After the comforting weight of her arms left me, I felt a noticeable lightness—a lingering warmth where her embrace had been. She pulled back, her eyes bright and inquisitive.
"So, what do you want to eat? I know a place," she said, already starting to turn.
"Wait, do we even feel hungry?" I asked, a genuine question given the day's... revelations about my body and our capabilities.
Cristina just giggled, a light, musical sound. "Well, of course, we do. We won't die from not eating, but it's just... it makes us feel alive." She paused, her smile widening. "Anyway, this place has good food."
I followed her out of the clinic and onto the street. It was fully night now, and the air was thick with the strange mix of metallic dust and whatever passed for pollution in this orbital city. As we walked, my eyes were drawn to the shadowy corners of the alleyways. People were engaged in activities that were decidedly suspicious, and I saw at least one blatant mugging happening just down the block. Cristina, however, walked as if she were strolling through a garden, utterly unphased by the chaos.
"Is that... normal?" I asked, nodding subtly toward a scuffle.
"Mhm? Oh, yeah. It's normal here," she said flatly, not even bothering to look.
"...Why? And who's in charge?" I pressed.
She finally glanced at me, her expression a mix of resignation and experience.
"Well, the solar system is pretty lawless, but multiple gangs and corporations run the place. Gangs run the cities, and the corporations run the planet."
"What about the other planets?" I asked.
"Mars is... well, you can't survive there without extensive cybernetics, and a cult kinda runs the planet. No one really likes to go there, but the weapons and gear they sell are the greatest. I even sell some of their cybernetics to my customers."
She took a deep breath. "Only Earth and the moons in the solar system are truly habitable. Mercury is a no-go. Venus is also a no-go, though it's very profitable to get people to try to live there. The gravity and atmosphere are killers, even with the best space suits."
Before I could ask more about the grim state of the galaxy, she grabbed my hand, a small, electric spark shooting up my arm, and pulled me toward a shop tucked between two towering, dilapidated apartment blocks. It looked like a very traditional, very old-Earth ramen shop.
We stepped inside, and a man with a tired face greeted us. "Hello, customers. The menu is right there," he said, pointing to a laminated sheet on the table.
"I'll be taking the Strength Soup and a beer," Cristina announced without even looking at the menu. The name 'Strength Soup' sounded incredibly bizarre for ramen. She turned to me. "What about you?"
"I'll have the same as her," I said, figuring it was safer to follow her lead.
The waiter just shrugged and turned around.
"Don't worry," she said, leaning in with a smile that was almost sarcastic. "The food is good."
"Here's your order," the waiter said, setting down two steaming bowls and two bottles of beer.
"That was fast," I muttered.
"Go on, try it," she urged, already taking a large bite.
"Well, here goes nothing," I mumbled. I grabbed a fork, picked up a small chunk of the noodles, and took a bite.
The world seemed to stop.
This tasted like absolute crap.
I immediately spat it out onto the side of the table. Cristina, who had been slurping happily, looked up, alarmed.
"Blegh... This tastes awful," I said, wiping my mouth.
"What do you mean? It tastes fine," she countered, taking another long, contented slurp.
"Can't you taste it?" I looked down at the food. It looked perfectly normal, but the flavor was profoundly, sickeningly bad.
"Hey, don't be picky. I'm paying, after all," she chastised.
"I'm not being picky! The food tastes bad. I bet I could make something better," I insisted, my pride momentarily eclipsing my confusion.
She gave me a weird, long look, a slight tilt to her head. "What?" I asked.
"You can cook?" she asked, her voice laced with unconcealed skepticism.
"Yes, I can," I replied firmly.
She let out a short, sharp burst of laughter. "Real funny, Veridian."
"I'll show you," I said, pushing my chair back. I stood up and tried to get the waiter's attention to ask for the chef, but he just shook his head no.
"Who's making a ruckus here?" a man in a gray t-shirt and a conspicuously dirty apron appeared from behind the waiter. This had to be the chef.
"I am," I declared, my voice resonating with a certainty I didn't know I possessed. "This food tastes incredibly awful."
The chef's face darkened instantly. "Is that so?" he said, a low growl in his voice.
"Yes. And I'm betting I can make something better."
The chef studied me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. "Wait... You can cook, cook?" he finally asked, his tone shifting from anger to genuine surprise.
"Hold up, how do you cook?" I countered, confused by his emphasis.
He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen, Cristina trailing right behind us.
"Like this," he said, grabbing a pre-packaged bag labeled 'Ramen Soup with Beef.' He dumped the contents into a humming, futuristic machine and pressed a button. The machine whirred to life, heating and reconstituting the synth-ingredients.
"This is not cooking," I stated flatly.
"Yes, it is," Cristina said from beside me.
"No, it is not," I countered, pushing the chef gently aside.
I scanned the room and saw a rudimentary stove tucked away in a corner. I checked the fuel—it was active. I spotted a pot, grabbed it, and started washing it vigorously under the tap, the three of them staring at me as if I were performing a strange ritual.
"Okay, do you have any ingredients?" I asked.
"Ingredients? You mean organic food?" the chef asked, looking completely baffled.
I was confused, but then I spotted another bag labeled 'Ramen with Beef and Cheese.' I grabbed it, ripped it open, and sniffed. Oddly, there was no smell whatsoever. I took out the contents: raw, synthetic noodles, several unmarked packets, and a small packet of something that only vaguely resembled beef.
I put the raw noodles into the pot, added water from the faucet, and brought it to a boil. As the synth-noodles softened, I added the 'beef,' and then the 'cheese.' While the soup simmered, I turned my attention to the flavor packets, mixing them in a small cup.
"Okay, this is salt, some kind of oil, and I don't know what this is," I said, opening the last packet and smelling it carefully. "Okay, vinegar."
I mixed everything together and checked the pot. The water was boiling. I washed a fork, took a noodle out, pressed it, and it split in half. Perfect. I turned off the stove.
I found a strainer in a cupboard, washed it, and then grabbed a bowl, washing that too. "Cristina, hold the strainer," I instructed.
She looked surprised but held the strainer over the sink while I poured the contents of the pot. The water passed through, leaving the noodles and toppings behind. I poured the ramen into the clean bowl, added my carefully mixed flavor packets, and mixed it one final time.
"Okay, for the final test," I announced, before taking a bite.
"Oh, this is good. A bit different, but still entirely edible, especially compared to what I ate earlier." I turned to my audience of three. "Would you like to try?"
I pushed the bowl toward them. Cristina was the first. As soon as she took a bite, her eyes went wide. She instantly rushed toward me, tackling me with an enthusiastic hug.
"This is insanely good! Very, very good! I don't think I would be able to eat synth food ever again!" she gushed.
"Okay, okay, get off me first," I managed to say. She let go but immediately latched onto my arm.
The waiter and the chef tried it next. They had the exact same reaction, declaring the food was "very good."
"Wait a minute. Synth food?" I asked, finally processing the chef's earlier comment about 'organic food.'
"You don't know?" Cristina asked.
"I'll tell you later," she said, quickly grabbing the bowl and practically inhaling the rest of the ramen.
"Hey, hey, calm down! I can make more," I said.
The chef looked at me with a new, reverent expression. "You are a chef from the Inner Colonies?"
"No? What's that?" I asked.
"Wait, do you even have a cooking license?" he demanded.
"No? Why would I need one?"
"Are you sure? Because that's the best food I've ever eaten," he said, which, despite the strange circumstances, made me a little embarrassed.
"Yes, I'm sure," I confirmed.
"Okay, okay, can you make more? Just for the two of us," he asked, watching Cristina finish the bowl and lick it clean.
"I will make more," I promised, and quickly got to work on four more bowls, making sure one was for me.
"After this, I might not be able to eat synth food ever again," the chef mumbled, and both Cristina and the waiter nodded emphatically.
"Anyway, here," the chef said, happily pressing a small electronic chip into my hand. "The payment for the food."
"Thanks," I said, surprised by the gesture.
"Don't worry about it. You gave me an experience of a lifetime," he replied, still staring at the food with wonder.
"Hey, Veridian, let's head back. It's getting late," Cristina said, finally detaching herself from my arm.
I nodded. After the strangeness of the evening, getting back to the apartment sounded like a wise choice.