Chapter 9: Sushi Dish

Steven could smell the ocean before the train had even pulled into the station, and he stepped out to feel the breeze rustle his hair, the sky above his head filled with flocks of circling sea birds. He was right next to the marina, the twin spires that capped off the horseshoe-shaped wall rising high above him, their rows of windows glittering in the evening sun. According to their back and forth, this was where Qimi’s flock was supposed to be meeting him.

He strolled along a dirt path that led to the foot of the wall, just enjoying the scents and sounds, passing into its shadow. At the entrance to the nearest of the two fin-shaped buildings, he spotted a flock milling about, the women flashing their feathers in greeting at his approach.

“Steven!” Qimi chirped, her flockmates crowding around him. They were dressed in the customary attire – loose, breathable tunics and tight bike shorts.

“Sorry, I think I’m a few minutes late,” he replied as he checked his phone.

“No problem,” Nawa said.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Tikol added with a flutter of green.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” Steven continued, unsure of which alien to address. “I feel like I’m going to have visited every restaurant in the city before the week is out.”

“We think you’ll like this one,” Nawa said, the flock leading him inside the lobby of the building. “It’s a little something to remind you of home.”

They boarded an elevator that carried them high towards the tapering top floors of the tower, Steven watching the changing scenery through the holographic displays. He was starting to get used to the sensation now, at least enough to not be sent reeling by the stomach-churning heights anymore. They were soon above the wall itself, Steven seeing the watchtowers that were stationed along its length at intervals fading into the distance as they followed its gentle curve, the docks below shrinking away until the massive oceangoing ships seemed no larger than toys.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Tlaso said when she noticed his expression.

Near the top, the car slid to a stop, the displays fading back to matte walls as Steven and his accompanying flock stepped out. He found himself in a carpeted hallway, and after a short walk, they made their way through an automatic door and into a larger space. It was another themed restaurant, but instead of faux wood paneling, this one was filled with large fish tanks and ocean-themed murals. Towards the back wall was a massive window lined with booths that looked out over the marina, the blue sky meeting the azure ocean far on the horizon.

They were greeted by a bobbing male, his ornate clothing matching the blue and green hues of the décor, his vibrant feathers erupting into a greeting as he tilted his head in a bow. The motion made the little sapphire that dangled from a silver chain on his forehead swing back and forth.

“Welcome,” he began, speaking English for Steven’s benefit. “An Earth’nay visitor! I hope that our dishes will impress.”

“I’m sure they will!” Steven replied, unsure of what he should be expecting. Was he about to sample some Valbaran interpretation of a cheeseburger or a taco?

The male guided them over to one of the booths, the flock taking a seat around the low table, Steven crossing his legs as he sat on the cushions. Just like with Ipal’s flock, the sight seemed to amuse them, the women sharing flashes of yellow. He took a few moments to admire his surroundings, watching alien fish swim around in a large aquarium that spanned from floor to ceiling, their colorful scales catching the light. To his right was the window, the docks now some three hundred meters below him, the ocean waves dotted with little white boats and verdant islands. They must be on one of the highest floors.

The male pressed a hand against the surface of the table, a holographic menu appearing to hover above it, and then he left with a bow.

“Have you guessed what we’re having yet?” Kema asked, waiting for his reply eagerly.

“Some kind of seafood?” he asked.

“It’s sushi!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Sushi!” Steven replied, raising his eyebrows. “Great, I love sushi!”

He didn’t have the heart to tell them that he had never eaten sushi before, and that fresh fish was a rarity on Ganymede. They seemed so excited about it.

“I told you he’d love it,” Qimi said, giving Tikol a nudge. “It feels like ages since we caught up, Steven. The last we heard from you, you were bringing shopping carts onto trains.”

That comment got some flushes of yellow and green from her giggling flockmates.

“How have you been finding things on Val’ba’ra?” Tlaso pressed as she leaned closer across the table.

“Things have been going great,” he replied, leaning back into the padded cushions. “There’s all the fresh air I can breathe, all the water I can drink, and I’m spoiled for choice when it comes to food. I’ve been learning to cook Valbara’nay dishes – I made salted fish, gue’tra steak, and one of my coworkers taught me how to make snack bars. I do need to find an apron that actually fits me, though.”

That got another round of chuckling from the aliens, a few of them sharing pink flutters.

“How’s work?” Nawa asked. “I remember you being a little unsure about it.”

“Everyone there has been really nice to me, for the most part,” he continued. “There’s some cultural friction, as is to be expected when you try to adapt to a totally alien society, but I’ve been having a great time. I’m working as a clerk for a team of programmers.”

“A secretary boy?” Qimi mused, looking him up and down. “That explains the nice suit.”

“I came straight from work,” he said apologetically, reaching up to loosen his tie a little. “I didn’t have time to change into something more casual.”

“Nah, you look good,” she added as she rested her jaw on her hands. “I hope they’re not working you too hard.”

“Not at all,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “All I’ve really been doing is answering emails and fetching drinks. It’s a hell of a lot easier than breaking ice in hard vacuum for ten hours a day.”

“I can imagine,” she tittered.

“Oh, please feel free to order for me,” he added with a gesture to the rotating hologram. “I still can’t read any Valbara’nay, I’m embarrassed to say.”

“It’s a complicated language,” Kema chimed, seeming to find the admission more endearing than embarrassing. “I’d ask if you had any favorite dishes, but I think they’re only using native fish.”

“I can’t imagine them shipping salmon from Earth,” he said with a nod.

It wasn’t long before the waiter returned with their order, setting down a large platter on their table that looked almost too large for the little guy to carry. It was piled high with smaller square dishes filled with various cuts of raw fish, but the centerpiece was a crude replica of one of the boats that Steven had seen in the docks, complete with a little clear stand that lifted it off the table as though it was skimming along the surface of the ocean. Its decks were loaded up with an arrangement of sushi, the slices of fish draped over cubes of sweet rice, others wrapped in seaweed and bundled with vegetables.

The flock seemed delighted by his reaction, their feathers flaring as he played his wide eyes across the display.

“Please let us know if our interpretation of Earth’nay cuisine is accurate,” the male said, addressing Steven. “Our flock of chefs has done their best to approximate the flavors and styles with fresh, local ingredients.”

“It looks wonderful,” Steven replied, the male giving him an appreciative flutter of green before disappearing again.

“What shall we try first?” Nawa mused as she examined the spread of food.

“I think Steven should have the first pick,” Kema added, the flock turning their heads to watch him expectantly.

“Alright,” he said, examining his cutlery. He was amused to see that the waiter had given him a pair of wooden chopsticks, and he cracked them apart, the flock observing curiously as he manipulated them in his fingers.

“Is that Earth’nay cutlery?” Tikol asked.

“Chopsticks,” he explained, showing them how he pinched the two sticks together. “Earth’nay have several different kinds of cutlery, but this one happens to be familiar to me. My ancestors hailed from a region where these were common, and they still see a lot of use on Ganymede today. Though sushi is more of a Japanese dish, and my ancestors were Chinese. Doesn’t really matter.”

He reached out and plucked one of the little seaweed wraps from the bridge of the ship, hearing it crunch between the chopsticks as he brought it closer for examination. There was a piece of pink meat and a blob of what looked like rice encased inside. He brought it to his mouth, giving it a tentative chew, the flock watching as his eyes lit up. The rice – or whatever the Valbaran equivalent was – was sweet and sticky, while the fish had a fresh ocean flavor, pleasantly cool against his tongue. The seaweed had that familiar umami taste, the crunch providing some pleasant texture.

“Damn!” he mumbled before he’d even had a chance to swallow. “That really is good!”

Exchanging flashes of pleased green, the flock began to dig in too, selecting their own morsels of fish from the boat. Joseph had been right – they really had taken a liking to sushi, and Kalahar was the perfect place for it due to its proximity to the ocean.

They chatted as they ate, sharing pieces of sushi along with stories about their experiences in Kalahar. It turned out that the flock had traveled from another city to work for a firm that designed spacecraft engines for the growing Valbaran fleet. They were very amused to learn about how he perceived the city and his interpretation of Valbaran culture, quizzing him about all of the seemingly mundane things that he had seen.

“No way,” Tikol giggled. “You were that afraid of the elevator?”

“I don’t know if afraid is really the right word,” he muttered, popping another piece of fish into his mouth and chewing for a moment. “I was ... startled, in a very masculine sense.”

She gave him a flash of yellow as the flock laughed.

“You have such a unique outlook,” Qimi added, reaching for the model boat with her chopsticks. The Valbarans had been given alien cutlery, but after calling over the waiter, they had been brought five more sets of chopsticks. Ever the fast learners, it hadn’t taken more than a few minutes of instruction for the flock to master them, and they were now eating sushi like pros. “You think about all these little things that we take for granted every day, like using a biometric ID to pay for things, buying groceries, or bathing in pools.”

“It never even occurred to me that Earth’nay would have trouble navigating vertical environments,” Tlaso added. “These are all valuable insights. One day, we might have some Earth’nay coworkers ourselves, and it will be our job to make sure they have a comfortable workplace.”

“What do you do about injuries?” Steven mused. “Say a Valbara’nay sprains her ankle or breaks a leg – how are they expected to navigate an environment like my office? They can’t jump or climb.”

“They wouldn’t be,” Kema replied. “They would remain in the infirmary or rest at home until they had recovered enough to work again.”

“We clearly come from very different backgrounds,” Steven chuckled, selecting another piece of pink fish and crunchy seaweed from the deck of the boat. “I messed up my shoulder working in the quarry one time – pulled a muscle pretty badly. The company doctor gave me a painkiller and sent me straight back out. You don’t work on Ganymede, you don’t eat.”

“That sounds terrible!” Nawa said with a flutter of dismayed blue.

“Eh, it healed up eventually,” he replied with a shrug. “I suppose the same is true for disability? What do you do about that?”

“We use genetic screening to predict and mitigate any potential congenital defects that might arise,” Kema explained, pausing to juggle a piece of sushi in her long jaws. “Though rare, injury and illness can still result in permanent disability. In those cases, the person almost always has a flock to help care for them, and they usually receive a stipend to help cover their expenses.”

“Earth’nay technology has been doing wonders in that regard,” Qimi added, waving her chopsticks. “Our doctors and scientists have been working together to adapt prosthetic limbs and organs to Val’ba’ra’nay physiology. A person can lose a leg or an eye now, or have a major organ fail due to illness, and it can simply be replaced.”

“They say that the Jarilo’nay can even clone organs and cure radiation sickness,” Tikol added. “The Coalition has brought a whole new era of medicine.”

“We’ll probably live to be two hundred rotations old,” Nawa chuckled.

“I hadn’t heard that about the Jarilans,” Steven said, dipping a piece of fish and sweet rice into a salty dipping sauce. “You can get cloned organs in wealthier places like Earth, Mars, or Franklin, but it’ll cost more than most people earn in their lifetime. Even where there’s good public healthcare, it’s still more cost-effective to print a prosthetic.”

“Not on Ganymede, I’m assuming?” Qimi asked.

“We clone plenty of meat to make shitty hotdogs, but not organs,” he replied. “Industrial accidents aren’t all that uncommon, and I have seen people with prosthetics, but they’re usually very utilitarian models that restore just enough functionality to get someone back on the line.”

“It’s no wonder you were so eager to leave,” Kema sighed with a flush of purple. “The way you describe it, it sounds terrible.”

“Nah, I’m just telling you all the bad stories,” Steven said as he leaned back into the cushions and gazed out at the ocean beyond the window. “I went out on the ice thousands of times, and never once did Jupiter fail to take my breath away. I’d gaze up at it whenever I took a break from work, just watching all those swirling clouds of gas and planet-sized storms race around its equator. There’s crime and poverty, sure, but hardship also brings people together. You learn to watch out for each other, and when times are tough, there’s usually someone close by who’s willing to share what little they have. A can of spam here, a fresh air filter there, a reel of patch tape. I haven’t told you all the stories about a whole shift drinking together and sharing a hotpot, or my buddy Feng trying to prove that he could throw a baseball into orbit. Nobody ever saw where it came down, but he insisted that meant it was in space. I think he was bullshitting.”

“Do you miss it?” Tlaso asked with a flutter of blue.

“Not yet,” he replied with a shrug. “In time, I think I’ll forget a lot of the bad, and the good will be half-remembered and all wrapped up in nostalgia. Then I’ll miss it.”