She listened numbly.
"An interesting situation," the man smiled, "but it's much too late for anybody to change his mind. At your deaths, the organization will collect ten percent of your insurance benefits, plus the insurance covering passengers killed as a result of a spaceship explosion."
"Spaceship explosion," one of the male passengers said, coming out of a lethargy, "but there's been no—"
"Look," another cried, pointing to a porthole.
They looked, and the Arcturus Queen burst into flame, erupting with a great soundless explosion that sent metal splinters flying in all directions.
The man smiled again, a smile of satisfaction, of knowing his plans were ripening. "The Arcturus Queen was insured by the owner, who needed money. We take ten percent from him, a nominal fee considering the risk involved."
"And what of us?" one of the men passengers demanded.
The man shrugged. "Each of you is married to someone who prefers your insurance money to your companionship. Not a very satisfying thought, is it?"
The woman began to cry softly.
"You'll never get away with this," another of the men said, fists clenching.