David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“Where did the water go?”

“World warming. Global pollution. Change of climate. You missed all that.”

“Yeah. Last I heard, there was another ice age on the way.” Norton shivered. He’d had his own personal ice age.

“You also missed the Reds taking over,” said Travis.

“The Reds!” said Norton. “The Reds took over America?”

“They started in Las Vegas.”

“What! The Commies invaded Vegas?”

“Commies?”

“Communists. The Russians, the Chinese, the Viet Cong.” Norton glanced at his drink. “Was it the Cubans?”

“It was the Redskins,” said Travis, “who took control of Las Vegas.”

“Red Indians?”

“They ran all the gambling in your country,” said Diana.

“The Indians? Operating casinos? Never.” Norton shook his head. “You’ve got that wrong.”

They had seen too many clips of old movies—disjointed and jumbled up, backward and at the wrong speed.

Kiru had imagined that the convicts of Clink survived in primitive conditions, eking out a miserable existence in ragged tents or mud huts. But the old man, whatever his name was, and whoever he was, lived in an imposing villa with spectacular views. To the north lay the dense forest, to the west a jagged range of ice-capped mountains, to the south a vast lake.

As Kiru and her host sat on the east verandah, her rescuer brought a tray with two glasses of iced tea and a selection of cream cakes.

“He seems to like you, son,” said the old man, watching him go back inside the house. “How odd.”

“I’m not your son,” said Kiru. “I’m not anyone’s son. I’m a girl. Haven’t you realised?”

“You think I care what sex you are? You think I care anything about you?”

If he did, it would be a first.

“Who is he?” asked Kiru. “Or don’t you care?”

“That’s Grawl. He’s from Earth. We Terrans have to stick together.”

“Help each other out, you mean? So when you stole my clothes and supplies, you were helping me? I should have realised. I thought you were just helping yourself.”

“Shouldn’t jump to conclusions, son.”

“My name is Kiru.”

“You think I care about your name? You know how many people I’ve met in my life?”

“No. And I don’t care.”

“Neither do I. You’ll be dead within a few weeks, like most of the others.” The old man paused. “Or maybe not. Why does Grawl like you, I wonder? I’m sure it’s not because you’re a—what’s the word?—a girl .”

“He doesn’t have much to say for himself,” said Kiru.

“Not much. What has he said to you?”

“Nothing. Not a word.”

“Exactly. Not a word. Grawl can’t speak. That’s one reason for having him around. Silence is a great social asset. It’s a pity there aren’t more like him.” The old man stared at her.

“Is that why you killed twenty-three people? To silence them?”

“I was tried for twenty-three murders, which isn’t the same as killing twenty-three people.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. I’ve killed far more than twenty-three. Plus aliens, of course.”

“Who are you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. Everyone who knows who I am is dead. And if you ever find out, it means you’re about to join them.”

Kiru stared into the man’s eyes. They were cold and empty. He’d warned her not to believe what she was told, but she knew every word was true.

“More tea?” he asked, as the alien sun slowly set in the east, sinking behind the huge pile of discarded technotrash.

Wayne Norton used to think driving through Nevada was boring, but even in the desert there was always something to look at. And whenever he wanted, he could stop and get out.

It wasn’t like that on a spaceship.

He’d never even been in an airplane, but now he was on his second space flight. At first he was very nervous, and the journey to the Moon wasn’t long enough for him to get bored. He’d also been nervous at the start of his second voyage, but that anxiety was soon replaced by tedium.

Because he was travelling on a cheap ticket, he was denied access to the time-passing pastimes of those in the more expensive berths. Those who had paid the most, however, needed no such entertainment. The premier-class passengers spent the entire voyage in deep sleep.

Even if the budget allowed, Norton wouldn’t have risked it. He had a tendency to oversleep, and the last thing he wanted was to wake up and find another three hundred years had slipped by and he was in the far future. Or an even further future. The first time, he’d woken up on his own planet. This time, he was heading out across space, his destination an alien world.

The far future.

Across space.

An alien world.

It was funny how life worked out.

He’d never imagined he would become a policeman, for example, but that was about the only thing which hadn’t changed. Norton was still in the police.

A member of GalactiCop.

He didn’t feel like a police officer, however. Maybe because of the uniform. There wasn’t one.

It just wasn’t the same being in plain clothes. Not that his clothes were very plain. It had been difficult to find an outfit which wasn’t some weird combination of colours, a pair of pants which weren’t cut off at the calf, a jacket with cuffs which didn’t cover his fingers. His clothing was relatively restrained, which probably made him appear conspicuous. It was either that or feeling very self-conscious. Why did everyone on Earth wear a clown suit?

He brushed his crew-cut with his palm, then stroked his chin. At the first opportunity, he’d shaved off three centuries’ worth of fuzz. Where did that word come from? It was hippies, not cops, who had beards.

One of the things he’d liked most about being in the LVPD was the uniform. It had been a sign of his individuality. He wasn’t just another guy in a T-shirt and jeans. He had a uniform. He was important.

Some of the other rookies had hoped to become detectives, but that wasn’t for him. If he was the heat, he wanted to look like the heat.

In his new job, he couldn’t wear a uniform because he was on a secret mission, a mission so secret even he didn’t know what it was or where he was going.

Norton didn’t even know whether GalactiCop existed.

Faced with overwhelming evidence, he knew he was in the future, but the jury was still out on a galactic police force.

Because he’d been given no training or information, Norton wondered if being in GalactiCop was the interstellar equivalent of helping old ladies across the road and rounding up stray dogs.

But Travis wouldn’t have sent him across space for that—would he?

Although Norton had been asked if he would accept the assignment, refusal was never an option. Whatever his role, he felt very uneasy. He remembered what Travis had said about using outsiders for certain jobs. History professors, or a cop from three hundred years ago, he probably believed they were equally disposable.

While being given a medical examination, something happened to Norton’s right index finger. When they promised he wouldn’t feel a thing during the physcan, he didn’t know they were talking about his finger.

No one would tell him what had been done, but his finger was different. It looked exactly the same, responded precisely as it should; but it felt completely numb. His forefinger would move, point, bend; but there was no sensation in it.

He inspected his index finger again, slid it between his teeth up to the first knuckle, bit down, hard, hard, hard. Felt nothing. When he withdrew his finger, he could see the teethmarks for a few seconds before they quickly faded.