He glanced at the simulation’s hands, which were both empty. There was no sign of his amputated finger.
“As I told you, Mr. Hood, you can have it back when you leave.”
Norton sat down again, and the chair he hadn’t noticed was there again.
“Anything else I can help you with?” asked the sim. “I can point you in the right direction. Even if you can’t.”
“If I can’t what?”
“Can’t point. That’s another joke. You’ve got to think of this detachedly.”
“Another joke?”
“You do have a sense of fun! You’ll find plenty of that on Hideaway, Mr. Hood. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Er… yeah.”
“In that case, do you need something for the weekend?”
“What?”
“The absolute totally ultimate bugstrap. At a bargain price. Eius twenty-five percent sales tax, naturally.”
“What’s a bugstrap?”
The sim laughed, stopped, stared at Norton. “You don’t know, do you?”
“That’s why I asked.”
“It’s like a bugbelt. But of a more intimate and personal nature. You understand?”
“I don’t. What’s a bugbelt?”
“You’re not wearing one?”
“I don’t think so.”
“A bugbelt is essential to every space traveller. You can’t afford to be without one, Mr. Hood. Because it’s classified as a necessity, there’s only ten percent tax.”
“But… what is it?”
The sim explained that because humans had evolved on one world, they were biologically suited to live only on that world. Anywhere else but Earth, they needed a spacesuit for protection against everything from microbes to raindrops because every type of alien “bug” could be lethal.
The early personal-defence suits were very cumbersome and restrictive, and had been superseded by bugbelts which performed the same function. These could also protect the wearer from extremes of climate and dangerous radiations, as well as compensating for differences in gravity.
And Norton didn’t have one.
“Do I need a bugbelt?” he asked. “You mean it isn’t safe here?”
“Hideaway is the safest place in the universe, Mr. Hood. The whole environment is sanitised for your protection. Hideaway can comfortably accommodate beings from every inhabited world. Different levels have different gravities or temperatures or atmospheres to make every client feel at home. Or almost at home. Whenever I go on vacation, it’s the little differences I appreciate. I’m sure it’s the same with you. But some differences are too extreme.” The sim shrugged a human shrug.
“Do I need a bugbelt?” Norton repeated.
“It’s not a question of need, is it, Mr. Hood? It’s a matter of comfort and convenience. A man of your status shouldn’t have to endure any unnecessary stress and effort. I would also advise a bugcollar.”
“A bugcollar? What’s that for?”
“For the safe ingestion and digestion of non-human food.”
“You mean… alien food?”
“Alien to you, yes.”
“I have to eat alien food?”
“You don’t have to. This is Hideaway. You can do whatever you want. Or whatever you can afford. I assume that a man of your obvious sophistication and refinement would wish to visit one of the many non-human levels to sample some of their cuisine.”
“I don’t think so.” Norton shook his head.
“You can’t imagine what you’re missing.”
“Yeah, I can.” Norton shuddered as he remembered some of the meals he’d seen during his career as a steward—and all of those had been for the human palate.
The sim slowly nodded its simulated head. “For most people in your situation I can offer a really excellent deal. Bugbelt, bugcollar, bugstrap. A package of three. But if you only want the bugstrap, why not have the absolute pinnacle of the range? Combining total safety with ultimate satisfaction. And the price? It’s so low I’m almost ashamed to tell you in case you I think I’m working for a charity.”
“I still don’t know what a bugstrap is.”
“Everyone’s a winner on Hideaway, Mr. Hood, but what if you want to play a different game? When you hit the jackpot, a bugstrap is absolutely vital. You understand?”
Norton said nothing. Because he didn’t.
“Congress,” said the sim.
“Washington DC,” said Norton.
“What do you mean?” asked the sim.
“What do you mean?” asked Norton, then he said, “Oh.” Because suddenly he understood.
“Do you need medical assistance?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Your face has turned an odd colour.”
It had turned red, Norton knew. And not because he was an Indian. He was blushing with embarrassment.
A bugbelt allowed humans to visit alien worlds without harm. A bugcollar let them safely eat alien food. And a bugstrap…
Norton tried not to think about it.
“There must be something you’ve always wanted,” said the sim, “something you can’t find anywhere else in the entire galaxy. If you can imagine it, I promise you can find it on Hideaway. You can get anything your heart desires.”
“Anything?”
“Anything and everything.”
“How about some decent clothes?” said Norton.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hideaway was fantastic, or so the boss had said, unbelievable and indescribable. Kiru could only take his word for it because she’d seen nothing of the exterior and not much more of the interior.
According to legend, the asteroid was built aeons ago, in another galaxy, by a race of mysterious aliens. Long extinct, all that remained of them was the enigmatic world they had created.
It was a small planet with its own even smaller sun, a star that blazed at its very core, a perpetual source of solar energy and propulsion. Hideaway was a world without limits. Sliding into falspace as if it was a spaceship, it could reappear at the far edge of the galaxy.
Once, it had been the hidden headquarters of the pirate fleet. They had turned it into a pleasure planet, the ultimate hedonistic experience. Now, it was owned by an even more secretive and sinister organisation: the Galactic Tax Authority.
The space pirates had boarded the asteroid via a long-forgotten staff entrance. All Kiru saw were dark, narrow tunnels and the dark, narrow room into which Grawl led her. Having covertly breached Hideaway, the invaders split up, each to his or her or its own appointed task, ready to launch their assault at the same precise time.
Grawl put a finger to his lips, and opened the door.
“Don’t leave me alone,” said Kiru.
He closed the door, leaving her alone.
It was locked, of course, but she didn’t want to go anywhere. Grawl was protecting her again, keeping her safe while he and the others went about their work. All she could do was wait. She kept listening for the sounds of violence. The pirates were heavily armed, and she guessed it would not be a peaceful take-over.
Time passed.
She heard nothing until the door opened again. Grawl came back in and gestured at her. The gesture was obvious. She was to undress.
Was this it, repayment time?
Kiru watched as Grawl removed the silver pendant from around his neck. This was the first time; he even slept with it on. He gestured at her again, impatiently. There was nothing she could do except obey.
As she took off her clothes, the alien entered the room.
She had seen aliens before. There were alien convicts on Arazon, there were aliens among the pirates, and there were even aliens on Earth. Since the Crash, it had become a cheap place for a holiday, a cheap place to buy land, a cheap place to buy anything. Including humans.