Page 10 of Double Bind

“Yeah. Freaky,” he agreed.

“Do you think he’s an organic being or a robot?” She snuck a peek over her shoulder. He didn’t look like an android.

“Could be a mix of both—like a cyborg—or just an alien. Did you realize we could understand him?”

“The translators are working!” She fingered the tiny hearing aid-type device tucked into her ear canal. They could have gotten subcutaneous translators, but Marshall and John had been opposed to having any device implanted in their bodies, and, influenced by the men’s objections, she and Faith had opted for externals, too.

“And Lucento,” Marshall added.

“You’re right! I didn’t realize.”

The buffet held a multitude of warming trays filled with exotic foods, food being a generous euphemism. Eyeballs stared up from one tray. Pink larvae squirmed in another.Oh stars, they’re alive.I’ll starve to death before I’ll eat that. Or eyeballs.She shuddered.

A four-armed alien server peered at a screen. To her cautious relief, he dished out what appeared to be beef roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. “That’s horniger?”

“Yes, and mashed tuber with savory sauce. Your pay card is coded with your species designation and food compatibility.”

She hoped horniger tasted like beef or pork. Even lamb would be okay. Anything but larvae and eyeballs. The serverdished up and handed over Marshall’s portion. “Get your dessert and drinks at the end of the row.”

After collecting the rest of their meal, they moved into the dining space. None of the tables had space left for four, but a robo was cleaning up a recently vacated table for eight, and they made a beeline for it. As soon as the space was clear, they set their trays down. Amity shrugged out of her coat and placed it on the bench to save a place for Faith, while Marshall did the same for John.

The little bot wheeled away. “It’s reassuring to see a robo—at least Artisan’s Loft has some advanced technology. They should have the cashiering and serving line automated.” She slid onto the bench.

“Then those refugees wouldn’t have jobs.” He sat across from her.

“Good point,” she conceded.

Déjà vu.We’re sharing a meal together again.With a pang, she recalled the intimacy of their one-and-only date. The mess hall was much bigger and more impersonal than the bistro, but the white noise produced by the meld of alien tongues created a bubble of ersatz coziness and privacy. Proximity obviously affected the translators—up close, she understood what people said, but from a distance, she heard an indistinct hum, unable to make out a single word.

She squinted at the long cashier line. No sign of Faith and John yet.Awkward.She squirmed. “Food smells good.”

“It does, but not as good as the lasagna at Bea’s Bistro.”

She’d had such high hopes for that night, but the romance had been an illusion with an ulterior motive.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her head snapped up. “For what?”

His eyes were somber. “For our date. For misleading you. I regret that I couldn’t be honest.”

“I get it.” She lifted her shoulder in a dismissive shrug.Let’s not go there.“You had a job to do, and you weren’t that into me.”

“That’s not it,” he said gruffly. “Iwasattracted to you, but—”

Yeah,but. That told her everything she needed to know. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, trying to discourage further discussion. “You’ve paid penance by marrying me.” She’d lost her appetite but poked at her meal and then took a tentative bite. The horniger tasted a little gamey but basically beef-like. She chewed. Swallowed.

“It’s not a penance.”

Faith, what is taking you so long?Weren’t men supposed to be the ones who hated to talk about relationships?

“I left the cabin rather abruptly.”

You think?“You don’t need to explain.” Hadn’t she been humiliated enough? The date. The pity marriage. She didn’t need to hear how he couldn’t stand her company.

“I left before I had a panic attack. I get claustrophobic.”

“So, marriage to me makes you claustrophobic.”

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