Sexy Space Babes - Mechs, Maidens and Macaroons: Chapter Six

“Well, here it is,” Nendra said as she pulled up the car.

From his position in the front seat next to her, Mark stared out the window as the massive building they’d stopped in front of.

The apartment Tenir had selected for him was… functional looking. A towering rectangular block of grey stone that screamed mass-produced housing. Still, the lack of graffiti’d gangsigns daubing the walls suggested, if nothing else, that the place was at least slightly safer than many of the other apartment buildings he’d seen on the ride over.

“Thanks for the ride, Nendra,” he said as he unbuckled his seat-belt.

“S’no problem,” the Shil’vati grunted. “Want me to see you to the the door?”

As he stared out at the bustling crowds between him and the entrance of the building, he felt a momentary traitorous desire to take her up on her offer.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” he responded as he stepped out, the ambient heat and noise of the city washing over him as he did. “Thanks for offering though.”

The purple skinned alien woman stared at him for a few more moments, before he shut the door and headed towards the entrance. He heard more than saw Nendra’s car – her actual personal vehicle, rather than the limo she’d first shown up in – pull away behind him as he reached the front doors of the apartment building.

A rather overweight looking rakiri, who he now realized was actually a security guard rather than just someone loitering at the entrance, gave him a mildly interested glance as the automatic doors opened to admit him, but said nothing as he stepped inside.

Fortunately, the process of getting settled from there was mercifully quick. A hulking automated kiosk in the lobby spat out a room key after he punched in the details Tenir had forwarded.

The whole thing felt more like checking into a hotel than anything else, and it left him wondering about the turnover rate in a place like this.

…A city as frenetic as Krenheim probably chews through residents like a meat grinder, he thought as he pocketed the keycard he’d been given.

The elevator ride up was silent but for the faint hum of the machinery, the walls of the lift scratched and dented but clean. When the doors slid open on the twelfth floor, the hallway stretched out before him, dimly lit by flickering overheads.

The air smelled faintly of recycled coolant and something sharp, like cleaning fluid, his boots echoing on the polished floor as he made his way to his assigned room.

12-B.

He wasn’t alone though.

Another person was in the hallway.

“Jelara?” he ventured, stopping a few paces away.

The Ulnus stopped in the act of scanning her keycard, before tilting her featureless head, the clear visor of her suit reflecting his cautious expression as she turned to him.

“That is this one,” she said, her voice bubbling like a stream over stones, melodic and unmistakable. “Ah, the human from the docks. This one sees you survived.”

“For now, yeah.” He grinned, relaxing slightly. “Fancy running into you here. It’s a small world.”

Jelara’s head tilted further, as if parsing the phrase. “Krenheim’s within pretty standard gravitational parameters. This one doesn’t get what you mean by saying it’s a ‘small world.’”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “it’s just a figure of speech. It means it’s a lucky coincidence we’re running into each other again. You live here?”

“Yeah, given the whole keycard thing,” she said, gesturing with a gloved hand toward 12-C. “This one assumes you’re also moving in?”

“I am, right next door,” he said, his grin widening. “Guess I’ve got a neighbor I can trust not to scam me. Thanks again for the save at the spaceport, by the way. I think that would’ve been in for a rough time if you hadn’t been there.”

Jelara’s jelly-like form seemed to shift subtly, a faint ripple beneath the transparent, rounded panels. “…S’no problem. This one dislikes seeing newcomers preyed upon by the likes of Terek. Speaking of which, have you gotten a gun yet.”

“It’s barely been a few hours. I haven’t even checked to see what the licensing requirements are,” he laughed, though it faded slightly as the featureless woman’s face managed to somehow convey her disdain. “I, uh, a colleague recommended a place - Tark’s Outfitters. I was planning to check it out tomorrow.”

“The requirements are a fistful of credits.” Jelara’s posture straightened, her voice taking on a practical edge. “Fortunately for you, this one is also intending to acquire supplies tomorrow. This one could accompany you, if only to keep you from getting into more trouble. Tark’s is reliable, but the district he’s in can be… unpredictable.”

Well, unlike with Nendra outside, he felt no shame in asking for accompaniment with picking out a gun. That seemed a little more daunting than crossing the street.

“Sure? I mean, I don’t have a car so I was planning on taking public transit?”

She nodded. “This one has a vehicle. She will drive us. Is eight good for you? This one has an appointment later in the day that cannot be delayed.”

“Eight sounds good,” he said, before a thought occurred to him and he grinned slightly. “Kinda a weird spot for a first date, though.”

For the first time since he’d met her, the seemingly badass world weary Ulnus froze, just for a moment, even as her jelly-like body rippled slightly faster beneath the suit’s transparent patches.

“Ah, this one wasn’t implying-” she grunted, her tone sounding almost embarrassed – like she’d been caught out.

He laughed, waving a hand.

“Relax, I’m kidding,” he paused, very obviously eying her up and down – enjoying the way her jelly-like body rippled even more. “Mostly.”

He was getting some idea as to why some girls were such incorrigible flirts. This was fun, to see this badass space chick turn… even more to jelly, just because of a few words.

“Would’ve been a solid way to thank you for the assist, though. I guess I’ll have to think of another way.” He shot her a wink, enjoying the way her form seemed to quiver again in response, before he turned to his door. “See you at eight, Jelara.”

He swiped the key chit across the reader, the door hissing open with a soft click before stepping inside.

Closing the door behind him, he smirked to himself.

Glad that key worked on the first try, he thought. Because that whole thing would’ve been a lot less smooth if I’d gotten stuck there.

Allowing his mirth to pass, he took a moment to look over his new home for the foreseeable future.

The apartment was as bare-bones as he’d expected. A single main room with a small bedroom and bathroom, maybe a touch larger than his old place on Earth, with a low ceiling and walls painted a sterile gray.

The furniture was sparse: a narrow bed with a thin mattress, a metal table bolted to the floor, and a single chair. The kitchenette was little more than a counter with a heating unit, a sink, and a fridge barely big enough to hold a few ready meals.

Still, it wasn’t all bad.

The view, at least, was spectacular.

A massive window dominated the far wall, framing Krenheim’s neon-drenched skyline in vivid color. Ships hovered overhead, their sleek forms queuing for dome access, while agile hovercraft darted through the air within, weaving between the city’s monolithic structures.

Below, a relentless tide of people surged through streets, each so small as to be utterly indistinct. Meanwhile, a constant flow of traffic lit up the roads.

And backing up it all, beyond the dome’s transparent panels, Krenheim’s icy mountains loomed, their jagged silhouettes stark against the perpetual twilight of the city, a frozen contrast to the city’s feverish energy.

“Yeah, this trip was worth it just for that view,” he murmured.

He dropped his duffel on the bed, the clink of his cookware reassuringly familiar, and crossed to the fridge. A quick peek confirmed what he’d suspected; empty, save for a single packet of nutrient paste labeled in Shil script.

He grimaced, closing the door.

“Should’ve grabbed some of that gnocchi-bake before leaving Saria’s,” he murmured, regretting not packing a doggy bag.

His stomach growled in agreement, a low rumble that echoed in the quiet room.

He considered making a grocery run. It wasn’t that late – though Krenheim’s eternal night made it hard to know that without looking at his data-pad.

Still, the trip had left him bone-tired and all he wanted to do was crash out on the nearby bed. But the hunger gnawing at his gut had other plans.

“Fuck it, I’ll order takeaway,” he said as he sank onto the sheets, languidly reaching pulling over his omni-pad as he did.

He’d go grocery shopping tomorrow.

After his ‘date’ with Jelara.

------------------

“Huh, this one wasn’t aware humans could also change shades,” Jelara said, casually as they pulled to a stop.

Mark barely noticed, though, his face tinged green as he stumbled out of the car and onto the sidewalk, the world tilting slightly from the bone-rattling ride in Jelara’s junker of a vehicle.

The machine was a Frankenstein’s monster of mismatched panels, exposed wiring, and dents that told stories of countless not-quite near misses in Krenheim’s chaotic traffic. A few of which he’d gotten to experience on the short drive over.

“Did you really need to drive like that?” he asked, not for the first time, his voice a mix of exasperation and lingering queasiness. “Or did you just enjoy seeing me squirm?”

Jelara’s form jiggled in what Mark had come to recognize as her equivalent of a shrug, the motion sending faint undulations through her jelly-like body. “If you want to get anywhere in this city in a reasonable timeframe, yes. Krenheim’s roads don’t reward the timid.”

She paused, and he swore the gel behind her face plate formed something like a pair of smiling lips. “And yes.”

Mark scoffed at the self-satisfied alien, even if he felt just a hint of amusement at her words.

“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Let’s just… go get my new gun.”

Jelara nodded as she led the way into what was clearly Tark’s Outfitters, her purposeful stride cutting through the crowd like a knife through vraka. Mark followed, aware of the many slightly curious eyes on him as he moved.

Nendra hadn’t been lying when she’d said the area the store was in was… rough. Which by Krenheim’s standards said a lot. Just about everyone he could see was visibly armed – and if his earth-born instincts weren’t lying to him – the group of youthful looking Nighkru on the far street corner weren’t so much a band of troubled youth hanging out so much as a gang watching over their ‘turf’.

And all of a sudden, he found himself reminded of what it meant to be the ‘gentler’ sex in such a situation.

He hurried after Jelara, gratefully slipping into the safety of the shop.

The view that greeted him as he did was exactly what Mark had imagined a gun store in a place like Krenheim would be.

Racks of weapons lined the walls, their sleek, deadly forms gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead. Pistols, rifles, and devices he couldn’t even begin to name hung in orderly rows, their designs ranging from utilitarian to downright menacing – with spikes and blades jutting out in seemingly impractical angles.

Behind the counter lounged a short, red-skinned alien with curved horns and hooves propped lazily on the countertop. His reverse-jointed legs, like those of a faun from ancient mythology, gave him an almost whimsical air, but the casual slouch and the glowing vid-screen in front of him grounded him firmly in the mundane.

A Vrekian, if he didn’t miss his guess.

The other half of the Consortium’s founding races – and possessed of a palate that lent itself to bitterness as a rule of thumb.

Not that he spent long lingering on what the alien might have preferred for lunch as his attention quickly transitioned to the automated gun turret just behind the Vrekian - its twin barrels tracking the human’s movements with an unsettling precision.

Clearly, this Tark took his security seriously.

The store owner barely glanced up as he spoke, his voice both high pitched, but with a distinct gravelly drawl in spite of it. “If you’re here to complain about that particle cannon I sold you Jelara, I told you the magnetic rails were out of alignment. If you busted it by trying to fire the thing before fixing that, that ain’t my problem.”

Mark took a moment to parse that.

Why would his neighbor ever need access to something with ‘cannon’ in the name? Though actually, now that he thought about it, when he first met her, she’d been waiting for a shipment on the same ship he’d arrived on.

At some point, he really needed to ask her what exactly her day-job was…

For now though, he watched as the neighbor in question scoffed, her jelly-like body rippling beneath her suit. “If by ‘out of alignment’ you meant completely scuffed, you’d be right, Tark. It took this one three nights to replace the damn things. But no, this one is not here to ask for the refund we really should - because you massively understated the problem when trying to offload the thing onto me.”

Tark’s hooves shifted slightly, finally placing the omni-pad down; the vid-screen displaying a grainy feed of a mecha match in which two towering machines were trading plasma blasts in a sandy arena.

“Then why’re you here?” He said, before his gaze landed on Mark “Ah, playing the heroic caravan guard for a new arrival in hopes of a hero’s reward?”

“Hardly,” Jelara scoffed. “Just tired of seeing this city swallow people up. Figured I’d fill up my ‘good deed’ quota for the year by helping out my new neighbor.”

“I’m sure.” Tark hummed, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he leaned back, his horns catching the light. “That said neighbor’s a human male is pure coincidence.”

Jelara’s form flushed a deeper shade, the indigo spreading like ink through water beneath the panels of her suit.

Despite knowing there was no real need to butt into what seemed like a familiar byplay between the pair, that last line made him want to come to Jelara’s defense – even if he was pretty sure the other alien was right on the money.

“Well, I can see Jelara didn’t bring me here for the incredible customer service,” he said dryly. “Is this the kind of reception I can come to expect from all of Krenhiem’s vendors? Or is this shop just… special?”

Both alien’s twitched, as if they hadn’t expected him to speak up, before something akin to a smile slipped across Tark’s face. “Well, well, looks like the human’s not entirely bereft of horns after all. I’d hold onto that spirit human. It’ll help you survive here.”

“No,” Jelara said, actually answering his question. “Most vendors have at least some level of decorum. Tark’s just a grouchy old fart who mostly survives by virtue of his wives’ efforts to secure him half-decent stock at reasonable prices.”

“Not entirely untrue,” the Vrekian said magnanimously. “If a little dismissive of my own efforts in areas not related to customer service. For example, I know for a fact that your new boytoy has never held a gun before in his life.”

Mark ignored the jab – if it even was one. “Is it that obvious?”

Tark scoffed, leaning forward, his red skin gleaming under the fluorescents. “Given the way you’re staring at my stock like it might bite you, yeah, I think it is.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” he said. “Though I’m looking to rectify that.”

The red-skinned alien hummed again, eying him up and down before addressing Jelara rather than Mark himself. “He’s just after something to scare off goons, right? Nothing… heavier?”

Jelara nodded, her form having settled back into a calmer blue. “Essentially. Something to flash, to keep the scuzzers at bay. Though I’m sure he’d prefer it to actually work if he needed to use it.”

Yes, yes, he would.

Tark nodded before reaching behind the counter, his movements practiced as he pulled out a sleek, compact pistol with a matte black finish. The weapon was unassuming, its lines smooth but functional, lacking the ostentatious flair of some of the larger rifles on the walls.

“Then this is what he wants.” Tark slid the pistol across the counter, the metal scraping faintly against the worn surface. “Sixteen hundred credits. Hadar-Khan laser pistol. Holds thirty shots before it needs charging or a new power pack. Won’t do much to decent body armor but will do nasty things to bare flesh.”

Mark stepped closer, eyeing the weapon cautiously. This wasn’t a prop or a kitchen knife - this was a tool for killing, and the thought sent a flicker of unease through him.

Jelara frowned, her form rippling as she leaned over to inspect the pistol. “Sixteen hundred’s a lot for something that only holds thirty shots. A whole lot. And this one has never even heard of Hadar-Khan.”

Tark’s smirk returned, sharper this time, his hooves clacking as he leaned back. “They’re new on the block. Got a contract to supply the Alliance with militia gear. Naturally, some of those boxes ‘fell off the shuttle’ on the way to those militia’s before making their way here.”

The alien turned entirely too smug. “And while it was Krenny that got a line on them, I was the one who needed to use some of my masculine wiles to grab a few. So I hope you understand the favor I’m doing you by offering you one at only ‘1600’ creds.”

The store owner picked up the pistol, sliding in a power pack with a practiced motion. The weapon hummed to life as he flicked a switch, a faint green light pulsing along its side.

“And the reason I went through all that effort to secure a few of these despite the frankly unimpressive yield and capacity is because of the focusing lens. It’s on a gimbal mount.”

He aimed at a target dummy clad in gear intended for sale before clicking another button with his thumb. Then as the alien moved his arm, Mark heard a faint whirring from the pistol.

“Doesn’t matter how badly the arm holding it’s shaking or off-center. On-board computer independently picks the target and holds on.” Then, without preamble, Tark lowered the weapon, popped out the power pack, and slid it back across the counter. “Feel free to head out back and fire off a few shots if you want to see. I figure even a topsider like you should be hitting center mass with one of these.”

Mark stared at the pistol, his mind racing. A gun that aimed for you? That sounded… almost too good to be true.

Jelara’s voice cut through his thoughts, her tone skeptical. “Given this is for militia and not frontline military, I assume there’s a few caveats to that tracking ability.”

Tark’s smirk faltered slightly, his horns tilting as he shrugged. “You’d be right. Most armor’s passive stealth systems can throw it off, and decent range or camouflage can fuck with the spotting software. Plus, that on-board computer might not pick the target you actually want. Hence why most militaries stick with good ol’ eyeballs and a steady aim.”

He turned back to Mark, leaning back in his chair, his hooves scraping the counter. “But for a holdout pistol, likely to be used within ten feet against some tweaked-out scuzzer with a knife, the target acquisition’s rock solid. Sixteen hundred. And I stress again, that’s a bargain.”

Mark hesitated, glancing at Jelara. Sixteen hundred credits wasn’t pocket change – though it wouldn’t put too significant a dent in his savings. Those saving were earmarked for his dream of opening a restaurant someday though, and he was loath to part with any of it without good reason.

Still, he supposed that if nothing else, not being dragged off into an alley because he didn’t have a decent gun when he actually needed it was a pretty good reason to splash a bit more than he’d intended.

Ultimately though, he turned to Jelara, waiting for her response.

The Ulnus was stilly studying the pistol, her form rippling thoughtfully, then nodded slowly as her featureless face turned to him. “Wasn’t exactly what this one had in mind when we came in here, but if it can do what he says, this one would say it’s a solid option for you. Tark knows his stuff, even if he’s a bit of a sleaze.”

“Damn straight,” Tark said, his grin widening as he tapped his horns. “Sleaze with standards, mind you.”

“Of course,” Jelara added, “he’s not above understating or overstating issues with his stock, so we’ll be taking it out back for that test run you offered before we do anything else.”

“Fire away,” Tark said lazily, his eyes already drifting back to the vid-screen, where the mecha match was reaching a climax, one machine pinning the other with a glowing claw.

They did just that, as Jelara guided Mark out to what turned out to be a small firing range at the back of the shop.

Much to Jelara’s chagrin, the weapon turned out to be as good as advertised.

-----------------

An hour later, Mark had a reusable grocery bag slung over one shoulder and the weight of his new Hadar-Khan laser pistol pressing against his hip as he stepped off a public transit platform and back onto the busy streets of Krenheim.

He adjusted the bag, the faint clink of a number of alien ingredients jostling within. The pistol, though, felt like an alien appendage. One he knew he was glad for, even if he didn’t think he’d ever get used to its presence.

Fortunately, after the trip to Tark’s, his next bit of shopping had been for something he was significantly more familiar with.

Grocery stores, it seemed, didn’t change much no matter where you were in the galaxy. He’d been leery, as Jelara had dropped him off out front, before tearing away to her ‘previous engagement’ – but it seemed his hesitation hadn’t been needed.

It really had just been a supermarket. Self-checkouts. Bored stockers. Aisles full of colorfully advertised food.

He’d bought a lot. Or at least, as much as he thought he could fit in his apartment’s small fridge/freezer unit.

Some of it was stuff he recognized from his time at the Little Shil, but a lot of it was new. And that was exciting.

The public transit back hadn’t been bad either, all things considered.

Krenheim’s public transit system was actually a lot more robust than he’d expected – given the sheer amount of chaos on the roads.

Perhaps it was robust because of that reality? As an attempt to get more people off those roads?

Admittedly, he’d drawn a few curious gazes while stepping onto the hover-tram, but no one approached him, which he thankful for. That might change in the future, when he was feeling more adventurous, but for the moment at least, he just wanted to retreat to the relative sanctity of his apartment.

Fortunately, the walk back was equally uneventful and it wasn’t long before Mark was dumping the contents of his grocery bag on the counter of his apartment.

“Right,” he murmured. “Rhinel stew.”

The recipe he’d found for the dish was open on his omni-pad as he pulled out a large pot, and it wasn’t long before the room was filled with the sound of bubbling water.

Supposedly, the dish was safe for human consumption, but he could admit to feeling some trepidation as he set about dicing the meat he’d just bought.

While frogs – which were the Rhinel’s closest terrestrial equivalent – were hardly an ingredient unknown to human cuisine, the fact that the little creatures were also tool users had been a little off-putting to discover.

Tool use generally implied a level of intelligence that typically kept most species off the average human’s menu.

Then again, he supposed. Crows and ravens use tools. And I’d hardly buck at the thought of a crow pie.

In the end, he decided to simply get over it. The chicken sized frog shaped creature he was preparing happened to enjoy stabbing things with whatever sharp implements it could find - so what?

That didn’t make it sapient or any less delicious.

…Assuming it was delicious.

If nothing else, it smelled good as he slowly lowered the diced Rhinel meat into the pot, along with a few of the other vegetables the recipe had specified.

The stew he was trying to create was supposed to be simple, but hearty, relying on slow cooking to meld the meat’s earthy flavor with the other ingredients to give the whole dish a depth of flavor.

It wasn’t long before the scent of it had completely filled the room, rich and alien, and Mark felt a spark of excitement at the thought.

Experimenting with new ingredients was a large part of why he loved being a chef. And even as he sampled it for taste, he was already thinking of ways he could incorporate ‘stabby frog’ into other dishes he already knew.

At times, he was tempted to change it slightly to better suit his own palate, but he resisted that urge. For now, he needed to follow the recipe to the letter.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to spend the hours specified by the recipe stood over the pot. He simply needed to keep a weather eye on it and stir occasionally. He used the intervening time to skim through Krenheim’s internet on his omni-pad, though he resisted the urge to watch any of the gladiator matches that tried desperately to advertise their presence in the margins of whatever site he happened to be looking at.

Given who his employer was, he had little doubt he’d have an opportunity to see one of those matches in person some day soon, and he wanted that first experience to be as authentic as possible.

Maybe he’d ask Saria if she wanted to join him? He sincerely doubted she’d decline given the, uh, interest she’d been showing him.

The thought made him smirk.

He still wasn’t entirely decided on whether or not that particular relationship needed to escalate, but if nothing else, an outing as friends – with the potential for more – wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

He was still pondering the idea when he caught the sound of the elevator at the end of the hall pinging and sound of footsteps on the tiles outside.

Now, while he wasn’t exactly thrilled by just how thin the walls of his new home had turned out to be, in this case it was a boon as he headed to his apartment’s door and stuck his head out.

And fortunately, this time, unlike the last three excursions, he poked his head out to find Jelara standing outside the door to her apartment.

She… didn’t look incredible.

Her suit’s transparent panels revealed her jelly-like form was now a muted gray-blue, her posture slouched with exhaustion, and she was fumbling with her keycard, her movements sluggish.

Whatever she’d been doing in the time since he’d last saw her, it’d clearly taken a lot out of her.

Well, hopefully he had a way of perking her up – while repaying her for helping him that morning.

“Hey,” he called. “Rough day?”

Jelara froze, her visor tilting toward him. Her form rippled, a faint indigo pulsing through the gray, as if his voice had jolted her awake.

“You could say that,” she said, her normally lyrical voice filled with exhaustion.

 “Well, I just finished making dinner, and I was wondering if you might want to join me?” he asked innocently. “I mean, I’d understand if you just want to hit the sack, but if you want to eat first…”

As he spoke, he… casually pulled at the hem of his shirt – an entirely innocent move prompted by Krenheim’s warmer climate.

And he saw it.

She hesitated, her gloved hand hovering over the keycard reader.

“This one doesn’t understand why one might hit a sack… but if you’re offering food…” she said, some of her exhaustion seeping away in favor of something else.

“Another Earth saying. But please,” he said, gesturing to his apartment. “Think of it as me repaying you a little for your help yesterday and this morning.”

“Well, far be it from this one to decline a man’s homecooked meal,” she said, perking up as she strode into his apartment. Once she did, she paused, a sniff sound echoing through her suit’s modulator.

“Is that… Rhinel stew?” Her voice bubbled with surprise.

Mark’s grin widened “That it is. I did say I was hoping to repay you. I picked some up at the market after you dropped me off. Been stewing it since I got back.”

“Deeps,” the alien said, moving further into his apartment, before turning to stare back at him. “I haven’t had a good Rhinel stew in… years.”

“Well, it’s a Rhinel stew. We’ll have to wait and see if it’s good.”

He’d followed the recipe to the letter, but there was always a chance he’d messed something up. It tasted good to him – but he wasn’t an Ulnus.

“Well, it smells good,” she said as she sat down at his apartment’s small dinner table. “And this one will be honest, anything that’s not takeaway would be pretty incredible right now.”

He smiled as he turned to grab some bowls and ladle. “Seems to be a bit of a reccuring theme around here. With that said, and I hope this isn’t offensive, I wasn’t aware you could smell things through the suit. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how you even see without eyes.”

Her visor didn’t have eyes after all, but he could feel her gaze lingering on his exposed arms, and the tight fit of his pants as he ladled out two bowls of stew – as well as a sideboard of what was supposedly an Ulnus version of bread.

That was entirely for his guest. Apparently the seaweed it was made from didn’t play well with the human digestive system.

It wouldn’t kill him, but he’d likely be spending the evening locked to his apartment’s toilet.

And given his plans for the evening, well, that would be a tragedy in more ways than one.  

“This one’s suit… amplifies certain inputs,” she said, her voice a touch slower, like she was choosing her words carefully. “Scent, sound, tactile feedback. The gel processes it. Eyes aren’t necessary when you can feel the world.”

“A bit like sonar,” he said.

“Sort of,” she responded, eyes finally shifting away from him to the food as he placed a bowl in front of her. “It’s a close comparison, but imperfect.”

As she took up a spoon, he found himself with another question – though it was soon answered as the alien casually reached up and pulled off her face-plate.

For just a moment, he had horrific visions of her… pouring out like a punctured balloon, but the gel within remained pretty much exactly how it was.

Which really should have been obvious. The suit didn’t look like it had bones or anything like that, so clearly her ‘gel’ had some kind of muscle and bone equivalent, in addition to some kind of surface tension.

As he watched, she brought up the spoon and slid into the featureless mass of her face. The spoon and food ‘disappeared’ within a centimeters, which also told him the gel was mostly opaque as well.

Which, while interesting, was much less so than the full body shiver she gave off just a moment later. Her whole body seemed to vibrate as a red-shade began to pervade her exposed ‘flesh’ as she gave off a high pitched squeel sound.

For just a moment, he had horrific visions of having poisoned her or worse.

Fortunately, as she place the spoon down, turning even redder, she ‘looked’ at him again.

“Ah, my apologies for that. As I said, it’s been a while since this one has had a Rhinel Stew… and you’re a very good cook.”

She sounded incredibly bashful as she spoke, her normal ‘femme fatale tough girl’ façade punctured quite neatly by the sound she’d just made.

“Well, if nothing else, I’d say that’s a hell of a compliment.” He grinned before he had a sip of his food too.

And it was good. A little strange. Quite thick for a stew, it was almost like a savory syrup. Still, good.

“Yes, well, whichever girls you end up with in the end will be very lucky women,” Jelara continued, deliberately trying to wrestle back her reputation. “Good looks and you can cook. And if even half the rumors about humans are true…”

She stiffened after that last part, before her tone turned apologetic. “Ah, this one apologizes. That was rather crass. We must be more tired than we thought.”

Mark just shook his head. “No need to apologize. Though, I’ll admit, I am slightly curious, what are people saying about humans?”

The alien stammered. “It’s nothing. Just silly hypernet rumors.”

“Oh? Well, maybe I can confirm or deny a few things for you. And you could do a few for me. Because I’ll admit, I’m curious about Ulnus too.” He leaned forward, his tone eminently casual as he once more innocently tugged at the hem of his shirt. “You know? Maybe after dinner, we could have a little… inter-species exchange? If you’re not too tired?”

And say what you would, for a species without eyes, they could do a very impressive ‘deer in the headlights’ impression.

Plus, the little squelch sound she made was adorable.