“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.
Norton held up his left hand, with its full set of fingers.
Then the alien held up its left hand. Three fingers, one thumb.
“Ah, you’re deformed!” said Xenbashka Bashka Ka.
“I’m not deformed,” said Norton.
“You’re an alien, of course you are.”
Xenbashka Bashka Ka suddenly growled, showing its teeth. They were long and sharp, like fangs, and Norton quickly stepped back.
“We know what it’s like to be hideously ugly,” said the alien. “But it doesn’t matter, not here. If you’re from another planet, even the most beautiful alien can look like an ugly monster. Or vice versa.”
Xenbashka Bashka Ka growled again, and Norton realised it wasn’t a threatening noise. To him it sounded like a growl, but to the Algolan its meaning was different. A laugh…?
“Do you want a pair of gloves to hide your deformity?” asked the alien.
“This really is a clothes shop?” said Norton, as he peered around. The silky drapes which engulfed them both must have been fabric samples.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“There’s nothing you can see which you can buy.”
“Oh. Yeah. Then I’ll go.” He kept looking around. “If I can.”
“But we can make whatever garment you want. What would you like?”
“Er…”
“Something like you’re wearing?”
“No.” Norton was still in his steward’s uniform. He could have changed before leaving the ship, but it was the only outfit which was half suitable.
“Something like we’re wearing?” asked the alien.
“No!”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. On you, it’s fine.”
Norton didn’t know the word for what the alien was wearing, although presumably there was one in the Algolan language. The garment was a pair of pants that began halfway up the chest and ended below the knees, and it appeared to be made from hundreds of small green bricks cemented together with mortar, each layer of which was a different colour. The alien’s elbows were similarly covered. It also wore a pair of transparent clogs, and Norton could see that each foot had four clawed toes.
“Show me what you want,” said Xenbashka Bashka Ka, and blue fingers touched what looked like a watch strapped to a blue wrist.
The air between them shimmered for a moment, then a figure materialised in the room.
Norton moved away as the shape suddenly appeared. It was a naked biped, still and lifeless. A tailor’s dummy. A full-sized duplicate of himself, in fact. Even its right index finger was missing. As were the genitals. Norton looked down. So did Xenbashka Bashka Ka. The alien’s head rocked from side to side. An Algolan shrug…?
“Pants,” said Norton. “Long, loose pants.”
Alien fingers danced across what wasn’t a wristwatch, and a pair of trousers appeared on the mannequin.
“Down to the ankles,” said Norton, and the pants grew longer. “Waist lower. Around the waist.”
He’d thought he was coming to choose some clothes, not design a complete costume for himself. His favourite outfit, the one he felt most comfortable in, had been his Las Vegas Police Department uniform. Because he was an undercover cop, it probably wasn’t a good idea to wear something like that, even though no one would recognise it, not here, not now.
Norton had another idea. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Why not the kind of snazzy suit James Cagney or Humphrey Bogart wore when they were gang bosses?
Yeah, why not?
The Algolan was an expert at interpreting Norton’s hesitant approximations, and very quickly the image became clothed.
Double-breasted jacket, wide lapels, razor-sharp creases on the pants. Belt—no, make that suspenders. Starched shirt. Vest with fancy buttons. Polished spats. Necktie.
“We don’t do weapons,” said Xenbashka Bashka Ka.
“A necktie isn’t a weapon. It’s a piece of material that goes under the shirt collar, then hangs down over the buttons.”
The alien soon designed a necktie which met Norton’s specifications.
“That looks great,” said Norton, studying what had been created.
“What colours do you want?”
“None.” Gangster films had all been in black and white, and so Norton’s suit had to be in monochrome. “White shirt, everything else black.”
Xenbashka Bashka Ka operated the wrist control, and the jacket and vest and tie and pants and suspenders and shoes all became black.
“The customer is always right,” said the Algolan, “but that isn’t.”
Norton nodded his agreement. The outfit looked far too formal. The jacket seemed like a tuxedo. More than anything, the dummy resembled a head waiter.
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
“How about stripes?”
“Stripes?” Norton immediately thought of sergeant’s stripes, but chevrons on the sleeves would spoil the effect.
“Like this.”
The Algolan added pinstripes to the jacket and pants, and wider diagonal stripes to the tie, which diluted the severity of the black. That was how black and white movies looked, Norton realised. They were different shades of grey.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “like that. Now I need a hat. What were they called? A fedora? Like a stetson, but not as big.”
Under his direction, Xenbashka Bashka Ka created a hat that looked almost perfect. But there was something wrong, something missing.
“A band,” said Norton. “It needs a band.”
“You want music coming out of your hat?”
“No, a band of fabric, above the brim, going around the crown. Yeah. Like that. Not so wide. Yeah. Yeah. That’s it. That’s it!”
The perfect gangster suit, straight out of the late thirties, early forties— nineteen thirties, forties, naturally. It was a classic, there had been nothing like it for centuries. Norton gazed at the design in admiration.
“How many would you like?” asked the alien. “Two sets of everything?”
“Two, yeah, why not?” Then he realised why not. “Er, what about payment?”
“If you couldn’t pay, you wouldn’t be on Hideaway.”
“Exactly.” Norton nodded. “Exactly.”
“And if you can’t pay, you’ll wish you weren’t on Hideaway.”
“Oh.”
The alien growled, but Norton stood his ground. A growl meant laughter. Maybe.
A clawed finger tapped the circular gadget, and the no-longer-naked mannequin vanished.
“How long before it’s all made?” Norton asked.
“A few minutes. If you want, we can dispose of what you’re wearing and you can put on your new ensemble.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like a bag to carry your other new clothes? We can make one in any style you wish.”
Norton thought about it. “I want one shaped like a violin case.”
He’d never seen a violin case, except in the movies—and neither had he ever seen a violin—but he demonstrated what he meant.
“Like this?” said the Algolan, and another manifestation appeared between them.
“More like,” said Norton, gesturing with his hands, “yeah, that, only not as much, yeah, there, that way, with a kind of… yeah.”
The alien’s creation looked close enough.
“We need your name,” said Xenbashka Bashka Ka.
“Wayne,” he said. And immediately wished he hadn’t. “Why do you need my name?”
“So that we will be paid.”
Norton had checked in as Robin Hood, but it was too late to give the Algolan another name—although not too late to give his complete one.
“I’m Duke Wayne,” he said.
“You’re a duke?”
“Yeah.”
“We are royalty.”
“That’s nice.”
“You must already know who we are.”
“No.”
“But you must.”
“No. Why?”
“Because you’re here to assassinate us.”
“What?”
“Our real name is Janesmith of Algol.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Princess Janesmith of Algol.”
“Very pleased to meet you.” Norton wondered if he was expected to bow.
“You must have discovered our identity.”
“I haven’t discovered your identity. You told me who you are.”
“We are Princess Janesmith, heir to the imperial throne of Algol.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Xenbashka Bashka Ka is our assumed name, but everyone on Hideaway knows who we really are.”
“I told you, I didn’t know.”
“We are a direct descendant of the First Empress, six hundred and fourteen generations ago. Why should we hide under a false identity? We are Princess Janesmith, next in line to the imperial crown.”
Janesmith wasn’t a very alien name, although that was the fault of the slate. It was a female name, however, and princess was a female title. If that’s what the alien really was.
“Why’s a princess running a clothes shop?” asked Norton.
“If you know who we are, you already know the answer.”
“All I know is what you’ve told me. You say you’re Princess Janesmith.”
“We are, and therefore we’re a threat to our sister, Mary-smith, Empress of Algol. Only an aristocrat, even an alien aristocrat such as yourself, is permitted to eliminate that threat by assassinating us. Are you here to execute us, Duke Wayne?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Yeah, er, I’m sure. Sure I’m sure.”
But Norton wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything. It was a reasonable assumption that his secret mission was not to kill Princess Janesmith, alias Xenbashka Bashka Ka.
He wouldn’t have been brought halfway across the galaxy for that—would he?
“If you’re not going to kill us,” said Princess Janesmith, “shall we have sex together?”
“Sex?”
“Yes.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“Why?” asked Janesmith. “Is it because we’re ugly? We think you’re very ugly, but we’ll close our eyes and imagine someone else.”
“You’re not ugly,” said Norton, and he realised he meant it.
Despite her blue skin and her strange appearance, the Algolan was better looking than a lot of human women. If she was a woman.
“If we weren’t a princess,” said Janesmith, “we’d have been drowned at birth.”
“You are, er, female, aren’t you?”
“We are, but we don’t look very feminine because we’re deformed.”
She looked feminine enough to Wayne Norton, and what he could see definitely wasn’t deformed.
“But my genitals are not deformed,” the princess continued, “and they’re compatible with yours.”
“Er… how do you know?”
“Because of my research on male Earth persons. You’re certain you are male?”
“Yeah. Totally. All male.”
“And because you are an aristocrat, you can have sex with us.”
“Can’t we, er, wait?”
Norton kept backing away, hoping to reach the wall, then feel his way around to the exit. He moved slowly, hoping that Janesmith wouldn’t follow. But she did.
“Why wait?” she asked.
“Er… shouldn’t we get to know each other better?”
“What for?”
“Because, er, it’s nice to talk first.”
“Is it like foreplay for you if we talk?”
“No, I mean, er, yeah. So, er, what’s a princess like you doing on a planetoid like this?”
“We’re trying to have sex.”
“Have you been on Hideaway very long?”
“Far too long.”
“Nice place you’ve got here.”
“It’s not nice, and it’s not ours. You think we want to be here, making impossible clothes for temperamental aliens? We’re here because we’re trapped, paying off our debts.”
“Through gambling? You lost your shirt?”
“We never wear a shirt. If we wanted a shirt, we could make one. As a young princess, we learned embroidery. It’s one of our three skills. It’s also our qualification for this demeaning job we were forced into after being abandoned on Hideaway. And who abandoned us here?”
“Who?”
“An Earth person. A male Earth person.”
“Oh,” said Norton. “But you said you liked Earth persons, Earth people.”
“Some Earth persons. One male Earth person in particular.”
“Me?”
“Not you. He was so handsome, so strong, so wonderful, so perfect.” Princess Janesmith gazed up, remembering. “Definitely not you.”
While her eyes weren’t on him, Norton retreated two steps. There was still no trace of the wall, let alone a doorway, just more and more drifting lines of soft material. One by one, they were as light as gossamer, whatever gossamer was; together, they were almost impenetrable. He kept his arms behind him, yanking the layers of flimsy fabric aside, trying to force his way back.
Janesmith seemed to have no problem with the stuff, simply brushing it aside as she remorselessly pursued him.
“But he abandoned you,” said Norton.
“He wasn’t to blame. It was another Earth person who left us here. When we find him, we’ll make full use of our second skill.”
“What’s that?” Norton didn’t want to know the answer, but he wanted to keep Janesmith talking.
“Death,” hissed the Algolan, baring her fangs. “We killed three of our sisters. They called us the ugly sister. Now they’re the ugly ones. Ugly corpses!”
If Janesmith was considered ugly, then her other sisters must have been absolutely beautiful. When they were alive.
“We should have executed Marysmith when we had the chance,” added Janesmith. “We wouldn’t be here now, slaving like a peasant. We would be Empress. Empress of Algol!”
Janesmith flexed her claws, and her whole body seemed to ripple. There was something almost feline about her exotic features, her lithe shape, her supple movement.
“From what you say, Algol isn’t a constitutional democracy?”
“What?”
“Crowns and thrones, princesses and empresses. You don’t operate the one-vote system?”
“We have a one-vote system,” said Janesmith. “The Empress is the one with the vote.”
“What about ‘one man, one vote?’ ”
“On Algol, men are nothing. Their only purpose is for pleasure and for siring children.”
“Oh.”
“We’ve talked enough. You must be aroused by now.”
“Er… no.”
“You soon will be. Our third skill, the other royal talent we spent so long perfecting, is the art of sensual enjoyment.”
Norton could no longer move. He was Janesmith’s helpless prisoner, entangled in a spider’s web of gauzy fabric, drugged by the exotic aromas that filled the air, trapped by her hypnotic alien eyes.
“Now we will have sex, Duke Wayne,” she said. “That is an imperial command.”
Princess Janesmith stepped toward him, her arms going around his shoulders, and she pulled him close. Their lips met.
He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t resist. No longer in control of himself, Norton’s mouth opened. They kissed.
And kissed. And kissed.
He’d never been kissed like this. Her tongue sinuously twined around his, explored his mouth, his palate, his throat. He felt her warm breasts against his chest, while her fingers clawed up and down his spine. His passion rose, his ardour grew.
She finally released him, licking her lips with her tongue. Her forked tongue.
Wayne Norton watched as the Algolan princess discarded her clothes. Her strange garment began to unravel, falling apart brick by brick, revealing more and more of her blue flesh.
He’d never seen a naked girl before, either human or alien.
Until now, the closest he’d come had been gazing at photographs in Playboy.
Tits and ass, that was all a centrefold would reveal. The secret heart of the female anatomy was a complete blank.
Janesmith stood nude in front of him.
He should have bought a bugstrap.
Norton’s heart was racing, his mouth was dry. He had waited so long for this moment. Slowly he looked down, down her perfect blue body, until his eyes finally focused on her crotch.
Where he saw—
He blinked.
Where he saw what looked like—
It couldn’t be!
Could it?
Teeth!
Two sets of tiny curved fangs waiting to devour their prey.
Their male prey.
He suddenly felt very dizzy. His head was spinning and he started to f-a-i-n-t…
He’d waited forever for this moment, for Susie to strip off her T-shirt and reveal what she’d let him touch but never see. Her breasts were wonderful, everything he’d dreamed of. So shapely. So firm. So blue.
So blue?
Then she unzipped her jeans. The colour matched her boobs. As her denims dropped, she tucked her thumbs into the elastic of her briefs and started to slide them down.
This would be the ultimate revelation, the forbidden zone he had neither seen nor even been allowed to touch.
She was naked and soft, he was naked and hard.
Susie smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. He always loved the way her tongue snaked into his mouth. That was because her tongue was forked. He’d never noticed before. And her teeth were so very sharp. Why had he never realised?
Because this wasn’t Susie…
She was someone else, someone different, someone alien!
That was when he woke up.
With a scream.
He opened his eyes wide, discovered he was naked, and closed his eyes again.
Not wanting to, not wanting not to, he slid his right hand down his body. He’d already lost a finger on Hideaway. Had he lost something else, something infinitely more vital?
It was still there and he sighed with relief as he grasped it in his palm.
Then the door blinked open and a naked girl stepped into the room.
“Susie?” he said.
“Shut up,” the girl said.
She was naked but not defenceless, and she pointed her gun at him.
“Who are you?”
She wasn’t Susie, but at least she wasn’t blue.
“Don’t stare at me when you’re playing with yourself!”
He hadn’t woken up. This was still his dream. He’d stare at her if he wanted to. Which he did.
She was good looking, of course. How could a fantasy girl be otherwise? Tall and slender, but with all the necessary curves. Her hair was red, curly, and short, in two places.
“You’re human?” she asked, moving closer to him. “From Earth?”
He wondered how he had got back to his room. But if he was still asleep, he might not be in his room. Where were his clothes? His new ones, his old ones, any clothes. He wouldn’t have been naked by choice because it made him feel even colder. Neither would he have chosen a null-bed, lying suspended in mid-air.
As the girl came nearer, he covered his groin with both hands. She tapped his hands with the gun. He let go.
“Just checking,” she said. She glanced back at the invisible doorway. “You’re my alibi. I’ve been here for an hour. Two hours. Understand?”
She climbed onto the nullbed, straddling him, and he didn’t notice any teeth.
“Stop staring at me!” she ordered.
“I can’t help it.”
“Then close your eyes.”
If his eyes were open, then he couldn’t have been asleep. Unless he was dreaming he was awake.
“Is this real?” he asked the naked girl above him. “It’s not a dream?”
“I’m not a dream, I’m a nightmare. One mistake, and I’ll blow your brains out.” She touched the barrel of the gun to his groin.
“If you’re in trouble,” Norton said, slowly, carefully, “I can help.”
“How?”
“I’m a police officer.”
“Ha!”
“I am.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time.
“That’s all I need,” she muttered. “One wrong word, and you’re dead. Or one wrong move. Uhhh!”
“What?”
“Ohhh! Keep still.”
He was desperately trying not to move. But there was a part of him which he’d never really been able to control, a part which had never been so close to its female equivalent, a part which now he couldn’t control at all.
“Don’t!” she warned.
He was scared of the gun, but his other part knew no fear. When she pressed the weapon harder against him, it pressed harder against her.
“Uhhh,” she sighed.
“Ahhh,” he agreed.
Her eyes gazed down into his, and it was as if she could see deep within him, down into his very soul, knew everything about him, was aware of every thought, could read every secret.
She leaned forward, and her lips brushed lightly against his. Then she sat up again, the gun sliding away from his body as she slid even closer.
“If we’re both going to, ohhh, die, we might as well make the most of what we’ve got left.”
“Die?” He was already entering paradise.
“Shhh,” she told him. “Lie back ahhhnd think of the uhhhniverse.”
Reality or not, this was the best dream of Wayne Norton’s long life.