David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“And you thought these were galley knives?” Diana held up one of the blades she’d thrown at Silver and Gold.

“Yeah.”

“Could be interesting. Fighting with kitchen utensils. One hundred and one ways to kill with a spoon.”

“A tomahawk and knives are your police weapons, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all you have?”

“It’s not such a good idea to deploy maximum firepower on board a spaceship. In most circumstances, blowing a massive hole in your enemy is the best way to make them see your point of view, but not when it also means blasting a hole through the ship’s hull. Space travel and heavy munitions don’t mix. But this is perfect.” She put the axe down between them. “Don’t chop off your finger. You’ll have to clean up the mess.”

“What about cleaning the cabin?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Diana glanced around. “Are you saying I’m untidy?”

“Not here. Where we left the bodies.”

“Forget it, John. We’re off duty.”

“But we can’t just leave the corpses there.”

That was what they had done with the Sham, but that was different. The Sham wasn’t human. Locking up its body in Norton’s old cabin was bug disposal.

“We’re off duty,” Diana repeated. “Permanently. We’ve almost reached our destination. That’s why you’re getting so drunk. We’re celebrating the end of the voyage.”

“So it’s a party!” Norton raised his drink. “Cheers!” He drained the glass and reached for the bottle. “You’re not drinking much.” He poured himself another.

“Ship duties are over, but I’m still on police duty.” She examined her glass, took a sip. “I might have to rescue you again.”

“What?” Norton suddenly felt very sober. “Who from?” He picked up the axe.

“If I knew that,” said Diana, “I’d be dealing with them.”

The first tomahawks were made of stone, then of metal, their heads mounted on wooden shafts. This was neither stone nor metal, head and handle forged into one potent piece of armament.

“But there might not be anyone else,” Diana continued. “Those two could have been the last. They probably waited until the end of the journey because it gave them a better chance of escape. And if they’d killed you earlier, they’d have been without a steward.”

Norton gripped the axe in his right hand, and it felt as if it belonged there. It was already a part of him, far more than the NLDDD. He made a practice stroke, swinging the weapon through the air, then another.

“Top of the range weaponry for starship combat,” said Diana, as she watched him. “Strange, isn’t it? Knives, hatchet, bow and arrows, all our ancestral weapons.”

“Ancestral?” Norton remembered something he’d kept meaning to ask. “Is Colonel Travis really your father?”

“Biologically?”

“Yeah. Is he really your father?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because he’s… er… coloured, but you’re not.”

“Coloured? What colour?”

“Black. He’s black. His skin is black. Yours is white.”

“So’s yours.”

“Yeah. I’m white, you’re white, but Travis is coloured.”

“White isn’t a colour, is that what you’re saying, because it reflects all light?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“And I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your father,” said Norton, “what is he? What race is he?”

“Race?” Diana frowned. “Ah! I know what you mean. In your era, you’d have said, let’s see… an aboriginal. Yes, an aboriginal.”

“So he’s Australian?” That made sense, although it still didn’t explain why Diana was white.

“No. That’s another continent. It is now, and I’m sure it was in your era.”

“Yeah, it was halfway around the world.” Norton shrugged. “That used to be a long way.”

“ ‘Aboriginal’ means native to a particular region. What about ‘Native American’; was that the term in your era?”

Norton glanced at the tomahawk he was still holding. “Are you talking about Red Indians?”

“Yes. You said that before, back on Earth. Red Indigenes. Names change.”

“So I’ve found out.”

“Native Americans. Tribal Nations. Aboriginals. Autochthons. Amerindians. Red Indigenes. That’s what we are, Reds.”

“You mean—” Norton looked at Diana, at her Mohican haircut—“you’re the last of… you mean… you and your father… you’re both Red Indians?”

“And you,” said Diana.

Norton laughed. He took a swig from the bottle. Then he laughed again.

“You are,” Diana told him.

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s an opinion. But you’re a Red Indigene. That’s a fact. I verified it.”

“Verified?”

“You remember.”

Norton touched his lips. How could he forget?

“You’re not one hundred percent,” Diana continued, “but no one is. There have been no pure-blood braves for a long, long time.”

“Are you telling me,” said Norton, as he gripped the tomahawk tightly in his hand, “that one of my… my ancestors was a Red Indian?”

“Certainly. Where does your thick black hair come from?” Diana glanced at his head. “The hair you had when we first met.”

It was possible, he supposed. Although it was unlikely any of them had arrived on the Mayflower , both sides of his family had lived in the United States for several generations. Family legend said that some had been pioneers, heading out West on wagon trains; others had sailed around Cape Horn and reached California during the gold rush; some had fought for the Union, others for the Confederacy; some had herded cattle, others had built railroads.

All of American history ran through his veins, so who was to say there wasn’t some Red Indian blood in there?

“That big nose,” said Diana, “where did that come from?”

“I haven’t got a big nose.”

“Alright, it’s a strong nose. And the way you shot that arrow. It was instinctive; you were born to it. Like me.”

She walked across the cabin and picked up her bow, pulling back on the string, aiming at an imaginary target.

“Diana the huntress,” she said. “Goddess of the Moon. That’s me. Roman mythology.”

“What… but… what…?”

Norton shook his head, trying to dislodge the rest of his question. He had much to ask, but he felt in no condition to understand any answers. He was very tired, completely exhausted.

“What about Day Zero?” suggested Diana. “We remember the past through oral history. We remember Lost Vegas. We remember everything. We’re the only ones who do. The word ‘Redskin’ was pejorative, but we adopted it and became proud to call ourselves Reds. We were cheated out of our land, but then we took it all back.”

Norton reached for his glass. There seemed to be three of them in front of him. His hand missed them all.

“Time for bed,” said Diana.

“Very,” said Norton.

“Very what?”

“Very… fication. Do you want to… very… fy me again?”

“Not much. And I don’t think you could. Come on, it’s time to get horizontal.”

“Very… good.”

“On your feet, John.”

“I want to… to… here… stay here.”

“You must stand up before you can lie down.”

“Can lie… lie down… here.”

“Stand up. That’s an order.”

“Can’t… bad… bad leg.”

Diana hauled him to his feet and dragged him over to the bed. This was where he’d slept ever since leaving his own cabin. It was also where Diana had slept. But it was a big bed. He had one side, and she had the other.

Every night he waited and watched and wished. He’d never even seen her undress.

Norton felt totally weary, totally drunk. Maybe tonight was his chance. Diana would think he was so far gone that she’d peel off her clothes while she was in the same room. Maybe she would even help him remove his outfit.