Homesick

Scott went to the food locker and searched through the trays. Ian shut the door, but Scott managed to grab two before he did.

“Haven’t you eaten enough already?” Ian snorted.

“Why? Do you disapprove?”

“Yes! I mean, for one thing, if you keep carrying on like this we might actually come up short!” He shook his head in disgust. “And, not to put too fine a point on it, if I have to watch much more of this I just might be sick!”

“The portions are small and tasteless, but they are exotic. I imagine they represent centuries of creativity. It must be quite an experience to have it prepared fresh in one of your restaurants.”

“Well, these suit us fine, thank you very much.”

“Your Henry VIII ate far better.”

“So he did,” Ian said, starting to pace again.

“I’ve studied the eating habits of Earth. You really do have a vast variety of food there. It’s a shame you brought such a limited sample with you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he grumbled. “We didn’t come out here to eat, and we certainly didn’t come to indulge your disgusting fantasies.”

“Your Vladimir Coronov is from the Ukraine. I was hoping to learn from him.”

“Vlad? What about?” he asked, perking up with mild curiosity.

“It’s said that, after your World War II, some of the people living in Ukraine took to eating children. Families would have to guard their young, lest they disappear into the cauldrons of other families.”

“Yeah, well people can do a lot of sick and disgusting things when they’re desperate,” he said, looking away from her and resuming his pace.

“But why call it sick?”

“What do you mean why call it sick? Cannibalism? Eating children? What else would you call that?”

“You outnumber your animal population by far, and you also suffer from overpopulation. Have you never wondered what a taste experience one of your kind would make?”

Ian turned to her, his face twisted more in disbelief than disgust.

“They’re quite succulent if prepared properly,” she remarked with a toothy smile. “On my world I make it my business to find new and novel ways to season the meat.” She ran her tongue over her teeth with a slippery sound before continuing. “I study different ways to cook it, or not cook it, depending on the desired effect.” She stroked her massive bead necklace. “This is my collection of memoirs. Each bone represents a meal I was particularly proud of.”

Ian glanced at the necklace hesitantly at first, but then stared in shock and abhorrence. From a distance it had looked like a gaudy piece of dime store jewelry made up of cheap wooden beads. But only now did he recognize the size and shape of those beads! Each one was a finger joint. As he studied the necklace further, another revelation scorched his eyes. The beads were identical, like mass-produced parts. Each one must have been the same joint to the same finger of a different victim’s hand!

Ian coughed hard, feeling the burning sting of stomach acid rising to the back of his throat. Sweat began to roll down his forehead and he could feel the room rocking beneath his feet. He was grateful he had not eaten recently.

“Now, of course, ours have been coming in a bit stringy lately,” she remarked. “They don’t eat as well in the wild this time of year, you see. And those we cultivate in captivity never develop the right proportion of muscular mass to fatty tissue. It’s so rare to get a really good one!” She smiled, drool escaping her lips. “That’s one of the reasons I was so taken with 4702 here. Why, just look at the shoulders on him!” She reached down and massaged Scott’s back with her stubby, three-fingered hand. With the other hand she scooped more food out of the tin Scott had brought her. “I’d check on him every day to make sure I’d be the one to get him when his time came!” She petted him affectionately. “It devastated me to find out you’d captured him.”

Ian watched the massive woman fondling Scott, as if partially hypnotized by her rhythmic motions. He was dizzy now and could no longer hear her droning voice. His vision became distorted to the point that he could see nothing but her fat, meaty hand sampling his colleague’s flesh. The story was clear now. To her, Scott was a food animal to be sold by the pound! She followed him into space, drawn by the hope of a different type of meal. She wanted novelty food, a delicacy from another world! And Scott’s life, pleasant or miserable, was valued only to the extent that it kept his meat fresh! Then Ian thought of his granddad, a man who understood atrocities. Father told him there was little the man hadn’t seen, which was why he rarely spoke. But Ian was sure that even he would be sickened at the scene now occurring in the mess hall. He thought of the Builders he’d shot. More raw material! Human cadavers used to distract him from his real enemy, making a mockery of his courage by forcing him to kill the innocent! He felt the handle of the gun, squeezing it tight. The metal was warm, reflecting his own elevated body temperature. The warmth quickly became too comforting, as if the gun were becoming part of his hand, but with a life of its own.

The evil, fat, greasy hand kneaded on and on to the tune of her burping voice. He felt the red hatred within him rise from the pit of his stomach and up his spine. It climbed and expanded like mercury in a thermometer dangled over a flame. When it reached the top of his head it had nowhere else to go, so the pressure mounted. His skull ached with escalating fury and the room tinted red to his eyes. And then, for the first time in Ian’s polite and proper life in the civilized world, the dam burst!

“BASTARDS!” he shrieked, spitting pieces of saliva. “BLOODY, BARBAROUS BASTARDS!”

Startled, she looked up with alarm.

“You’re filth, do you know that! BLOODY FILTH!” He waved the gun in her face, slicing it passed her nose.

Scott stood, facing him with sudden concern. Obiiilion grabbed at her food unconsciously, as if eating would somehow protect her from Ian’s new threat. She stared at his face, chewing wildly.

“Stop eating!” he yelled. “Scott, get back!”

The two men began to circle Obiiilion like dogs preparing to fight. Scott tried several times to get between him and his Mistress, but only succeeded in speeding up their dizzying dance. But Ian wasn’t even looking at Scott. He was following Obiiilion’s fat face. His muscles quivered all over his body. “STOP EATING, YOU FAT BITCH!”

He landed a kick in her side, feeling his foot sink deeply into her, as if into gelatin. Then his gun hand snapped to life, aiming at her head while he danced around the table until the site was lined up with an X-mark he’d drawn on the wall.

“What are you doing?” Scott wailed, catching up with him and forcing himself between him and her.

“Get out of the way, Scott!”

“4702, defend me!” she screamed, finally becoming truly afraid.

Scott advanced on Ian, madly grabbing at his gun, but Ian landed a kick on his side, sending him spinning in the low gravity. But, as soon as his feet found a surface, in this case the ceiling light, he fended himself off it and flew back on Ian, desperately swinging his arms and legs. “Don’t hurt her!” His face was a mask of horror, as if he were begging for the life of his child. “Please don’t hurt her!”