David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“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?”

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.

“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’re 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.”