The announcer began an enthusiastic patter, “This theme sets us up with a doozy. Talk about being pulled in different directions. How will Iron Chef Takai and challenger Marinara handle this? Challenger Marinara has got to have a leg up, if not several. We are set! Iron Chef Takai is first up to the tank. Oh, look, he’s not used to doing that. Oh! There’s one that got away! Challenger Marinara has wheeled into place and arms are pulling out octopi…Wow! That’s a huge one. He’s pulling into his own tank! His own tank! Oh, what a coup! Definitely something Iron Chef Takai can’t do. Is the challenger going to cook these octopi or does he have something else in mind? Maybe a little side action? Hey baby, a little threesome later?” The guest judges began to titter.
“It’s getting away. Man alive, look at that go. Iron Chef’s not gonna bother getting that one back.” The small octopus began to hump its way across the floor. The female guest judge shrieked in laughter.
“What are they gonna do now?” the announcer asked the floor reporter. “I don’t imagine they use much octopus in French cuisine, let alone live ones.”
The floor reporter directed their attention to Marinara’s work station. “You can see the challenger has left his own tank and dumped the octopi into the sink. He’s already at work, chopping and slicing. He estimates he’ll be out of his tank for an hour, the limit he can be out of water. I don’t know if the heat of the kitchen will make that time shorter.” A cameraman closed in on Marinara, showing him slicing off tentacles.
The voice of a female judge, an actress, was heard over the microphones. “How does he do that? How does he know he won’t cut off his own tentacles? Has he no shame? Is he a cannibal?”
The announcer took that moment to explain Marinara had arms and not tentacles. He gave a brief history of the Wrogul race as they knew it and then launched into a lengthy discussion of the differences between Wrogul and Earth cephalopods. He had just started to explain how Earth octopus ate fish, shrimp, and squid when the floor reporter interrupted and said it was time to meet the guest judges. He introduced them and then asked who among them liked octopus and waited for their reactions.
On the stadium floor, Marinara was dazzling the cameramen with his knife skills as he sliced the octopi and diced the suckers. Several pots were beginning to simmer on the burners.
The actress was explaining how she enjoyed fresh octopus when the floor reporter interrupted, and the cameramen moved in on the Iron Chef as he cut off the head of one of the smaller octopi and began dismembering it and throwing it into a stew pot.
The announcer and judges began speculating on the dishes the chefs were making, and the types of vegetables they were preparing.
The ink pot Marinara was heating drew their attention. They watched as he threw pieces of octopus into the ink, and began hollowing out potatoes for stuffing.
As the minutes counted down to the end of the challenge, Marinara began to set his dishes up for the judges. Seconds were ticking away as the announcer’s voice rose above the clamor.
“That’s it. The octopus battle is over.” Some audience members chuckled as the announcer continued. “This really is the octopus battle, folks. Not just the theme, but the challenge of a little alien octopus against the Iron Chefs of Japan. Challenger Marinara, how do you think you did? Do you think you can win?”
Marinara swayed wearily on two legs. “I think I did okay. We shall soon see.”
The taste judging began and Marinara, as the challenger, presented his dishes. There were a few comments about the texture of his first light dish and one wit complained he couldn’t taste the sweetness of the octopus. He felt the other fish was overpowering the octopus. Stew with octopus slices was up next. The judge who complained about his first dish raved over the taste of miso and the light flavor of the octopus. Other dishes were presented and another judge felt Marinara had lost his way with the bisque. He felt it should more realistically be called a lobster bisque than an octopus bisque. The actress simply put her spoon down and said it wasn’t for her.
When it came to the octopus in ink, the actress was ecstatic. She raved about the dish and others agreed that it had a unique flavor and taste. The texture was pleasant and pleasurable, said one. Another spoke highly of the aroma of the charred octopus.
The next dish was met with raves. All exclaimed how tender and sweet the suction cups were, were enthusiastic about the flavor, and complimented Marinara on the originality of his dishes.
The Iron Chef presented his dishes to the judges and they raved over the flavors and joked with him about catching and cutting up the octopi.
Finally, the moment of truth was upon them. All the dishes had been tasted, judged, and scored. The character of Takeshi Kaga rose to face the competing chefs.
“The winner of this battle,” the actor announced. “Doesn’t just rely on tradition, but rises aggressively to the challenges he faces. His spirit was impressive. The winner of this competition is…
“Challenger Marinara!”
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Iron Chef Marinara. Well, maybe not yet, but he had beat the Iron Chef in the Kitchen Stadium and who knew where the future would lead. The thought was giddying, but it was time to get back to business.
Meryll dealt with all the media requests. Studios were clamoring for interviews with the Wrogul, and Food Network called every day with new show ideas. Kelly of Kelly and Ryan, the Holograms, had misinterpreted Marinara’s name and was referring to him as Mary Narra. Ryan had corrected her and assured the audience the name was Maury Narra. So now half the media sources were referring to him as Mary and half as Maury. It didn’t matter. They all knew he was the Wrogul chef who had won the Kitchen Stadium battle, no matter what his name was.
One talk show host had assured his fans that Wrogul were sexless and therefore Chef Mary could indeed claim the pronoun “she.” Most producers assumed he was “she” and kept leaving messages: “Have her call, please. We want her on our show.” Alton Brown III called and asked if he could plan a sushi special with the future Iron Chef for his network.
Master Masimotta had briefly expressed pleasure at Marinara’s success and the positive attention it brought the restaurant, then gruffly informed him to return to work.
Marinara eyed Meryll as she entered the room. He floated to the top of his tank.
She smiled as she greeted him, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. “How are you feeling, Chef?”
“Somewhat stunned. A little sore.” Marinara eyed a few of the cuts on his arms from the hectic kitchen activity. Nanites had healed the serious cuts and what remained was mostly itchy patches of healing skin.
“Tony Gamboa has left several messages. He’s invited his ‘Li’l Wrogul’ back to Naples to visit when you’re ready. He wants to host a dinner party and have you cook the meal. Brull has sent intergalactic congratulations, and says he’s proud to know you.
“But we have some big decisions to make. First, with all the credits you’ve earned, we can afford that building in Houston. From your own earnings,” she hastened to add, “not your family yack. I think we should proceed with the purchase and make Chez Marinara our top project.”
Marinara waved an arm in agreement. “But Tri-V? What about Tri-V?
“The Food Network wants to meet with you in person, not with me. Their show runners have some ideas they want to fling at you. Of course, first is an Iron Chef spinoff. They still have an American Kitchen Stadium set they can upgrade and transport to Houston, and they are quite excited about the possibilities. BBC and USBC have both offered you Cooking with Mary shows. UDAD wants you to host a televised sushi competition where home cooks compete weekly on sushi and sashimi challenges until only one cook is the winner. And you have—” Meryll consulted her slate “—twenty-two requests for appearances on broadcast shows, including one in New Delhi and one in Tel Aviv, and eighty-eight requests for interviews with digital media. And Michael is on the ground in Houston and wants to know whe
n you will be back on the continent.”
Marinara floated just under the surface of the water, savoring its taste. “I want to mention Ch’c’lt when I do the interviews.”
“Of course, Marinara.”
“I want to explain about her friendship and her death, how I thought of her as I faced each of my challenges.”
“Of course!”
“I’m lucky to have you, Meryll.”
She looked at the Wrogul curiously. “You know I love you, too, Mari. What’s up?”
“I think about my goals, and where I was and where I am now. You have stayed with me.”
“Yes…” she replied slowly.
“I have more I want to do. I’m not happy with my skills in Italian cuisine. I want to expand and sample more ethnic cuisines. I have new dishes I want to create with the Marinara trademark. I have more academies I want to attend. And I realize how much you do for me without regard to your own life needs. Will you leave me now that I’ve achieved so many of my goals?”
“Oh, Mari!” Meryll laughed and reached into the tank and dangled her fingers in the water. “Of course, I won’t leave. I’m here for you, always. Sister and brother. Our work is just beginning. Who will manage Chez Marinara? And you know you are lousy with food and wine pairings. I’ll have to manage that until we hire competent sommeliers. And menus! We have menus to plan and costs to evaluate and sources to investigate. You’ll have local assistants when I’m off-planet managing our businesses while you are in Houston.”
“And businesses to build?”
“And businesses to build. While you finish up your internship at Atelier, I will coordinate with Michael on the building purchase. We’ll need housing while we renovate. I have to hire architects and honest contractors. I’m here for you, Mari, always.”
Marinara floated to the top and reached two arms out of the tank. “I love you, Meryll.”
Meryll leaned over the tank and a single salt water tear dropped into the tank. “I love you, too, Mari.”
* * * * *
Intermezzo
A few members of the viewing party had seen the Tri-V program before, but at least one watched with rapt attention for most of the program. “My great-great grandson would seem to be just as young and impetuous as when he left,” Todd observed in a dry tone. “Sharp blades, boiling water, open flame. One could almost wish he had chosen a safer profession.”
“You mean like Verne? A mercenary?” asked the woman with the dark pony-tail. “Or like your grandson in the Peacemaker Guild?”
“Marinara’s not, though,” the woman’s partner corrected. “He’s kind and considerate. He’s a good teacher and has matured greatly. Ever since he lost that classmate, there is a sad, serious place inside him.”
“About that. Have you been in contact with the family?”
“We will go to Karma next,” Meryll explained. “Marinara still feels guilt and grief. If only he hadn’t tried to convince her to stay. He wants to invest in their family restaurant, but they have ignored our messages. Apparently, Choc’s family also blames Mari. Michael and I will try one more time, but if they aren’t interested, we’re still intent on looking into a Chez Marinara franchise on Karma.”
“Ah, yes, I believe the proper expression is congratulations!” said Todd.
“Thank you,” blushed Meryll. “It was sort of a surprise. You get caught up in Mari’s whirlwind and don’t even think of yourself.”
“No, but he does,” supplied Michael. “We were going over business plans one day, and Mari just came out and asked me when I was going to propose to Meryll. He said he’d been waiting for years to refer to me as his brother-in-law. It was such a shock because I realized he was right.” He reached over and hugged his fiancé.
“So, you brought Michael home to meet your family?” asked Todd.
“Well, Mom, at least. But you know how it is in Mari’s circle, you guys are as much family as anyone.”
“I had hoped he would come himself.” Todd’s tone was somewhat wistful.
“He wanted to, but now the network wants him to host a Celebrity Cooking Cruise on one of those new hydro-lev cruise ships. Someone thought a sea creature cooking seafood on the sea would be a good draw.” Meryll laughed. “He did ask me to buy genuine Azure pineapples. Apparently, they have stopped growing them on Hawaii because of some eco movement to restore volcanic slopes to their pristine environment. He won’t use any other variety, so now he wants me to import Styx Valley Gold for the restaurant.” She paused for a moment, then continued: “…and he asked me to give you this.” She handed over a data chip.
“Recipes?” Todd asked as he dried one arm, then took the chip.
“He said they were his notes,” clarified Meryll. “You know, he takes notes about everything he sees and everyone he meets? He thought you or his grandfather might want a copy.”
“Ah, yes.” Todd flashed understanding. “Yes, we definitely want that.”
* * * * *
Part 4: Molina
Chapter One
“Yo! Doc Ock, we’ve got incoming!”
The voice on the comm did not wake Molina, exactly, for he had already been notified of the approaching ship through his pinplants. It was true, however, that he had been in a semi-dormant state, resting after a particularly long session in the clinic.
The Human colony world of Azure did not have a lot of natural resources to offer in trade to the Galactic Union. In the fifty-plus years since the colony’s founding, it had become self-sufficient. There was a small He3 refueling station around the gas-giant AZ1142-Gamma, and an orbital station where ships could take on foodstuffs and reaction mass from the water-rich AZ1142-Beta. Beta—known as Azure—had a small trade in the biochemical and bioengineering industry. It also had a growing reputation for brewed and distilled beverages. What the colony had that was truly worth the visit through the stargate, though, was a colony of Wrogul, some of the best surgeons and doctors in the Galactic Union.
Few Humans had ever seen a Wrogul when a crippled starship with a single amnesic survivor appeared in the Azure system forty-seven years prior. There were currently thirty-two Wrogul on Azure—well, except for Nemo who’d joined a merc company, and Todd who had just left for Earth to scatter his friend’s ashes on the oceans of the Human home world. Wrogul had long lives and carried the memories of the “parent” from which they had budded. Yet despite knowing they had cousins in the Galactic Union, none of the Wrogul on Azure had any memory prior to their progenitor’s arrival at the Human colony.
It made Azure unique to have multiple members of a race known to be excellent scientists and surgeons. Moreover, since these Wrogul had been living among Humans for almost fifty years, some of their more eccentric characteristics had rubbed off…
“Dammit, Ortiz,” Molina replied, “I just started a multiplayer session of Naruto. I can play three fighters at once!” Human multiplayer video games were particularly appealing to sophonts that could handle four controllers at once and multi-thread their thought process to play each position via a different portion of their pinplant biocomputers.
“Sorry, Doc, but this ship looks pretty beat up, and they’re squawking a Mayday on all channels.” The voice on the other end of the comm was extremely apologetic. This was actually the second merc ship in-system in a week, when it was more typical to see one only every month or two. The incoming comms suggested this one had come explicitly to utilize the Cerulean Clinic.
“Okay, alert the clinic staff and tell them I’m on my way. Meanwhile, when the ship gets close enough, hack their computer and download the entertainment database. Look for anything anime or manga. If it’s good, we’ll charge them standard fees for the clinic instead of the emergency surcharge. If they’ve got hentai, I might even give them a discount!”
“Aye, aye, Jiraiya!” said Ortiz as he signed off.
Molina flashed exasperation, and the translator rendered it just before the connection closed: “I take offense at that!
I am a cephalopod, not a bufonid!”
With a mental command via his pinplants, Molina activated the pumps that sucked his sleeping bubble back into storage. Unlike the Human inhabitants who preferred the rotating gravity decks, he was quite at home in micro- or zero-gravity. In many cases, he was comfortable out of water as long as he was in a high-humidity atmosphere. Occasionally, though, he needed immersion. Free water was problematic in zero-gee, and air-breathers caught inside a bubble could drown, unable to swim out. Therefore, he had to ensure his quarters were emptied of the hyper-oxygenated fluid before unsealing the water-tight door. A thin layer of fluid remained on his skin, but that was to be preferred.
Both his personal quarters and the passageways had a series of rungs and crossbars at half-meter intervals. Molina’s eight powerful arms stretched almost one-and-a-half meters at full extension, so he could skip past multiple grasping points when he was in a hurry. The urgency of the comm traffic suggested this was such a time.
He reached the medical facility and slid into his water tank before the protective layer of moisture could drip from his body in the increased gravity of the variable-G medical deck. When receiving new patients, it was policy to start at one-half Earth normal gravity. Medical procedures often required fractional gravity to ensure fluids behaved appropriately, though others required that gee-forces were minimized. Therefore, the space allocated for Cerulean Clinic was located on a moveable pod that could ascend or descend one of the spokes anchoring the residential gravity decks to the zero-gee hub. A counterweight consisting of fresh- and waste-water on the opposite spoke kept the rotating structure in balance.
There were very few permanent staff assigned to the clinic, since accommodations on the station were still somewhat austere. In fact, with the exception of adding the variable gravity pod for the clinic, there had been few additions to the station in its fifty years of existence. The hub contained a hard-dock to allow direct offloading of critical cargo, a small hangar bay for the two shuttles—one ground-to-orbit craft and a space-only workboat—a few zero-G labs, a couple of storage rooms, and the visiting physicians’ quarters. The fixed gravity deck was a long spoke extending both directions from the hub and capped with small spherical habitats. There were quarters for ten Humans, but those were seldom full. The spokes supporting the variable deck for the clinic stuck out at right angles to the fixed deck and made the whole thing look like a Human child’s toy. In all, the station would be cramped and crowded if it were full…but it was seldom full. There simply was no need.
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