The naked man, washed up from the sea, watched Misaki from a crouch on the snow-covered shore. In the gray light of early evening, she thought he looked like Michelangelo’s David, carved from obsidian.
Misaki’s breath steamed from her hike down the rocky shore to the harbor. Beside her, her dog growled.
The man’s breath didn’t frost in the air. His naked black limbs didn’t tremble in the cold wind off the sea. Misaki’s hope of companionship withered.
And Man created android in his own image.
Behind him in the harbor, seawater surged over drowned piers. The derelict remains of the island’s defense platform were no more than a breakwater now. Waves crashed against the slagged framework, revealing no hint of its iceberg-like bulk in the depths.
“Calm, Akira,” whispered Misaki, her gloved hand trembling on the dog’s back. She felt the rumble of Akira’s growl, but wind and surf snatched away the sound.
The android’s eyes held hers. She bowed, a useless gesture. How had he gotten here? The only boats were her yellow kayak, dragged up on the harbor shore, and storm-smashed boats on the rocks behind her. She couldn’t outrun him.
Her dog slipped free, advancing toward him, fangs bared.
“Akira!”
She caught up, pulled off her glove, and grabbed a handful of dark fur. She forced Akira to sit, kneeling beside him in the snow.
The android was only a few arms lengths away. His head tilted slightly, studying the dog, not Misaki. Above high cheekbones, the android’s eyes had internal facets like liquid origami. Snowflakes danced over his dark skin without melting. The skin had no cuts, no bruises, no abrasions of any kind. Misaki’s long hair was going prematurely gray, and she had more scars than she could count. Most were from the past two years, since the Singularity had left her alone on the island.
“Sorry for my dog,” she said. Even as she said it, she realized how futile that was. He had as much in common with her as a submarine had with a shrimp. And was just as dangerous.
“Dog,” he repeated, mimicking her voice exactly.
She shuddered, remembering deceptions during the war. “Yes, this island is our home.”
Maybe he came from the west and only knew Russian. No, he must be networked, fluent in every language. And he certainly wasn’t here by accident. She had a good idea why: the island’s lighthouse. That didn’t bode well.
“Why are you here?” She kneaded her hand in the nape of Akira’s neck, trying to calm him and herself.
The android turned his attention back to her.
Instantly she regretted speaking. He was handsome and powerfully built, a foot taller than her. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry.
She stood, pulling Akira back, fighting the instinct to run.
He stood as well.
“We won’t bother you,” she said, trying to sound calm.
“You,” he echoed.
An accusation or a question?
“Misaki. And my dog, Akira.” She wondered if he’d been damaged by the recent storm. Could he be offline? A disconnected fragment of the AI hive mind?
She retreated up the shore, head turned to watch him. Her pulse raced as she dragged Akira by the scruff of his neck.
The android followed like a wolf stalking stragglers of a herd. Akira’s head was turned like Misaka’s, growling. Misaki breathed shallow and fast. She fervently wished she hadn’t come down to the shore. But it had been over two years since the Singularity. She’d grown complacent. What could she do now? It wasn’t safe to lead him to her cottage, but was anyplace safe? She couldn’t outrun him, couldn’t hide. Her only hope was that he’d think she was like the birds on the shore: harmless wildlife. She tried not to think about the weapon in the lighthouse, afraid her body language would give her away. The weapon was as likely to get her killed as save her. She’d be like a garter snake attacking a mongoose.
She walked up the shore stooped over, afraid to release her grip on Akira to put her glove back on. The wind was cold on the back of her hand, in contrast to her fingers warm in his long fur. She sang to him, voice threatening to crack. She didn’t dare let go, or the fool dog would get himself killed. The path rose toward her cottage overlooking the harbor.
She’d moved in after the last refugee boats had left and the island was abandoned. At the time she’d been too sick to leave. Afterwards she’d been alone until she found two other left-behinds: Akira and a starving cat, Mao.
And now the android.
She glanced behind. He still followed but wasn’t looking at her. His focus was on the houses up the hill. Most were storm-damaged. After two years, hers was the only one in good shape. She’d replaced windows blown out by storms, cannibalizing other houses. It was a good cottage. It was her cottage. She cursed the android, working swear words into the song she sang Akira.
When she reached the door to her cottage, she unlatched it, pushing Akira inside. She considered darting in after him and locking the door. Pointless. The android could rip it off its hinges as easily as she could close it.
She stepped inside. He followed, and she shivered at the danger of this naked man in her refuge.
The cottage was a single level: one main room, two smaller ones and a bathroom. She had running water from a gravity tank and a system of pipes she’d built. There was a fire pit in the center of the main room, with a wide-flanged stove pipe suspended above.
Mao came over, purring against her leg. Unlike Akira, he didn’t recognize the android as a threat.
“Mao,” she explained. “My cat.”
“My cat,” said the android in her voice.
She could lead him out now, leaving Akira and Mao here. Lure the android to the lighthouse where the weapon was. Destroy him. But if he defeated her, what would happen to Akira and Mao? She wasn’t brave enough. Here, she had the comfort of her companions. Perhaps the android would lose interest and leave.
Mao, still rubbing against her, meowed.
“Are we starving, poor thing?” Her voice shook. She rubbed under the cat’s chin.
She glanced at the android. Behind him, the windows looked out on the harbor. The light had faded enough that she could just make out the beam from the lighthouse sweeping out to sea.
Akira settled onto his bed by the fire pit, watching warily.
“I make a fire every night,” Misaki said to the android. She wondered if he understood anything. Was talking to it good or bad? “I found a wood stove in another house but couldn’t loosen the bolts to take it. An open fire isn’t very efficient. You know all about that, don’t you? Efficiency.”
She watched his handsome face and those liquid origami eyes that she couldn’t read, wishing he were human: kind and gentle. Not a killing machine. She turned away, kneeling by the fire pit. Her shoulders tensed, knowing he was behind her. She brushed the old ashes aside and picked up her knife and a stick, whittling a pile of wood shavings.