“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.”