“I’m not thanking you.” She brushes a loose strand away from her brow, not quite meeting my gaze, and I know it is because she does not want me to see how close she came to crying.
“I did not ask for your thanks.” It comes out harsher than intended. She is here because of me. Her life was ruined because of me. The last thing I deserve is her thanks.
Glancing around the kitchen, I hunt for a distraction.
“Here.” I pick up my datapad from where I left it this morning, where I leave it every morning when I do not need it for my work. Flicking to the broadcast channels, I demonstrate how to scroll to search for something worth watching. Not that there ever is anything. Thousands of channels and all the content is trash of the LOVE GALAXY variety.
Lydia takes the datapad, wrinkling her nose as she swipes through a few options.
“How do I get onto the internet again?” She straightens, and even standing to her full height, the top of her head is not level with my shoulders.
“In-ter…” The unfamiliar word sticks to my tongue. I have heard it before but cannot remember what it means.
“The World Wide Web. Cyberspace. Google. Umm…” She struggles. “I mean, how do I search for information?”
“About?”
“Reality Investments.” She names the LOVE GALAXY production company.
I frown. “Why?”
We both know Reality Investments was a shell company, established as a front behind which John Smith could hide. Lydia and I spent hours researching everything to do with LOVE GALAXY during her first sennight on Ril II, but we found nothing useful.
She closes her eyes as she releases a long breath before looking up at me. “Killan, I hate having to ask to borrow your stuff, but we both know I don’t have a tablet of my own, so I’ve got no choice. Please, can you remind me how to search the internet? Or, if you don’t want me using your tablet, say so. I’m not in the mood for another one of your interrogations.”
She thinks I interrogate her? I have been called “gruff” before by my brothers. “Bossy,” “controlling,” “aggressive,” even “frustrating.” But never interrogatory.
“Harvest begins tomorrow,” I say, filling the silence with something that is not another question.
“And you’d like me to help?”
“We will be receiving a supply drop. I have a regular food order, but if there is anything additional you require, make a list and I will see what I can find.”
“Oh, right. A shopping list.” She shows me her thumbs, pointing them toward the ceiling. “Good-o.”
I have said something wrong, but I do not know what.
“Mayhaps you have Human needs which I have been unable to accommodate.” I attempt to clarify.
“Wait. Are you…” She frowns. “Are you talking about myperiod?” The color returns to her face with a rush, flooding her cheeks.
I pause for my translator to supply a meaning, but nothing happens. “I do not understand. What is yourpeer?—”
“Oh my God, never mind!”
“I do mind. If there is something you have not been telling me?—”
“Roan!” Lydia catches sight of my youngest brother as he enters the kitchen and gestures for him to approach.
Immediately, his gaze is on my datapad.
“You found it then?” He walks past me to Lydia, evidently not surprised when I ignore his question. “Harlee wants you and Briar to be hermaids,” he announces, using another word I do not understand.
“Her maid?” Lydia repeats. “Are you sure that’s what she said?”
Roan nods confidently. “She wishes for you to carry my finger at ourwett-ing. But I have not officially asked her to marry me yet, so please do not say that I told you.” And he turns the corners of his mouth up in an approximation of a Human smile, displaying multiple rows of pointed teeth.
“Oh, you mean herbridesmaidsat yourwedding,” Lydia emphasizes, correcting Roan’s pronunciation.
