“Oscil is primarily housed on the satellite, near the moon of Inium, but I have backup facilities in several locations throughout Ethar. They can all run simultaneously or autonomously.”
I don’t pretend to know how this all works, but the fact that he does makes me shiver at his extreme intelligence. The chill causes me to look down at myself. I have only a sheet wrapped around me. It has slipped low, but it isn’t indecent. “Do you have something that I can wear?” I ask.
Kyon is busy making a selection from the menu in front of him. When he finishes, he waves his hand in a dismissive gesture and the hologram evaporates into the air. His eyes skim over me slowly, lingering on my breasts in a way that makes me pull the sheet closer. “You don’t have to wear anything. We’re alone here.”
I don’t know what’s more frightening: the fact that we’re alone here or the fact that he might make me walk around naked. “I’m not really a clothing-optional kind of girl.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Do you have clothes for me or not?” I ask with forced calm.
“I do. Everything you need is in your dressing room.” He looks past me to the set of white doors on the far wall opposite the ocean. I slide over to that side of the mattress. When my feet touch the floor, I hold the sheet to me and walk in that direction. I’m halted by a firm tug on the tail of my sheet. Looking over my shoulder, I glare at Kyon, seeing him wrap the end of my sheet around his hand.
“You didn’t ask me what you should wear,” he says in a stern tone.
My eyes narrow at him. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need your help dressing myself.”
He looks me over from head to toe again. “You’re tiny.”
I’m irritated by that comment. “Whatever.” I turn back around and try to take another step, but Kyon doesn’t let go of the sheet. I exhale a breath and pivot to face him. The sheet twists awkwardly around me. I glare at him. Kyon’s eyebrows pull together as his expression turns malignant. He jerks the sheet. I try to hold my ground but I end up being reeled back to his side.
Nose to nose with me, he growls, “Tell Oscil that you want to select garment number three thirty-three.”
His warm breath is on my cheek as I stare into his chilly eyes. “Where I come from,” I say slowly, so that my voice won’t quiver, “that number means half evil.”
His lips twitch, and then curl into a genuine smile. “On you, it’ll be the same thing.” He lets go of the sheet. I inch back from him. My sweaty palms clutch the soft material as I retreat. He watches me go, his expression unreadable. When my feet touch the floor again, I take a few backward steps away from the psycho freak. Gaining some distance, I turn from him and hurry to the dressing room.
Opening the doors, I find a large round room that can probably fit twenty people or more. High, round windows look out over sea-grass-covered sand dunes. An elaborate driftwood chandelier hangs in the center of the room, glowing brilliantly. I close the doors behind me and slump against them, letting out a deep exhale.
It takes a few seconds for me to pull myself together, but once I do I rush over to the windows, looking for an exit. My chin is flush with the bottom of the sill. Outside there are stone paths through the dunes. Benches line the paths and in the distance copses of tropical trees sway in the breeze. But that’s it. I see no other living creatures about and no mode of transportation. I didn’t really expect to though. Kyon was telling the truth when he said we’re alone here—wherever here is.
I turn around and look at the room. There’s a chaise lounge and several elegant, high-backed chairs covered in sea-foam-colored silk. There aren’t any clothes in sight. “What am I supposed to wear?” I ask in frustration. I think for a second. “Oscil.”
“Requirement?”
“I need to dress for the rotation.”
“Please step into the channel and make a selection,” a fem-bot voice says. In the middle of the room, a dark cylindrical enclosure rises from the floor. I eye it warily. Approaching it, I take a deep breath and enter the shadowy area through its open panel. “Please make a selection,” the voice restates. The panel closes, shutting me inside.
“Three thirty-three?”
A blue light descends from the top of the cylinder, scanning my body. When it drops into the floor, four steely, sharp scissor blades lift up out of round holes that open up in the floor. The blades spin around on steel robotic arms, whirling in helicopter-rotor swipes. I clutch and scratch the walls of the tube, clawing to get out, as the machine sheers the sheet from my body. The pieces of material fall to the ground. The fibers shred and are inhaled into lung-shaped holes in the floor by my feet. I bang on the tube, looking for a way out. “Stop!” I cry. “Stop! Halt! Cease! Shut the hell off!” Nothing happens. The machine keeps cutting and shredding. It has the same attitude as its creator.
When the scissors reach the top of my head, the blades retract into the arms of the machine. I pant and gasp as I try to calm myself. Next, aerosol cans emerge on the ends of the robotic arms. “Lift arms . . . lift arms . . . lift arms,” the fem-bot voice chants.
“Stop, you piece of junk!”
“Lift arms . . . Lift arms . . . Lift arms . . .”
Tentatively, I raise my hands a little. The voice continues to chant, “Lift arms . . . lift arms . . .” I keep raising them until they’re over my head.
The aerosol cans whirl around me, spraying every area on my body except my head. All my unwanted body hair disappears in an instant.
When the robotic arms reach the floor, the aerosol cans retract inside the automated arms. In their place, long slender knitting needles emerge on the ends of two of the arms while smaller needles present themselves on the other two. Threads spool out between the needles, weaving and sewing golden fabric around me as they rise up from the floor. When the robotic arms reach the top of my head, I’m attired in a flimsy gold-colored two-piece bathing suit. The whirling, deadly-sharp chopstick fingers descend again, this time spinning a web of see-through golden fabric around me. A golden tullelike wrap skirt circles my waist to my toes.
The mechanical arms rise to my head again. As they descend once more, the same shimmery golden fabric is woven around my shoulders and arms. When the arms slip away back into the floor, the dark cylinder surrounding me becomes a reflective mirror. I stare at my image. I’m attired in a golden cover-up with a long train that flows out behind me. Beneath it, a bathing suit is my only other cover.
“Do you require grooming?” the fem-bot voice asks.
“Ur . . . okay?” I murmur with a bit of apprehension.
“Shall I pair your grooming with your attire?” the automated voice inquires.
“Ahh, sure.”
The robotic hands come up from the floor again, but this time they’re not scissors or needles; they’re brushes and combs. In less than a minute, my hair is brushed and swept up in a high ponytail with intricate braids throughout.
After the arms disappear once more into the floor, the voice asks, “Do you require further assistance?”
“No,” I reply. The cylinder drops back down into small slats in the floor, and I’m left again in the middle of the room. My hands slide over the soft material of my outfit. I look down at myself. Golden sandals lie near my feet. I slip them on—a perfect fit.