She still had a good chance, of course, but not nearly as good a one as before. The two years she had been married to him would be an eternity compared to what compensation she might receive now, if she received anything at all. Perhaps she could make up to him before they got to Arcturus, convince him she was repentant, that she wanted him to remain with her. The thought of kowtowing before him, putting her pride on the auction block, sickened her, though. Besides, he would easily see through the subterfuge; though weak, he was not a fool. Inwardly, she cursed, her mind a frantic jumble of thoughts. There was nothing she could do, nothing except hope for the best. Unless—
The stranger appeared with the thought concerning him. He dropped into the seat beside her.
"Have you reconsidered?" he asked her quietly.
It was murder, she knew, and yet George was only an android, something that was manufactured artificially in a laboratory in great liquid-filled tanks; that somehow made it different, made it something like putting a machine out of commission rather than destroying a life.
She wet her lips. "In the eyes of the law," she said, "it's murder, you know."
"All the laws in the universe," the man returned gravely, "will not make an android human, Mrs. Bennet. There is a faction which gives our organization a bonus each time an android is destroyed, so you can see you're not alone in this."
She didn't look at him. "How would you do it?"
"Efficiently," he replied vaguely, "in a way I cannot yet disclose. Satisfaction, however, is guaranteed."
"Ten percent of the insurance money is the total fee?"