“Ugh, on Earth,” I sob, letting my anger stay firmly in the territory of self-pity. “When I said I wanted freedom, this isn’t what I fucking meant!” My hands lifted toward the sky, bargaining with some unlistening god.
The alien duke’s attention wavers as he fumbles with the bottle, stealing occasional glances of me from the corner of his eye. He looks like he’s embarrassed of my display. I know I’m a mess but it doesn’t mean I have to like the looks ole Judgy McJudgerson is throwing my way.
“If you’re that hungry, there’s food in the bedroom. Eat it or not, I don’t care,” he tells me, placing the bottle back into the closet bar.
I sniffle and frown, grabbing his extended hand and pulling myself out of the pity puddle I’ve created. My stomach is entirely empty for probably the first time in my life. I am a snacker, a meal eater, a person who enjoys a taste sensation. The padding around my hips is proof of that point. I don’t dislike my body, though—I’d rather be happy and eat delicious carb-filled pasta than thin and bitter eating bland salad. Not that I begrudge anyone thin, just genetically, that’s not my body’s happy place.
I angle my head to avoid looking through the window at the water. I thankfully don't panic if I can't actually see the water—even though I know it’s there.
Raf’ere guides me to sit on one of the plush sofas by the low ebony coffee table filled to the brim with plates of food. Everything smells strange but incredibly enticing for being as hungry as I am. He sits next to me, grabbing a silver plate and two-pronged utensil.
“I don’t know what any of this is.” I am suddenly overwhelmed by the spread of alien food before me.
“Does it matter? It’s food.” He slides the prongs into steaming pastel dumplings, which wiggle and make a high-pitched noise once he does.
“I mean it might. What the hell is that?”
“Sq’aurks. I should specify that although they have no nervous system, they are technically eaten raw. I’m not sure if that’s considered cruel in your culture.” He waits for my answer, hovering the pink dumpling-looking creature over my plate.
“Oh, no, that’s fine.” I think about a veal…which seems worse than an insentient puffball. These steaming blobs must be like space oysters in that regard.
He drops the sq’aurk onto the plate, followed by little heaps of all kinds of food in colors I’m not used to consuming. Blues and purples seem to be the most common hues.
He hands me the plate and the two-pronged fork. I should probably wait until he serves himself to dig in, but I’m starved.
I take a big bite of something akin to purple noodles. They’re cold, and the flavor reminds me of a spicy lemon. While it’s a taste profile uncommon to me, the bite is incredibly satisfying.
“Oh wait, that’s spicy—” He holds his hands up, attempting to halt me.
“I like spicy, no worries,” I garbled out with my mouth full. I want a hunk of crusty bread. Besides the noodles, the table seems woefully lacking in carbs.
I move onto what I think is meat, but its color is cerulean. I slide my fork into it and the flesh flakes apart similar to salmon.
“Fish?”
He waits, eyes growing distant, before answering. “Scal’pin… it’s a similar aquatic creature to your Earth fish, from what I can tell.”
I move to take a bite. Just as I do, an image flashes in front of my eyes. A creature, long and blue, winds its way through teal waters. Four fangs hang from its open maw—it darts, viciously snapping a pink ball of tentacles into its mouth.
As quickly as the image arrives, it leaves. I drop the fork, and it clangs against the side of the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, but did I just stroke out?”
He eyes me, cocking his in confusion.
“The fucking snake monster? Didn’t you see it?” There’s no way I made up that nightmare creature on my own.
“Oh…your translator chip.” The realization dawns on him.
“My what?”
“The Deenz would have installed a translation chip for you. I think it’s silly to assume we both speak whatever human dialect you do. A translation chip makes it easy for us to communicate. The words you speak to me are fi’len, and the words I speak to you are your own language. The chip allows our brains to translate automatically. If there is no direct translation, images are shown from the chip’s database.” He picks up the fork off the ground and offers me his own. “So thatfucking snake monsterwas more than likely just a scal’pin.” He grabs a new utensil and puts another piece of the blue meat on my plate.
“Oh.” I get itchy thinking about what other things might have been done to me while I was unconscious. “Do you think that’s all they did?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did to me, did to my body?”
