Page 29 of Mutant Mine

ROTH LEAVESme alone for the rest of the day. Time passes agonizingly slowly. There’s nothing to do in here except stare out of the window.

For a while, I let myself fantasize about seeing a ship out there. What if the Captain managed to send out a distress signal before he died, and the authorities are on their way to rescue us already? My eyes scan the horizon, searching for any hint of man-made metal shining amongst the stars.

I doze, on and off, in my favorite corner under the table, with my back to the wall. The day melts away.

When Roth comes back in the evening, he walks straight through to the kitchen without acknowledging me. I find myself crawling out and following him curiously, at a safe distance. I feel better when he’s in my line of sight; that way, he can’t take me by surprise.

At least he knocked before bursting into the bedroom this time. I also much prefer when he’s not covered in blood.

Irritatingly, he must have known that I would follow him. When I peer around the doorway to the kitchen, I see that Roth has taken two plated meals out of the freezer. Beneath the glass lids, there are slices of roasted meat, a dark red sauce, whole caramelized carrots, and mashed potatoes.

“Will you eat?” he asks, gesturing to the second plate.

I haven’t eaten anything yet today, so my stomach wakesup and starts nodding enthusiastically. But I manage to say:

“No, thank you.”

Roth was far too pleased the last time he saw me eating. It reminds me of the old Greek myth about Persephone being abducted to the underworld. If the Lord of Hades tricks me into eating his food, I’ll have to stay here forever.

I mean, I’ve still got to eat. But I’d rather do it when he isn’t watching me.

To my surprise, Roth doesn’t try to push me. He just puts the second plate back into the freezer. He puts his own into a cabinet-shaped device, which lights up as he opens the door. Once he’s pressed a few buttons, it begins whirring.

It’s disconcerting to see him doing something so domestic. I stay leaned up against the door frame, watching him from just outside the kitchen.

The first time I explored this room, I was too busy hunting for food and deadly weapons to notice much else — but now that I’m focused on it, I know exactly what that clever device is. It will defrost and cook whatever you put in it to perfection: targeting each individual element of the dish with bespoke intensities of microwave energy, reaching down with fine metal implements to stir what needs stirring or turn the meat, and even blasting a focused heat element at the parts which need to be golden and crisp. Once it’s finished, the dish will taste as good as if it were freshly cooked.

“Oh,” I whisper without thinking. “I always wanted to try one of those.”

“The meal?” Roth says. “You are very welcome to—”

“No, not that,” I say, already wishing I hadn’t said anything. “The um… thing. The machine.”

Roth looks puzzled.

“The Countercook? But this is very basic equipment,” he says.

“Not to me,” I shrug. “I grew up without much tech.”

He frowns.

“Your accent is American.”

“Yes…?”

“Where in America would you not have had access to standard technology?”

I bite my lip. Normally, I wouldn’t tell him anything about myself. Everything important is safe inside the bony cradle of my skull.

But Roth has turned the laser focus of his attention on me. I can feel him thinking, processing, his mind whirring almost as audibly as the Countercook. He won’t ask again, but he will keep wondering. Who knows what incorrect conclusions he’ll leap to if I don’t tell him the truth?

Plus, to be honest, the way he was talking earlier pissed me off — with his whole ‘You don’t understand how bad people can be’ shtick. What does he know, to assume that I’ve lived such a privileged life? A bitter little part of me wants to shove some truth in his face.

“I grew up in a place called the Cavalier Estate. It belongs to the Cavalier family. Have you heard of them?”

He thinks for a moment. “Yes. The bankers.”

“Correct.”

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