Bikini Planet Read online

  That was supposing Heart-of-Peace really was dead, which presupposed he’d really existed.

  By now, Norton was beginning to wonder if the attempt on his life had ever happened. It had all been so fast, the details such a blur, that perhaps it was nothing but an illusion. There were no such things as Shams. There was no dead alien in his old cabin.

  Diana could have arranged the whole event just to scare him, or to rouse him out of his lethargy.

  Or because she wanted some help in the kitchen.

  “Okay,” he said, “tell me something else.”

  “What?”

  “Why am I here?”

  “I’m glad you don’t want to talk about trivialities, John. After a tough day at work, a metaphysical discussion is exactly what I need. Fix me a vodsky. A mega. Why are you here? Why am I here? What’s the purpose of life?”

  “Not the purpose of life,” said Norton, as he poured the drinks the old-fashioned way: from a bottle into glasses. “Not you. Only me. Why am I here, now, on this ship?”

  “Me, me, me. Self, self, self.”

  “Tell—” He held the drink toward her, slightly out of reach. “—me.”

  “It’s secret.”

  He knew she’d say that. Even if she had given him an answer, he wondered if he’d have believed her.

  “Do you know why, but can’t tell me?” he asked.

  “Another secret,” she told him.

  “Where are we heading?”

  “Why all these questions? Why now?”

  “Because I haven’t asked for a while, and I thought I might get some answers this time. Was I wrong?”

  “That’s another question,” said Diana.

  The spacecraft didn’t have a name. The only reason he thought it should was because ships from his time had names, ships which sailed on the ocean. It seemed that ships which sailed between the stars were more like buses, they had route numbers. And this starbus was on its regular journey.

  “Thanks,” said Diana, and he realised he’d given her the vodsky.

  “We’re going to Hideaway,” he said.

  “You’ve been talking to the passengers. I keep telling you, they’re the enemy. It’s treason to communicate with them.”

  “Are we going to Hideaway?”

  “The ship is going to Hideaway.”

  “So we’re going there?”

  “The ship is going to Hideaway. First. Then it’s going somewhere else.”

  “Back to Earth.”

  “Not,” said Diana, sipping her drink, “necessarily.”

  “Will I ever get a straight answer from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “You expect two straight answers in a row?”

  Norton shook his head. “I guess not.” He yawned. “I’ve sure earned my money today.”

  “My turn for a question,” said Diana. “What money?”

  “Don’t I get paid as a steward?” asked Norton.

  Diana took a mouthful of her drink.

  “Okay, then I’ve got my service pay,” Norton said. “Haven’t I? I do get paid, don’t I?”

  “Yes… in a way.”

  “In what way?”

  “There are expenses, John. Your ticket has to be paid for.”

  “By me?” It was as if he’d had to buy the gas for his LVPD patrol car—or maybe even pay for the whole automobile. “What about a refund from when I stopped being a passenger?”

  “It’s best to keep on pretending you’re dead.”

  “I’m dead, but I still have to pay my fare?”

  “Your cabin hasn’t been vacated.”

  “I have to pay to keep a dead alien in there?”

  “Julius Winston is dead. If he asked for a refund, don’t you think it might seem strange?”

  “I guess so.” Norton drained his drink.

  “The accountants can fix it all, John. With profit-sharing and bonuses, escalators and fixed-price options, you won’t lose out.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but that was not unusual.

  “Another drink?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll have one, too.”

  Norton poured two more vodskys.

  “How did moles wear their hair?” asked Diana.

  “How did who wear their hair?”

  “In your era, underground women were known as moles, yes?”

  “Underground women?”

  “Women, girls, as you call them. Those who associated with the criminal fraternity, the underground.”

  “Ah!” said Norton. “You mean the underworld, not the underground.”

  He’d previously figured out that Susie’s father must have been involved, deeply involved, with the Las Vegas underworld. And Norton might have ended up underground, six feet deep underground, but instead he’d been deep frozen.

  By now, he could remember all that had happened on the final day of his first life. His last memory was hearing a voice say, “Sorry, Wayne.” Then Mr. Ash had slugged him.

  “The underworld,” said Diana, nodding. “Outlaws and bandits, hoods and hitmen, racketeers and bootleggers, gangsters and their moles.”

  “Moles!” Norton laughed. “They were known as ‘molls,’ not ‘moles.’ ”

  “Molls? Alright.” Diana ran her fingers through her green Mohican. “In your era, what kind of hairstyles did the molls have?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Life was good.

  Kiru wished she’d been sent to the prison planet years ago.

  She kept thinking it couldn’t last. Nothing like this could. Soon, she’d have to pay the price.

  Unless she already had. Perhaps the years of misery and deprivation on her home planet had been her admission ticket to the penal paradise of Clink. She now had the best of both worlds. Not Earth and Arazon, but Grawl and Aqa.

  Most of her days were spent with Grawl, who protected and watched over her. He couldn’t speak, but words were not necessary.

  Most of her nights were spent with Aqa. Again, words were not necessary.

  One looked alien, but was full of humanity—for her, at least. The other wasn’t from Earth, although his most important part—for her, at least—was human enough.

  Perhaps, eventually, as she grew older, there might be time for painting and music and poetry. Even, when she was very old, philosophy.

  She was right: It couldn’t last.

  Because then the spaceship arrived.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Come on in, boy. Through here.”

  Norton halted at the entrance, unwilling to go inside.

  “I’m not allowed to enter passenger cabins, I’m afraid,” he said. He knew by now that the stewards made up their own regulations, and he wanted an excuse to remain in the corridor.

  “Afraid? There’s no need to be afraid, boy. I’m not going to eat you. Bring it in.”

  Norton looked at the passenger, and she smiled at him. She was old, at least fifty, and her hair was silver. Not silver because it had turned grey, but silver like a shiny new coin. Reluctantly, he carried the tray inside, and the door closed.

  “If you’re not going to eat him, Cass,” said another voice, “then I will.” The second occupant of the stateroom was another old woman, and her hair was bright gold. “Isn’t he the sweetest thing? How did you find him?”

  “It’s a gift, Peg.”

  “A gift! For me. You shouldn’t have.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I’ll leave this here for you, madam,” said Norton, putting the tray on a table.

  “Madam?” said the woman named Cass. “Oh, I like that.”

  “What’s your name?” asked the one called Peg.

  “Never mind his name, he’s mine, not yours.”

  “Have you got a friend?”

  “Please excuse me,” said Norton. “I have to get back to work now, ladies.”

  “Ladies? Did you hear that, Cass? He thinks we’r
e ladies.”

  “He’s right. I am a lady.” Cass laughed. “And I’ll prove exactly how much of a lady!”

  Norton retreated toward the door.

  “You haven’t got a friend?” said Peg. “You have now. You’ve got us.”

  “You notice how his uniform matches our hair. Silver and gold. He’s just made for us.”

  “It’s not his uniform I’m interested in, it’s what’s underneath!”

  They both laughed, and Norton smiled. Although he wished he wasn’t here, he wasn’t too concerned. He’d seen women like this in Vegas, elderly widows behaving as if they were youngsters, who had come to the city to have a good time and usually ended up getting drunk and making fools of themselves.

  Cass and Peg both wore heavy makeup, were dressed in abbreviated outfits which might have suited women less than half their ages, and their faces were tanned and lined by the sun—or a sun. If they were wealthy enough to afford a first-class cabin, they might easily have travelled to different solar systems before their voyage to Hideaway.

  “Why don’t you have a drink with us?” said Cass. “We’ve got plenty.”

  Norton knew they had plenty because the tray he’d carried in was laden with various exotic liqueurs. Cass had claimed they couldn’t serve themselves because their stateroom’s alcohol dispenser was not working. He guessed they must have drained it dry.

  “No, thanks, madam.”

  Norton reached the door. It should have opened, but didn’t.

  “Have a drink, sweetie,” said Peg. “Then we’ll let you go. Maybe.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t drink.” Because that wasn’t true, Norton felt he had to add something, which was, “I don’t smoke.”

  “Why would you smoke?” said Cass.

  “Are you a mandroid?” said Peg. “Is there a fault in your circuits? You’re not going to burst into flames, I hope.”

  “I’m not a mandroid,” said Norton, although he’d never heard the word. It was something else to put on his list of questions for Diana.

  “How do you know?” said Cass. “I’m sure mandroids think they’re human.”

  “I am human,” said Norton. “I think.”

  “He must be human,” said Peg. “The price we paid for our tickets, they should only use human stewards.”

  “If you’re human, boy,” said Cass, “you drink. Ninety percent of the human body is water.”

  “Mine isn’t,” said Peg, as she examined the assortment of bottles. “I never drink water.” She laughed.

  “Ninety percent of the body is water,” repeated Cass, as she looked at Norton. “But it’s the other ten percent which matters.”

  “I have to get back to work,” he said.

  “This is your work,” said Peg. “Pour me a drink, steward.”

  “What would you like, madam?” Norton turned back into the room.

  “You, sweetie.”

  He halted.

  “Take no notice, boy,” said Cass. “We’re only having a little fun.”

  “I’d like to have more than a little fun with him,” said Peg.

  Norton wasn’t scared of two old women, and he went to the collection of drinks.

  “What’s your pleasure, ladies?” he asked, and immediately regretted the phrase.

  “Seems we’ve arrived on Hideaway early,” said Peg.

  Hideaway, Norton had learned, was an asteroid which had gained a reputation as being the pleasure centre of the galaxy. Tourists from every world headed there to enjoy its extensive variety of exotic diversions, pastimes which were readily available on the satellite but forbidden within their own solar systems.

  The spacebus operated a shuttle service between Earth and Hideaway, which meant that Terrans made up the majority of passengers. Norton had seen no aliens on board, except for the one that had tried to kill him.

  “What have you got to offer, boy?” asked Cass.

  Norton read out the labels from the bottles, which seemed safe enough.

  “I’ll have that,” said Peg, and she indicated one of the bottles. “It’s such a pretty colour. Matches your eyes, sweetie.”

  “And you, madam?” asked Norton, as he unsealed the cap.

  “The same as Cass.”

  Norton looked at her. He thought she was Cass. It was Cass who’d brought him here, the one with silver hair. The other one was Peg, the one with golden hair, the one who’d already chosen her drink.

  The women looked at Norton, waiting for him to pour, then glanced at each other.

  “I’m Peg,” said the one Norton thought was Peg.

  “No, I’m Peg,” said the one Norton thought was Cass.

  The bottle cap slipped from his hand.

  “I’m Pegasus, you’re Cassiopeia.”

  “No, I’m Pegasus, you’re Cassiopeia.”

  Norton bent down to pick up the cap.

  “Names,” he heard one of the women say, “are always such a problem.”

  “They are when you forget your own,” said the other.

  Norton reached under the table with his right hand.

  “Do you have trouble with your name, Heart of John Julian Wiston Wayne Peace?” said the first one.

  “It’s Julius Winston, not Julian Wiston,” said the second one.

  Norton froze, not moving.

  They knew who he was.

  “I can’t remember my own false name, why should I remember one of his?”

  They knew who he wasn’t.

  Norton still hadn’t moved when a foot came down on his hand, hard, pinning it to the ground. He looked up and saw the two old women staring down at him.

  “Dangerous hand you’ve got there, boy,” said the one with silver hair, whose foot was holding him down.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Norton.

  “Yes, you do,” said the one with gold hair.

  “It will have to come off,” said silver hair.

  They were both holding long-bladed knives.

  “No!” said Norton. He tried pulling free, but then another foot came down on the back of his neck. “It’s the finger,” he managed to say, “that’s all, just the index finger.”

  “Oh?” said gold hair, whose foot was on his neck. “You do know what we mean?”

  “Don’t worry, boy. We’ll only take off the finger. First.”

  “Do you want his finger?”

  “Yes. Pity it’s not attached to the rest of him.”

  “It is!” said Norton. “It is!”

  “Not for long. I’ll take the finger. You take the hand. I’ll take the forearm. You take the upper arm.”

  “Then do we go for the left arm?”

  “Or one of the legs?”

  “Or go straight for the head?”

  “Or the heart. He won’t be Heart-of-Peace, he’ll be Heart-in-Pieces!”

  “You’re not serious,” said Norton.

  “We—” said one of them.

  “—are,” continued the other one, “totally—”

  “—serious.”

  The long black blades were more like swords than knives, and Norton’s tormentors took turns swinging them in front of his face, every sweep coming closer and closer. He was frightened, very frightened. When he shut his eyes, he could feel the draft as the swords sliced through the air.

  “You’re going to kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eventually.”

  “What have I done? I don’t know anything. I’ve done nothing. I’m innocent.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Innocent? This isn’t a law court, boy.”

  “It’s your death cell.”

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “You said you didn’t know anything.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll work for you.”

  “Pouring drinks?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “We don’t want anything.”

  “Nothing you
can give us, sweetie.”

  “Can I say my prayers?”

  “You want to pray?”

  “If I’m going to die—”

  “You are.”

  “—you should grant me one final request.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s right. It’s traditional.”

  “What’s your final request? Not to be killed? Refused.”

  “If he wants to pray, we must let him. He’s already on his knees.”

  “What religion is he? It could take hours.”

  “We’ll give him one minute.”

  “One minute till we start cutting pieces off, or one minute till we kill him?”

  Norton suddenly reared up, trying to break free. It was as if his right hand was nailed to the ground. He raised his head a few inches before it was slammed down again, his face grinding into the floor, and he yelled in pain.

  Then he heard an echoing screech, and another, both very close, which blended together and mixed with a chilling yell from the other side of the room.

  He caught a glimpse of a shrieking figure hurling itself across the cabin. His captors fell away and he was free.

  As Norton rolled aside, he glanced up and saw someone attacking the two old women.

  Diana.

  She was armed with a short-handled axe. Against two opponents with swords.

  All three of them were screaming.

  Diana’s roar was a battle cry, but the other two were howling in pain, each of them wounded by the knives Diana had already thrown. Silver had a blade embedded in her thigh, Gold had one sticking out of her sword-arm.

  Gold dropped her weapon and grabbed the knife handle, yanking it free.

  Silver swept her sword at Diana, who ducked aside and brought up her axe, arcing it toward Silver’s face, whose blade swung back to parry the blow.

  Gold grunted as the blood spurted from her arm, then she sprang toward Diana, the knife aimed at her back.

  “Watch out!” shouted Norton.

  Diana twisted away, avoiding Gold’s knife and Silver’s sword, and her opponents collided with each other.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked Norton.

  “No,” he said, as he sat up and crashed his head against the table, knocking it over. “Ah! Look out! Oh!”

  Diana side-stepped a sword thrust, slamming her axe shaft against Silver’s blade, then swerved to dodge the knife stabbing toward her neck.