The Hunt Read Free Page B

loved sunsets like this. She and Charlie used to race each other across the yard, laughing, trying to reach the big oak tree at the edge of their property before the sun disappeared.
    Cassian nudged her out of her memories.
    She blinked back into the present, remembering that everything here was artificial, even the sun. “A safari lodge?”
    â€œYes. The Hunt. It is modeled after early colonial expeditions. Guests come here to experience the thrill of the safari. It provides an exhilarating rush of emotions, I am told.” He gestured toward the bar and lounge areas. “The lodge is where guests wait to depart for an expedition, or to relax after they return. Your job will be to entertain them while they wait.” He pointed to a stage by the bar, where a microphone stood. “Singing. Playing card games. Dancing with them. Whatever they request.”
    The bird sounds came again and she scanned the rafters. “It’s all simulated, right?”
    One of the bartenders, a severe-looking boy with buzzed blond hair, gave her a long, unreadable look, but Cassian didn’t seem to notice as he led her toward the veranda.
    â€œNot entirely. The technology we use here is not the same as in your previous enclosure. There, creating realistic facsimiles that could be immediately altered required a large amount ofcarbon. We reserve our carbon supplies for scientific pursuits, such as researching and observing lesser species. We would never expend such resources on entertainment. That is why everything here is real. Within reason.” He swept aside a curtain, showing her the wide expanse of the savanna. It seemed to stretch for miles, through grassy plains and around a watering hole. “The distance is an illusion, of course. This entire menagerie is, in actuality, not much larger than a single habitat in your previous enclosure.”
    She noticed that the French door’s curtain was frayed at the hem. On closer look, all the parts of the lodge that had appeared luxurious at first glance now looked threadbare. Half the chairs had been hastily repaired. The floor had cracks in it. She glanced back at the buzz-haired bartender. He was pouring a drink for the sole guest in the lodge, a Kindred who hunched stiffly over his barstool. The bartender had an air of refinement about him, but that might have just been his crisp jacket with gold trim, because when she looked closer his haircut was roughly uneven, and the back of his neck was dark with grime. He looked to be about eighteen or nineteen. He had coded marks just like hers on his palms.
    She turned the dress over in her hand. The gold color matched the trim on the boy’s jacket. An image flashed in her head of standing onstage, singing songs like a trained parrot.
    At the end of the bar, one of the giraffe statues coughed, and Cora jumped.
    â€œWait, that giraffe is alive ?”
    â€œYes. The animals are real. We are not only intrigued by humanity; all terrestrial life holds a certain fascination for us. As you are doubtlessly aware, there are no indigenous animals in space.”
    The giraffe was small, probably a juvenile, and it looked sickly. It doubled over and coughed again, dripping thick drool on the Kindred guest’s boot. The Kindred let out a low, guttural sound, and the second bartender, a boy with beautiful dark lashes around watery eyes, hurried over to clean up the mess. Slowly, as though he sensed her watching, the Kindred guest looked at Cora.
    He had a beautiful face, like all of them, but it was twisted somehow, as if the bones beneath had been broken many times and re-formed in a way that reminded her of a tree knot. From his scowl she could tell he was uncloaked, but his eyes were so recessed that they still appeared entirely black.
    A gong sounded from the veranda, and she turned. The sound of a vehicle roared.
    â€œAn expedition is returning,” Cassian explained. “Watch.”
    Car doors slammed amid the