Prisoners of Sol - Derandi Chef (1/7)

Prologue | Next

The text logs stared back at me, unchanging without any cell reception, as I re-witnessed how I’d told Etra goodbye twice. This shelter was near unoccupied, sitting in close proximity to the base’s kitchen. I hadn’t known if I’d ever see her again after it was obvious that the humans had a rapturous response to the banquet, after I’d watched Temura be assaulted by bombs out the ship’s window. Our world had survived thanks to the dimension-hoppers’ protection, which did earn them a higher claim to my sympathies than Larimak. The Vascar were the ones who’d tried to slaughter our planet for disobeying them.

The prince can say we consorted with their enemies all he wants, but all we did was talk to the humans when they extended the invitation.

Sofia and Preston had attempted to console me when my homeworld’s fate was uncertainty, and now, it seemed that their entire dimension teetered on a similar perch. The humans had pledged that they would protect the Derandi, but I didn’t know if they’d have the opportunity to do so. The way Dr. Aguado had spoken—ruefully pronouncing that humanity had been alone and had much to learn—stuck with me. Preston’s cooking metaphor, about their bodies being baked in a different oven, was also clever.

“H-hey.” I glanced at the cowering human civilian, venturing that it might be the kind thing to comfort her, as they’d done with me and Temura. We both had to hide here until a resolution was achieved; Larimak wouldn’t let up his crusade. This universe was all new to these people, and the dimension-hopper with me just seemed frightened for her home. “So a year ago, you didn’t know aliens existed?”

The human looked at me, nervously flashing her teeth. “Hello! That’s right. I’m Chef Kayla; I cook for the base. Space Gate’s gotta eat too. You’re that celebrity chef, aren’t you?”

“Chef Vanare at your service. I’ve learned that humans enjoy burning their tongues with their food, despite having no immunity to our spices. I’m most curious to try your cuisine now; you’re the only other species we’ve encountered that has spicy food!”

Kayla shook her head. “I would tread very carefully if I were you. Everything involving food has been a nightmare over here. There was a prisoner who bit into an ordinary fruit and broke his teeth. I guess our plants have the same buff that…you know.”

“Yeah. I saw.” The memory of Preston punching through concrete with ease made me shudder, though I tried to refocus myself. It was important to keep the human talking, lest either of us dwell on the fact that this base was under attack. “Everything involving food is a nightmare?”

“The madness started the second we tried to port appliances over here. Ovens, stoves, microwaves: all makes far too much heat. Oh, and the refrigerators create enough cold to freeze a polar bear! We had to reinvent the wheel, or the cooking equivalent of it, to get fucking anything coming from Sol not to be overkill. Mikri helped adjust the specifications quickly.”

“Mikri. The Servitor. How do you not find that thing creepy?”

This caused Kayla to fall silent, as if she didn’t want to touch that subject with a ten-foot-pole. I realized to myself that I was beginning to feel comfortable enough to challenge the humans, even though that was tantamount to suicide; crossing a line and angering them shouldn’t have been something I was rushing to do. I could see that they grew displeased any time I used the word Servitor, which suggested a genuine sympathy for those murderous AIs. That led me to believe they weren’t just evil and out for blood.

I want to understand what they were told that made them turn against actual flesh-and-blood, to fight for the scourge of our dimension. They must not know what the Servitors are, and how they view organics.

“Mikri stood in that very kitchen out there,” the human finally spoke. “He printed out a muffin recipe to try to bake some treats for Preston, to cheer the poor guy up after he was rescued from Larimak’s custody. You saw what happened to him, to all of our people captured by that psychopath, didn’t you?” 

I squawked in the affirmative. “I watched the initial broadcast. Preston was in clear distress.”

“The Vascar…the inorganic Vascar hate dealing with organic upkeep. They can’t enjoy food or gain anything from it, but Mikri really tried just to cheer his friend up. He was adorable in an apron. I didn’t see a creepy robot that day. I saw a selfless one that felt so much love, desperate to save a human he cared about from his own mind. By all accounts, he’s done nothing but help.”

“Mikri is assigned to manipulate your astronauts so you’ll give them aid? Perhaps they’ve calculated what heartwarming behaviors would be effective, and used the opportunity to get a fresh infusion of forces.”

“We saw Mikri’s code, Vanare. Have you?”

“Of course not.”

Kayla nodded. “Those androids get a memory wipe any time their attachment value exceeds a set parameter. They feel by weighing how much variables matter to them; I think we do too. Like how I prize my daughter back home above all else. Even me. Mikri was punished for it.”

“I…love my family too. I have two children and an amazing wife, and the latter is probably wondering where I am right now. Wondering what the dimension hoppers are doing to me.”

“We’re trading recipes. The horror. Assuming that’s what you want to do.”

I revealed the kitchen knives under my jacket. “I assume these aren’t going to work on your foods?”

“Not a chance.”

“And your knives are too massive for me to use.” 

“Most likely. It doesn’t mean I couldn’t fix something for you, as long as you’re cool with only dishes that can be eaten through a straw.”

“Long as I can digest that? We survive this and I’m in.”

These aliens seem friendly enough, acting rather…normal. I’m always curious about foreign traditions. Perhaps it could be more than just Derandi recipes taking off over there; the inverse might be worthwhile. That said, what we can eat sounds limited, and we might need to turn the foods into more like…purées.  

Incorporating Sol foods into Derandi dishes already had my brain working, since it felt rather risqué; the idea of nutritional meals that were stronger than we were, and could crack our beaks apart rather than the other way around, put a flavor of danger on my palate. Perhaps I had something in common with the human affinity for spice, regardless of its injurious nature. Kayla and I could start some sort of partnership even, if humanity was sincere in their desire for friendship. The Servitors really were the glaring problem.

“So,” Kayla broke the silence once more, as our waiting for news stretched into painstaking tedium. “What’s it like to fly?”

I chortled with amusement. “What’s it like to walk? No, I suppose it’s good that we can fly, when my head can’t touch the top of a can opener in your kitchen. Everything feels so far off, no matter how many wing flaps away it is. Visually, I mean. The other species don’t understand.”

“You Caelumfolk can’t imagine what it’s like to have a walk around your solar system and have no idea what that means! To be afraid to so much as poke your head out, and then to find that you’re superpowered. Is that why they stopped us from leaving? No one knows, and it’s just killing us. The not knowing is the worst.”

“Maybe there’s some things that can’t be known. The outcome of events: when it happens, it’s all clear as day, but hindsight is funny. They say you can see the future. I think we’re not meant to, and trying to is the cause of a lot of heartache. It was to me with Temura.”

“It causes heartache to worry about losing people you love, but I wouldn't stop myself if I could. If I can’t know the outcome, I want to be doing something. I just…cook food though. Why did they send me out here?”

“So everyone doesn’t starve. That’s important.”

The human snorted. “Yeah, I guess it is. What are you going to do if you get out of here?”

“I’m going back to my family and giving them a nice, long hug. And I’ll never cook for any diplomatic receptions again. TV sets are clearly much safer. What about you, Kayla?”

“Well, after I get done raving about your food—I tried the leftovers—I’ll finish off the message I’m sending back to my daughter too. I feel so far away over here. My choice is set in stone, just from the laws of physics. The divide is so vast, but…she’s years away in Sol travel time, even if I went back to Earth. She’s probably so big now.”

I gawked at the dimension hopper. “That’s a long time! Multiple birthdays in nothingness, just to cross your star system?"

She bobbed her head, a bitter and wistful look on her face. “Yep.”

“Now that I entirely can’t imagine what it’s like. It sounds horrible to require such a massive time investment.”

“But hey. We have super strength. The envy of Caelum, right?”

“If I had to struggle for strength or live contentedly as I am, then perhaps I’m happy being small," I realized. "I know what’s most important to me.”

In spite of myself, I found that I was beginning to feel for the inhospitable dimension that the humans had inhabited; it was a different oven to be baked in, alright, one that sounded rather cruel. I had begun to see the Sol natives as pitiable beings once more, now that it seemed unlikely that they’d pass down a death sentence for me and my people. My hope was that Larimak wouldn’t enact a killing blow on their home, and that I’d have a brighter opportunity to learn about Earthling cuisine.

Next

A/N - Chapter 1! Vanare meets the base’s human chef, as they hide from Larimak’s invasion, and learns how troublesome our foods and appliances are here. He also gains a new perspective on Mikri and the cost of Sol powers, as Kayla is separated from her family and in a similar situation to him worrying about his own. What human foods do you think Vanare should learn about, and would be safe to eat? Will he come to enjoy his time with the dimension hoppers, or will the fall of Sol come and bring darkness?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!