Page 11 of Oh No, I Shot A Spaceship And Kissed An Alien Cyberchef

I shrug. “Unlikely. They have to be really starving for them to hunt.”

“One of them smelled what you’re cooking,and said so!” Rist declares, raising his voice. I’ve never seen him so disgruntled before.

“Relax!” Laura laughs, once again not fazed at all by the chaos around us. “We are about to serve. I’m sure the slimes will love the meal. And the General.”

Her optimism is either admirable or completely delusional. I’m fearfully leaning towards the latter.

At the mention of our esteemed guest, I feel my shoulders tense. The irrational fear that’s been gnawing at me since his arrival surges to the forefront of my mind. What if he recognizes me? What if he’s here to drag me back to the capital?

I don’t even know if it’s him… It could be another famous General of the Royal Army…

Rist breathes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. “The General’s presence has us all on edge. Even the guests. But remember, we’re simply providing hospitality to a guest. Nothing more. Just keep telling yourself that,” he says as he looks me in the eye, as if he believes his own words.

I nod stiffly. After all, if the General were truly here for nefarious purposes, why bring only a small contingent? And surely he wouldn’t have announced his presence so openly.

As Rist leaves to attend to other matters, I turn back to find Laura studying me intently.

“What?” I ask, perhaps more sharply than intended.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. You just looked... scared for a second there.”

I bristle at the observation. “Nonsense. I was merely concerned about the potential diplomatic ramifications of serving subpar cuisine to a high-ranking official.”

Laura’s expression softens. “Nelan, it’s okay to be nervous. I’m pretty freaked out myself. I mean, I’m just a human from Earth. What do I know about impressing aliens?”

Her admission of vulnerability catches me off guard. I’m used to Laura being all snark and determination. This glimpse of her softer side stirs something protective in me.

“You are impressive,” I tell her softly.

Laura’s eyes widen in surprise, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Was that actually a compliment, Nelan? Should I check if you’re running a fever?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t quite suppress an answering smile. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m merely acknowledging that your particular brand of chaos might work in our favor this once.”

Laura grins triumphantly. “Ha! I knew I’d get you to admit it eventually.”

“I still maintain that the NutriSynth is far more efficient and reliable for day-to-day meal preparation.”

“Sure, sure,” Laura says, waving a hand dismissively. “But admit it – you’re having fun cooking the old-fashioned way.”

I’m about to deny it on principle when I realize... she’s right. Despite the challenges and imperfections, there’s something deeply satisfying about creating a meal with my own hands. The textures, the aromas, the subtle adjustments that can elevate a dish from good to extraordinary – it’s a form of artistry I’d almost forgotten.

“I suppose,” I concede grudgingly, “there is a certain... appeal to this method.”

As we put the finishing touches on our meal, I find myself stealing glances at Laura. The way her eyes light up as she focuses on the dish before her, the little dance she does when a flavor combination works perfectly –it’s all oddly endearing. I still want her to get everything she wants in life… but I’m coming to realize that it should be what she wants, not what I expect her to do.

But then I catch sight of my cybernetic hand, the metal gleaming under the kitchen lights, and reality comes crashing back. What could someone like her possibly see in a broken, disgraced chef like me? What if rather than protecting her, I bring her trouble?

Chapter

Four

LAURA

Iwipe the sweat from my brow. Despite the exhaustion weighing on me from unaccustomed activity, I feel happier than I’ve felt in some time. Somehow, we’ve managed to serve most of the hotel guests without setting anything on fire or poisoning anyone. A small victory, but I’ll take it.

“Last plate,” I announce, sliding a steaming platter of enchiladas towards Elana. She grins, balancing it on her arm with practiced ease.

“The guests are loving it,” she says. “Who knew a power outage could lead to such a hit?”

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