David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“Everyone’s a winner on Hideaway, Mr. Hood, but what if you want to play a different game? When you hit the jackpot, a bugstrap is absolutely vital. You understand?”

Norton said nothing. Because he didn’t.

“Congress,” said the sim.

“Washington DC,” said Norton.

“What do you mean?” asked the sim.

“What do you mean?” asked Norton, then he said, “Oh.” Because suddenly he understood.

“Do you need medical assistance?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Your face has turned an odd colour.”

It had turned red, Norton knew. And not because he was an Indian. He was blushing with embarrassment.

A bugbelt allowed humans to visit alien worlds without harm. A bugcollar let them safely eat alien food. And a bugstrap…

Norton tried not to think about it.

“There must be something you’ve always wanted,” said the sim, “something you can’t find anywhere else in the entire galaxy. If you can imagine it, I promise you can find it on Hideaway. You can get anything your heart desires.”

“Anything?”

“Anything and everything.”

“How about some decent clothes?” said Norton.

Hideaway was fantastic, or so the boss had said, unbelievable and indescribable. Kiru could only take his word for it because she’d seen nothing of the exterior and not much more of the interior.

According to legend, the asteroid was built aeons ago, in another galaxy, by a race of mysterious aliens. Long extinct, all that remained of them was the enigmatic world they had created.

It was a small planet with its own even smaller sun, a star that blazed at its very core, a perpetual source of solar energy and propulsion. Hideaway was a world without limits. Sliding into falspace as if it was a spaceship, it could reappear at the far edge of the galaxy.

Once, it had been the hidden headquarters of the pirate fleet. They had turned it into a pleasure planet, the ultimate hedonistic experience. Now, it was owned by an even more secretive and sinister organisation: the Galactic Tax Authority.

The space pirates had boarded the asteroid via a long-forgotten staff entrance. All Kiru saw were dark, narrow tunnels and the dark, narrow room into which Grawl led her. Having covertly breached Hideaway, the invaders split up, each to his or her or its own appointed task, ready to launch their assault at the same precise time.

Grawl put a finger to his lips, and opened the door.

“Don’t leave me alone,” said Kiru.

He closed the door, leaving her alone.

It was locked, of course, but she didn’t want to go anywhere. Grawl was protecting her again, keeping her safe while he and the others went about their work. All she could do was wait. She kept listening for the sounds of violence. The pirates were heavily armed, and she guessed it would not be a peaceful take-over.

Time passed.

She heard nothing until the door opened again. Grawl came back in and gestured at her. The gesture was obvious. She was to undress.

Was this it, repayment time?

Kiru watched as Grawl removed the silver pendant from around his neck. This was the first time; he even slept with it on. He gestured at her again, impatiently. There was nothing she could do except obey.

As she took off her clothes, the alien entered the room.

She had seen aliens before. There were alien convicts on Arazon, there were aliens among the pirates, and there were even aliens on Earth. Since the Crash, it had become a cheap place for a holiday, a cheap place to buy land, a cheap place to buy anything. Including humans.

Was that it? Grawl had sold her to the alien?

She thought the thing was wearing body armour, but realised that was its skin. The creature was big and bulky, covered in a hard shell; its four eyes were on stalks; its six limbs were clawed. It was a monstrous, scaly insect.

Kiru stood naked and trembling and terrified.

Grawl’s heart-shaped amulet was passed from fleshy hand to chitinous claw.

“Trust me,” said the alien. “I’m a doctor.”

“What are you going to do?” whispered Kiru.

Then it told her.

She had been wrong. Wrong from the very start.

Because Grawl did want her for her body.

All of it.

“Show us your genitals,” said the topless blue alien, via the simultaneous linguistic and tonal equaliser.

“Er…” said Wayne Norton. “Is that really necessary? I only want a suit.”

The alien stepped toward him.

“Or just a jacket,” said Norton, as he backed away. “Forget about the pants. In fact, forget about all of it. I’ll go. Sorry to have troubled you.”

He retreated toward the doorway, but it didn’t seem to be where it was when he’d come in.

“You can’t leave empty-handed,” said the alien.

“Yeah,” said Norton. “Yeah, of course, I understand, yeah.” He glanced around the room. This was meant to be a clothes shop, but there were no clothes on display. “A necktie. I’ll buy a necktie, okay? Any tie. Just give me a tie, then I’ll go.”

“A necktie is some type of restraining garment?”

“It goes around the neck.” Norton mimed putting on a tie, making the knot, pulling it tight.

“For strangling your enemies, we understand. But we are a couturier. We make clothes to personal order, not weapons. You’ve come to the wrong boutique.”

“I’ll go. Let me out. Please.”

He kept looking for the exit, but couldn’t see it. He couldn’t even make out the size or shape of the room because it was almost completely hung with diaphanous fabrics, all of which seemed to float in the air from invisible washing lines. The multi-hued material was also scattered all over the floor, making it very soft and spongy. The atmosphere was thick with perfume, a mixture of heady fragrances so strong Norton could taste them as well as smell them.

“You’re from Earth, we believe,” said the alien.

“How do you know?”

“Because you look like an Earth person. We like Earth persons.”

“Oh, good.”

“Some Earth persons.”

“Oh.”

“Our name is Xenbashka Bashka Ka. We are from Algol, and our traditional greeting is ‘Show us your genitals,’ but we believe this is yours.” The alien held out its right hand. “How do you do?”

This is an alien, thought Norton.

I’m with an alien.

“Howdy,” he said.

Talking to an alien.

The only other alien he’d met was the Sham, which had tried to kill him.

The Algolan was tall and blue, with cropped white hair, pointed ears, and huge, sloping eyes. And bare breasts. Blue but bare. With hard nipples. Hard but blue.

He tried not to stare.

Breasts. Nipples. He’d never seen any before. Not for real. Not in any colour. Not human breasts. Not female human.

Was the alien female? It didn’t matter, except to another alien of the same species.

Female, male, or whatever other alien sexual variety there was, it was of no interest to Wayne Norton, Earthman. None at all. Absolutely none.

He started to offer his own hand, his right hand, then hesitated, remembering his missing finger.

“Is something wrong?” said Xenbashka Bashka Ka. “You refuse to greet us because we are an alien?”

Norton wondered why the alien kept saying “us” and “we.” The words were a direct translation, so that must have been how Algolans referred to themselves.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “It’s this.” He held up his hand, showing his fingers.

The alien did the same, for comparison. Its hand was like Norton’s, with three fingers and one thumb, although each was tipped with sharp claws.