I crouched low in the back of the racer. I heard the street noises, the gab of the night crowds, the not-so-mild cursings of the taxi-jet drivers.
It all seemed so unreal. Back there, on my haunches, a wrench gripped tight in my sweaty hand. I was going to kill a man. A man I knew, a man I respected. And for a woman. All for a woman. I thought about getting up and telling Diane to go to hell and to get herself another stooge. I thought about a lot of things. Then I thought of Diane. Her sweet white body. The way she sighed when I kissed her hard. And I knew I was going to go through with it.
The racer stopped, its jets cut off. I heard the hum as the door opened and she got out.
This was it. I sweated. It dripped down in an endless stream.
The seconds went by. Then the minutes.
They got in and the door hummed shut and I heard their laughter blending together. They settled back and the jets roared. The racer woke up to new life and it shot away.
"How was the trip?" I heard Diane asking.
"Cold. And I'm not sure it was worth it. Those Martians drive a hard bargain." He coughed. "Diane, you're not too set on going out tonight, are you?"
"Why?" she asked.