Rychor—and she thought of him with a name, because it was the only thing keeping her sane—stalked back and forth, swiping his palm at various points along the wall and causing the light to shift occasionally. He had not spoken since instructing her to leave the bathing pool, so she was left to wonder when he would subject her to the “tests of psychological stimuli,” “submission,” and “great pleasure” he had promised her.
She watched him, trying to discern what he was doing. There was no pattern to it that she could see. It seemed like an endless series of motions that accomplished nothing, save the light flickering or changing.
She had no idea how much time had passed since her bath. Rychor looked busy, and while the tension was killing her, she was glad for the opportunity to study him more closely.
Every so often her mind would wander to the reason she was here. Her imagination would run away, coming up with wild and frightening ways he, or whoever was to be thedonorto her, would complete the act. Each time a possibility would present itself she would move it to the back of her mind. She didn’t need any more stress right now.
Finally, another creature walked in. He was carrying some sort of tray and gave a single, curt nod to Rychor.
Rychor responded in kind and walked toward him.
“Sustenance,” the other one said. “What the others have responded best to.”
Rychor took the tray from him. “Good,” he said. “Dismissed.”
The other creature nodded again, glanced at her for a moment, then turned and walked out of the space.
Rychor crossed the room to stand in front of her. He waved his hand over the surface of the floor in front of her.
She scrambled up against the wall as two columns rose from the ground. Both round, one about six feet in diameter, the other two or three. The first stopped about three feet off the ground, the other slightly less. Rychor placed the tray on the first column, and she realized their purpose: a table and a chair.
She couldn’t believe she had allowed herself to be so startled by something that was soobviouslynot scary.
“Rise,” Rychor ordered.
She glanced up at him and decided not to object to the look he was giving her. Using the chair to assist herself, she got up and slipped onto it, one arm covering her chest from his gaze.
He pushed the tray toward her with a finger. “Eat,” he said.
She looked down at the spread. It contained four round shapes about the size of a grapefruit. She reached out and poked one with a finger. The surface had a little give. A pleasant, almost citrusy smell, wafted up from it as she pushed, then it rolled away from her and stopped at the edge of the tray. “What is it?” she asked, looking up at him again.
“There is no translation. It is safe for your consumption. If your kind had to name it, I suspect you might call it cavefruit. Eat. It will please you, and you require nourishment before the process begins.”
She swallowed back the lump in her throat that formed at the wordsbefore the process begins.She reached out and picked up one of thecavefruit, as he’d called it. She brought it to her nose and sniffed. It was anything but offensive. Quite the opposite. It smelled delicious.
“You realize that there are complex pharmaceutical interactions lurking in a lot of—” she began, almost like a reflex.
But a stony look from Rychor cut her off mid-sentence.
Of course. Of course he either knew that, or didn’t care. One thing was clear from his expression, though, and that was this: she was going to eat the fruit.
“How do I…?”
“The entire fruit is edible. It will not harm you,” he said. A moment later he returned to his intricate pattern of walking through the room, drawing invisible shapes against the walls.
Her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten? She’d skipped the meal before the mission. Nothing worse than having to void your bowels in space far from the artificial gravity of the orbital.
“I have some nutritional injections in my suit,” she said, remembering suddenly that she did. It was a peculiar feature of their suits that almost nobody believed they would ever use.
“We have analyzed these and created your meals, and the meals of your clan, accordingly,” Rychor retorted, matter-of-factly, continuing with his tasks at the screens on the walls.
Of course. How silly of her.
Not sure what battle she thought she was fighting by refusing to eat, she decided to go for it. She opened her mouth, pressed her teeth against the skin of the fruit, then punctured it.
The sweet nectar that flowed out and over her tongue made her eyes close as she drew in a delighted breath. It was delicious. Better than any of the hydroponics they had on the orbital. Almost better than anything she’d tasted on earth, for that matter. The pleasure of taking another bite almost made her feel guilty. Like she was betraying something, her planet, her shipmates, by enjoying this exotic fruit in an alien cave. She pushed the thought away and ate.
As soon as she’d consumed a third of the fruit, she realized something was amiss. She felt a grogginess descend on her. A very pleasant warmth followed it.
