Memory Transcription Subject: Ensign Sifal, Arxur Dominion Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: October 18, 2136
I looked to my left: William, the U.N. Peacekeeper, had his hand on his sidearm, contemplating an act of violence against me for having inadvertently been made privy to some Terran secret that I hadn’t quite completely put together yet. His sidearm looked to be just high enough in caliber to be unpleasant at close range, but he was close enough to be disarmed--possibly literally--if he tried anything.
I looked to my right: Charmaine, the other U.N. Peacekeeper, was mulling over what to do. Was killing me within her power? Was it within her mission parameters? I wasn’t terribly important to the Dominion, but it would certainly create an uncomfortable diplomatic situation with the Chief Hunter if one of his soldiers were murdered while the Arxur were rendering aid.
I looked across the table: David Brenner, the Terran chef, was fretting. He might try to intervene if a fight broke out, but while I didn’t doubt his enthusiasm, I doubted he was combat-trained.
All in all… I doubted I was really in danger.
I let the nervous humans continue to worry and stare, and just plucked up the Jamon Iberico with a claw and tasted it. It was wonderful! Everything I loved about the Prosciutto was still there, but somehow upgraded. It was beautifully well-balanced and tender, with the strange subtle aromatic notes I was beginning to expect from Terran plant seasonings somehow woven into the raw flesh itself. The meat held such an unbelievably rich sweetness as well! Once in a long while, you’d find some fruit-fattened herbivore with sweeter blood, but I’d never tasted it in the flesh itself.
“David, this is fantastic!” I said, practically purring. “And you said this is from real pigs? It’s such a clear upgrade over the lab-grown. You can really taste the cruelty.”
David… choked on his drink, I wanted to guess? It was impressive how he managed that despite not holding his drink, or even standing within several paces of it.
“Uhh,” David began, “It’s… quite the opposite, actually. The pigs are given the kindest, most idyllic life we can provide under the circumstances. They’re practically pampered.”
Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Really! Food production really isn’t my area of expertise, but that’s a wild divergence from Betterment’s guidance on cattle management practices.”
David nodded slowly. “Yes, well, fat and happy animals tend to taste better, in our experience. The foie gras in the first course, as well: we used to force-feed the ducks to fatten them up faster, but the stress it put the birds under made the whole process imperfect.” He pointed vaguely eastward, down the island. “I think it was a group of duck farms out on Long Island that pioneered the tactics needed to just trick the ducks into voluntarily fattening themselves up for winter. The kindness honestly improved the flavor.”
Every word of that was terribly heretical. “So, wait, was that the issue I wasn’t meant to hear about? That you’re too kind to your prey?”
David blinked slowly. “Yes,” he said stiffly. “That was it. We learned pretty early on after first contact that human farming techniques are a contentious topic of conversation in this galaxy, and the U.N. advises us to not discuss them amongst off-worlders. Diplomacy, culture shock, that sort of thing. We’re just looking out for th--YOUR feelings.”
I still felt like I was missing something important, but I was glad to resolve the matter. “You needn’t worry,” I said. “I’m not some panicky Venlil. If I couldn’t handle a little culture shock, I would have run screaming from the first course.” I shook my head. “Honestly! Plant-seasoned meat, pampered prey… Ha! Betterment would have a conniption.”
David’s eyes flicked to the two scouts for a moment. William seemed placated enough to put his hands back on the table, and Charmaine was already enjoying the Jamon Iberico.
Satisfied, David nodded to the next item in order. The Venlil meat-colored slices of fish, which seemed an odd combination to me. It looked like it had some kind of fine leaves or moss around the edges. “This is a dill-cured lox, a local delicacy made from a salted and cold-smoked fish called a salmon.” David paused for a moment. “Sorry, but when you get a moment, what’s Betterment?”
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I needed a moment. The fish was perfect! It was raw and slippery, but perfectly salted, and the curing process had somehow only served to concentrate the savory flavors. The fish was soft and oily as well, which kept it moist, but it still had that lovely tearing sensation when I sank my teeth into it. The herbs around the edge had a cool ferny scent that reminded me of a temperate forest brook.
I took a long sip of water to clear my palate and my head before I addressed David’s inquiry. Where did you even start with such a central concept? “Betterment is… somewhere between the Arxur government and our religion?” I shrugged. “They teach us the moral importance of things like cruelty towards prey, and how certain lineages are genetically superior to others.” I idly twirled a claw near the whole little fish at the end, eager for the opportunity to try them. “The better lineages are permitted more food, so our hunger drives us to compete and prove ourselves worthy of joining their ranks.” I looked back up at David. “Listen, I do alright for myself, on the whole, but this has definitely been an unusually filling day for me.”
All three humans wore expressions of slack-jawed shock. Was that too much to take in for them all at once? Were the humans experiencing culture shock?
“You have to be actively taught to be cruel?” asked Charmaine.
“You still believe in eugenics?” asked William.
“An appetizer and a half is unusually filling for you?” asked David.
My translator needed a moment to unpack the words “eugenics” and “appetizer”. I wasn’t sure what was more fascinating: that the Terrans already had their own term for a key tenet of Betterment’s philosophy, or that they had a separate word just for “food eaten before food”. I mean, it was the latter, obviously. Prophet’s mercy, the translator was still going! The humans used small amounts of food to trigger their hunger and bloodlust on purpose, just to make the main meal taste better?!
“Yes on all counts, to the best of my knowledge and experience,” I said, feeling a bit culture-shocked myself.
David stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “The last one is an in-house smoked sardine,” he said, “and the two sauces are called mustard and chimichurri. Try them if the dishes get too salty or fatty, or just to mix up the flavors.” He turned back towards his kitchen. “Eat up. I’ll go check on the stew.”
My eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. This all just seemed too good to be true. “I’ve been pulling humans out from under crushed buildings all morning,” I said. “I’ve been cursed at, insulted, and one of them even pulled a gun on me. You’re unharmed, your building is still standing. You need nothing from me, and yet you’re acting the kindest of anyone I’ve met today. Why?”
David paused by the doorway, and for a brief moment, the magnanimous host facade fully dropped. “Buddy, my entire life has just… no, my entire species’ existence, our most basic and fundamental understanding of the universe and our places in it… has been a FUCKING ROLLERCOASTER with no brakes since goddamn July!” Even I flinched at David’s sudden shouting, and then he started chuckling on the verge of hysterics. “Okay? Like… do you get it? Do you get what the average human is dealing with right now?! Our closest allies are actual literal sheeple, I just watched the city of New York get space-nuked by an armada of genocidal toucans, and our entire species only survived thanks to the timely intervention of the fucking Crocodile Hitler Youth! Okay?! So, uh. Yeah. I’m kinda done. I don’t think it’s an unfair excuse to say that I lack the formal philosophical training to make any goddamn moral or ethical sense out of what’s happening these days!” He sighed deeply. “So I dunno anymore. As far as answers go, I’m down to two: yes, anyone walking through that door is getting fed, and no, I don’t know when I plan to stop drinking.”
David trudged away back into the kitchen, his head hanging low, while his guests, Arxur and human alike, looked at each other in stunned, awkward silence. I slowly reached for a sardine.
The chef reemerged from the kitchen in short order, all smiles, his composure reassembled. What, does he just turn it on and off like a fucking holopad? I wondered.
“Couple more minutes on the stew,” said David, smiling inauthentically. “What’s your favorite so far, and why? Maybe I can throw something together quickly.”