of water for her to drink. Between greedy sips and gasps, she grins.
“I told you to slow down.” I fork through the portion of daging blado on my plate, the spicy, tender braised beef singeing my tongue and setting my taste buds on fire.
“Well I, for one,” says Kimba, “am loving the hell out of this fish. It’s spicy, too, but so good. What’d you call it, Max?”
“It’s sate lilit,” I reply. “Glad you like it. How’s yours, Viv?”
The pretty brunette’s glasses are practically fogged from the heat piled on her plate. “Everything is delicious. Thank you for bringing us here.”
“Best rijsttafel in the city.” I glance around the table, loaded with more than a dozen dishes of meat and vegetables and rice. Lots of rice, which is kind of the point. “You can’t come to Amsterdam and not have rijsttafel.”
“It’s a lot of food,” Lennix murmurs, scooping up rice and sate kambing, the savory goat she agreed to try.
“This is one of my favorite places in the city for it,” I tell them. “We had some in Utrecht, but this one’s better.”
“So you studied climate change there?” Kimba asks, chewing goat meat carefully as if considering whether or not she likes it.
“Climate science is my degree, but climate change is certainly a part of it, yeah.”
“What will you do with it?” Kimba asks.
“Everything,” I answer simply.
Kimba and Vivienne laugh, but Lennix watches me, her eyes and mine locked in recognition. She’s glimpsed my ambition in flashes, in the few things I’ve shared. She knows I won’t be deterred by anything when pursuing my goals.
“I also have a degree in business,” I clarify, answering the questioning looks the other two women give me. “I’m interested in the intersection of clean energy and commerce.”
“In other words,” Lennix drawls, her smile affectionate and cynical, “he wants to make lots of money off the planet.”
We all laugh, but I feel the need to reassure them I’m not some heartless capitalist asshole who would compromise greater good for greater gain. I’m not my father.
“It’s true I want to monetize green energy innovation,” I tell them, sipping the last of my Bir Bintang. “But I also refuse to let this planet go to crap without at least trying to convince people we should stop treating it like a bottomless trash can.”
“That’s why you’re going to Antarctica next week?” Lennix asks.
“There’s a lot to learn there, yeah.”
“Is it dangerous?” Vivienne loads a little more beef and rice onto the small plate in front of her.
“It’s the most remote place on Earth,” I reply wryly. “And basically, an ice-covered desert. Civilization is literally thousands of miles away, and you’re surrounded by icebergs. Not to mention the weather changes faster than you can say blizzard, so yeah. There’s some risk.”
Lennix’s brows knit into a frown over concerned eyes.
“I mean, not that much,” I rush to tell her. “We’ll have some limited phone and internet access for the most part.”
Not always frequent or reliable, but I’ve already made it sound bad enough.
“How long will you be there?” Vivienne asks.
“We fly out next week and will be there until November,” I reply. “So about eight months. One of the major hazards, beyond the weather and unpredictable conditions, is depression. Most of that time, there will be no sun. It’s dark for months in the winter, and a lot of people deal with seasonal affective disorder, some depression.”
“It sounds intense,” Lennix says.
“It can be. We have to adjust to chronic hypobaric hypoxia.”
“Um . . . what?” Kimba asks.
“Sorry,” I say, laughing. “We’ll be living for a long time with a third less oxygen than is available at sea level, but we’ve been training for these conditions. There’s a former Navy SEAL in our group, and I worked with him for weeks and have been maintaining the regimen he suggested.”
“So that’s why you’re so much bigger,” Lennix says. She grimaces a little when her friends giggle and snort. “I mean . . . you’ve just . . . it was four years ago. Just more muscle or whatever.”
Under the table, I slide my hand across her lap and find her hand, a courtship between our fingers. I chuckle and kiss her temple. She shifts to catch my lips, opening to briefly brush my tongue with hers. My unoccupied hand knots into a fist, and I fight the urge to haul her onto my lap.
“Ahem.” Kimba clears her throat and then stretches into an elaborate yawn. “I’m beat. Aren’t you beat, Viv?”
“Huh?” Vivienne