Chapter 3
Six forty the next morning.
I climbed out of bed with dark circles under my eyes.
After thinking all night, I’d come up with a plan.
I would become the worst housekeeper in the world.
Only then would the octopus give up on me and send me back to shore.
With my mind made up, I explored the lighthouse.
The kitchen was on the second floor.
Calling it a kitchen was generous. It looked more like a laboratory.
The refrigerator was full of all sorts of random things.
Glowing fish eyeballs, translucent shrimp shells, an assortment of old canned-food containers with dates printed underneath—even a bottle of ketchup from several hundred years ago.
I unscrewed a sealed jar. Inside was a lump of gray-green jelly.
“No stealing food.”
The octopus’s voice came from the corridor.
I had no words.
Who would want to steal this stuff?
The octopus settled beside the dining table.
Two arms rested on the edge, two turned the pages of a newspaper, one adjusted the radio dial, and the rest lay elegantly across the floor.
“I want oatmeal. Medium.”
“Of course.”
I turned on the cooker.
Into it went a bag of oatmeal gel that had expired three hundred years ago.
The gel looked a lot like real oatmeal. It expanded when heated and was coated in an edible film.
I glanced at the octopus.
It was listening to the world news on the radio, paying me no attention at all.
So I opened a jar of black paste and scooped out three heaping spoonfuls.
“Extra-Hot Sea Urchin Extract.”
I added it to the oatmeal gel and mixed it thoroughly.
Five minutes later, I set a steaming bowl of the mixture in front of the octopus.
It looked at the bowl, then at me.
After a moment, it leisurely curled an arm around a lump and brought it to my mouth.
“Here. Eat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Octopus, but I’m not hungry… mmph!”
Before I could dodge, it deftly flicked open my mask’s feeding valve.
The lump of oatmeal went straight into my mouth.
It felt as if someone had stuffed an entire volcano into my stomach.
I clutched my throat, tears pouring down my face.
The octopus sat across from me and gracefully switched on the radio.
“Today’s world headlines…”
“The Mars Tourism Bureau has announced the official launch of its autumn travel packages…”
My eyes were red from crying when I suddenly heard Mom’s voice.
“Sansan, go look after your brother and sister.”
I wiped away my tears and looked up.
But there was only the octopus and me in the dining room. No other human.
Then I heard my eldest sister.
“You little brat, I’m only borrowing your bracelet. It’s not as if I won’t give it back.”
My little brother:
“Sansan, play Interstellar Monopoly with me, or I’ll tell on you!”
Dad:
“Sansan, be sensible. You’re our best-behaved child.”
Slowly, my gaze settled on the octopus.
It was watching me, its smile growing wider.
Damn it!
It could imitate people—and read their memories!
I rushed over and grabbed one of its arms.
“Stop reading my memories! Those are private!”
The octopus didn’t pull away.
It spoke with maddening leisure.
“I paid fifty million for your contract.”
“That makes your memories shared assets too.”
“A pity, though. An unloved human has nothing but miserable memories.”
I was too angry to speak.
It flicked its arm and flung me back onto the floor.
A toolbox slid toward me.
“Now go outside and clean the windows.”
I looked at the pitch-black sea beyond the glass.
There seemed to be huge creatures swimming through it.
“Can I not go?”
“Certainly.”
The octopus got up and left.
Just as I was about to sigh with relief, it added:
“In that case, I’ll throw your survival gel into the seabed dump.”