Norman Saint Clair was shocked. People who went to the Colonies, he had always supposed, were driven to some such drastic step by the force of circumstance—economic, possibly, as was his case. This view came as a revelation, an unpleasant one.
"Anyway," continued the girl; "we're off. It's too late now."
They fell in behind a fat Earth woman, entered the passage which led to the dining saloon. He started to ask the girl what she had found so unpleasant about Earth, when the fat woman stopped, said: "Oh, my God!" Then she began to scream. The screams lifted the hair right off Norman Saint Clair's neck.
Jennifer cried, "What is it? What happened?"
Hesitantly, he peered over the screaming woman's shoulder, saw a man stretched on the deck. He lay on his stomach, his head on one side, disclosing a pale classical profile. He appeared young, little older than Norman himself.
"I don't know," the young man replied. "Someone's hurt, I think."
He forced himself to push past the fat woman, kneel at the unconscious man's side. What he saw made him sick. He looked away. A gout of blood had spurted from the man's neck, dyed the green fiberon carpet scarlet. His throat had been cut from ear to ear.
Several passengers, alarmed by the Earth woman's screams, dashed into the passage.
"What's wrong?"