Page 6 of Oh No, I Shot A Spaceship And Kissed An Alien Cyberchef

He swallows as he looks at me. His eyes flicker to Rist’s and then back to mine.

What the hell is going on here? Is this some kind of alien staring contest I’m not aware of? Like I said, special kind of insane.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight. I can make you something, too. For you and your crew. As an apology for… well…” For turning your ship into a ginormous game of space pinball?

“Yes,” the General replies, suddenly straightening until he’s once again towering over me. “We’ve been eating rations for the last few weeks. Real food would be nice. Thank you.”

“Why don’t you go cook?” Rist tells me, gently guiding me away and toward the staff area. He flashes an apologetic smile at the General. Right, I’m probably just getting in their way. They are just being nice to me, pandering until I’m gone so they can talk damages and costs and…

Oh crap, I really hope I haven’t doomed the hotel. This is our home. Our only home.

“No one was hurt,” Rist tells me, giving me an awkward pat on the shoulder as we reach the kitchen. “We’re justgoing to need to work extra hard to impress the General now.”

I hear him loud and clear. Because of me, everyone’s about to pull their weight double-time. I’ll cross hell and back to make sure every crew member eats the best meals in their lives, if that’s the least I can do.

I step through the infamous kitchen door to discover Nelan, Zoe, and Charlotte waiting for me. How ironic is it that I’ve come to expect that every time this door opens, someone’s bringing chaos with them. Only this time, it’s me.

Charlotte instantly rushes to my side, dragging me into a big hug. It’s an unexpected behavior from the book-shy girl, but one very much appreciated. I lean into her for a moment, gathering myself, before turning to face my co-worker.

“Are you alright?” I ask, seeing how Nelan’s glaring at me with his usual scowl, metal fist opening and closing repetitively like a well-oiled machine. Which it is.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Nelan glowers, acting as if he never heard me ask.

I roll my eyes at him. The last thing I need today is an emotional chef.

“What did they say? What’s going on?” Zoe asks.

“We’re cooking a feast,” I tell them, slumping into a chair, exhausted. Should I even bother asking Nelan for not-coffee? Would he even serve me, like he served Elana?

“A feast? For the General? That’s all he wanted?” Nelan looks… shocked. To be honest, it’s not what I expected the end result to be either. I was thinking more along the lines of “off with her head” or “time to invade Earth.”

“For him and his crew,” I reply. “I hate to admit it, but I think we might need your NutriSynth, Nelan.”

It’s like I’m making a deal with the devil. But seriously, I don’t know what to serve a bunch of aliens. So far I’ve been getting by just serving us human women while Nelan’s catered to the guests. Honestly, I’m lucky I haven’t poisoned anyone yet.

“None of our machines work. The entire hotel has no power,” Nelan states.

Sure enough, everything in here is kind of dark without the typical glow of lights. Even that blasted NutriSynth—bane of my existence—isn’t blinking at me with secret morse code threats at the moment.

“Huh,” I state. “It looks like we’re completely offline. And we’ve got guests and crew to cook for too.”

The look of horror that crosses Nelan’s face is almost comical. Yeah, I might take too much pleasure in how distraught he is. It’s like watching a robot discover emotions for the first time, and the first emotion is pure, unadulterated panic.

“But... but how are we supposed to prepare meals?”

“We could always cook manually,” I suggest. “You know, like how I just made breakfast.”

For a moment, Nelan looks like I’ve suggested we serve the General a platter of live worms.

“Manually? For an entire hotel full of guests? Including a Volscian General with undoubtedly refined tastes? That’s?—”

“A great idea,” Charlotte states, nodding along. I’d thank her for the support, but she looks just as contemplative as she does whenever she thinks there’s a mystery to be solved. This girl is trouble, with a capital T. Actually, make that all caps: TROUBLE.

“The General might appreciate some authentic, home-cooked meals. It would certainly be a unique experience. And isn’t that sort of what we are offering here at the Alien Hotel—experiences?”

We’re all momentarily silent, considering the thought.

“We could call it an event,” I agree slowly. Zoe nods along, a smile slowly spreading across her lips like it’s the best idea she’s heard in some time.

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