Page 8 of Dustwalker
CHAPTER THREE
The woman’s skirts swept around her legs as she spun with a grace Ronin doubted he could replicate. Her entire body moved as one, though the individual parts belied each other’s motions. It was a contradiction—subtle but powerful, wild and yet restrained.
He’d seen humans dance in other settlements, but he’d never seen anyone move the way she was now.
Though incomplete, his memory retained a surprising amount of information on humans, including anatomical details of the tissue and skeletons that enabled their movement. He also understood basic physics, and knew how those natural, unseen forces should’ve affected her body as it moved.
But none of his knowledge explained how she was capable of such unpredictable, mesmerizing motion.
This woman presented a new mystery, a new puzzle—human grace. Her dance lacked precision, but it was made up for by a raw, powerful quality Ronin could not adequately define.
He studied her face as she turned again. Her features were delicate and…pleasing. Thin, dark red eyebrows curved above closed eyes with thick, dark lashes. Her nose was straight with a slight upturn, and her lips, curled down in a frown, were defined and pink. Long, loose strands of her red hair brushed her freckled-dusted cheeks and shoulders.
A quiver of her lower lip coincided with a break in her humming. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before resuming her dance.
Ronin stepped closer to the door, leaning in until he was nearly touching it. The wind picked up, and harsh clanking interrupted the chime’s tinkling as several of its pieces hit the shack’s wall.
The woman froze, her pale blue eyes snapping open and locking on Ronin.
They stared at each other for six seconds before she finally spoke. “Who are you?”
Placing a hand on the edge of the door, Ronin slid it aside and lifted a foot across the threshold.
Her eyes flicked to his fingers and widened. She leapt back with a gasp, reaching behind herself with a fumbling hand, and picked up a steel bar. “Get out!”
He paused with his booted foot hanging in the air and cocked his head. “You asked who I am.”
“I know what you are.” She raised her weapon in both hands, knuckles white. “You’re a bot. Get out!”
“Haven’t come in yet.”
“You’re not welcome here, bolt bucket.”
Possibilities spiraled through his CPU, attributed with arbitrary probabilities as they passed. A bot could guess what a human might do, but it was impossible to reach a definitive answer. Regardless, she would only manage a single swing if she attacked, and he would stop it before it could do any damage. She wasn’t a threat to him.
“You asked whoI am, not what,” Ronin said.
“I don’t care whoyou are.”
“Then why bother asking at all?”
Her feet were planted wide apart, her stance defensive. A tremor ran through her arms as she adjusted her grip on the improvised weapon. “Because I thought you were human.”
Pink blossomed on her cheeks, and she broke eye contact for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line. Her weapon sagged. Fear, fatigue, or resignation?
Ronin withdrew his foot and lowered it to the ground. “Would you dance again?”
When she looked up at him, she lowered her eyebrows. “You’re shitting me, right? No. If you want dancing, go to Kitty’s. I don’t fucking do that anymore.”
Kitty’s. He knew of it, but he’d never gone inside. Had he missed an opportunity to see something intriguing every time he passed through the market?
He cocked his head. “I just saw you dancing. I’m willing to trade.”
“I don’t dance for bots anymore.” She raised the bar again and took a step forward, seemingly ready to swing. “And you have no damned right to spy on me!”
Ronin didn’t move. “You left the door open.”
“That isnotan invitation.”
