“Do you feel well? You slept a long time.” He turns away and sets a tablet on the table beside him, giving me a view of his back. My eyes skim over his bare skin. Do I feel well? No, I don’t. I hate the disturbing feelings he inspires in me: fear¸ hatred, attraction . . .
I rub my eyes. “I usually don’t sleep as long as most Etharians. I’m used to shorter days and nights. I get tired more often.”
“That will change over time. Are you hungry now?” he asks.
“I’m starving,” I reply, sitting up against my pillow.
He frowns, and right away I can tell that he’s taking me way too seriously. “Do you feel faint? I’ve already ordered you some pancakes. You should’ve eaten last night!”
I hold up my hand to stave off a bigger freak-out. “I’m not really starving, Kyon. It’s just an expression. I’m moderately hungry.”
He pauses, considering what I just told him. “Your idioms are confusing,” he replies.
“I know,” I murmur, “but they’re a habit. It’s hard to change them. So when I tell you I’m starving, I just mean I’d like to eat soon.”
“How did you survive on Earth? No one there says what they mean.”
I scoff. “Like it’s any different here.”
“I say what I mean.”
“And you mean what you say.”
“Is that wrong?”
“It is when it’s in direct opposition to me,” I reply.
“You don’t know what you don’t know, Kricket.”
“Does anyone really know what they don’t know, Kyon? And you’d be surprised what I know.”
“Would I?’
“Mmm.”
“What do you know?” he asks.
I lean near him and whisper secretively, “It’s very dark in Pretty Town.” I straighten again. “You can quote me.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re dark,” I reply.
“And you think I’m pretty?” he asks. He doesn’t know if he should be offended or flattered, but I think he’s leaning toward the former.
“Are those the pancakes?” I ask, avoiding the question as a gleaming hovercart glides into our room and comes to rest at the side of the bed. “Are we eating in bed?”
“You showed such a propensity for it last night that I thought you might enjoy dining here. Afterward, I can show you the rest of the island.”
The cart opens up, jettisoning two silver-colored, floating trays. One stops in front of me. When I touch it, the lid opens, revealing a huge stack of pancakes. I glance at Kyon. He has an equal stack of pancakes on his plate. He picks up his fork and says, “You know these aren’t very good for Pretty Town.”
I nearly choke. When I can speak once more, I murmur, “I think Pretty Town can handle it.”
When we’re finished eating, Kyon shows me how to nudge the tray away. It glides to the hovercart and inserts itself inside. The hovercart floats away then, probably headed for the dishery. I head for the Commodus, and then into the shower in the lavare. From there I get made over in the dressing room. I emerge from behind the white doors wearing a black two-piece bathing suit with a matching, flowy wrap skirt and an ivory scoop neck top.
Kyon has his back to me as he stands in the archway, watching the sea. He must have showered outside or went for a swim because his hair is wet, but it’s pulled back from his face. He has changed into loose-fitting dove-gray swim shorts and a soft white shirt. Turning to face me when he hears me approach, his eyes fall on my hair. It was braided by the robotic beauty-bots.
Kyon touches the small of my back and guides me outside onto to patio. “The boathouse is this way,” he says.
Before I step onto the sand, I ask, “Is it safe?”
“For you.” He waits for me to step down on the white sand. When I do, he takes me down to the beach. I slip off my sandals and we walk along the shore together. The sand is hot, so I wade into the water and splash around to cool off.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, gesturing to the water.
“Teach me what?”
“To swim,” he says in a low tone.
I look out at the water and then back at him. “You mean you can teach me to swim in the water that you tried to drown me in?”
“Yes.”
I shiver involuntarily. “No thanks. I’m good,” I say and take a few steps.
He grips my arm. “You will learn to swim. It’s not a request. You can’t have any weaknesses.”
I can’t square him or what’s happening here. Is he serious? He’s been hunting me for months, preying on all my weaknesses. Now he wants to teach me to swim so I won’t be weak? He’s as mercurial as they come. I shrug, noncommittal.
He continues the tour of the island, taking me to the boathouse. It’s constructed of huge timber logs and steel joints. Inside, there are four boats suspended in the air on hydraulic lifts. Two of them can probably carry forty people or more, and the other two are smaller, made to be fast, judging by their aerodynamic designs. Each has the capacity to carry only three or four people. He owns two black, bullet-shaped hydrocycles that resemble hovercycles, but they travel on the surface of the water. He also has a berth where a submarine floats on the lapping waves. It resembles a stingray with undulating wings and a slippery skin with marine mammal markings on it.
“Which one do you like the most?” I ask, gesturing to the menagerie of toys before me.
“Which boat?” he asks. “This one.” He points to the long rowboat with oars that’s shelved on the wall beside us. It’s silver with black rally stripes on the hull.
“Why?” I move closer to the sleek rowboat. It’s archaic in terms of Etharian standards, a kind of boat that someone who’s well versed in rowing would use to train. There are no automated parts to it. I run my fingertips over an oarlock. It feels like steel.
“Because it requires strength,” Kyon says behind me. “It can hurt you, but it can also set you free.”
For some reason, I wonder if we’re still talking about the boat. “What would someone like you need to be free of?” I wonder.
“Questions, for one,” Kyon replies.
“What’s wrong with questions?”
“You like questions? I have one. What did you see our first night here?”
“Excuse me?”
“You left me with just your body on the beach. You projected into the future. I want to know what you saw there.” His arms form a cage around me, resting on the hull of his favorite boat.
I stare up into his blue eyes. I find it hard to swallow all of a sudden. There’s no way I can tell him any of it. If I do, it would be as if I put a gun to the head of each person in Amster and fired. Kyon will slaughter them all with impunity.
“I didn’t see much,” I lie.
“You were gone a very long time. I think you saw plenty.”
“I saw your Alameeda Strikers stack wounded civilians in the streets of Rafe and burn them alive.” I hurl the statement at him. It’s my only weapon.
His eyebrows draw together as he scowls. “They’re not my soldiers. If they were mine, I’d be leading them out of Rafe.”