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?”