Page 3 of Oh No, I Shot A Spaceship And Kissed An Alien Cyberchef

To be honest, I enjoy this; cooking for my friends and family as they banter and prod each other. It feels like… well, it feels like home. Before the abduction. A slice of normalcy in our decidedly abnormal lives.

“So what are you girls up to today?” I ask, flipping a pancake with a flourish. I revel in the moment, embracing the one thing I’ve ever been good at. And enjoyed. Cooking for me… it’s like coming home after a really long day. I need this in my life.

“Well, actually…” Zoe looks up at me, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Please tell me it’s not another alien petting zoo on our hands!” I exclaim. I’m still finding fur in places fur should never be.”

The last time anyone burst into my kitchen with news, we’d ended up chasing escaped Yum-Yums through the air vents for three days straight. My hands still bear the tiny teeth marks from that particular adventure. I didn’t even participate in rounding them up, so why am I the only one with bite marks? Oh, that’s right, I didn’t go to the med bay to get the little wounds healed in seconds. Unnatural. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my healing to take place over time, not in the blink of an eye.

A book snapping closed draws my attention to the other end of the table. Charlotte, with her thick, owlish glasses, watches us intently.

“A top-tier, fancy-pants, VIP guest is about to arrive,” she states, voice ominous.

My eyebrows shoot up as I turn to include Charlotte in the conversation. It’s rare for her to talk to us and not be absorbed in reading her book. “A VIP? Here? Did Rist finally convince that alien boy band to do a concert?”

Elana’s eyes light up. “Ooh, now there’s anidea! But no, even better. We’ve got ourselves a genuine Volscian military general incoming.”

“What I don’t get is why someone so important would want to visit our run-down, out-of-the-way, little hotel?” Charlotte asks. “I know that Rathdalia’s review helped, but enough to get some real bigwig here?”

“Ask the General,” I tell her simply, pouring batter into the fry pan. All I need to know is how many guests I’ll be serving. And whether they have any dietary restrictions. Knowing our luck, the General is probably allergic to oxygen or something equally inconvenient.

“He should be landing any time now,” Charlotte tells us, nodding to herself like she plans to accost the General with questions. Will I be apologizing to this poor guy later today?

“Do you have any ideas why he’s visiting, Nelan?” She asks my hunk of a… co-worker. “Or why Rist is so on edge?”

Nelan shakes his head, turning back to the NutriSynth to process some more not-coffee. Like always, he’s more interested in that machine than me… us. I’m starting to think he and that contraption might need to get a room.

“Not everything is a mystery to be solved, Charlotte,” I tell the owlish woman as I place the first plate of pancakes before her, redirecting her attention. Trust Charlotte to immediately start piecing together some mystery; she’s obsessed with them. Even the one item she clings to daily, reading constantly, is some crime story. Sometimes I wonder if she sees our daily lives as one big case to be solved.

“All I know is I’ve been up all night preparing for the arrival of the ship. So many guests…,” Zoe laments.

Charlotte and I both snort. She was probably up all night long with her mate, Taruk.

“Let’s just consider this a chance to impress someone important,” I tell them, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “Who knows? Maybe if we play our cards right, we’ll get a five-star review on Yelp: Intergalactic Edition.”

Zoe eagerly reaches for the plate that I hand to her. I beam down at my creation. It’s not quite a pancake, but it’s good enough. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, given I lack any traditional ingredients. Gordon Ramsay might have a conniption if he saw these, but hey, in space, no one can hear you critique.

“You know,” Nelan says, his voice dripping with disdain as he stares down his nose at my creation, “the NutriSynth can produce a nutritionally perfect meal in seconds. It’ll be much easier to serve everyone that instead of going to all this effort.” He waves a hand dismissively at the plates of home-cooked fare.

“Excuse me?” I declare, hands on hips. This guy needs a serious attitude adjustment. Just because he was some hotshot chef back on his home planet didn’t give him the right to look down on my cooking skills. “Just because it wasn’t made by your precious machine doesn’t mean it’s not real food.”

Nelan’s eyes narrow. “True meals are manufactured, not cooked. It’s the only way to ensure consistent quality and nutritional balance.”

“Right,” I drawl. “Because nothing says ‘quality’ like food that tastes like cardboard and sadness.”

Nelan stands before me, his cybernetic hand opening and closing. I take a step back, heart suddenly hammering.

It’s happening again. I’ve pushed someone too far. My hand grips the kitchen counter, grounding meand hiding my shaking. I won’t stand down. I won’t submit, even if the world is closing in on me.

Nelan stares at me for a long moment, tension strong between us. Then he simply spins on his heel and marches towards the walk-in freezer.

“I’ll fetch extra nutrient packs for the NutriSynth,” he states over his shoulder, his voice dripping with seniority. “Perhaps seeing a true chef at work will enlighten you all on the superiority of modern culinary techniques.”

As the freezer door slams behind him, I remember the other girls in the room, watching. I roll my eyes dramatically. “Well, that’s Nelan in a nutshell. All machine, no soul.”

I turn back to my pancakes, determined to ignore the lingering tension in the air. Who needs romance when you’ve got a kitchen to run and mouths to feed? Certainly not me. I’ve got more important things to worry about than some uptight alien chef with a chip on his shoulder. Like figuring out how to make these pancakes fluffier without real milk or eggs. That’s a challenge worthy of my time – unlike trying to soften Nelan’s hard edges. Though I have to admit, those edges are rather... aesthetically pleasing.

As I’m flipping the next batch of pancakes, Sutek saunters into the kitchen, door banging closed behind him. He waves a greeting to everyone present but quickly makes a beeline for his mate.

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