David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“This being is not an Algolan, you insignificant amoeba. I have been fooled.”

“That is not difficult, you moronic excrescence.”

“You were also deceived, you gullible cyst.”

“Not at all. I have always had doubts, you supporting scab. If it was a princess, why did it have no jewels or treasures or offing works of offing art?”

“None that you recognised, you cultural savage. Algolan or not, this is an alien. Everything on board the lifesaver was alien. I do not yet know what is worthless and what is priceless. That is why I loaded the complete craft on board.”

“That was my initiative, you mendacious particle.”

She was wearing a slate. That was how she understood what was being said; but that was all she did understand.

The aliens appeared to know far more about her than she did, but she was aware it wouldn’t be the best policy to ask who she was.

“Your distress signal claimed you were an Algolan princess,” said one of the aliens.

“I am Princess Janesmith of Algol,” she said, and she wondered why she’d only now remembered the name.

“Janesmith,” she said, trying it again, “Princess of Algol.”

The name sounded right, but was it her name?

“Algolan Princess,” she said, “Janesmith.”

The first of the aliens said, “I heard you the first time, you elite product of generations of selective breeding.”

The second of the aliens said, “But, your fabulous highness, I heard you first. It was I who responded to your graceful request for assistance, and I had the satisfaction of saving your perfect noble life.”

“Shall we cut the coprolite, your patrician apexness? Are you really an upper-caste Algolan?”

“How dare you doubt me!” she said.

The two aliens scuttled away a few metres.

As they moved off, the dimensions of the huge chamber seemed to change, the spherical shape becoming distorted. Her own glowing shadow stretched and slid aside, as if trying to detach itself from her body.

The two aliens affected the light, she realised, the position of their bodies making everything brighter or darker. As the angles and intensity of the negative light altered, every perspective became optically warped.

They never changed, always remaining grey, but everything around them appeared to be changed by them. And in a universe where vision was all, appearance was everything.

“It has a voice of authority,” one of them said, moving closer again. “A positive sign.”

“That is the translation device talking, mucus mouth,” the other said, also returning. “Your renowned potency must take no offence at my insistence, but your immaculate reflection does not match that of an Algolan.”

She looked up. Although she could still make out nothing, the aliens must have been able to see an image in the random design of coloured lights which hung in the air.

“I am Princess Janesmith of Algol,” she said. Again.

She realised she was trying to convince herself as well as the aliens. All she could remember was that she’d been somewhere else. Now she was here. On board an alien spaceship. They claimed to have rescued her. Now she needed to escape from them.

“You do not look like an Algolan,” said one of the bloated aliens.

She stared up, but she still couldn’t see anything pictured in the shimmering gleam.

“It is wearing a disguise, you trail of muck,” said the other alien.

“No, you are wrong, you hideous sphincter. It is wearing garments.”

“What are garments, you scraggy virus?”

“Synthetic skin that protects a vulnerable body against extremes of temperature; even the most unattractive ecto-morph knows that.”

“Remove your garments. Now.”

The alien was talking to her, she realised. So was the other one, which said, “If you truly are an Algolan of royal birth, your dynamic worship, please remove your garments.”

“I am not subject to your commands,” she said.

“You are an alien. Probably, incorrectly, you see me as an alien. What do we have in common? We breathe,” said one of the creatures.

“Without air, I cannot survive very long. How long can you survive, your asphyxiating dominance?” said the other creature.

The two of them shuffled slowly away from her, the dark light shifted, the shadows altered, the perspective stretched.

She inhaled. Deep. Deeper. Held her breath as long as possible. Let it out slow, slow, slow. When she breathed again, there was no more air.

Feeling dizzy, she staggered, but managed to stay upright. She was very light-headed, her mind even more confused than it had been.

They were suffocating her, she realised.

She had to obey, to get undressed, and she explored her body with her heavy hands. Her clothes seemed to have no fasteners. Because she wasn’t wearing anything. How could she take off something that wasn’t there? She ran her fingers over herself. This was her body. This was herself. This was her.

Whoever she was.

She tore at her flesh, ripping it apart with her bare hands. As the darkness shaded into black, her limbs became even heavier, her fingers cold and numb.

Then she fell, plunging into the midnight of a frozen winter, trapped in a world with nothing, not even air.

Time passed, and finally it became dawn, the dim light slowly returning until she could see the discarded symsuit lying on the floor next to her. She could also see herself, and she didn’t like what she saw.

“Must go on a diet,” she muttered.

She’d spoken, she realised. Which tended to indicate she was alive.

Her body had almost died, but because of the ordeal her mind had been resurrected.

She knew who she was. She was Kiru. She was from Earth.

Without her symsuit, she was horrified to notice how much weight she’d put on during the lifeboat trip. No wonder she felt so heavy and lethargic.

“Totally abhorrent,” said one of the aliens, in apparent agreement. “Nothing but an ugly bag of bones.”

“In a poised and elegant way, however, as one would expect from an enlightened dictator born to dictate enlightenedly over an empire.”

Kiru stood up, or tried to, but it was very difficult because of her weight. No, she realised, that wasn’t the reason. Her weight hadn’t doubled, but the gravity was twice as much as she was used to.

She hauled herself to her feet and looked at the aliens. It seemed the galaxy was not full of people from Earth—or even people who could recognise people from Earth.

She was naked, but still had a slate, according to which this pair were Xyzians.

“Are you a princess?” asked one.

“Yes,” said Kiru. She had to lie. Lie or die. “I am Princess Janesmith, heir to the throne of the Algolan empire. You’ll both be very well rewarded for saving my royal hide.”

“Reward me!”

“Reward me!”

Kiru watched the aliens as they swayed from side to side on their short grey legs. If a sphere could have corners, the Xyzians had her cornered. They were in what seemed to be a large chamber, but because the light depended on the aliens and their relative positions to one another, it was impossible to determine its exact size.

“Was I alone on my ship?” she asked. “Were there any other survivors?”

“Only the great despot which is your despotic greatness.”

“I found no other living being.”

What had happened to Eliot Ness? This was all his idea. He’d attempted to programme Kiru into believing she was an Algolan princess, and now he was gone. Kiru was alone again. As always.

She shivered. Because she was cold.

Under normal circumstances, being with two small, fat aliens would have seemed ridiculous. Nothing here was at all normal.

She shivered again. Cold and scared.