Do No Harm

by Chris Kennedy

* * * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Master Chef Masimotta stared fiercely at the Wrogul cutting daikon and carrots for the side dishes. The Wrogul was out of his mobile water tank, balancing himself on two arms while he chopped with six. Master Masimotta squinted closely at the Wrogul who appeared to be dancing as it chopped vegetables.

  “Master Marinara, you are out of your tank!” the managing chef exclaimed.

  Marinara spun around and looked at his boss and flashed consternation. “Yes, I am.”

  “And may I ask why?”

  “I am practicing my balance. And increasing my endurance for being out of water.”

  “And may I ask why?”

  “I want to be able to grill in front of the customers. I want them to see me as I present their meals to them.”

  “And again, may I ask why?”

  The Wrogul was silent for a moment. “I need to accomplish more. I have plans for my own restaurants. I have learned so much during my internship, but I have plans to move on—” Marinara looked closely at his boss and hesitated “—respectfully, sir.” He gave a little bow.

  Masimotta stared at Marinara with what Michael called the gimlet eye.

  “You have plans.”

  “Yes, Master.” Marinara gave another small bow and could feel skin drying in places on his arms. He hesitated and then offered, “Perhaps I should return to my mobile tank and finish my duties from there, Master.”

  “Perhaps you should.” Master Masimotta stared at the chopped vegetables to one side of Marinara’s work station. Precision. Exactly the same with each cut. It was a value the Wrogul brought to the restaurant, not that many customers would exclaim over the precision cuts of the squash or wasabi root.

  Marinara returned to his tank and wheeled it back to his work station. He finished his duties, cleaned the station, and sadly wheeled out the employees’ exit. Another night in which he wouldn’t be preparing the sushi or the meal in front of the customer. He knew many of the celebrities who visited the restaurant were curious about the Wrogul but drew the line at having it hang from the tank while their meals were prepared. He had noticed more celebrities, but also noticed more alien races visiting as well. Michael told him word was spreading about the Wrogul chef working at Atelier, and many were visiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of him behind the sushi bar.

  Just last week, he had prepared excellent sushi and sashimi for a Japanese actor. The celebrity was in several action movies and visited the restaurant on a regular basis. It surprised Marinara when Master Masimotta walked up to his mobile tank. The manager stood there a few seconds and then cleared his throat, causing Marinara to look up from his duties.

  “Master Marinara, actor Danny Lee wishes to speak with you. Please show him proper respect.”

  Marinara stared at the slim man standing behind his boss.

  The actor held out his hand. “Dude! I just wanted to say thanks for the outstanding sushi.”

  Marinara slipped an arm gently onto the man’s outstretched hand and touched it briefly. He had to give the actor credit, he didn’t cringe. “Thank you,” he said.

  “No, thank you. You’re one brave little dude, around all these knives, in such an alien environment. My hat’s off to you.”

  “And I thank you,” Marinara began, searching through his pinplant files furiously, “for your roles in…” he hesitated, scanning files quickly, “The Blue Dragon and Blue Dragon Returns.”

  The actor looked surprised. “A fan?”

  “Absolutely.” Marinara subtly crossed two arms in his tank. He had seen Meryll do the same movement with the fingers of one hand behind her back. “I am a big fan of action movies, particularly the superhero kind.”

  “Yeah,” the actor chuckled. “I guess we all want to be superheroes.”

  “It is true,” Marinara agreed. “We do.”

  “Well, hang in there, little dude. I’ll be back for more of those excellent dishes. I’ll be telling all of my friends about the great sushi chef here.”

  His boss cleared his throat once again. “Master Marinara is not our Master Sushi Chef,” he corrected.

  “Well, he should be. He’s outstanding.”

  Master Masimotta cast an eye on the Wrogul in his tank, then turned to follow the actor.

  * * *

  He and Michael talked about the incident later. They brought Meryll in on a video call and told her what happened. Although Marinara didn’t follow the Japanese glitterati scene, he was aware more celebrities were frequenting the restaurant. He heard the gossip from other workers around the kitchens, and sometimes saw the hostesses whispering excitedly in the kitchen corner with other chefs.

  Meryll was contemplative. “You should turn this to your advantage.”

  “How? And why?”

  “Well, you keep telling me you have goals. You paid your credits and received your Master Chef certification but you haven’t done anything with it. You’re still interning in the kitchen there. You don’t need to return to New York for classes. You can go to any school you want if you simply want to study cuisine. Maybe it’s time to step things up a notch and angle for the big time.”

  Michael chimed in. “Go big or go home, as they say.”

  Marinara whirled to face Michael. “Explain.”

  “It’s an old saying,” Michael responded. “It means be bold. Put your best into it. If you’re not prepared to do your best possible, then just go home.”

  “Think about it, Marinara,” Meryll said, about to sign off. “What do you want to be? Gotta go, now; it’s late. I’ll talk to you guys in few days.”

  Michael arched an eyebrow at Marinara. “What do you want to be, Mari?”

  Marinara thought for a few seconds. “I don’t want to be a superhero, but I wish I could have saved my friend.”

  * * *

  Marinara made Michael’s saying part of his mantra. He became more aggressive with his portion of the dishes and pressed Master Masimotta for more time in front of customers. His boss begrudgingly admitted more customers were visiting the restaurant asking about the Wrogul. Finally, Marinara confronted his boss.

  “It’s time for me to show the world what a great chef I am, Master Masimotta.”

  His boss said nothing and stared at the Wrogul.

  “I wish to prepare a meal for a special guest.”

  Master Masimotta looked thoughtful. Finally, he said, “Two days from now. 8:00 p.m. Which two sous chefs will assist you?”

  Marinara flashed surprise and joy. “Why no one, Master Masimotta. I have eight arms. Why should I need assistants? They only add four arms to the process. I can do it all myself.”

  Master Masimotta simply stared at his eager intern. “Hmph,” he said and turned away. “Start planning.”

  * * *

  It was time. Marinara spent his day preparing, and he was ready. His station was neat and orderly. Charcoal grills were lit and proteins resting in chilled water. Master Masimotta stepped up to his station.

  He frowned at Marinara. “You are ready?”

  “Yes, Master Masimotta.”

  “Then let us begin.” He nodded to the hovering hostess who turned and ushered an elegantly dressed couple to the table.

  Marinara left his tank and gave a slight bow to his customers.

  “I, Master Chef Marinara, am quite pleased to prepare this meal for you this evening. I hope it meets your satisfaction.”

  The woman tittered, and Marinara glanced at her. Oh yes, he had seen her around the restaurant. She was the hostess of a famous Japanese talk show and frequently espoused her views on women’s and planetary rights. The man beside her played a television detective who raised pet squirrels that helped him solve his television crimes. The actor never missed a chance for public appearances. Excellent.

  Marinara began with his sushi selections. He made two of each item and slid the plates across the table while his other arms sliced and diced and folded his selections. He cast a glance at the actor and was
pleased with the satisfaction that filled the man’s face. His companion was nodding appreciatively and making “mmm-mmm” sounds as she sampled the sushi. This was going well.

  He passed them bowls of broth. They both sipped delicately. Not quite as enthusiastically as they did with the sushi, but there were still several courses to go. He passed along bowls of ramen and awaited the appreciative slurp of the noodles. It didn’t happen. He turned to see the actor address his companion.

  “Is everything alright, my dear?”

  “Oh, I expected something more than ramen. It’s so passé.”

  Marinara felt a twinge of panic. “There are a variety of courses to come,” he assured them.

  The actor turned to the Wrogul and grinned broadly. “And I eagerly await them,” he stated loudly. Marinara noticed the flushed face of the actor. He subtly waved an arm and picked up an odor of alcohol. Oh, they had been drinking.

  He served the pickled vegetables and checked the grill. Soon. He passed the plates of vegetables and the actress selected a bite and began chewing. Her painted red lips made a moue of distaste.

  “What’s wrong, my dear?” her companion asked solicitously.

  The woman laid her chopsticks down. “It’s not pickled well. It’s really too sweet for me.”

  Marinara whirled in panic to stare at the vegetables. Not pickled well? He had personally overseen that particular batch weeks ago. He had to save this dinner, now!

  He plated the fish and respectfully presented it to both guests. The actor took a bite and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. He wiped his sweaty face and searched for a glass. He grabbed the teapot before Marinara could reach it and poured his own cup. He downed it quickly and poured another cup.

  “It’s…quite…salty…isn’t it?”

  Marinara felt like he was drowning in air. Too salty? He had carefully salted that fish himself. He had salted that fish with one arm while he was busy preparing his sushi leaves. He had…salted that fish…

  Marinara was in full panic mode but he needed to stay calm enough to finish the dinner. He prepared the rest of his dishes, but he knew the evening was ruined. He could see it in their faces. He could see the whispering beginning among co-workers. He could see Master Masimotta standing in the distance frowning and shaking his head as someone whispered in his ear.

  Had someone sabotaged his meal? Were they that jealous of his success?

  No, let’s be honest, he told himself. I prepared everything. I left nothing to chance, so no one else could ruin the dinner. The failure is mine and mine alone.

  The ordeal was finally over. The couple declined dessert and fruit. They stood to leave. The actor looked closely at Marinara.

  “I’m rather disappointed,” he said. “I had expected more.” Master Masimotta stepped up to say something but the actor simply shook his head and walked away.

  Marinara looked at the ruin of his station—at the ruin of his dreams.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was weeks before his co-workers stopped whispering when he wheeled past them. Master Masimotta rarely interacted with him other than to inspect his vegetables or sample his broths. Marinara, filled with the sense of failure, kept to himself and simply went about doing the job he was hired to do.

  Then one evening Master Masimotta stepped up to Marinara’s work station and nodded to the Wrogul. “Marinara, come with me.”

  Marinara flashed surprise. His co-workers looked up in surprise, too.

  He followed his boss to a quiet corner of the kitchen. “Master Marinara, a guest has requested you prepare a special meal for him. He has asked only that you prepare it and has no special requests. I’m assigning Suki and Tom to assist you. You will decide the ingredients you need and put those two to work. You will decide the courses you want to offer and make your preparations. You will make this meal in front of the guest. You must be ready to cook at seven. Get to work.”

  Marinara put an arm out to stop his boss as he turned away. “Is this for Danny Lee?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Who is it?”

  “You don’t need to know. It won’t make a difference in your planning.”

  Marinara disagreed, but kept silent.

  “May I leave my tank to present this meal?”

  Master Masimotta stared at the Wrogul. “It is your choice.” He turned and walked away.

  Marinara slid into his tank for a moment. His two co-workers stood in front of him, staring at him with round eyes. He thought for a moment before speaking. “I am preparing a menu,” he told the two. “I will have a supply list in ten minutes. We begin preparation in fifteen.”

  Two hours later, the Wrogul and his two helpers surveyed their surroundings in satisfaction. There had been some close calls and some last-minute menu changes, but he was ready—batter, vegetables, noodles, protein, the unagi—was ready. His sushi was ready. He was ready.

  The hostess ushered a young man to his station. Young, in relative Earth terms. He could be thirty or he could be fifty. Though there was no gray showing, so probably not fifty. He was not someone Marinara had seen before.

  Marinara had left his tank only moments earlier. He figured he was good for an hour, maybe more if he could sneak a quick dip back in the tank. He balanced on two arms. He and the gentleman stared at each other, then bowed slightly to each other. The hostess pulled out the chair and he sat.

  Show time!

  His two assistants stood to the side in case he needed them. Suki had brewed some tea, in case his guest wanted it. He surprised Marinara by waving her away and saying quietly, “Just water, please.”

  Marinara presented the dish of sushi and his guest eyed the variety of pieces, chose two and moved them to a different plate. He bit delicately into the roll and began to chew, a slow grin spreading across his face as he swallowed the bite. He popped the other roll in his mouth and downed it quickly.

  “More of that, please.” Marinara bowed slightly and presented the tray again.

  They began the dance of food courses. Marinara checked his grill and oil, and with different arms began to share plates and dishes with his guest. Ramen, soup, tempura. The eel was grilling and he offered more noodles to his guest. There were some minor flubs with the tempura, and the guest waved away more noodles. Marinara was apprehensive.

  “I’ll take that tea, now.” Suki stepped forward and poured for the guest while Marinara presented him with the plate of eel and rice.

  “Ah. A nice offering.” The guest speared the slices of eel and savored the dish. Marinara turned away to prepare the fruit.

  When all was served, Marinara waited patiently for the guest to finish. He was sipping a glass of wine and Marinara was beginning to feel some itchy dry patches on his arms. He had arranged earlier with Suki to have her discretely spritz water on some spots, but he was longing to return his tank.

  Finally, his guest was finished. He stood. “A most enjoyable presentation, my friend,” the gentleman intoned. “Allow me to present my card.”

  Marinara lifted two arms up to receive the card. He eyed it, and suddenly realized the restaurant had grown silent as his guest stood up. He looked at the card again. Takeshi Kaga. His eyes grew wide as he looked at his guest.

  “Yes,” Kaga said with a laugh. “It’s for real. We’ve heard the gossip about the Wrogul at Atelier. You know, we resurrected the show about four years ago as The New Iron Chef. I wanted to see if you had the chops to compete on the show.”

  Marinara held the card and simply stared in wonder, all concern with his itchiness gone.

  “I’ve spoken to Master Masimotta. He’s willing to present you, if you wish to compete. Give us a call if you think you’ve got what it takes.”

  Marinara looked up to see many of the kitchen staff peeking around doors, and other coworkers clustered around his station. Master Masimotta was standing behind the actor, grinning, of all things! Other restaurant guests were standing and clapping or tapping t
heir water glasses with utensils.

  It was real. And it was going to happen!

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marinara stood behind the curtain, hanging four arms out of his mobile tank. Meryll and Michael stood next to him. Meryll nervously rubbed her palms together. Michael slouched, his hands in his pockets. Master Masimotta walked up to the tank and scowled fiercely.

  “You are ready, Master Chef Marinara?” he asked sternly. On stage, they heard the sound of flourishing music and an actor intoning, “If memory serves…”

  Marinara hesitated. “Yes,” he finally stated.

  “Then let us proceed.”

  On stage, the host continued. “Let’s introduce today’s challenger, a trump card I have been saving…the dishes he creates…”

  The audience began clapping, and Marinara wheeled his mobile tank into the stadium and down the carpet. The announcer gave the play by play, explaining the history of the Wrogul, how he grew up in Azure and traveled to Earth to study its cuisine. Master Masimotta walked beside Marinara’s tank. The actor playing Takeshi Kaga greeted them and turned to the audience. Dramatic music rose, and the lights dimmed.

  “I summon…the Iron Chef…” the announcer continued to describe the Iron Chefs to the audience.

  Marinara chose the French specialty Iron Chef, as had been agreed upon when he signed the appearance contracts.

  Kaga spoke briefly, and the dramatic music rose again in a flourish. He announced he had thought very carefully about today’s challenge and ripped away a cloth to reveal…

  A tank of octopi!

  Back stage, Meryll squealed and Michael sagged against a wall in laughter. A clamor arose in the stage audience. The Iron Chef on stage broke into a big grin. The cameramen moved in closely to tape the tank of roiling octopi tentacles. One cameraman was focusing intently on Marinara, taping his reaction as he hung on the edge of his tank.