Relishing the tranquility, I am satisfied to indulge in the delectable food and savor my beer until Doc rejoins us. Tex eases her back into her seat, and she eagerly delves into the meal.
“Thank you, Nathan, for your forbearance. I was not aware that you knew Stravola. She is a dear friend, but she can be rather forward.”
“Doc, Stravola’s not a very common name. She lived in Astral Utopia when we were fucking. I didn’t know that she moved to Arcadia. I was wondering if it was the same person.”
“In certain cultures, especially those of Greek descent, such as Stravola, the name is somewhat more common,” Tex stated.
“I knew that her family was wealthy,” I mentioned. "Her family's heavy investment in olives I also knew. I didn’t know she was of Greek descent."
"Stravola's family has become proprietors of extensive olive groves across all the arcologies. They also manage sizable herds of goats, sheep, lamas, alpacas, and guanacos." Dr. Rhys said. "Her family is a leading provider of natural fibers and meats not produced in vats within the arcologies."
"For those who can afford it," Tex said.
"Yes, Tex. Unfortunately." Dr. Rhys said.
"Notably, her family has recently ventured into the production of hydroponic wasabi," Tex said.
“What’s wasabi, Tex?” I asked.
"That green paste–a thumb-sized dollop–you ate earlier, the one that made your eyes water and triggered the coughing, happened an hour ago. Just to refresh your memory, that was the wasabi, and you swallowed it whole," Tex explained.
"You hastily consumed the wasabi before I could caution you, Nathan. Fresh ground wasabi is particularly pungent. For future reference, it is advised to use small amounts," Dr. Rhys remarked.
She remembered how Nathan's face twisted, a grimace spreading across his features as the wasabi struck. The air filled with a sharp, pungent smell, and a visible shudder ran through him. A silent battle waged as the corners of my mouth twitched, fighting the urge to grin while warmth spread across my cheeks.
“Thanks, Doc, Tex. If I see wasabi again, I will remember to try small amounts.”
“Nathan, I am ordering another bourbon flight. Would you care for some more beer?”
“Please, Doc, but not another flight. Just this dark porter.” I looked at the holo-menu. “Stormy Monday Porter.”
A silver hovering robocart swiftly arrived at our table following Dr. Rhys's order. It delivered another bourbon flight for the doctor and smoothly slid a frost-coated glass beer mug across the table to me. I indulge in a substantial sip of the refreshing, ice-cold porter beer.
“Nathan, I am disappointed that no fresh oysters are available. I have eagerly followed the startup of Erosian hydroponics-raised oysters.”
“I’ve never eaten an oyster; they’re long extinct on most of Old Earth. Because of the toxicity of the oceans and seas, few live near or venture onto them."
"What few oysters exist on Earth are heavily polluted with various radionuclides such as Polonium-210, Strontium-90 and Cesium-137. It will be another several hundred standard years before any of the radionuclide polluted oysters will be safe to eat for humans," Tex said.
"Yeah, Tex I remember the machines targeted human food sources."
"They did, Nathan."
"I didn't mean to offend you Tex."
"I am not offended Nathan. Both sides in the Machine Wars did horrible things," Tex said.
"Sure did."
"To ensure humans couldn't re-seed the oyster beds, the machines deployed xenobiotic prions. These included the "Wasting Protein," a synthetic, machine-designed prion that remains dormant in the oyster but, when consumed by a mammal, causes rapid neurological decay."
Dr. Rhys explained, "Prions are the cause of prion diseases, fatal and transmissible neurodegenerative conditions impacting animals, humans included. Neurodegenerative diseases are triggered by prions, which form extracellular amyloid plaques in the central nervous system, thereby destroying normal tissue."
"Nanotoxins, contained in capsules, were spread in the oceans. Microscopic, chemically inactive beads avoid the oyster's digestion but dissolve in a human stomach, releasing concentrated nerve agents like VX or Sarin derivatives," Tex said.
"You are correct Tex. That is why oysters went from a delicacy to a biological dirty bomb," Dr. Rhys said. "I want to see Eros despite the difficulty raise safe to eat oysters. I am assured there is room enough for the saltwater aquaponic tanks. Algae, seaweed, sea urchins, shellfish, mollusks and crustations will also be grown. The algae and seaweed will also help with CO2 remediation."
"Doc, I take it that you invested in the Erosian startup oyster venture. Aren’t they supposed to be an aphrodisiac?”
"You are perceptive, Nathan,” Dr. Rhys said. “Yes, I provided a major portion of the initial funding."
"Oysters, rumored to be aphrodisiacs, were brought back from the brink of extinction by a few commercial Europa oyster farms," Tex said.
"Seems like every kind of food is rumored to be an aphrodisiac," I said.
"Europa is expected to produce commercial oysters in the next few coming years. Mars has a small, slowly growing oyster industry. Exporting oysters may or may not be commercially viable. Shipping will be a challenge. Economy of size is possible. I am not sure if filling a four-kilometer-long bulk carrier with nothing but oysters would be commercially sound. Fuel costs alone ... "
"Yes. Thank you Tex. If I can obtain some oysters for you, Nathan, maybe you can share whether they have any aphrodisiac effects," Dr. Rhys said.
“If oysters make me horny, perhaps I can call Stravola for old times’ sake.” My question came at the exact moment Doc was drinking bourbon, catching her mid-sip.
Doc coughs into her napkin. Her dark eyes get flinty. She leans towards me; she stabs the table with a stiff finger. “You bad boy. You did that on purpose. If you are horny, there is no porra way you are calling Stravola.”
Oh, damn. I might have touched a sore spot with Dr. Rhys. Interesting.
Behind Dr. Rhys, a mature nude woman in tall, vibrant, glossy yellow high heels gracefully approaches our table. I admire the woman's remarkably slim, hairless body. A broad silver streak runs through her long dark brown hair, starting from the middle of her forehead and flowing over her shoulders.
A thin gold hoop with a small yellow jewel pierces her clitoral hood. A lightweight silver chain with three small yellow gems dangles from her pierced belly button. Each ear carries a single large pear-cut yellow gem, swinging freely as she moves.
Following her, tethered by a lightweight silver chain leash in her right hand, is a highly muscular, entirely hairless male standing approximately two meters tall. The male wears only shoes. Black shoes with white, flat-soles and a wide black leather collar adorned with many chrome spikes. At the base of his notably impressive, circumcised, erect member, there is a golden cock ring embellished with several tiny red jewels.
The woman stops by our table. “Oh, darling, pray do tell, who is this newfound companion of yours,” she asks in an arrogant and condescending tone.
Dr. Rhys looks at the woman, sighs, and then grimaces.
“Zerelda, may I introduce Captain Rourke.” Dr. Rhys gestures toward me. "Captain Rourke, this is Zerelda."
I hope that is not yet another woman that Nathan fucked during his golden boy period. I have no logical reason to be jealous. Godsdamn it! It pisses me off thinking of Nathan in bed with this porra old snake.
“Ah, so you are Captain Rourke. I vaguely recall your name from years past. Though it seems you have distanced yourself from the arcologies since then.”
“My circumstances changed, Zerelda.”
"It's a shame that you are wearing red, Captain Rourke. I enjoy the company of younger men."
Saying nothing else, Zerelda walks away, leading the sizable naked male.
“Filho da puta! What a boceta,” Doc said, her dark eyes flinty again. “Zerelda looks down on anyone she feels is not worthy of her peer group. That must be her new cock fighting champion.”
I am relieved that Zerelda did not recognize Nathan. For a moment, I worried he might have a sexual history with yet another woman. While logically I understand there is no reason for jealousy, but emotions tend to override reason.
“Doc, I assume you and the thankfully departed Zerelda don’t get along?”
“You assume correctly, Nathan,” Tex says. “Old family feuds.”
Turning my head, I looked around the restaurant. “So, if I get horny, there is no calling Zerelda, then.”
“Not a chance would I let you call that shriveled old bitch,” Doctor Rhys says hotly. “While my family possesses considerably more wealth, hers is entrenched in centuries-old affluence. My family's prosperity is a more recent acquisition, dating back only a few hundred years. In contrast, that bitch’s lineage boasts an enduring opulence, traceable through the scant records that endure.”
“Your family is wealthier, but she comes from older money.”
“That is correct, Nathan. While I am exceptionally wealthy in my own right, what my parents have left for me when they pass, even outside what my three older siblings will each receive, is more money than someone could spend in a lifetime or even several lifetimes.”
“That must be nice,” I sarcastically mentioned.
"Over time, the concept of money has lost practical significance for me. It is reduced to mere numbers on a spreadsheet that my accountants present to me biannually. I suspect my three older siblings experience a similar detachment."
“You have three older siblings?”
“That is correct, my dear Nathan. The youngest is some 20 years older than me. What about you?”
“I wonder why you are curious about my family, Doc.”
“I wish to know you better, Nathan. I was adopted at age nine. My parent's three adult children were already out of the home. Now you share.”
“I am the middle child. I have an older sister and a younger brother. My sister and her husband work on a Martian ag station on a contract farm with my parents. On Mars is where my younger brother and his husband live. My brother works in plant husbandry. Last I heard from him, he was attempting to create new strains of duckweed and an improved blue-green algae strain that would eat carbon dioxide more efficiently and be useful as a feedstock for another process or could be fed to livestock.”
“No nieces or nephews, Nathan?”
“Not that I know of from my younger brother, Doc. My sister’s oldest daughter joined the Martian Marshal Service several years ago. I was at my niece’s graduation in between EC deployments."
"I am sure that she appreciated you being there, Nathan."
"I'm not so sure. Her talking, pony-sized Martian Marshal Canine Companion (MMCC) Ruff looked at me as if I was a tasty, squeaky chew toy. Gave me the creeps."
"I have heard that the Cliffords are brilliant beings, tightly integrated with their Marshal companion through cybernetic and wetware connections. Meeting a Clifford has been a longstanding desire of mine, driven by the curiosity to study the intricate dynamics between their cybernetics and the Marshal's interface."
"My sister’s last email mentioned that Rachel and Ruff were in training for the Martian Marshal Special Operations Group.”
"Good for her."
“I have been out of touch with most of my family for over 20 years, Doc, so I am unsure how much has changed. Have you ever figured out why they nickname the Marshal’s dogs Cliffords?”
“The reason Nathan has been lost in the mists of time,” Tex says. “I assume it has something to do with an ancient and probably extinct huge canine breed.”
“Doc, any nieces or nephews of your own?”
“Several of each, Nathan.”
I rubbed my right shoulder. My shoulder aches, and it feels hot.
“Does your shoulder bother you, Nathan,” Doctor Rhys asks.
“A little bit, it aches, and it’s getting warm.”
“Nathan, you mentioned you hurt your shoulder being tied up by your ex-wife. Do you like being tied up in bed?”
“Well, Doc, it depends on my partner. I rarely mind being tied up a little. After my ex-wife, I am considerably more cautious with whom I will let tie me up.”
I wait until Nathan has a mouthful of beer. “I would let you tie me up in bed, Nathan. I do not mind either.” I laugh at the look on his face, watching him cough and choke on beer. I have not had so much fun in a long time.
“Well played, Doc.”
“Tex, if you would please.”
Tex drops a pair of medium-sized, round, white pills into my hand. I look at them dubiously.
“Nathan, neither Doctor Rhys nor I would provide you with a nonbeneficial drug,” Tex said.
“The pills are a combination of Estrgestdutant, a high-order anti-inflammatory, and the mild pain blocker Arteicridar,” Doctor Rhys said. “Common side effect is drowsiness, which can be exacerbated by alcohol.”
I swallow them with some beer.
“Madam, have you been watching the local news?”
“No. Tex, why are you communicating with me via our neural networks? You know Nathan cannot take part, or is this intentional exclusion on your part?”
“Partially intentional, considering I am uncertain whether you want Nathan privy to this information. Regrettably, the Erosian Gazette's slimeball gossip reporter, Nano Sink, spotted Nathan and Madam entering the restaurant. I am following his rather unpleasant electronic presence.”
Doc leans forward and covers her face with her hands. I look around, seeing if someone is approaching our table again.
“Hey, Doc, is everything okay?”
“Give us a moment, please, Nathan,” Tex says.
“Puta merda! I should have done more than punch his stupid lights out before tossing him off the balcony.”
“Knocking him unconscious before throwing him off the balcony and falling 20 meters to the swimming pool was inadvisable. Your Brazilian Jujitsu is formidable but not worth using on that sack of shit. Rich people are not supposed to die or nearly die when they do something stupid. Adhering to the restraining order, you are prohibited from getting within 500 meters of Sink. You must better guard your temper, Madam.”
“Is that monte de merda in the restaurant, Tex?”
I noticed Doc is looking around the restaurant. Placing my hand on the hilt of my 0ME knife, I look for any apparent threats.
“Be at ease, Nathan; drawing your knife is unnecessary. This is not a physical threat to Madam’s person, which I am more than capable of handling,” Tex said. “However, I appreciate the thought, Nathan.”
“No, Madam, Sink is not in the restaurant. I doubt the restaurant staff would let him inside. Sink has identified Nathan but finds getting other information on him exceedingly difficult. Personnel data from Mars will take over 72 hours to reach Eros. However, I have misdirected many of Sink’s Martian queries. Sink will receive several zettabytes of public Martian personnel records, all with the first name of Nathan.”
“Thank you, Tex.”
“You are welcome, Madam. Nathan’s years living in obscurity in Slagville are fortunate for us. Sink frequently inquired into Nathan’s Erosian background. I am blocking Sink’s efforts. Regrettably, my blocking Sink’s progress has spurred him to greater effort.”
“Merda! Tex, this situation keeps getting better.”
"That you are in China Grove with a retired EC captain is already in the Galactic Associated Press. Thankfully, there are a lot of retired male Caucasian EC captains, so they have not identified Nathan–yet. That plastic blonde buffoon Pixie Buffer has fanned speculation about Madam’s new man on her ten-minute travesty of a gossip talk show. Mars already has several bookies offering odds of your possible return from your self-imposed exile.”
“We need to move quicker than I had hoped, Tex. I wanted to give Nathan more time to adjust to the idea that he is my partner now, whether or not he likes it. I will not have my ethics mistaken for weakness again.”
“Since Nathan does not have a comm unit, he is unaware of the news.”
“Well, Tex, that is something in our favor, at least.”
“I know you will not be pleased with this, but your mother has commed twice and has only mentioned grandchildren eleven times. She was most unhappy that I would not let her speak with you. But she seemed happy when I mentioned you were still on your date.”
“I am not sure this is a date, Tex. I believe it is more of a business supper. All I need is my mother grilling Nathan. It will be a miracle if mother does not chase him off. Please say nothing to him about the news or my mother. He will be slammed with news when we install his new comm unit. I want to spare him as much grief as I can. Let us quit being rude to Nathan and let him rejoin the conversation.”
"I apologize, Nathan. Tex and I did not mean to be impolite; we had an urgent matter to discuss. Let us now savor our dessert and cocktails."
A hovering robocart glides silently to our table, placing a plate adorned with several small, dark squares between us. The enticing aroma of rich chocolate emanates from the artfully crafted treats, filling the air.
"Chocolate nearly disappeared from Earth, a victim of forestry loss and several nuclear wars," Tex said.
"Good chocolate is always expensive," I said.
"Natural cocoa in any form is a pricey and rare treat. Mars and several space station colonies have struggled to bring cocoa back for years."
"I neglected to inquire about your preference for dark or milk chocolate, Nathan," Dr. Rhys said. "The squares with a red dot on top contain cherry-flavored liquor, while the white dots are filled with vanilla liquor creme."
She selects a piece of dark chocolate with a red dot, savoring it with deliberate, appreciative sounds. I sampled one of the vanilla-filled pieces, experiencing an explosion of rich dark chocolate combined with the intense flavor of vanilla in my mouth.
“What do you think, Nathan,” Doctor Rhys asked.
“A bit too sweet, but tasty. One is enough for me, Doc. You can have the rest.”
A hovering robocart glides to our table, presenting two martinis. Each glass holds an inky black liquid with a shallow cap of white foam on top. I turn to Dr. Rhys, silently seeking an explanation or guidance.
“Espresso martinis, my dear Captain. One of my favorite after-dinner cocktails.”
"This is real coffee?"
"Of course my Captain. I would not drink it otherwise."
Sipping the espresso cocktail unveils a potent combination of rich, bitter coffee flavor followed by a robust punch and a warming alcohol burn.
“Be careful, Nathan, that Martini has at least two shots of 101-proof vodka in it,” Tex advised.
Natural coffee is such an exceedingly rare treat. With a single kilo bag of Martian Snake Plissken brand coffee costing over 1.000 credits, I have not had real coffee in over 20 years.
The Martian Snake Plissken dark roast blend was my favorite when I could afford it. I watch Doc as she blissfully eats chocolate and drinks vodka-laced espresso. I enjoy watching her eat the treats with such relish. She is gorgeous.
“Nathan, Tex has something else for you,” Doctor Rhys said after finishing the chocolate.
Tex retrieves a well-worn, matte titanium alloy box from a storage compartment, a sight I recognize. Placing it in front of me, I activate the opening mechanism with my thumbprint, accompanied by a subtle hiss. The box unfolds entirely, unveiling the familiar form of my Dalitso10mm pistol.
When I pick up the pistol, it connects to my sluggish wetware. A sharp pinprick in my palm lets me know that the gun just checked my DNA, unlocking the pistol. I get several wetware warnings, but the most pressing is that the pistol is no longer "chipped in" for me, so accuracy will suffer.
“How did you find this,” I asked Dr. Rhys with wonder in my voice.
“With the help of Tex, not that difficult to find the previous owner of the pistol, Nathan. Tex had to repair your SR-10 as it was hacked so that anybody could use it. Tex returned it as Mars EC issue but also slightly upgraded your pistol. Some parts, even with mass fabs, were not available.”
“You cannot truly appreciate your pistol until we have repaired your mangled wetware,” Tex said. “If you would rather have a newer pistol model, we can get about any gun you wish for.”
“No, thank you, Tex. This pistol means a lot to me, Doc. That you went out of your way to recover my pistol is very touching.”
“Nathan, why is that pistol so dear to you? The Dalitso SR-10 is a much older pistol model that has been out of production for over 30 years. After your wetware, cybernetics, and arm are repaired, I can upgrade the pistol if you allow me, Nathan. It will not be as advanced as the latest firearm designs, but better than you have now. Or we can get you another pistol if you would rather.”
“Thanks, Tex, that is a kind offer. I might not take you up on that.” Looking down at the pistol, I sighed. “This old pistol was the one I was originally issued upon graduation from the EC academy. Sure, it’s old and beat up, but so am I. Didn't realize how attached I was to my SR-10 until I had to hock it.”
I ensure that my pistol and all four 25-round magazines are empty. Before I put my gun back in its case, I confirm that the manual safety is engaged. I shut the case and observed the indicator light transition from open to locked.
“We will have the mass fabs build several different varieties of 10mm ammo once we have the parts required to repair your arm,” Tex said. “If you prefer a particular type of ammo load, please let me know so I can accurately program the mass fabs.”
“Sure thing, Tex. I will provide you with my preferred loading.”
“The previous owner had it loaded with two-stage hypergolic rounds,” Tex said. “The hypergolic rounds I dumped in the raw material feed chute of one of madam's mass fabs. I shudder at what would have happened had one of those rounds burst open.”
“Well, Tex, that was why those rounds were quickly removed from service. Hypergolic bullets were a caseless design that worked better than some of the earlier attempts, they were fragile and dangerous. Those rounds are banned in many areas.”
"With good reason. During my initial general medical doctorate studies, I encountered case studies detailing severe injuries from ruptured hypergolic rounds."
"I take it you are antigun, Doc," I said.
"Not at all. I am anti-idiot with a gun."
“I will hold that for you, Nathan.”
“Thank you, Tex.” I hand back my pistol case. Tex tucked it back into an internal storage compartment.
“Walk with me, Nathan,” Doctor Rhys says as Tex helps her stand up. I offer my arm, and we leave China Grove’s rotating dining area.
At the receptionist’s stand in the restaurant's front, Doc hugs and kisses Lelise on the cheeks.
“Doctor Rhys, several reporters are waiting outside. My father requested that you be led out the back through the employee's entrance. My nephew Ifa will take you to the exit.”
She motions toward a slender, tall Black adolescent dressed in pristine white athletic sneaks and a skin-tight electric blue one-piece bodysuit. Tiny, colorful beads accent his neatly braided cornrows.
“Lelise, how bad are the reporters outside?” I wonder why Doctor Rhys questions the young woman.
“Bad madam. Some haadha rawu even came in here and tried to bribe me as if I was some shallee. I am not even remotely that venal. As if they could impose their will upon me with a bribe. I requested that Ifa and some of my brothers not hurt too badly the fucktwats who entered the restaurant. As if our family would forget what Doctor Rhys did for us.”
“Come, honored lady and her friends.” Ifa’s voice still has that transitional crackling awkwardness typical of males at the end of adolescence.
Doctor Rhys and I, with a silent Tex, follow behind Ifa as he leads us towards the busy kitchen at the rear of the restaurant.
“Doc, you seem very close to Lelise.”
“Nathan, of Francois’s children, Lelise is closest to me in age. The family originates from Ethiopia and Martinique on Old Terra. Part of the family was living on Mars, and another was on Trinity station.”
Doctor Rhys falls silent as we pass through the busy kitchen. The familial resemblance of the kitchen staff is clear. The staff members holler at each other in at least three languages, one standardized English. My sluggish wetware only identifies one of the unknown languages as very rare Island French.
Entering a silent corridor, Doctor Rhys continued. “I was tired of the strong doing what they wanted while the weak had to endure. One of the reasons I left my lucrative medical position on Mars.”
Doctor Rhys falls silent as a sizeable hovering robocart loaded with produce boxes passes us.
“While leaving Mars, I sponsored Francois and his whole family’s move to Eros. I also provided them with the start-up capital for China Grove. I am still a partial owner.”
Doctor Rhys falls silent again as Ifa leads us to a spacious freight elevator. Activating the security plate with his hand illuminates green, and the doors part with an electronic beep.
“Take the elevator down,” Ifa directed. “Upon exiting, turn left and proceed until you see a set of security doors. Beyond those doors lies the lowest tier of the Sylvan Grove. Stick to the perimeter to avoid encounters with reporters.”
