“Come on in, boy. Through here.”
Norton halted at the entrance, unwilling to go inside.
“I’m not allowed to enter passenger cabins, I’m afraid,” he said. He knew by now that the stewards made up their own regulations, and he wanted an excuse to remain in the corridor.
“Afraid? There’s no need to be afraid, boy. I’m not going to eat you. Bring it in.”
Norton looked at the passenger, and she smiled at him. She was old, at least fifty, and her hair was silver. Not silver because it had turned grey, but silver like a shiny new coin. Reluctantly, he carried the tray inside, and the door closed.
“If you’re not going to eat him, Cass,” said another voice, “then I will.” The second occupant of the stateroom was another old woman, and her hair was bright gold. “Isn’t he the sweetest thing? How did you find him?”
“It’s a gift, Peg.”
“A gift! For me. You shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t.”
“I’ll leave this here for you, madam,” said Norton, putting the tray on a table.
“Madam?” said the woman named Cass. “Oh, I like that.”
“What’s your name?” asked the one called Peg.
“Never mind his name, he’s mine, not yours.”
“Have you got a friend?”
“Please excuse me,” said Norton. “I have to get back to work now, ladies.”
“Ladies? Did you hear that, Cass? He thinks we’re ladies.”
“He’s right. I am a lady.” Cass laughed. “And I’ll prove exactly how much of a lady!”
Norton retreated toward the door.
“You haven’t got a friend?” said Peg. “You have now. You’ve got us.”
“You notice how his uniform matches our hair. Silver and gold. He’s just made for us.”
“It’s not his uniform I’m interested in, it’s what’s underneath!”
They both laughed, and Norton smiled. Although he wished he wasn’t here, he wasn’t too concerned. He’d seen women like this in Vegas, elderly widows behaving as if they were youngsters, who had come to the city to have a good time and usually ended up getting drunk and making fools of themselves.
Cass and Peg both wore heavy makeup, were dressed in abbreviated outfits which might have suited women less than half their ages, and their faces were tanned and lined by the sun—or a sun. If they were wealthy enough to afford a first-class cabin, they might easily have travelled to different solar systems before their voyage to Hideaway.
“Why don’t you have a drink with us?” said Cass. “We’ve got plenty.”
Norton knew they had plenty because the tray he’d carried in was laden with various exotic liqueurs. Cass had claimed they couldn’t serve themselves because their stateroom’s alcohol dispenser was not working. He guessed they must have drained it dry.
“No, thanks, madam.”
Norton reached the door. It should have opened, but didn’t.
“Have a drink, sweetie,” said Peg. “Then we’ll let you go. Maybe.”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink.” Because that wasn’t true, Norton felt he had to add something, which was, “I don’t smoke.”
“Why would you smoke?” said Cass.
“Are you a mandroid?” said Peg. “Is there a fault in your circuits? You’re not going to burst into flames, I hope.”
“I’m not a mandroid,” said Norton, although he’d never heard the word. It was something else to put on his list of questions for Diana.
“How do you know?” said Cass. “I’m sure mandroids think they’re human.”
“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.
“It’s a throwing knife,” she said to Gold.
Gold threw the knife, Diana ducked, and then Gold was unarmed.
Diana turned and went for Silver, who defended herself with the black blade. Silver’s weapon had a longer reach, but Diana kept dancing out of range. Wounded by the knife buried hilt-deep in her thigh, Silver couldn’t follow through fast enough.
Gold reached for the sword she had dropped.
“No!” warned Norton, who was still sprawled on the floor, rubbing his head. He took his hand away, his right hand, and pointed his index finger at the woman.
Gold had seized the sword in her left hand. She was two yards away from Norton.
Two paces, one quick thrust, less than a second, and the sword would be in his chest.
He stared at his finger, willing it to fire.
“I surrender,” said Gold, and she dropped her blade and raised her arms.
Keeping his finger aimed, Norton stood up. As he did, his foot became entangled with the fallen table. He tripped and was down on the floor again. Gold made a break and dashed to the door.
“Get—” yelled Diana, as she twisted to avoid being disembowelled—“her!”
Norton jumped to his feet, one of which came down on a liqueur bottle, and he slipped, lost his balance, regained his footing, then started running toward the cabin door.
“Ah-ah-ah!” he yelled, as the pain shot up his leg.
He must have twisted his ankle, and he stumbled, lurching forward, almost fell again, kept upright, but had to limp toward the doorway, where he could only watch as Gold sprinted away along the passage. For an old woman, she was very light on her feet. There was no way Norton could chase after her. He couldn’t hop fast enough.
“Stop or I fire!” he shouted, pointing at her.
He knocked into something leaning against the corridor wall, which fell and nearly tripped him, and he stumbled back against the wall. When he looked down he saw a bow, its string stretched taut, and a quiver of arrows on the ground next to it.
“Shoot her!” called Diana.
He picked up the bow, took one of the arrows, notched it, drew back the string.
As a kid, he and his friends used to make their own bows and arrows from bamboo and sticks. Sometimes the sticks had been sharpened, with glued cardboard flights, and they had fired them at targets—and each other. Norton had never hit anything—or anyone.
He sighted the arrow at Gold’s vanishing back, then let fly. A moment later, she raced around a corner.
“Darn!” said Norton.
The arrow sped along the corridor. And turned the corner.
There was a distant scream.
“I’ll be darned,” he muttered.
He glanced into the cabin, where Diana had Silver backed against the wall. Picking up the quiver and slinging it over his shoulder, he took out one of the arrows and notched it into the bowstring, then hobbled along the corridor and around the corner.
Gold lay motionless on the ground. The arrow jutting from below her left shoulder blade must have pierced her heart.
“Get up,” he ordered. “Stop pretending. I know you’re not dead.”
But he knew she was.
He made his way back along the passageway toward the stateroom. Everything was silent. He peered inside the cabin.
Over on the far side lay a motionless figure. In the centre of the room was someone else, someone moving, someone with silver hair…
Norton drew back the bowstring, took aim.
“What a mess,” said Diana, as she picked up the bottles from the floor and put them back on the table. “I hate this job.”
Diana with silver hair.
Norton unnotched the arrow.
“Did you shoot her?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Didn’t I tell you passengers were the enemy?”
“Er… yeah… but…”
“Next time, listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah… er… yeah… and… you know… er…”
“Is that an expression of gratitude?”
“Er…”
“I’ll assume that’s a ‘yes.’ ” She took off her silver hair and showed it to Norton. “Look, a wig! Not even a proper scalp. Was yours the same?”
“Er…”
Diana walked out of the stateroom and looked along the passageway.
“Where’s the body? Go and get it. Can’t leave a dead passenger out in the corridor, we’ll only get more complaints.”