She recognized none of them, but Sylla located her breakfast: two squishy fruits that tasted like well-ripened peaches.
More complex ingredients were available in the kitchen, which Sylla explained had to be harvested and processed, then carried to the tree house for storage.
They included a brown variety of flour, dry herbs, golden honey so similar to Earth’s she just knew they had somehow stolen bees from her planet, and various syrups.
Rae asked about how they were harvested, and it turned out the Skorvag had whole nurseries of specialized plants and microbial organisms that produced several of the ingredients. The Ythirians merely had to gather it from the techno-organic factories.
The economy of Ythir had nothing to do with production, she realized. The Skorvag provided endlessly malleable clothes and limitless food—she suspected it also gave them shelter.
The only thing she’d seen the Ythirians strive for so far was meat and mates, and it bothered her that those two things might be in similar boxes for Garr.
Her breakfast of fruit made Rae miss more processed foods. She wanted pasta, warm bread, sweets, or maybe just yogurt with some granola on top.
Life in the tree house seemed effortless. She could have worried about laundry, but Sylla had it covered—and so Rae spent her afternoon figuring out the strange appliances, wondering if she could get away with taking one apart.
The kitchen’s layout was similar to one from Earth—it even had smooth, marble countertops and a massive kitchen island. Beneath the island were various compartments with racks and squama heating plates.
Ovens, she realized. There was also something similar to a range top in the corner: it had squama plates for heating pots and a long, ventilated charcoal pit that could have roasted a prize pig.
There were knives, plates, and eating utensils. Cookware was metal, but glazed in something shiny blue instead of Teflon.
Nearly all the pots and pans hung from an overhead rack made by a lattice of branches crisscrossing along the ceiling. The organization was methodical, the work of someone with a mind for efficiency.
The tree house possessed seven levels. There were chambers for lounging, bedrooms, storage, and half a level was dedicated to butchering game on a massive wooden block, or dangling from a hoist, then refrigerating them in an adjacent room that was, at present, empty.
The sterile feel of these chambers made her shiver, but she reminded herself both of Ythirian hunting culture and her own father’s love of deer hunting.
Still, staring at the spears and huge knives along one wall made her shiver, recalling Garr and how he’d hacked that monster to ribbons right in front of her.
The top-most level was an observation deck and by far her favorite room. It wasn’t partitioned like the others—a circular chamber with clear glass walls and roof, filled with flowers and plants seemingly chosen for beauty instead of functionality. As with the kitchen below, she wondered who had organized and decorated it.
Up here, Rae could see the planet’s rings, which through the clouds and atmosphere had taken on an almost purple glow today, more visible on the far horizon away from the sun’s glare.
When the sun went down, she could spend time drawing the constellations and take them home with her, perhaps identifying where in the galaxy Ythir was. Such knowledge might come in handy for the human race someday if they wanted to know which galactic real estate to avoid.
Peering across the meadowland at the waterfall, she examined it. The water broke at the top, transforming it into three streams that rolled off the same precipice, one from the front and two more from either side.
Watching it a while, she became lost in the sublime sound and sight of the misty water. A tingle of frisson charged up her spine, putting all her fine hairs on end—perhaps a little stronger than frisson, too, accompanied by an urge to get closer to the falls.
An odd feeling, but it was an odd world.
***
Garr arrived late in the day and dressed his game downstairs. Rae’s father had once made her help him clean a deer, and she had no desire to repeat the experience. She liked her steaks brought in clear plastic wrapping, not furry on the outside.
Fortunately, her “date” brought a shiny, red rump roast upstairs—one that looked like it came from a medium-large dinosaur.
“So.” Rae hopped onto the stone countertop of the island, in a spot where there were no hanging pots or pans to bump her head. “The alpha hunter brings home food and, what, I cook it? How does this work?”
Garr blinked at her, confused. He removed a roasting pan and thumped the meat into it, carefully cleaning his hands in the sink before approaching.
His advance made Rae want to shrink back, but the scorching look in his eyes locked her body up, a rollercoaster thrill of terror building in the pit of her stomach.