Koen reached back into his pre-Covid memories, trying to visualize a plesiosaur skeleton.1 "If this was a bird — " he began, then remembered Secretary and cleared his throat. "I don't think I can crack the breast. I'd have to break the interclavical and the belly ribs."

He flipped his animal over and pressed his fingers into its chest. "Yes. You see? The coracoids, scapulas, and clavicals are all fused together into this breastplate of bone. I'd need a heavy cleaver. Maybe a saw to get through it." He probed. The hip bones similarly formed armored pants, and the belly was stiff with bony gastralia. "An ax?"

"I am curious, but also lazy," said Secretary. "I leave the breaking work to you."

"Maybe I can be lazy, too. If I remember correctly…" Koen flipped the animal back over. "Yes. There. Its back is even less robust than mine. Hand me a short, stout knife. Yes, that one."

Koen took the knife from Fling's foot. The ribs curving down from the plesiosaur's spine could be popped free with a stab and twist. "Now, I can remove the whole vertebral column between the neck and the tail. And…" He put one hand on each side of the gap he'd made and pushed outward. The ribcage opened like a book. Just a book bound backward.

"Ha!" Koen wiped the back of his forearm over his forehead. "You know what would be great? If we could put some hot rocks in there."

"Cooking stones are right there. You can see them."

"Great. Fling, would you… do whatever you need to do with them to get them hot? And Secretary, please turn on this cauldron and tell me where I can get water. And I need to wash my hands."

Minutes later, the plesiosaur filled the bottom of the cauldron, head and tail curved. The dark meat hissed when Fling's tongs deposited the rocks into its thoracic cavity.

"Wonderful! Thank you, Fling."

"I am happy to learn and share this work with you."

Koen turned to the giant rodent, and smiled uncertainly. "Thank you."

He caught himself looking into her eyes. The windows of the soul? Except they weren't. Secretary's eyes were just as glassy as any bird's. Like other birds, he couldn't move his eyeballs within their orbits, so instead he moved his whole head to direct his gaze. How much emotion did the Pick convey by the orientation of his skull? How much was Koen missing?

"Now we add these?" Fling picked up a large clam, folding it between the round pads on her palms.

Her eyes were enormous and black, set so far apart that their owner must not have much binocular vision. How did she see what was in her hands? It seemed she didn't, and relied instead on touch, using fingers, whiskers, and teeth. If Fling's eyes moved about, Koen couldn't tell because the irises were so dark they blended in with the pupil. But the long-lashed eyelids slid up and down over them, turning black circles into slits and back again. There was probably information there, too.

"What goes in next?" she asked.

"We'll clean and gut the fish," he said. "That means cut off their heads and scoop out their guts."

"I understand," said Secretary. "You will separate the delicious parts from the worm-food."

Koen considered the raven. "Would you like the guts and heads right now?"

"I am delighted! You are generous." Secretary flew down to perch on the corner of the cauldron.

Koen smiled. "I thought so."

The smile faded when he wondered about the psychic. What if she preferred guts and heads? With the pot already half-full, more second-guesses assaulted him.

"Fling," he said. "What species is our guest, and what do they like to eat?"

"She is a Metruian. My cortex assumes your amygdala craves reassurance that our guest the psychic will enjoy the boiled seafood that your cortex plans."

"I suppose I am." Koen looked at the cauldron. "What about cooking? Do Metruians even boil their food?"

"I am amused!" said Secretary.

"My hippocampus indicates that, traditionally, boiling would have been difficult for them."

Koen realized she was being diplomatic. "I'm sorry," he said, "but what are Metruians?"

Her eyes slitted. "Octopuses."

"Land octopuses?"

Secretary laughed again.

"Not as far as my hippocampus recalls. I believe they are mostly aquatic."

Koen wondered aloud how an underwater industrial revolution would work. Not to mention that all the octopus species he knew about died when their eggs hatched.

"I have found rich source of ignorance," said Secretary. "What about those fish guts you promised me?"

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Fling swished her tail. "Secretary is right. My dopaminergic pathways are also excited by the possibility of seeking out new knowledge, but my cortex suppresses my curiosity for now. Our priority is to prepare this food."

"Right." Koen slitted open the belly of a coelocanth. Its weight disturbed him, and the way its little fins dangled.

"Why have you stopped moving?" Secretary hopped closer, along the rim of the cauldron. "Are you offering me the whole fish? I am suspicious."

"You know, I've eaten octopuses," Koen said distantly.

"My ears point toward you," Fling said. "Clarify?"

"I mean, I've prepared them. Alive."

"My ears have heard this problem before," said Fling. "Is your visual center comparing the images of your past meal and your future guest?"

Koen grimaced. "It is now."

"What are you mammals talking about? I am impatient. Can I just have the eyes?"

"You may comfort your amygdala with the possibility that our Metruian psychic may have eaten the flesh of monkeys," said Fling.

"Huh." Koen pulled the guts out and gave Secretary an open-palmed, here-you-go gesture. "I've wondered before why more nonhumans aren't vegetarians."

"Clarify? A vegetarian is a person who stops themselves from eating meat?"

He laid the remainder of the coelacanth on its bed of kelp. "Someone who believes for one reason or another that it isn't right to eat meat."

"The Quotidians say that if it didn't want us to eat it, it would have put up a less pitiful defense."

Koen shuddered. "Ruthless. Cold." He eyed Secretary, who stretched something back and stringy between his beak and foot. "And what do the Pick think?"

Secretary did not pause eating. "If it allowed itself to die, it deserves to be eaten."

Koen wasn't surprised. He wasn't much impressed either.

He turned away to grab another coelocanth, and when he turned back, there they were. The monstrous rodent and the bird hunched over the cauldron like a witch with her familiar.

Secretary jabbed with his beak. "I am startled! That is an expression of hostility on the ape's face!"

"Is it really?" Fling clacked her teeth and puffed her tail in an incomprehensible Toxoplasmotic gesture.

Fling grabbed one of the long-handled knives in one hand and one foot. The other hand placed a clam under the blade, which levered up and down. "Human Koen, does your species keep birds as pets?"

"Yes, sometimes. I might even say often. I mean, I haven't."

"Then maybe your hippocampus don't know why keeping pet birds is difficult."

Koen thought. "Well, I used to work with zoologists. They said that birds hide their diseases. Or even just lack of food. A dog or a cat will bother you if it's hungry or hurting. But if something is wrong with a bird you might not even know."

"General Graa is the same. He puts up a brave front."

Koen wasn't sure what to say to that. "What do the Toxoplasmotics say about personhood?"

"If it isn't infected with toxoplasmosis, it isn't a person."

Koen paused his filleting. "Doesn't that mean you could eat me?"

"I'm sure you put up a robust resistance." Her teeth clacked. "I joked. Eating you, of course, would be illegal. Your species built particle accelerators."

"Don't you have vegetarians?"

"In my species, yes. But our guest's brain is not built the same way as yours or mine. We are able to command our limbs. Do not grab that meat! But her brain cannot act this way. Her arms will grab what they will."

"So how do you think she, uh, forces herself to do what's right?"

"My hippocampus doesn't have the information, but my cortex imagines that Metruians can train themselves through operant conditioning. If one knows that one is allergic to clams, for example, one smears them with a bitter chemical and allows one's arms to taste it. They learn they should not grab."

"I suppose doing that with all meat would be very tedious."

"And cruel. One's arms would be terrified and useless. And what else would an octopus eat but flesh?"

"I suppose obligate carnivores have a special problem to solve," said Koen. "Was that how you trained your pet jaguar?"

"You mean Fancy Death? I would not say I trained him."

"Then how do you stop him from…eating you?"

Fling bobbed her tail and clacked her teeth slowly. "I do not stop him. That is not the nature of our relationship."

"Don't you just feed him so much he doesn't want to hunt for himself?" asked Secretary.

Another bob and tooth-clack, somewhat more emphatic. "That would not be exciting at all."

And now that Koen thought about it, the jaguar hadn't looked over-fed. He thought about how cats will stalk and kill prey even when not hungry. They just loved pouncing.

"How did you meet General Graa? At a high-powered summit or something?"

"Oh, no. My species is quite junior. I met the Pick ambassador while we were both walking our pets."

"That was in the park he had built," said Secretary. "I am vicariously proud."

"You didn't know who he was?" asked Koen.

"I knew. I was terrified of approaching him," said Fling.

Koen squinted at the Toxoplasmotic, who waited patiently for him to understand.

"I was ecstatic with fear," she clarified.

"And therefor you went up to him and introduced yourself."

"Exactly." She took a thoughtful nibble of her staff, facing Koen with her teeth. "What terrifies you, Human Koen? What would make you ecstatic?"

Koen blinked at her. He thought his life had way too much excitement at the moment. He craved boredom.

"Should you go back to your embassy?" mused Fling. "No, you should stay here and speak to Graa's guest. And you should invite another human."

Koen thought of asking Mark to come and help. Then he thought of asking Laura and a thrill of terror passed through him.

"That's an interesting expression," said Secretary.

1 Those wishing to do likewise may turn to https://plesiosauria.com/anatomy/