Feast

They sat at a high table amidst shining silverware and shimmering crystal, glasses of green wine filled to the brim. The smells from the kitchen were enticing, and they salivated copiously down their mantles.

'I'm concerned,' said The Great Garbok, while they waited to be served. They folded their sharp clawed fingers over their leathery gut, said, 'We're not here just for dinner. It's important to see whether they're edible and have adequate nourishment for eggs and nymphs and fully grown Fähn.'

'How long will we be stranded?' asked Little Misk, the youngling, weighing not even a ton, dwarfed by the others.

The Great Garbok shifted their bulk. 'The quantum drive is trashed,' they said. 'Everything else is intact.'

'We know that,' said Mirrok, grinning so their teeth glinted like a thousand polished needles. 'But how long?'

'Three hundred year,' said The Great Garbok. 'Give or take. When the wave function collapsed, the drive dropped us in the middle of nowhere. You know how it works,' they said. 'Rescues are not profitable. They'll get to us when they get to us.'

'I'll be middle-aged and infertile,' said Little Misk, looking forlorn, sensory tentacles drooping.

'And so we must ensure you can lay your eggs,' said The Great Garbok.

Glut, the chef, slid in through the kitchen doors, bringing with them three large cloches and a pot of boiling water on a gas burner. Glut was colossal and rippled with fat, and they always looked pleased, so it was difficult for the others to know whether the food preparations had gone well.

'I think you'll be pleased,' said Glut, slithering around the table, placing the cloches evenly. 'We'll eat well here,' they said.

'Are they difficult to catch?' asked Little Misk.

'Not at all,' said Glut. 'Remarkably, they have no defenses against a quantum snatch. 'And there are billions of them,' they said. 'A near endless supply.'

'Primitive?' asked Little Misk. 'I wouldn't want to eat something that's at a meaningful level of consciousness.'

'Nuclear level technology,' said The Great Garbok, smirked sardonically. 'Non-space-faring. There's no consciousness there. Even the vermön back home are more sophisticated, and we eat that all the time,' they said. 'There's no cause for youngling scruples. We find nourishment in whatever the gods provide.'

'You saw their attack,' added Mirrok. 'Feeble little things. Didn't make a dent. Embarrassing, really.'

'And the gods gave us dominion of the galaxy and all that lives in it,' recited Little Misk, an intonation fresh from their school days.

'I made them three ways,' Glut piped in, visibly excited. 'Turned out fine, but I think you'll agree the last is best.' They slid their tongue out hungrily, swept it over their head, took their place by the table, lifted the lid of the first cloche.

'Whole roasted,' said Glut. 'With salt and black pepper, garlic and ginger. I used some of the fat ones,' they said. 'The skin crisps nicely and they're full of collagen and not much muscle. It makes the meat soft and delicate and juicy,' they said.

Now they salivated even more, all the way down their mantles, down their keels, so it puddled on the floor. There were four limbs and each of them took one of these pieces, chewed, crunching, fat dripping, swallowed bone and all.

'Not bad,' said The Great Garbok. 'Are the organs still inside? That's the best nourishment for healthy eggs.' They all nodded, since this was well known.

'Of course,' said Glut. 'Waste not, want not,' they said.

'The apple in the mouth is a nice touch,' said Mirrok.

'They are easy to prepare, too,' said Glut. 'Don't have a lot of hair. Some on their heads. But that scorches right off. Will save me a lot of time in the kitchen.'

'Are the organs good?' asked Little Misk, redundantly, since they'd already clawed open the torso, and had slurped down the liver and kidneys.

'Excellent,' said Glut. 'Soft, succulent, nice and briny.'

There was a great licking of lips, rubbing of stomachs, and this pleased Glut, who had a good reputation as a chef, and wished to maintain that.

'These ones here,' said Glut, lifted the second cloche, releasing a wonderful fragrance, 'I confited in their own fats,' they said. 'The flavor profile is dominated by cumin and coriander and juniper berries, cooked at a slow simmer. They don't have as much fat as pörke, and this is a good way to keep the meat tender. I steamed the organs with garlic and thyme and lots of salt and put it on the side,' they said, but the others were already halfway through the dish by the time Glut finished this exposition.

'Just falls off the bone, doesn't it?' said The Great Garbok, their tentacles swaying with delight. The Great Garbok burped to acknowledge the chef, and the others followed suit, since they agreed but knew better than to express such high approval until the boss had done so.

'But wait!' said Glut, now feeling greatly encouraged. 'I left the best for last,' they said, and lifted the third cloche so they could see two of the creatures, still alive, clinging to each other. 'This morning,' they said, 'I cooked a couple like läbstÿr. I've always considered that a good way to maintain the essential flavors of meats,' they said, grinned happily. 'Served with lemon and salt, a little garlic butter. Classic.'

'Do they scream like läbstÿr when cooked alive?' asked Little Misk.

'Läbstÿr don't scream,' said Glut, impatiently. 'It's the air escaping from their bodies,' they explained. 'Basically the same thing here. They don't feel pain like we do,' they said, leaned forward, grabbed the creatures, dropped them into the boiling water with a flamboyant little flair.

They flopped about for a while. Their skins turned red and blistered.

It sounded like they were screaming.

But of course they were not.

Daniel Burnbridge is a South African author of speculative fiction, with work published or forthcoming in several magazines and anthologies, including Journeys Beyond the Fantastical Horizon (Galaxy’s Edge), Amazing Stories, and Aurealis. He is the winner of the 2023 Mike Resnick Memorial Award for best science fiction short story by a new author.

Find more by Daniel Burnbridge in the Author Index.

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