The Jupiter Theft

Tears running down her pudgy face, Mei-mei slunk toward him and squatted down a few feet away. She shot him a venomous glance. Her underwear wasn’t very clean. Jameson didn’t envy Maggie her hour in the commandeered spacesuit and liner.

Chia and the four in her party filed into the cylindrical barrel of the air lock, stooping under the extended shafts. One of them was an American—Smitty. Klein shoved on the round manhole cover and sealed the barrel. A moment later, as somebody inside pushed the outer lid, the thick disk slid inward another six feet and stayed there.

Klein sauntered over, his helmet tucked under his arm and the machine pistol dangling at his side. He surveyed Jameson, ignoring the Chinese girl.

“I’m going to enjoy this, Jameson,” he said. “You’ve given me a lot of trouble.”

“I thought you promised Maggie you’d let me stay alive.”

“That Privie bitch! I had to keep her quiet. She’ll be making out her own report when we get back. And they’ll be debriefing the rest of them for months.”

“But now there aren’t any witnesses.”

“Right. Except. Butterball here.”

“You don’t have to shoot her. Nobody on this ship is ever going to see Earth again.”

“She’s just a slimy ChiCom. I wish I could kill them all.”

Mei-mei had just figured out what they were talking about. She began backing away on all fours. “No, no!” she wailed. “Comrade Chia say—”

“Shut up!” Klein ordered.

Jameson raised himself on one elbow. “Listen, Klein—”

“You shut up too. I don’t like you, Jameson. You know you got me a reprimand on my record when you complained to Boyle at the beginning of the mission? When I get back I’m going to be a hero. The man who saved Earth from the Cygnans. I’ve got it all figured out. You and Ruiz say the Cygnans are planning to leave the solar system. I believe you. But not about it being dangerous if they’re delayed. You just want to protect your slimy worm friends. Well, when they start moving out of the system, everybody is going to think it was because they got a taste of a couple of nukes. And I’ll be the man who did it!”

“You’ll never see Earth, you damned fool! It won’t be there when you get there!”

Klein wasn’t bothering to listen. He raised his flat little weapon and moved back about ten feet so he wouldn’t get his suit splattered with blood.

Jameson wanted to sneeze.

While he was making up his mind about it, Klein did sneeze, a huge explosive spasm that jerked his otter-slick head back and made his little eyes water. He rubbed a sleeve across his nose and aimed the gun again.

Jameson felt awful. His throat was sore, and there was a weight like cement on his chest. His eyes itched. Behind him he heard Mei-mei coughing.

Klein staggered backward, still trying to aim the gun. In the space of a few seconds, his face had gone puffy and splotched. His nose was running. His eyes were squeezed to tight slits.

Jameson hardly noticed. He was hacking away, and his vision was blurred by tears. His head felt like a balloon.

Klein dropped his helmet. He clawed at his throat and eyes. He seemed to be having some kind of massive histamine reaction. His swollen tongue protruded like a red rubber ball. He made choking sounds. The skin stretched tight across a face that was so distended as to be unrecognizable. He fell over on his back. The dreadful whooping sounds stopped. The hand that had been clawing at his throat went limp. It too was swollen, looking like a blown-up rubber glove.

Jameson’s vision began to clear. The sneezing fits died down. He felt awful. He looked past Klein’s body toward the shadows of the machinery. He detected movement there. The two pink humanoids stepped out from where they had been hiding.

Behind him, Mei-mei gasped. Then he heard her snuffling. Her head sounded as stuffed as his own.

The elfin beings bounced toward him, their silky coats lifting and falling dreamily, in the weak gravity. When at last they stood before him, he could see that the pink gossamer was being ruffled by a breeze. They exuded a cool mintlike smell. He immediately began to feel better.

They plucked at his bonds with clever fingers. He got shakily to his feet and went over to look at Klein’s body.

The skin had stretched so tight over Klein’s face that it had split like an overripe melon. A straw-colored serum oozed out of the cracks. Klein’s features were invisible, buried in the bloated mass.

“Acute anaphylactic shock,” a voice said. “He died of an allergic reaction.”

Jameson looked up. Dmitri was emerging from behind one of the bulky metal boulders. His right arm dangled limply from his shattered shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sniffling. He approached Jameson in a low-gravity shuffle.

“The humanoids?” Jameson asked.