“Why do they call you Rios?”
Amaryllis gaped at him, mentally kicking herself. Shit! Why hadn’t she considered when she manufactured the lie that she might have to explain it?
She managed a credible shrug of unconcern. “My family is—uh–were terra farmers on a world that used their family names since it was too under populated to create a problem. Or, at least, that’s the memories I was given, according to what that other cyborg said. But I guess it’s because Rios is--or was--such a commonplace name and I am--pretty average.”
His dark gaze swept over her in a leisurely appraisal that seemed to miss nothing. She thought she’d become immune to self-consciousness about her nudity, but blood was pounding in her cheeks by the time he met her gaze once more. “They lied.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You are small, not average, in stature and build.”
The comment angered her. The cyborgs were superior specimens, so she supposed she could see why he might consider her less than perfect, but she figured she was fairly average for a human—alright a little less than that, but then she’d had medical problems that had probably contributed to stunted growth.
“Your features are exotic, not common—your body far better than average. You are a beautiful, desirable woman and there is nothing at all common about that, even in this age of genetic manipulation in the search for perfection.”
Amaryllis wouldn’t have thought it possible to blush any harder, but she did. She stared at him speechlessly. She decided, finally, that it was just as well. The more she said, the deeper the hole she seemed to dig for herself.
She couldn’t think straight, and she no longer had the comfort of thinking it was purely shock or even fear.
He’d analyzed her and expressed an opinion, she realized finally. Cyborgs weren’t supposed to have them. She could understand the comment about her not being average. As hard as she tried to delude herself into thinking of herself as average or typical, she never had been and she had the emotional scars to prove it from the taunts and teasing she’d received from the other children as she was growing up. She liked to think she appeared, on the outside at least, fairly average now--because being average was much, much better than standing out from the crowd if standing out meant being a target for revulsion, criticism, or amusement.
It would never have occurred to her to consider herself more than passable, however, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Dante saw that made him perceive her as ‘beautiful’.
And how would a machine perceive such a thing anyway?
Trying to wade through her confusion made her head ache even worse than it had been.
“You should locate the pain centers and switch them off until the nanos have mended the organic cells.”
The comment caught Amaryllis by surprise. She was within a hair’s breadth of snapping that she would if she had that ability when she thought better of it. Instead, she merely slipped from the table and bent to gather her uniform up as he stepped back, giving her the signal that he was through with her.
He clasped a hand over hers, stilling her movements. “You are hunter no more and you will not wear that uniform any longer. Come. While you shower, I will find clothing to fit you.”
Amaryllis was instantly torn at the mention of a shower and fresh clothing. However, she’d been in worse condition, on missions, and had to endure it for days. It wouldn’t kill her to wait, and being around this particular cyborg might be the death of her. She needed to put as much distance between herself and the cyborgs as possible, not chum with them. “Actually,” she said when he’d pulled her torn uniform from her fingers and tossed it to the floor, “I’d as soon dress now.”
He caught her arm just above the elbow and tugged, leading her past the other gurneys toward the door they’d entered. “You will not get the chance until tomorrow if you do not go now.”
“Fine. Just give me my uniform back. I’ll wait for the others.”
“You are afraid?”
The question was asked without inflection. Amaryllis thought, perhaps, it was the complete lack of inflection that put her on guard. “Should I be?”
“No.”
Amaryllis ground her teeth. She’d fallen right into that one. She cast around in her mind trying to think of an objection he might heed. He’d bandaged a couple of her more serious wounds, but it seemed doubtful the ship was equipped with anything but particle showers--she hadn’t seen a real, honest to god, wonderfully primitive, water shower since she’d left the colony--which wouldn’t present a problem.
It wouldn’t really have been a problem even if he was talking about a water shower. She had scratches and slightly deeper scratches, only a few cuts had even warranted sealing. She might have suspected his motives for bandaging her at all except that the only thing that came to mind as a possibility was a desire to keep her longer and she couldn’t imagine why he would want to.
“Maybe you’re the one who should be wary,” she said finally, when they’d reached the corridor once more.
He glanced down at her questioningly.
“Iama hunter.”
“I don’t doubt your skills, but you are without weapons.”
“I don’t need them.”
