David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“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.