McLeve was counting on about twenty crew: the Big Four, and six of the eight married couples, and up to half a dozen additional men, all held by their faith in The Plan.
The history books have one thing right. The Plan was Jack Halfey’s. Sure, Jill and McLeve and Dot worked on it, but without him it couldn’t be brought off. Half of The Plan was no more than a series of contingency operations, half-finished schemes that relied on Halfey’s ingenuity to work. McLeve and Halfey were the only people aboard who really knew the Shack—knew all its parts and vulnerabilities, what might go wrong and how to fix it; and McLeve couldn’t do much physical work. He wouldn’t be outside working when something buckled under the stress.
And there would be stress. A hundredth of a gravity doesn’t sound heavy, but much of our solar panel area and all our mirrors were flimsy as tissue paper.
Without Halfey it wouldn’t, couldn’t work. When Halfey announced that he was going home on that final shuttle, the rest would quit too. They’d beg the downers for one more shuttle, and they’d get it, of course, and they’d hold the Shack until it came.
But McLeve couldn’t quit, and Dot wouldn’t, and I just couldn’t be sure about Jill. If Halfey told her he wasn’t really going, would she see reason? The son of a bitch was trading her life for a couple of hours sleep. When Skylark broke from orbit, would she be aboard? She and Dot and the Admiral, all alone in that vast landscaped bubble with a growing horde of chickens, going out to the asteroids to die. The life support system might last a long time with only three humans to support: they might live for years.
So I worked. When they finally died, it wouldn’t be because Cornelius Riggs bobbled a weld.
The first shuttle came and picked up all nonessential personnel. They’d land at Moonbase, which was the final staging area for taking everyone home. If The Plan went off as McLeve expected, many of them would be staying on the Moon, but they didn’t have to decide that yet.
I was classed as essential, though I’d made my intentions clear. The Plan needed me: not so much on the trip out, but when they reached the Belt. They’d have to do a lot of mining and refining, assuming they could find the right rock to mine and refine.
I let them talk me into waiting for the last shuttle. I wouldn’t have stayed if I hadn’t known Halfey’s intentions, and I confess to a squirmy feeling in my guts when I watched that shuttle go off without me.
The next one would be for keeps.
When you have a moral dilemma, get drunk. It’s not the world’s best rule, but it is an old one: the Persians used the technique in classical times. I tried it.
Presently I found myself at McLeve’s home. He was alone. I invited myself in.
“Murdering bastard,” I said.
“How?”
“Jill. That crazy plan won’t work. Halfey isn’t even going. You know it and I know it. He’s putting Jill on so she won’t cut him off. And without him there’s not even a prayer.”
“Your second part’s true,” McLeve said. “But not the first. Halfey is going.”
“Why would he?”
McLeve smirked. “He’s going.”
“What happens if he doesn’t?” I demanded. “What then?”
“I stay,” McLeve said. “I’d rather die here than in a ship.”
“Alone?”
He nodded. “Without Halfey it is a mad scheme. I wouldn’t sacrifice the others for my heart condition. But Halfey isn’t leaving, Corky. He’s with us all the way. I wish you’d give it a try too. We need you.”
“Not me.”
How was Halfey convincing them? Not Jill: she wanted to believe in him. But McLeve, and Dot—Dot had to know. She had to calculate the shuttle flight plan, and for that she had to know the masses, and the total payload mass for that shuttle had to equal all the personnel except McLeve but including the others.
Something didn’t make any sense.
I waited until I saw eagle wings and blue wool stockings fly away from the administration area, and went into her computer room. It took a while to bring up the system, but the files directory was self-explanatory. I tried to find the shuttle flight plan, but I couldn’t. What I got, through sheer fumbling, was the updated flight plan for the Skylark.
Even with my hangover I could see what she’d done: it was figured for thirty-one people, plus a mass that had to be the shuttle. Skylark would be carrying a captain’s gig…
The shuttle was coming in five days.
Halfey had to know that shuttle wouldn’t be taking anyone back. If he wasn’t doing anything about it, there was only one conclusion. He was going to the Belt.
A mad scheme. It doomed all of us. Jill, myself, Halfey, myself—
But if Halfey didn’t go, no one would. We’d all go home in that shuttle. Jill would be saved. So would I.
There was only one conclusion to that. I had to kill Jack Halfey.
How? I couldn’t just shoot him. There wasn’t anything to shoot him with. I thought of ways. Put a projectile into a reaction pistol. But what then? Space murder would delight the lawyers, and I might even get off; but I’d lose Jill forever, and without Halfey…
Gimmick his suit. He went outside regularly. Accidents happen. Ty wasn’t the only one whose ashes we’d scattered into the soil of the colony.
Stethoscope and wrench: stethoscope to listen outside the walls of Halfey’s bed chamber, a thoroughly frustrating and demeaning experience; but presently I knew they’d both be asleep for an hour or more.
It took ten minutes to disassemble Jack’s hose connector and substitute a new one I’d made up. My replacement looked just like the old one, but it wouldn’t hold much pressure. Defective part. Metal fatigue. I’d
