David Garnet - Bikini Planet

He was dead. Totally dead. Not at rest, as he had been during suspended animation, but completely without a trace of vitality.

The only thing Norton had left was his brain, his final thoughts, which were of Kiru.

She was only a few yards from him, but the distance was a galaxy away. Since they met, this was the first time they had ever been apart.

How long had he known her? Two or three hours? Five or six? Eight or nine? There was no way of telling. However long it had been, it wasn’t long enough. He wanted to be with her, stay with her, continue their association.

He’d never felt this way. Not for three centuries. Not even then. Not like this.

Wayne Norton was in love. But now it was too late.

All was dark, all was over, all was silent.

YOW! YAW! YEE! YAW! YOW! YAW! YEE! YAW! YOW!

Except for the sound of the alarm—

BAMABAMABAMABAMA!

—the noise of the ship being ripped apart—

“James! James! James!”

—and Kiru calling his name, or what she thought was his name.

He could hear.

Which meant he was alive.

He could feel the vibrations of the ship being destroyed.

Wayne Norton had been reborn.

!!!!!POWPOWABAMAPOWBAMMMMMM!!!!!

But the spaceship was going through its death agonies.

He was lying prone on the deck.

His life had begun anew, but his future would be very brief.

He had been in darkness, but now there was light.

The light from the stars. Visible through the rips in the hull.

Pulling himself to his feet, he took a final gasping breath as the last of the ship’s air was sucked out into the vacuum of space.

The hatch to the lifeboat was still open. A fraction.

Norton stretched up, but couldn’t reach. He jumped, slid one hand in through the gap, then the other.

He was floating. Gravity was gone. Only his grip on the hatch prevented him from being sucked out into the infinite darkness.

The hatch moved. Slightly. Then slightly more. Then more. More. And he slipped through, tumbling down. The hatch snapped shut.

He closed his eyes in relief, and opened his mouth to greedily drink in the air.

“Honey,” he breathed, “I’m home.”

He opened his eyes.

Saw someone.

Not Kiru.

He was in the wrong escape capsule.

With Grawl.

“James!” yelled Kiru. “James!”

Then the hatch slammed shut, and she knew it wasn’t such a good idea to try to open it, not if she wanted to live.

She sank down on to the floor and wondered if she wanted to.

All was silent. The emergency siren could no longer be heard. The escape capsule must either have been ejected from the main ship, or the ship no longer existed—or perhaps both.

It was warm inside the lifeboat, warm and light, but she’d willingly have spent the rest of her life in the cold and dark if she could have been with James.

He had sacrificed himself for her, and now she was alone.

Alone again, as she had been for almost all of her life.

“And who are you?” enquired a voice.

Kiru looked up quickly. There was a human standing at the far end of the capsule, or a figure that appeared to be human. If so, he seemed to be male; but because he was dressed, she couldn’t be certain. Within the confines of the capsule, he seemed even taller, broader, than he really was. His face was black, his hair was white, and he was wearing a dark outfit of loose trousers and long jacket.

“Who are you?” said Kiru, as she stood up.

The man smiled, looking her up and down, and said, “I asked first.”

Kiru put her hands on her hips and tried to out-stare him. Without success. He kept studying her naked body.

“I’m delighted you’re here,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“To be joined by a lovely young thing such as yourself, that’s what I mean. What a pleasure.”

“You’re not getting any pleasure from me!” said Kiru.

The man held up both hands in a placatory gesture. “You misunderstand, my darling. When one gets to my age, one doesn’t bother about that kind of thing anymore. Which doesn’t mean one can’t appreciate the physical perfection of a nubile young beauty such as yourself.”

As he spoke, he slowly moved toward her. Kiru glanced around for some kind of weapon, but there seemed to be nothing she could thump him with.

The man followed her gaze, and he also studied the lifeboat. It was small, compact. All that could be seen of the interior was a short corridor, about three metres high, one metre wide. The floor and sides were matte, metallic, and Kiru knew that below and behind them was all the survival gear and rations. The capsule was fully equipped for several people, but would be ideal as a single cabin.

If she had been here alone, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone else suddenly coming in. Apart from James.

“It ain’t much,” said the man, “but it’s going to be our home. I think we should get going.”

“Going? Where?”

“This is an escape pod, my sweetheart. So we escape.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Whatever you say, my love.”

The man turned, making his way back to the end of the capsule. He raised one hand, rotated his wrist, pointed, and a screen appeared on the wall. Then he started waving his hands in front of it.

Kiru hadn’t moved from the hatch. Although the capsule was larger than the spherical cell, that wasn’t saying much, and she wanted to keep as much distance between herself and the man as possible.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that. This is man’s work.”

Kiru felt a movement. The lifeboat was in motion. Slipping away from the convict ship. Away from James.

But the ship no longer existed. Neither did James.

She had to forget about him. It would be easy. He was just a man. She’d hardly known him. He was nobody to her. And now, he was nobody at all.

Kiru didn’t believe anything James had told her, or not much of it. He might have been a policeman, but what kind of person became a cop? The kind of person who couldn’t be trusted. James couldn’t help telling lies. Three hundred years old? He probably wasn’t from Earth. He probably wasn’t even human. She was much better off without him.

“Yeah,” she said.

“I’m glad you agree,” said the man.

Kiru realised she’d spoken aloud, trying to convince herself by vocalising her thoughts.

“Women, bless them,” the man continued speaking, as he continued gesticulating in front of the screen, “just don’t have the reflexes and co-ordination to pilot a starship. As long as you know your place, my dear, we’ll get on fine.”

“What is my place?”

“In the galley.”

“You mean I’ve got to row the lifeboat? Chained to an oar?”

“The galley is the kitchen.”

“Ah! I cook and clean for you?”

“If only. It’s all compact food, flasheated in five seconds.”

“Good.”

“It’s not good. If we can cook and eat in ten minutes, how do we pass the rest of the time? This is going to be a long voyage, my precious.”

“I’m not your precious. I’m not anyone’s precious. I’m not a love, not a dear, not a darling. My name is Kiru.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Kiru. Is that it? Just one name?”

“We were too poor to afford more than one.”

The man laughed.

“What’s funny?” demanded Kiru. “It’s true.” It probably wasn’t true because she must once have had a family name—because once she had a family. “I’m from a poor planet. It’s called Earth.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I couldn’t help noticing, Kiru, that you’re not wearing a slate. But you understand me, which means we’re from the same planet.”