But the Martian grumpily accepted the drink. The girl pressed her advantage.
“Yes, but Heinzie—dear—what’s the fun of it if he doesn’t know what it’s all about?”
“Trimmer!” Heinzlichen growled. “Maybe it’s more fun dat way. I can’t help dinking we lose some of de important values when killing’s all so cut and dried.”
“All right, Heinzie, maybe you’re right, but there’s such a thing as fair play, too. Why, I don’t even think Charles really knows what his rights are.”
The Martian shook his head. “Dat’s not my business eider. Dere’s his joymaker; let him call up and find out.”
Adne winked reassuringly at Forrester, who was not in the least reassured. But she seemed more confident and relaxed now. She leaned back, sipping her drink, and said silkily, “Wouldn’t it be nicer for you to talk to him about it? Tell Charles what you want to do, exactly?”
“Oh, dat part’s all right.” The Martian put down his drink, scratched his beard thoughtfully, and said, “Well, it’s like dis. I want to beat him up good, and den I will stomp on his chest cage until it breaks and ruptures de heart. De reason I like to do it dat way is it hurts a lot, and you don’t get near de brain. Of course,” he mused, “I got to pay a little more, but de best pleasures are de ones you pay for. Cheap’s cheap.” Then his expression lightened—or seemed to: the beard hid most of his transient looks. “Anyway,” he added, “maybe I can get off paying de bill. I talked to de lawyer, and he said Forrester hasn’t touched all de bases, law-wise, so maybe we can fight de costs. But dat doesn’t matter in de long run. What de hell, if it costs it costs.”
Forrester nodded thoughtfully and sat down. “I believe I’ll have that drink now, Adne,” he said. He realized, with a certain amount of pride, that he was perfectly calm.
The reason was that Forrester had come to a decision while Heinzlichen was talking: he had decided to go along with the gag. True, it wasn’t really a gag. True, when this man said he intended to cause Forrester a lot of pain and bring about his ultimate death, he meant every word of it. But you could not spend your life in weighing consequences. You had to pretend that the chips were only plastic and did not represent real currency of any sort, otherwise you would lose the game out of nerves and panic.
The very fact that the stakes were so important to Forrester was a good reason for pretending they were only make-believe.
He accepted a glass from Adne and said reasonably, “Now, let’s get this straight. Did I understand you right? You talked to a lawyer before you tried to kill me?”
“Nah! Wake up, will you? All I did den was file de papers.”
“But you just said—”
“Listen, why don’t you? De papers was so I could kill you—all de usual stuff, bonds to cover de DR business, guaranties against damaging de brain, and like dat. Den de lawyer was just yesterday, when I got de idea maybe I could kill you and save, all de bond and guaranty money.”
“Excuse me. I didn’t understand that part.” Forrester nodded pleasantly, thinking hard. It began to make a certain amount of sense. The thing you had to remember was that death, to these people, was not a terminal event but only an intermission.
He said, “As I understand it—I mean, if I understand it—the legal part of this business means you have to guarantee to pay my freezer costs if you kill me.”
“Nah! Not ‘if.’ Odder wise you got it.”
“So I don’t have anything to say about it. The law lets you kill me, and I’m stuck with it.”
“Dat’s right.”
Forrester said thoughtfully, “But it doesn’t sound fair to me, everything considered.”
“Fair? Of course it’s fair! Dat’s de whole idea of de guaranties.”
“Yes, of course—if the circumstances are normal. But in this case, with death-reversal out of the question . . .”
The Martian snorted angrily. “Are you crazy?”
“No, really,” Forrester persisted. “You said you were going to try to get out of paying my expenses. You know more about it than I do. Suppose you succeed?”
“Oh, boy! Den you have to pay dem yourself.”
Forrester said politely. “But you see, I can’t. I don’t have any money to pay them with. Ask Adne.”
The Martian turned to Adne with a look of unbelieving anger, but she said, “As a matter of fact, Heinzie, Charles is telling you the truth. I didn’t think of it, but it’s so. I mean, I haven’t checked his balance . . . but it can’t be much.”
“De hell with his balance! What de sweat do I care about his balance? I just want to kill him!”
“You see, Jura, if you kill me—”
“Shut up, you!”
“But the way things are—”
“Dog sweat!” The Martian’s face was working angrily under the mask of beard. He was confused, and that made him mad: “What’s de matter with you, Forrester? Why didn’t you get a job?”
