Novels2Search
New York Carnival
Chapter 36: Cold Feet and Warm Clothes

Chapter 36: Cold Feet and Warm Clothes

Memory Transcription Subject: Chiri, Gojid Refugee

Date [standardized human time]: November 1, 2136

I still felt the incoming dread that a wizened old Gojid preacher was about to snatch the little package away from me like I was a child with an age-inappropriate book, but I eventually put the plant-based meat brick down into the shopping cart.

“Let’s get a few other types for you to try while we’re here,” said David.

I squinted at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before it clicked into place for me. “Meat has types,” I said, not really a question. “Right. Of course. Different… creatures probably don’t taste the same.” If I kept using the word creature, it wouldn’t get weird. Creatures weren’t people.

“Different pieces of the same creature don’t taste the same,” David said. He gestured at various parts of his own anatomy as he spoke, which was only made even more unsettling by his calmingly casual tone. “Shoulder is probably the best cut for soups and stews, and any other dish where you cook the meat slowly until it softens. Similarly, leg cuts tend to be tough, but flavorful. Backstrap is tender, but lacking in fat, so a gentle sear in butter isn’t uncommon. Rib and belly are the best of both worlds, at least to the human palate, but even going front to back, you can stumble into cuts that are too tough for a straight sear.”

The critical voice had an objection. “Front to back?” I asked, repeating those words. He’d been gesturing top to bottom as he’d said it.

David shrugged. “Cloned meat is still based on cell lines from our old domesticated animals. There are extremely few featherless bipeds on Earth. I think there was some discussion of trying to farm kangaroos for a bit?” I opened my mouth to ask the obvious question, so David answered it preemptively. “Imagine a giant, territorial Yotul that likes to punch things.”

“Gods, your wildlife is ridiculous,” I said, chuckling nervously. Why did so many Earth creatures have to look so much like Federation people? “Don’t tell the customers about that.”

David shrugged again. “I get where you’re coming from, but honesty has worked out well for me so far. I doubt it’s gonna come up. Nevertheless, yes, different meats, and the facsimiles thereof, tend to have different flavors. You grabbed a package of imitation ground beef, so I’ll probably make you a nice cheeseburger for dinner tonight. Still, let’s hook you up with some other options. Despite what I said about the texture and flavor, the best plant-based substitutes for meat are the options that mimic prepared foods. Sausages and batter-fried cutlets. A couple types of mock seafood hold up well, too.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend a plant-based steak or pulled pork, though.”

I wasn’t sure what those were, but I declined to ask follow-up questions. The ocean was vast and chilling, and I needed to slowly ease myself into this. Excitement and fear were two sides of the same coin, and my heart was racing all the same.

Still, I didn’t want to miss out… “Is there any chance we can come back some other time to look at the meat?” I asked bleakly, as David rummaged through the freezers for fakes I might like to try.

David’s head whipped around, fast enough to make me flinch, but his eyes just narrowed in concern. “Sure, anything you like. I’ve got plenty of meat back home, even if you change your mind later tonight. Are you alright? I was trying to keep your pace, but if it’s too much…”

He has a stockpile? the odd voice wondered. Of course! Owning vast reserves of meat is probably a desirable trait among predators. It suggests that he’s a skilled hunter, and a higher-quality potential mate.

No, it mostly suggests that he owns a restaurant, the critical voice said, incredulously.

I shook my head. “I think it was the pointing at yourself while talking about cuts of meat that did it,” I said glumly. “Too close to home.”

Too close to how the Arxur see us, said a voice, and I couldn’t quite tell which.

David nodded. “Won’t do that again, then. Sorry. I’ve been gushing so much about my own culture that I was being insensitive of yours. Thoughtless of me.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, but I couldn’t make my voice sound like I meant it.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

David shook his head. “No, that’s on me. I should have known better. You have to tread lightly on certain topics around people and cultures who’ve suffered the worst of them. You don’t joke about the Buryatian counter-pogroms around Siberian Russians, you don’t joke about slavery around African-Americans.”

I didn’t want to know right now. My quills had already started perking up from the stress, which felt extra-uncomfortable with the borrowed coat pinning them in place. “Gojids are actually considered a slave race by the Arxur,” I said, miserably.

David’s eyes went wide, and for the first time since I’d met him, he stopped talking entirely.

“Can we talk about something else?” I asked. “Maybe a distraction in a different direction?”

David nodded slowly. “You’re still naked aside from a jacket. Wanna see if any cute outfits fit you?”

“Sure!” I said, eager to change the subject. “The jacket’s too warm anyway. Let’s see if they have something thinner.”

David shrugged. “It’s still November, but we can hope.”

We pushed our cart of food over towards the section of the store dedicated to all the colorful artificial pelts the humans wore. The Nevoks, on their wintery homeworld, were one of the few Federation species that indulged in clothing, and even then, it was primarily for warmth, and secondarily as a show of wealth and status. We Gojids had--used to have--a more temperate homeworld, so the closest thing I had as a frame of reference for a display of textiles for sale was a home goods store. Racks upon racks of “towels” and “bedsheets” stood at the ready for me to choose one to wrap around myself, as was the local custom.

Well, aside from the jackets, there was one article of clothing I recognized. I liked the brighter colors, personally, but I’d noticed that most of the humans, David included, wore darker, more austere colors. What went the most nicely with brown, though? I picked up one in lavender, like a fruit tree blooming.

“How do I look?” I asked, showing my outfit off to David.

“Chiri, that is an apron.”

I smiled. “Yup! We have these on the Cradle, so I’ve worn one before.” I twirled in place so he could double-check my size choice. It’s not like I could read the labels. “See? Definitely fits!”

David rubbed his eyes. “Turn around again?”

I obliged. “Something wrong with the tie?” I asked quizzically. “There’s hardly anything else back there.”

“That is precisely my concern,” said David. He sighed. “I guess your quills would probably shred anything that covered your back properly.”

Ah, still the human modesty thing, then. He wasn’t wrong about the quills, though. How could I explain the issue to someone who lacked them entirely? “Damage aside, even the jacket you loaned me is a little uncomfortable. Anything that presses down on my quills feels like it’s perpetually tugging my skin along with it.” I pivoted around so I could see my own back in a nearby mirror and grimaced. “Anything I wear regularly is going to need to be backless, or at least very loose.”

David held his hand by his chin, thinking, and his gaze scanned around the clothing section for a specific target. “I think we can do loose.” He dashed off towards a clothing rack, and came back with a pale blue bit of cloth. “Here, see how this one feels.”

I vaguely identified it as a “shirt” as I shimmied into it, though David needed to help. The thin, baggy cloth settled gently on top of my quills. I posed in front of a nearby mirror. I didn’t hate the look! The shirt draped in a lopsided and casual manner, partly exposing a shoulder through the neck hole. It felt comfortable and laid-back.

“I think it works,” said David. “It’s got a real ‘cool older girl from down the block’ kind of vibe.”

I snorted. “I’m still six years younger than you, doofus.”

“Eh, everything after your mid-twenties is vibes-based,” David said, smiling. “Act as old or as young as you like. But maybe with some pants on, first.”

Pants were a no-go, sadly. I couldn’t even begin to puzzle out how to get those on without spiking clean through the cloth. Fortunately, we picked out some nice skirts that draped better over my shape. The only trouble remaining was the difficulty of getting the shirt back off, a process that once again required two people working in unison to gently pull it off. It still caught on my quills more than once, and nearly tore each time.

“Let’s just see about getting you a holopad, and then we can probably head out,” said David, idly grabbing an extra bottle or two of fur shampoo. I was considerably larger than David’s squat little dog was, so if I was sticking around, then it stood to reason that the household would be going through a lot more of it than usual.

The consumer electronics section was a bit brighter than I was used to--human advertising could get aggressive--but it was still a mostly familiar experience to any spacefaring species. The holopads were all slightly thinner and larger-screened than I was used to, to better fit the long and spindly hands of humans, but a couple smaller ones looked like it wouldn’t hurt to hold them. The hololenses sounded like they’d be the most convenient option if I was going to be working with my hands, but none of them came remotely close to fitting my head shape. I could precariously balance a pair on my snout, but the lenses sat squarely between my eyes, uselessly. It probably looked hilarious, though.

I tried to get David’s attention to show him, but he was scowling at his holopad, confused and worried.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

I was mostly worried that my escapades had already started a problem on social media, but David held up a hand for silence as he made a call. “Hi, can you direct me to whichever police station is still active in Coney Island? I think there’s been a break-in.”