I peel back the mylar wrapper of the “protein serving.” It’s a drab khaki color and reminded me of the SlimFast bars my meemaw pushed onto me as a preteen when the family hips came in. But to be honest, I’d rather have a shitty peanut butter and fake chocolate flavor than whatever this savory fish-flavored power bar was.
My stomach grumbles in approval of the incredibly bland sustenance that fills it. The sawdust-like texture expands as I eat it, and I feel fuller than I have in a long while with every bite that passes by my lips.
I tug the sleeve of the gray jumpsuit Raf’ere provided me with. The arms are about two feet too long. Despite rolling them up, they keep slipping past my fingertips. When I took off the dress I’d arrived in, it was entirely in shreds. At least I was covered now. I frown down at the bar as I take another bite.
At least it’s not the steaming and wriggling sq’aurks, right, Opal?Ke’ain might have great qualities, but his love of the disgusting-looking puffballs was not one I found endearing.
I wonder if his tough guy act will falter later tonight once we’re alone. If maybe he’s still in shock. I just know that I can be there for him whatever might happen. I know numbness is better than grief sometimes.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Ke’ain peeks around the doorway to the mess hall. He frowns at the face I must be making as I work the leathery texture of the food with my teeth.
“Opal, I’m sure we could ask the cooks to find something more pleasing to your human palette,” he says with a cringe.
“They shouldn’t have to cater to me. If I’m staying here with you, I better start getting used to things in your culture,” I say between tough bites.
“I agree, there are some things you’ll have to get used to—but can’t we make just a few accommodations for your comfort?”
Like a dirty old man, I wiggle my eyebrows. “You’ve been more than accommodating for my comfort, Ke’ain.”
He takes the protein bar from my hand and tosses it into a nearby bin. Pulling another mylar packet from the mess hall shelf, he dumps its contents into a bowl. It looks powdery and dry, and I crinkle my nose.
“That’s supposed to be any better?” I ask.
Ke’ain chuckles. “Awful impatient little human, I’m not quite done yet.”
He moves his four fingers over to a button on the wall. As he depresses it, hot water pours from a spout and fills the bowl. The powdery substance expands and thickens, reminding me of oatmeal.
“What is it?” I ask him, puzzled.
“It’s dried grin’oj root.” He passes me the bowl. “A very popular breakfast among the children here.”
“So you’re saying I have the taste buds of a fi’len child?” I arch an eyebrow dubiously.
He pulls a small ornate bottle from his jacket pocket. “What I’m saying is that it’s easy to eat, and you need sustenance, little Opal.”
Ke’ain removes the lid of the bottle and sprinkles something brown over the bowl of steaming mush. The powder scents the air as it drops into the steaming porridge.
“Ke’ain, I might be hallucinating, but is that cinnamon?” I pull the familiar scent into my lungs and am instantly hit with bittersweet memories of Christmas past.
His eyes light up. “It is! Is cinnamon something you like?”
“Yeah, it's a pretty universally liked human flavor,” I say, my mouth watering.
“Well, my sweet Opal, you are in luck. It is indeeduniversallyliked. In fact, the fi’len who managed to get a smuggled cinnamon tree to Sontafrul 6 received a medal of honor from my great-great-grandfather.” He puffs up his chest with pride.
“You’re kidding right?”
“Cinnamon was one of the things that first made us the richest planet in the galaxy. With the restrictions surrounding Earth, men have died attempting to smuggle it off world.”
“That’s some spice road bullshit,” I say, ignoring his confusion as the Earth history reference. “Couldn’t you just like synthesize it or something with your fancy alien tech?”
“We tried, it’s just…” He pulls his mouth to one side of his face and furrows his brows. “...just not the same.”
I take the bowl and the tiny shovel-shaped spoon Ke’ain hands me. For the fi’len having such large hands I find it funny that their eating utensils feel small in my grip.
I take a bite and am pleasantly surprised at the mild sweet flavor. It’s not my favorite consistency, but the cinnamon really does make it edible. I can’t parse what it reminds me of, maybe sweetened mashed potatoes? In any case, it’s far more enjoyable to eat than the protein bar.
“Thanks, babe,” I say as the warm porridge fills me up. “Maybe once things settle down, you’ll let me experiment in the kitchen a bit. Maybe I can find something we both like?”
