“Who were they?” asked Wayne Norton.
“Passengers,” said Diana. “Good passengers.”
“Good?”
“Yes. The only good passengers are dead ones.”
“You said I shouldn’t have killed the Sham, so it could have been interrogated. Couldn’t you have questioned those two? You didn’t have to kill them.”
“I only killed one of them, John. You killed the other.”
“No, it was the arrow.”
“Arrows don’t kill people, people kill people. You shot the arrow, didn’t you?”
“You told me to.”
“You were only obeying orders, you mean?”
“Yeah. No. I shot the arrow, but then it whizzed round the corner like a guided missile.”
They were in her stateroom, and he’d knocked back several nerve-calming alcoholic beveiages. She had drunk one glass, probably because she had no nerves to calm. Norton put down another empty glass and held out his right hand. By now, it was no longer shaking.
He didn’t feel as if he’d killed Gold, although logically he knew he had. Maybe if he’d seen her fall because of his bowshot, it would have been different. Or if she’d died in hand-to-hand combat, the way that Diana had killed Silver, he could accept he was the direct cause of her death.
In a similar way, when he’d killed the Sham, Norton had felt nothing. But that was self-defence, wiping out an ugly alien critter that had tried to murder him.
Now he’d shot an old lady in the back, and it was no different from squashing a bug underfoot.
“Were they space pirates?” he asked.
Diana stared at him. “What do you know about space pirates?”
“Only what I’ve seen on SeeV.”
“While you’ve been on board?”
“Yeah.”
“They show dataplays about space pirates to spaceship passengers?” Diana shook her head in bewilderment. “Good. I hope it scares them.”
“They were on the alien stations.”
“What’s an alien station?”
“Television for aliens. Broadcasts I picked up while flicking through the channels.”
“What?” Diana frowned. “Oh, yes, I know what you mean. This ship used to be on the interstellar run to different worlds, which must be why there’s so much alien programming available.” She sipped at her drink. “Some of us have been too busy to watch SeeV.”
Norton wasn’t sure what was worse, watching television all the time or being a steward. One difference was that when he watched TV, he saw people being killed; now that he was a steward, he had to do the killing.
“Tell me about space pirates,” said Diana.
“I’ve seen them on screen, how they take over spaceships. They start by killing the crew.”
“That’s why you thought those two geriatrics were galactic buccaneers? To hijack a spaceship, first wipe out the stewards. I always knew we had the most important job on board.”
“They kill all the crew, steal the ship, hold the passengers for ransom. Is that what happens?”
“Happens? Happened, you mean. Maybe. It’s all ancient history. Although not as ancient as you.”
“Space pirates don’t exist?”
“What you’ve seen is very exaggerated. It’s entertainment, nothing to do with the real universe.”
“Spaceships don’t get stolen?”
“They do, but not very dramatically. It’s all done through fraudulent documentation.”
“Oh.”
“You seem disappointed,” said Diana.
“No,” said Norton, and he shook his head in disappointment.
He’d watched pirate-busters on SeeV and wondered if that was one of GalactiCop’s roles. From what Diana said, that was entirely possible: It sounded dull and boring and routine and monotonous enough.
Norton studied his hand. His finger was its original length again, and the nail had grown back.
“Why couldn’t I fire my non-lethal finger?” he asked.
“Because it’s a defensive weapon. When you’re under threat, the reflex kicks in and blasts out a stun shot.”
He remembered how Gold had raised her hands to surrender as soon as he pointed his finger at her.
“What use is that?” he said.
“Very little. You should be able to fire at will, not let your weapon decide. I’m glad I haven’t got one.”
“It’s not standard issue?”
“I told you, it’s experimental.”
“Am I the experiment?”
“Yes, you’re a guinea pig.” Diana paused. “What was a guinea pig?”
“A small furry animal, I think it was a rodent, used in medical experiments.”
“Did the experiments kill them?”
“Why?”
“Because that would explain why they’re extinct.”
“Will I become extinct?”
“No. Or not because of the NLDDD. Unless it completely fails, of course.”
Norton tapped his right forefinger against his empty glass. A gun was a cop’s right hand. In his case, his right hand was a gun.
“I’m not a steward,” said Diana. “If you want a drink, pour one yourself.”
“Why me?” asked Norton, examining his finger—which was also the barrel, “and not you?”
“I’m a major, you’re a sergeant.”
Norton poured himself a drink.
“I’ll have the same,” said Diana. “Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir!”
Norton gave an exaggerated salute. The tip of his right index finger hit his forehead, and he wondered how close he was to frying his brains.
“So a stun shot is non-lethal?” he said.
“Except to a Sham.”
“What is a stun shot?”
“A painful and immobilising pulse of energy,” she said. “I don’t know the technical details.”
“Who does?”
“The manufacturers. You were fitted out under a sponsorship deal. They want to see how their new defence device performs under operational conditions. In return, they paid for your ticket to Hideaway. And in return for that, you’re supposed to write an efficiency report.”
“Am I? Anything else I should know?”
“Don’t bother with the report. What can they do?”
“What else have they done?” Norton asked. “My finger’s become a gun. Is there any other part of me with a new improved active ingredient?”
Diana shook her head.
“Not even an electric battery in my wrist?”
“The energy comes from your own bioganic system.”
“My what?”
“Take a drink.”
Norton did.
“To take a drink,” said Diana, “you lifted your hand. To lift your hand, you used your muscles. To use your muscles, you need strength and stamina.”
“Finger-bone connected to the wrist-bone, wrist-bone connected to the arm-bone,” sang Norton.
“You’re drunk,” said Diana, and she sipped at her glass. “It would be interesting to correlate your degree of inebriation with the accuracy and amplitude of the NLDDD.”
“And write an efficiency report?”
“It must be like running. After a hard sprint, you have to stop and catch your breath. After a volley of stun shots, you’re exhausted, and your body needs time to reload.”
“So I’d need a rest, a drink, maybe a meal, perhaps a snooze, before I could fire again? Great weapon. How can I get rid of it?”
“It’s an implant, grafted into your nervous system, fused with your bones. You can’t get rid of it.”
“I can’t, but you can. I’ve swallowed enough anaesthetic. Chop it off, please.”
“You’ve numbed your brain, not just your finger. I’m not cutting it off.”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Give me your axe.”
“No,” said Diana. “I won’t let you cut off your finger. And it’s not an axe, it’s a tomahawk.”
“Tomahawk? I thought it was a cleaver from the kitchen. Not the kitchen. What’s it called? From the galley.”
“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.
She did neither.
He lay on the bed where she’d let him fall, trying hard to stay awake. When Diana finally climbed into the far side, he stretched out his hand toward her, but it was heavy, so heavy, and she was so far, far away. Before he could reach her, sleep overwhelmed him.
Wayne Norton had been the oldest virgin on Earth. Now, it seemed, he was the oldest virgin in the universe.