Kiru nodded, as if understanding. “That’s why you were on Arazon?” she said.
“Indirectly. It was the end result of a series of badly judged business decisions by the previous chief executive.”
She nodded again.
“I admit,” admitted the boss, “that after our relocation to new premises, he made tremendous progress in restructuring the company for its niche market. We were poised for expansion throughout the galaxy, negotiating to franchise our reputation as brand leader. Then almost exactly the same thing happened. We lost our new headquarters as well. Would you believe it?”
Kiru shook her head.
“The company was suddenly caught up in a ruthless trade war. My predecessor became the victim of corporate raiders and suffered the ultimate cancellation of his contract. We were totally downsized, and almost the entire personnel were made redundant. Those of us efficient enough to stay out of the red were given an involuntary transfer to Arazon. Thank you, Grawl. I was telling Kiru about the hostile take-over which liquidated the organisation’s entire capital assets.”
Grawl had brought in two elaborate cocktails and a choice of savoury snacks. He paused for a moment, glancing at the boss before setting down the tray.
“When the Algolan war fleet attacked our last hideout,” the boss explained.
Kiru wished he’d said that in the first place.
“Thanks,” she said as Grawl handed her a drink.
Although everyone on the ship probably believed she and Grawl shared more than just their cabin, they were all wrong.
At first, Kiru couldn’t understand why the boss had said there was no room on board for her. It had been cramped inside the lander, but the escapees soon transferred to the parent ship when the Monte Cristo spliced into the Monte Carlo.
As the renegade craft set course across the universe, Grawl chose their quarters. There were two extra berths in the cabin, but no one claimed them.
It was only later that Kiru realised no one dared.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wayne Norton gazed in awe around Hideaway.
The entrance hall was vast, the size of an entire Vegas casino, so big that the floor curved down toward the near horizon.
And it was full of aliens…
Most of those he saw were humanoid bipeds, but the range and variety of colours and shapes and sizes seemed limitless.
Despite their differences, these weird beings had one thing in common: They were all tourists, and they’d come to Hideaway to have a good time, to spend their money gambling and whoring and drinking—and indulging in whatever other “pleasures” existed on the artificial asteroid.
But Wayne Norton was here because he was working. He was a cop, just like in Las Vegas.
“Welcome to Hideaway, sir.”
He looked like a man, his appearance both human and male. He sounded Terran, using fluent fastspeak.
Norton wished there was an alien in the reception booth because he could have tried his slate. But that wasn’t how the Hideaway check-in system operated, where everyone was met by a member of their own race. Or apparently of their own race.
Diana had briefed him on board ship, and what Norton was faced with was an illusion. He wasn’t human. He didn’t exist. He was a computerised simulation, his familiar appearance designed to reassure visitors.
Norton felt uneasy. The only other non-human in disguise that he’d encountered had been an alien assassin. And he was the intended target.
“Everyone’s a winner on Hideaway,” continued the man—the computerised simulation of a man—“and I hope you’ll be very lucky.”
“Thanks.”
“Will you be here long, sir?”
“Probably a couple of days.”
“Just for the weekend?”
Norton nodded. He didn’t know whether it was true or not, but Diana had told him to say his visit would be very brief. All this way, countless trillions of miles, travelling for endless weeks. Just for the weekend.
He guessed GalactiCop hadn’t found anyone to sponsor his stay and could only afford the room rates for two days.
Anyone who could pay their fare to Hideaway was allowed on to the planetoid, which meant that spaceship crews were prohibited. It wasn’t just a question of money, Diana had said, but of security. Space crews were notorious for causing trouble wherever they went. In return for keeping their crews on board, high-ranking officers were given access to the pleasure planet.
“Are you carrying a weapon?” asked the sim.
Like all plain-clothes officers, Norton had a concealed weapon. Concealed in his hand. Inside his hand, in fact. Which meant he wasn’t carrying a gun. Not really.
“No,” he replied, “I’m not.”
“Will you follow me, please, sir? This will only take a minute.”
“What will?”
“A technical formality. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Norton had heard the phrase before, had used it himself, and his earlier unease now became concern.
The simulation walked toward a wall, then through it. There was no doorway; he stepped through the wall itself. It was the kind of thing an illusion could do. Norton reached out, and his hand vanished into the wall. Maybe it was the wall which was an illusion. He walked through and found himself in a small room, empty and featureless.
The man sat down. Norton hadn’t noticed the chair.
“Please be seated.”
Nor the other one. He sat down.
“What name are you using?”
There was no pretence. They expected him to give a false name. For a moment, Norton was tempted to give his real name. But only for a moment. He could be anyone he wanted to be. Identity documents no longer existed. There were no passports or driving licenses anymore, and neither were there any modern equivalents. They were so easy to forge that they were useless.
Wayne Norton could be anyone he wanted to be.
He remembered his exploits with the bow and arrow, and he said, “Robin Hood.”
“And you’re from Earth?”
“Yeah.”
“Travelling through falspace can affect the memory, Mr. Hood. There’s something you seem to have overlooked. Any idea what it might be?”
“No.”
“You cannot enter Hideaway with a weapon.”
They knew he had a gun, so there was no point denying it.
“You will have to leave,” added the simulated man.
“I can’t leave. I’ve come for…” Norton still didn’t know why he was here, but he added, “pleasure.”
“This is certainly the place to find pleasure, Mr. Hood, but first you must remove your weapon.”
Norton looked at his right hand. “Yeah, I’d love to, but…”
“We will remove it for you. It also means removing your right hand, of course.”
“Removing! My hand!”
“You’ll still have the left one. You can have your other hand back when you leave.”
“No! I’m leaving now.”
“If that’s what you want.” The computerised man stood up, and Norton did the same. “Thank you for coming.” He offered his hand, and they shook. For an illusion, he had a very firm grip. “Now you can go on through.”
“Go on through to Hideaway?”
“Certainly, Mr. Hood. Your room is on level 8364, coordinates XJ-17/VF-306.”
“What about my hand?”
“You can keep it. It was a joke, Mr. Hood. Hideaway is a fun place. We weren’t going to cut off your whole hand. The index finger is all we need.”
Norton glanced at his right hand. Thumb, three fingers.
Three…!
His forefinger was gone. The sim had stolen it when they’d shaken hands. He hadn’t felt a thing, couldn’t feel a thing. There was no blood, no pain. It was as if the missing finger had never been there at all.