Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Why?” She clutches her bag tightly to her chest.
I tilt my head at the sun overhead. “Kind of warm. Plus, that’s a nice dress. Probably want to save it for travel and wear something a little cooler and more comfortable around the house.”
Her stiff body relaxes after a moment. “Very well.”
When she looks at me expectantly, I can’t help but notice that her eyes seem so…dead. It’s strange. I get all flustered and break eye contact, limping forward. “Let me show you the bedroom.” She might be sleeping there alone tonight, because as much as I like her voice, I’m not sure I can get past those strange blank eyes.
I show her inside and she barely looks around before moving into the bedroom. She frowns a little at the realization that there’s no door on the jamb, but since I live alone, I never needed one. Gonna make it hard for her to change, though. “I’ll get you a drink from the kitchen. You like tea?”
“Tea is fine,” she tells me, and her accent stands out even more. She clutches her bag to her chest and watches me until I leave. It’s damn odd.
Actually, all of this is odd, I think to myself as I lope toward the kitchen area of my home. I pause at the end of the short hallway and wonder if I need to talk to her instead. Say something to put her at ease. Get that dead look out of her eyes. If she’s disappointed in her partner and wants to break our marriage contract, I guess it’s better to know about it sooner than later.
I turn and head back down the hall, toward the bedroom. Maybe it’s me being ornery, but I slow my steps until I’m completely silent. I want to surprise her. Not because I want to see her naked—not sure how I feel about that right now—but because seeing a startled look on her face would at least tell me that there’s some sort of spark inside her. I make it to the doorway and pause, because she’s not looking in my direction.
She’s seated with her back to me, and as I watch, she reaches under her skirts and pulls off the tallest shoe I’ve ever seen. Has to be as long as my arm. I can’t imagine how a female walks in something like that, and then I remember her curious, shuffling, over-careful gait at the spaceport. But why wear such large shoes?
She sighs with pleasure, the sound as sweet and enticing as anything I’ve ever heard. Then, she tosses the second shoe aside and rolls her shoulders. I should say something, but I’m too curious about what’s going on. Instead, I watch as she reaches into the cowl neck of her dress and pulls a thick, wedge-shaped thing out of her dress and drops it on the floor as well. Her shoulder now looks half the size of the other.
What is this?
She pulls out the second shoulder pad, sniffs it, and then makes an unpleasant noise of disapproval before casting it aside.
Without the shoulder pads inside her gown, she looks…tiny. Something about this is all wrong, and I realize she’s much, much smaller in stature than any adult mesakkah would be. The elegant dress that fit her perfectly a few moments ago now pools around her.
“Who are you?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting for her to answer.
The woman turns and gasps, and as she does, her face shimmers. She gets to her feet and I realize she’s no taller than the middle of my chest. But that barely registers, because a moment later, she reaches up and removes the hood, and I realize why her face shimmered, and why her expression seemed so curiously dead.
It’s a hologram. The moment she removes her hood, it fades away and reveals her true face. The hair underneath the hood isn’t a dark, rich black. It’s the same golden-brown shade that the crops are when it’s time for harvest. Her face isn’t a becoming shade of blue but a strange beige color. Her features are small and her face is flat, with no brow ridges or horns to break up the contourless texture of it. She lifts her head and stares defiantly at me, as if daring me to ask her a question.
Somehow, I appreciate that defiance. It fills me with relief even as it makes me angry that I’ve been deceived. She’s not dead-eyed. She’s a fake. “What are you?” I ask, changing my question.
“I’m a human,” the female says. “And you can call me Nicola.”
2
NICOLA
I’ve been found out. Of course, I knew I would be. It was just a matter of time before I’d have to confess. But the way it happened has me rattled. I knew he’d be angry. I just hoped…