Chapter 18: Eating Out

“We’re not going back to the city?” David asked, noting that the shuttle was heading into shallower water. The lifeless sediment beneath them had given way to sparse corals and sponges, the water growing less gloomy as more sunlight filtered through.

“I thought you might appreciate another meal,” she replied. “I am somewhat hungry myself.”

“Yeah, you usually only eat once per phase,” he mused as he watched a reef slide past through the transparent floor. “Are we going to have another picnic on the beach?”

“Not exactly,” she replied cryptically.

The surface came into view, the perpetual sunset casting its dappled light on the waves above, the corals growing more colorful and abundant. Shoals of vibrant fish darted out of the path of the vehicle as it navigated through the shallows, heading for a prominent building made from the concrete-like material that David had come to expect from structures near the surface. It was nestled amongst the rocks, overgrown with sea life. A large door slid open to let them inside, the shuttle gliding into a docking bay. It was some kind of terminal, with several other bays available for visitors. The shuttle came to a stop, and they stepped out, Selkie leading him through an area with exosuits nestled in charging bays. It reminded him of the garage he had seen previously.

Instead of exiting through another door, they took a transport tube that quickly whisked them out onto the other side of the reef, David’s head on a swivel as he watched the lagoon coast past beyond the glass. They rose above the surf and headed onto the beach, the water that filled the pipe distorting the world around him like a funhouse mirror, giving him glimpses of sand and crooked trees. They were in the forest proper now, surrounded by alien flora with foliage in strange shades of rust brown, adapted to Trappist’s dim spectrum. There were no roads or buildings around that he could see, and even the ever-present planetary ring wasn’t visible through the canted canopy above them. They began to rise, and David realized that they were heading up the steep face of one of the mountains that dominated the island chain. These were no snow-capped peaks, but they were easily a couple of thousand meters above sea level, carpeted in the same ruddy forest.

Further ahead, something rose above the trees, its white facade reflecting the pinks and oranges of the sunset like a beacon. It was a tall tower that culminated in a disk-shaped structure ringed with windows, reminding David of a classical depiction of a flying saucer. It was perched precariously on the mountainside, several more transport tubes terminating at its base.

They exited their pipe at a small tube station inside the building, David pushing off the glass wall to send himself coasting out behind Selkie. The building was filled with water and pressurized, like some kind of reverse diving bell, David pausing to take in his surroundings. He was standing inside a lobby with curving walls, styled in the usual sterile Broker way, a secretary bot greeting them from behind a counter. Selkie scuttled over to the automaton while David headed for a nearby window, his visor bumping against the glass as he looked outside. He could see alien trees and underbrush, but the dense forest and pervasive mist limited the visibility to only a few meters.

“Come,” Selkie said, waving for him to follow her.

He bounded over to the reception desk, his companion leading him to a door on the far side of the round room. The bot turned its head to track them as they passed, watching them with its dark, expressionless eyes.

“What is this place?” David asked, noting a colorful decal next to the door. It resembled some of the designs on the food packets that he had eaten, and as they neared, the translation software in his helmet picked out the stylized Broker text that accompanied it. “Is this a restaurant?”

“Very perceptive,” she replied as she accessed a panel beside the door. She lay her hand flat against it, and it slid open, exposing a familiar shaft that led to the higher floors. “I suppose my mention of food gave it away.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing up the shaft. “I remember you being very opposed to the idea of taking me to eat at a restaurant.”

“I will say only that my priorities may have changed since we had that conversation,” she replied with a smile.

They began to climb, Selkie swimming her way up the shaft effortlessly while David struggled along behind her, bouncing from wall to wall. It wasn’t quite as difficult of a climb as the one to reach her apartment, and they soon emerged onto the top level, another panel sliding aside to let them pass.

The disk-shaped observation deck was split into two distinct sections, three-quarters of which was lined with doors that he guessed led to private booths, because he couldn’t see any of the windows he had glimpsed from outside. Behind the central pillar that they had just emerged from was a kitchen area that took up the remaining quarter. There was a long counter not unlike the one that he had seen in the cafeteria with a couple more robots waiting patiently behind it. That must be where the visitors ordered their food.

He was surprised to see that one of the bots was speaking to a Broker – one of the few civilians who he had come across in the wild. The stranger was receiving an order, the robot handing them a tray piled with familiar food packets and some other containers that David hadn’t seen before. As the Broker turned, they almost dropped their meal, having to bring in their second pair of hands to steady their tray. Their wide eyes darted between David and Selkie for a moment as their skin flushed with alarm, then they hurried to one of the doors, slipping inside with a haste that bordered on fear.

“Wouldn’t be a day out if we didn’t scare at least one person,” David said, giving Selkie a nudge. Her coloration had darkened to a mottled maroon, but she cheered up a little at his touch.

“Restaurants are one of the few public spaces where one is likely to encounter another citizen,” she explained.

“Worth it for the food, I’m assuming?”

“I do not think you will disapprove,” she replied, guiding him over to one of the doors. It opened at her touch, and the pair stepped through into a sectioned-off room. It somewhat resembled the private booth in a space liner’s galley – upscale, but still constrained by the limited floor space. There were netting seats situated around a circular table that occupied the center of the booth, but they were raised unusually high off the deck, putting them maybe a meter above the door. As David lifted his gaze, he saw the shimmering surface of the water, sunlight from a window reflecting off it.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, planting a fist in his palm as the realization dawned on him. “I remember you telling me that some of your restaurants were partially submerged!”

“That is correct,” she said, giving him a warm smile. “You will be able to eat with your helmet off here.”

“Awesome,” he chuckled, watching as Selkie swam up and settled into one of the nets. He followed suit, pushing off the floor and climbing into one of the alien seats. His helmet rose above the water, droplets clinging to his visor, and he struggled to get comfortable opposite his smirking date. The chairs were designed to raise a Broker’s torso from the pool, leaving only Selkie’s lower tentacles still submerged, but David’s weight meant that the netting sagged to put him about level with her.

He popped the seal on his helmet and set it down on the table, then shook out his hair. Only then did he notice the view.

There was a large window to his right that looked out over the forest, their mountainside perch and the height of the observation deck raising them far above the canopy and the carpet of mist. He could see for miles, the red-brown treetops extending into the distance as they spilled into the foothills below, the white fog bleeding between them like swirling smoke. Beyond was the pale band of beach, the white sand almost seeming to shine, giving way to the lapping surf. Everything was cast in the warm glow of the sun as it dipped low over the horizon, its light reflecting off the azure ocean, staining the clouds pink. A pair of planets hung over the vista, the sight never ceasing to instill him with wonder, larger than any full moon seen from Earth. Like a monumental wheel, the planetary ring rose high above them, spanning from horizon to horizon as it faded into the atmospheric haze.

David was left speechless for a few moments, his eyes wide as he took it all in.

“Holy shit,” he finally muttered.

“I thought you might appreciate the view,” Selkie added, watching him with a smirk from across the table.

“People throw the term speechless around, but I really don’t know what to say,” David replied as he tore his eyes away from the window. “Thank you for this – it’s beautiful.”

“Just wait until you taste the food,” she giggled, bringing up a holographic menu that hovered above the table. “This establishment serves meat cooked above water – considered a delicacy to my people. One’s whole palate changes when exposed to air. Well, it changes for us,” she added.

“I’m sure my palate would change underwater, but I’d also drown,” David chuckled.

“The meals can be prepared in any number of novel ways,” she continued, her coloration changing to mirror her mounting excitement. “Roasting is a favorite of mine, grilling, charring over open flames. Even the fuel used can influence the flavor.”

“Are we having a barbecue?” David asked, raising an eyebrow. “This should be interesting.”

“Shall I order for you?” she asked, swiping through the menu with a hand gesture. “Something different from what you have already tasted, perhaps?”

“You seem to know my favorite foods as well as I do, so go ahead,” he replied. “I trust you.”

Beaming, Selkie cycled through the options, David turning to gaze out of the window at the sprawling expanse of misty trees below. It looked like something from a sim, like it wasn’t even real – the way that the sunset framed the two planets too picture-perfect to be believed. What a unique and precious system this was.

He was distracted again as the holographic menu shifted to show a three-dimensional sphere that hovered above the center of the table, like something one might see in the CIC of some Navy carrier. It showed a view of what appeared to be a kitchen. It was all white polymer and stainless steel, the room lined with what could only be rows of Broker appliances and food preparation stations. There was a solitary Broker moving between the different posts, clad in a heavy apron that David immediately recognized from the opera. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was very reminiscent of the one he had seen being worn by the Broker tending the fire pit during the banquet scene.

There was a flash of flame as the chef turned on some kind of burner, using one hand to tweak knobs while two more tossed wood chips into the fire. With practiced speed, the Broker reached for a bin filled with ice, producing a large cut of pale meat that they skewered on a spit. It was like watching a pianist’s fingers dance across the keys, the cook placing the meat over the flames, then closing a lid to seal in the smoke that was starting to billow.

“Is that our chef?” David marveled, leaning a little closer to get a better look.

“Of course,” Selkie chimed. “Part of the experience of eating above water is knowing that your meal was prepared by a traditional dry chef rather than a machine.”

“Dry chef?” David repeated. “Is that what you call cooks who specialize in this kind of thing?”

“Perhaps the translation is not very accurate, but it refers to someone who cooks using flame and other above-water techniques, yes. It is considered an artisanal profession and a protected art form.”

“Interesting,” David mused, watching the chef move to another station and start basting some kind of vegetable. “It’s reassuring to see that there are some jobs in Broker society that haven’t been supplanted by robots.”

“Products produced by hand are often valued more highly than those mass-produced by machines,” Selkie explained. “A drone can cook a meal that is perfect every time and always tastes the same upon each visit, but there is nuance in imperfection, and there is variety in the personal touches that an artisan can bring.”

“Perfection quickly becomes boring,” David said with a nod of understanding. “Variety is the spice of life, as they say.”

“I like that,” Selkie giggled. “Even in more tangible goods, flaws can sometimes be precious. It is what makes an object unique.”

“Is that one of the reasons you value the items in your collection so much? The Krell necklace, the music box, and all that?”

“One of the reasons,” she replied. “I like things that are out of place, unique in their imperfections. The items in my collection all came from alien worlds and were built by hand, often thousands of Mountains ago.”

“You know,” David began, leaning an elbow on the table. “I’m quite imperfect myself, and I’m somewhere I definitely don’t belong.”

“That you are,” she chuckled. “Perhaps I shall make you part of my collection too.”

“Only if I get my own display case,” he added, hearing his companion chatter her beak in amusement.

His eyes turned to the chef, watching the Broker move between the different stations as they juggled tools and appliances. It was like some kind of cartoon representation of a busy cook – the aliens able to multitask in a way that made humans look sluggish and clumsy. He saw some of the same grace and poise that he had noted in Selkie’s dancing.

“Is he cooking everyone’s meals?” David asked.

“Of course,” Selkie replied. “He may have help from drones to perform certain tasks, but the theme of this restaurant is artisanal food preparation.”

“I’d ask why he doesn’t have other Brokers helping him, but I guess he wouldn’t want them muscling in on his personal space. A human restaurant of this size would have maybe half a dozen people working in its kitchen.”

“How do they get anything done with so many people sharing such an enclosed and chaotic space?” Selkie marveled.

“I could ask the opposite,” David replied. “Though, I suppose it’s redundant to ask whether he needs a helping hand. He has four.”

“You are uncharacteristically amusing today, David,” Selkie said as she smiled at him across the table.

“Perhaps I’m in an uncharacteristically good mood,” he replied, leaning back in his net.

“It is because you are relaxed, I think,” Selkie continued. “Your conversations flow more smoothly when you are not under the constant pressure of your work environment, and you seem to be in better humor.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, peering out of the window at the incredible vista. “I’m not used to being treated to romantic dinners.”

“If that is the secret, then I shall have to keep treating you to romantic dinners.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m being a mooch,” he added. “If the Administrator had given me any Broker currency, I’d offer to pay my share. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to see any kind of consultancy fee until after we get Weaver sorted out. I didn’t really come here for the payout.”

“Nonsense, it is my pleasure,” she replied with a dismissive wave of one of her fleshy hands. “Besides, this is how Brokers commonly court. Gifts, dowries, and displays of wealth are all commonplace. If one wishes to entice a mate, they must demonstrate that they possess the means to support their prospective partner.”

“At first, I saw the Brokers as extreme capitalists,” David said as he watched the mist billow through the forest below. “Everything you do seemed profit-motivated to me, but now, I see that it’s more than that. If you’re out of commission for two whole years, possibly multiple times during your lifespans, there must have been a lot of cultural pressure to prepare for that. If you took the average family living in Toronto aside and told them that they’d have to live on their savings for two whole years ... I don’t know that many would have the ability to do that.”

“Our... reproductive method certainly had a part to play in shaping our values,” she replied, her skin mottling a little. “Apologies, I am still not accustomed to speaking about such things in a public place.”

“It’s alright – nobody can overhear us in this booth,” David said with a gesture to the enclosed space. “I didn’t mean to veer into that subject. I’ll switch topics if it’s making you uneasy.”

“N-no, it is fine,” she replied.

“So ... does this mean that we’re officially courting?” he asked with a grin. “I mean – if that’s what Brokers do when they’re dating, and we’re doing it...”

“One might call this a date,” she replied, her mottling giving way to contented pastels.

They were interrupted by a symbol appearing on the hologram, Selkie turning her attention to the door below them. It must signify that their meal was ready.

Rather than a waiter, the door slid open for a drone – a relatively small machine about the size of a basketball that moved via some unseen propulsion method. It coasted up from beneath the water with a tray of food clutched in a pair of flexible, tube-like arms with grasping claws. As it set the tray down on the table, David noted that it was sealed beneath an airtight lid, like some kind of translucent cloche. Like a butler from a period piece, it lifted the bell-shaped cover, the scent of roasted meat wafting into the small pocket of air. His brain hadn’t even had time to process what was being served yet, but his mouth was already watering.

The drone set down a plate of food in front of each of them along with a strange piece of cutlery, then vanished beneath the water from whence it had come, barely disturbing the surface.

David took a moment to admire the spread, seeing something that looked like a generous piece of roasted turkey breast that had been cut into slices, the skin made crisp and golden by some kind of glaze. It was nestled in a bed of unidentifiable vegetables, their rusty hues making them look burned to his eyes, but he reminded himself that it was the natural pigmentation of the plant life on Reef. There were also tubers that looked like caramelized sweet potatoes or carrots, seasoned with something that resembled a thick garlic sauce but surely couldn’t be.

“You know that I like those wraps, but this might just take the cake,” he said as he marveled at his meal. “What is this?”

“This meat comes from a sea bird, which is considered a traditional delicacy among my people. The vegetables are from locally cultivated plants.”

“I’ll bet that catching birds was a hell of a feat for a Broker armed with only a spear,” he added. “Can you smell this in the same way that I can?”

“You have olfactory sensors in your nose, I believe,” she replied. “Mine are in my tentacles, and they do not work quite as well in air.” She waved a tentacle over her meal like someone searching for a signal on their phone, then smiled. “I can sense a little of it.”

He watched as Selkie lifted the piece of cutlery – a strangely long two-pronged fork with a corkscrewing handle designed for her alien hand. David lifted his own, finding it ill-suited to his human fingers but not impossible to use.

“I thought you guys ate with your hands?” he asked as he watched her skewer one of the steaming cuts of meat.

“This is a tool used to eat hot food,” she explained. “Below water, anything that we cook quickly normalizes to the temperature of the surrounding liquid. The purpose of that dome-shaped cover was to keep the meal warm prior to consumption.”

“You guys are pretty susceptible to burns, I’m imagining,” he replied. “You have a lower body temperature than humans, you’re usually submerged in water, and there’s the whole mucus thing...”

“We have to be cautious,” she added, bringing a cut of meat to her lips. A couple of the small tentacles that ringed her face reached out to give it a few tentative taps, probing it gently to make sure that it was cool enough to eat, then they deftly pulled it from the prongs to hold it steady for her beak. She carved a chunk out of it, her complexion brightening to match her satisfied expression.

“Good?” David laughed, hardly needing to ask.

“Needless to say, someone with my workload and responsibilities seldom has the opportunity for dry dining. The flavors that leap to the forefront are so different from those that I am accustomed to, and the palate is formulated for an entirely different environment. The sweet, smokey flavors hit the tentacles immediately, and the more savory aromas are sampled by the radula soon after.”

“Your tentacles and your tongue taste different things?” David asked.

“To an extent,” she replied, pausing to scissor off another mouthful. “They are sensitive to different chemicals, and a skilled chef will leverage them both for the most complex culinary experience.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” David said, lifting one of the slices of meat with the strange fork. “I could try to eat this underwater, but it would probably just taste like saltwater, and I’d get all wet. Hang on,” he added, setting down the fork and raising his forearm over the plate. “Better scan it to make sure there are no proteins in here that are going to shut down my liver or something.”

With a few taps at his suit’s touch panel, the system’s sensors deemed the dish safe to eat, and he was emboldened to continue.