Sexy Space Babes - Mechs, Maidens and Macaroons: Chapter Five

The kitchen was a chef’s dream - sprawling counters of sleek black composite stone, a bank of ovens that looked like they could double as starship engines, and finally a fridge unit big enough to store a small cow.

Or whatever the local equivalent was.

Mark set his bag down on a nearby countertop, scanning the setup with a gleeful eye. “Holy shit, this is…”

Saria leaned against a counter. “Not bad, eh? Never let it be said Kalia’s the type to skimp.”

Mark grinned, barely listening as he opened the first cupboard. His eyebrows shot up as he spotted familiar labels - cans of San Marzano tomatoes, bags of Arborio rice, even a jar of freaking oregano.

“Holy shit, this is from Earth,” he muttered as he pulled out a genuine carton of eggs, turning the dry cardboard over in his hands like it was a relic - though he’d seen ones just like it not so long ago.

He’d just not expected to see any here.

Saria’s tail flicked, her grin showing a hint of sharp canines. “As I said, Kalia’s not the type to skimp. Having a real human chef to cook for her? That’s one thing. Having him cooking authentic human food all the way from Earth? That’s a statement.”

“Fair enough.”  Mark chuckled, before gently setting the carton down. “I take there’s other stuff too though? No offense, but I’m pretty sure even Kalia doesn’t want me using a few thousand credits worth of ingredients for what’s basically a work lunch.”

Saria’s ears twitched, and she let out a low, reluctant growl. “Yeah… probably. Kalia probably wouldn’t care, but her manager tends to gets pissy about ‘unnecessary expenses.’ There’s regular food in the next cupboard over.”

“Great.” Mark moved to the next cupboard, finding a number of alien ingredients, some of which he knew from his time in The Little Shil.

Which might seem a little odd but, as a rule of thumb, certain crops remained staples across the galaxy.

“Vraka, kresh tubers, tormak berries, and a jar of zeth leaves,” he absently catalogued, recalling Saria’s earlier comment about living off takeout for the past few weeks.

She’d probably appreciate something hearty, homey. A break from the greasy slop she’d been downing. With that in mind, Stir-fry was out. Too close to fast food.

A pasta-bake, though? Well, it’d be more like a gnocchi-bake with that bag of starchy kresh dumplings standing in for dough, but it felt right.

Comfort food, alien-style.

He grabbed a knife from his bag, the blade glinting as he set to work dicing the vraka with quick, precise cuts.

Saria’s amber eyes followed his hands, her tail slowing to a lazy sway. “Not bad.”

Internally he huffed a bit at the non-response to his knife skills. Perhaps it was a bit vain of him, but it was a party trick he enjoyed breaking out.

Then again, he supposed the engineer would probably be used to similar feats. As he recalled, Vorn had a fairly consistent rotation of ‘alien chefs’ who’d likely be of a similar skill level to him – if not greater.

Still, his professional pride wouldn’t allow him to let the Pesrin walk away from this meal without acknowledging his own talents.

His pride as a human wouldn’t allow it.

It helped that he’d cooked for a few Pesrin in the past and knew – in a very general sense – what their preferred palate was.

The kitchen filled with the sharp, tangy scent of sizzling vraka as he worked, layering in the kresh and a handful of crushed tormak berries for a sauce. He kept it simple, letting the ingredients do the talking, and sprinkled in some zeth leaves for that thyme-like kick.

To his surprise, the alien didn’t talk much as he worked, apparently content to watch him in silence. Which he was grateful for. Some people liked to talk while on the job, but he wasn’t generally one of them.

The dish came together fast, and he finished up by laying the whole thing out on a cooking sheet, before sliding it into one of the high-tech ovens. Setting it for twenty minutes he turned back to the alien.

“Should be done in twenty minutes.”

“Nice,” Saria hummed, nose twitching as she took in the scent that had overtaken the kitchen. “Smells good, if nothing else.” Her grin turned sly. “Almost as good as you.”

Mark rolled his eyes at the cheesy line, but smiled all the same. Which the alien seemed to take as a win as she hopped onto the counter, her shorts riding up as she swung her legs.

“So, Mark, as far as I know, you humans are pretty new to the galactic scene? Got discovered by the Shil and uplifted.”

His brow twitched. “Conquered, but you’re essentially correct.”

“Right,” she winced, realizing she’d just committed a bit of a faux pas, one she was quick to move on from. “So, uh, do they have much of a mech scene on Earth yet?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not yet at least, though interestingly enough, there was another woman from Earth on my ship who was looking to set something like that up.”

As he had the thought, he remembered that Sabine’s business card was still in his bag. For a moment, he considered handing it over, before deciding against it. There’d be time for that later. More importantly, if he was going to be doing Sabine a solid by putting her in contact with a big-time mecha gladiator, he’d be better served actually handing it to the woman herself - or at least her manager.

“Smart woman,” the Persin said. “Other planets might like to claim they’ve got bigger or better leagues, but everyone knows that Krenheim’s where it’s really at. We’re not sanitized like the Alliance, but not every match is rigged like the Consortium. And the less said about the Imperial leagues the better. Out there, if you’re not a noble, forget about it.”

Huh, that was interesting, and he wondered what implications that would have for Sabine’s efforts.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never even seen a mech,” he said. “Didn’t even know that the sport existed a month ago.”

“Seriously?” The girl seemed perplexed. “I get not having your own league yet, but you’ve never even seen a mech? That’s like… how?”

He had to wonder if his experience was so strange and mecha-gladiators were bigger than he’d thought – or if Saria’s time on Krenheim had warped her perspective of what was normal out in space.

He laughed. “I mean, I’ve seen exos. Like the one at the gate out there.”

If anything, that only made the alien more incredulous, her tail lashing.

“Exos? Comparing a mech to an exo is like comparing a starship to a bus. Exos are just powered armor. Mechs? They’re art.”

She slid off the counter, landing lightly on her clawed feet, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, I’m taking you to the hangar.”

Mark hesitated, glancing toward the oven. “Uh, Nendra said to stay away from the hangar. Made it sound like a big deal.”

Saria waved a clawed hand dismissively. “Nendra was right to do so given some of the incidents we’ve had around here. But I’m the lead engineer, Mark. If you’re a plant out to sabotage Kalia’s reserve mech, and you manage to do it right under my nose, I figure you’ve earned it.”

He scoffed, though he couldn’t deny the spark of excitement in his chest at the idea. Mechs sounded… cool. And Saria’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“Alright, I’m in. Kinda pumped, actually.”

Her grin widened, showing more of those sharp teeth. “I’m assuming pumped is good?”

He nodded. “Very good.”

Grinning, she led him out of the kitchen, her tail brushing his leg before they moved back outside and towards the massive hangar. As they approached a reinforced side door, he couldn’t help but note that the side of the building actually had the same mecha-fist crest he’d seen on Nendra’s armor etched into it.

Saria tapped her omni-pad against a scanner, and the door slid open with a low hum.

“After you,” she said, a smug grin on her face.

Feeling just a hint of trepidation, Mark stepped inside – and his jaw dropped.

The hangar was massive, its ceiling lost in shadows, lit by harsh white floodlights. But that was secondary to what really caught his attention.

Stood against one of the back walls was a mech.

Standing at least twenty feet tall, the machine was a sleek beast of matte black and crimson plating, its hunched humanoid frame bristling with angular joints and weapon mounts. One arm ended in what looked like a cannon, while the other had a claw that could probably crush a car. Its ‘head’ was a smooth dome, a single red optic, dull and lifeless now, but he had a feeling that when it was online, it’d give the whole machine an almost sentient menace.

“Holy shit,” Mark breathed, craning his neck to take it in.

Saria purred, sauntering toward the mech with a swagger that said she owned the place.

“Meet Starbreaker, Vorn’s reserve mech – though truthfully he’s built to the exact same specs as his big brother. Light division, but don’t let that fool you, he packs a mean punch with that particle cannon in the right arm.”

Mark followed, his boots echoing on the polished floor, unable to tear his eyes off the machine.

“I’m surprised you don’t have this thing standing out front instead of that exo. It’d be a lot more intimidating.”

Saria winced a little at his words, her bravado momentarily dimmed.

“Eh, less than you might think,” Saria said, her tail flicking as she leaned against a workbench.

Mark raised an eyebrow, still craning his neck to take in the towering form of Starbreaker.

Saria snorted at his expression, a low, rumbling sound that was half-laugh, half-growl.  “As much as I hate to admit it, the fact of the matter is that that pint-sized mass produced hunk of junk out there would have pretty decent odds of tearing Starbreaker here’s tail off in a fight.”

Mark turned to stare at her incredulously. “Really?”

“Really,” she deadpanned. “I mean, I’d still put my money on Starbreaker, but Starbreaker also costs something like… eight times more to build and operate.”

Eight times? Sure it was bigger but…

“Mechs, they’re not exactly what anyone would call… practical,” Saria continued. “When it comes to war-machine shapes, a twenty-foot humanoid frame is about as far from ideal as you can get. Square-cube law’s a bitch like that. What’s not really an issue on a nine foot frame quickly becomes a massive issue anywhere past fifteen.”

She gestured at the mech’s massive reverse jointed legs. “My kitten needs two anti-grav generators just to keep from exploding his own ankles every time he breaks into a light jog.”

Mark blinked, trying to wrap his head around that. He was vaguely aware of what square cube law meant. Basically, weight or volume grew proportionally with surface area, which was why large buildings required much stronger building materials than small ones.

Saria sauntered closer to the mech, tapping her claws on the metal. “With ‘em, he can fight, jump, and dance around like any exo you’ve seen. But pound for pound, exos are just way more cost-effective. You don’t need to force reality onto a table to get ‘em to work… for the most part.”

Mark’s gaze traced the mech’s cannon-arm and the wicked claw on the other. “So why bother with mechs at all then? If exos are cheaper, easier and apparently almost as effective?”

Saria’s grin widened, showing a flash of sharp canines. “Because giant robots are cooler than tiny suits.”

He laughed, both at her words and the genuine excitement in her voice.

Something that seemed to please her, her voice speeding up as she advanced towards him. “Beyond just being cooler, what makes mechs so much more impressive than exos is that they’re so hard to make work. It’s an art. One that takes genuine skill. Balancing a thousand different competing issues - weight, power, heat, structural integrity.”

Her tone turned downright wistful as she turned to look at Starbreaker. “Every mech you see is a genuine piece of artwork writ large.”

Mark nodded slowly, though his attention wasn’t on the mech. It was on the Pesrin. He could see the passion in her vertically slanted eyes, framed by the small streak of grime on her cheek. He liked the way her tail had swayed with every word too. It was clear this wasn’t just a job for her - it was a calling.

She paused, suddenly sheepish. “Ah, sorry if I’m coming off a little… intense about all this. I know guys aren’t normally into the nitty gritty of mecha design.”

He shook his head.

“I mean, I can’t speak for all guys, but I think it’s interesting, I’d love to hear-” A sudden sharp beep from his omni-pad cut him off. He glanced down, the screen flashing a timer.  “Ah, the food’s almost done.”

Saria’s stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud, rumbling growl, so deep it seemed to echo in the hangar. Her ears flattened, and she shot him a sheepish look, one clawed hand resting on her midriff.

“Uh… yeah, guess that’s my cue too.”

Mark chuckled, as he turned toward the door. “C’mon, let’s get you fed before you start gnawing on Starbreaker’s leg.”

“Pfft, I’d need a plasma torch to even dent that plating,” she shot back, falling into step beside him.

Her tail brushed his leg again – something he was now sure was deliberate.

-----------------------

“This is incredible,” Saria said, eyes gleaming as she scooped another forkful of not quite gnocchi-bake into her mouth, tail swaying lazily against kitchen stool she was perched on.

“You’re just saying that,” Mark hummed, a spark of pride flickering in his chest despite his effort to downplay it.  “I threw this together in a few minutes, and you work for Kalia Vorn - who hire a new chefs like me every few months. You’ve definitely had better.”

He took pride in his work, but that changed nothing about the fact that he’d thrown this together in a few minutes.

Saria’s ears twitched, and she leaned forward, licking a stray bit of sauce from her lips with a slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue. “Maybe I have, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t incredible. Good food’s like a good sunrise.”

He smiled, even if he suspected she was just buttering him up.

Saria hadn’t been subtle about her attraction to him thus far. Honestly, coming from a human man or woman it would have felt like a bit much. It tracked with his experience with aliens though.

Given the rather lopsided gender ratios, alien women who weren’t aggressive just… didn’t succeed outside of your average hallmark movie. The logic seemed to be that if you had the opportunity, you took your shot.

It likely wasn’t helping that while he’d not really reciprocated much, he hadn’t shut her down either. In his observations of the few alien males that had attended The Little Shil, that was as good as openly flirting back.

Most of the time, your average alien guy acted like a stereotypical ice queen – somewhere between disinterested and downright disdainful. Which, while a little harsh from the outside looking in… well, he got it.

Even if he was enjoying the novelty right now – and he definitely was – he knew he’d eventually need to adopt a similar mindset.

That was an issue for tomorrow though. For the moment he was still weighing whether or not to act on the Pesrin’s clear interest. Because, while sure, he’d decided to embrace a somewhat looser approach to life on Krenheim, he well knew a workplace fling could sour quickly to the detriment of all involved.

Anyone who spent any time working in a restaurant knew just how much drama went on there.  Beyond that, there was the old saying about not shitting where you ate.

“We should save some for Kalia,” Saria said, ignorant of his thoughts, clawed hand flicking toward the half-empty dish. “She’s always starving after a match.”

Mark’s stomach tightened with a flicker of trepidation at the suggestion. He wanted to make a strong first impression on his new employer, and while the dish was solid, it was just that - solid. Not the kind of culinary masterpiece you’d want to serve to the woman who’d shipped you halfway across the galaxy just to taste your food.

He opened his mouth to respond, but a new voice sliced through the kitchen’s cozy hum. “That won’t be happening I’m afraid. Lady Vorn’s returned to her mother’s estate for the evening. Apparently her mother has some people she’d like her daughter to meet.”

Mark turned, taking in the newcomer. She was a Nighkru, that much was clear from a glance.

One of the Consortium’s founding races, the surprisingly young woman’s heels, clicked softly against the polished floor as she strode in. Her curved horns caught the light as she moved, but what really caught his eye were the bio-luminescent tattoos pulsing in intricate patterns along her arms, glowing in shades of teal and violet, before terminating just before what looked for all the world like some kind of sleeveless business suit.

He’d once heard the alien described as being basically like a cross between a drow and a satyr, and now that he was actually meeting one in the flesh, he thought it apt.

The Nighkru casually scooped up a fork as she moved past him, before reaching over and plucked a kresh dumpling from Saria’s plate, popping it into her mouth with a brisk, unbothered air.

“Hey!” Saria’s ears flattened, a low growl rumbling in her throat, but the newcomer ignored her, chewing with the confidence of someone who knew they were in charge.

“Not bad. Reminds me a little of classic Tarelian cuisine,” The Nighkru said, her voice smooth and clipped, though it seemed more like she was thinking aloud than speaking to him.

Indeed, it was only after a moment that she actually looked at him, pulling out an omni-pad from her belt and handing it to Mark.

“Your itinerary, Mr. Reynolds. You’ll be needed mostly in the evenings, though locations and times are subject to change as needed. As agreed in our contract and covered by your retainer up to the specified limit. Included are a list of Lady Vorn’s preferred foods and nutritional requirements.”

“Basically Tenir wants you on call for when Kalia needs to act fancy,” Saria said casually, stabbing her fork into another dumpling with enough force to make the plate clink.

“Essentially accurate,” Tenir said dryly, her glowing tattoos pulsing faintly as she crossed her arms.

Mark skimmed the itinerary, noting a list of dates and times. It was more a loose framework than a rigid schedule, which tracked in his mind for a celebrity’s lifestyle.

He nodded, slipping the omni-pad into his pocket. “Got it.”

Tenir helped herself to another dumpling from Saria’s plate, ignoring the Pesrin’s glare. “Excellent. I hope your time with us will be fruitful, Mr. Reynolds. You will find my details already uploaded to your omni-pad under Tenir Kren. As Vorn’s manager, I’ll be your primary point of contact with her, given our current lack of a head of staff.”

Mark nodded slowly, feeling more like he was being spoken to as a piece of equipment than a person. “Right, a pleasure to meet you.”

That was a lie, but he was being paid enough that he could deal with someone being a little brisk on the first meeting. One didn’t work under a chef like Francis for long without being able to develop a thick skin regarding overbearing bosses.

Sure, he knew the big guy was a teddy bear under all the grouch – but it could be damn hard to remember that when he was screaming in your ear in the middle of the lunch rush.

Hell, by that standard, the woman opposite him was being downright pleasant. And even as he had that thought, she nodded, seemingly satisfied – and some part of him wondered if he’d just passed some kind of test.

“As you should be,” she continued. “Our stable paid a lot of money to bring you out here, so I hope that you will conduct yourself with the appropriate level of decorum expected of a man in our employ – even if only temporarily.”

Her silvery eyes flickered to the Pesrin.

“Unlike certain others who continue to abuse Lady Vorn’s ongoing patience with their antics.” Saria’s tail lashed, and she opened her mouth to snap something, but Tenir interrupted. “To which end, we’ll be having words about bringing non-essential personnel into the mech bay, Saria.”

Saria’s claws dug into the countertop, her fur bristling. “The mech bay’s my domain, Tenir. I decide who gets to go in and out. Not you. You might run the house, but Kalia promised the bay was mine, so if I wanted to let the new guy look at the mechs, that’s my prerogative. Besides, I was watching him the entire time.”

Tenir’s smile didn’t waver, but it turned sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. “I’m afraid that childhood promises aren’t quite as binding as you seem to think Saria, so please, point to the clause in your written contract that states that anything in that mech bay or beyond it belongs to you and not this stable.”

“Listen, you upjumped overpaid-” Saria started, her voice rising, ears pinning back.

Mark coughed loudly, cutting through the mounting tension. “Right, well, I should probably see about getting a hotel for the night. You don’t have me on for tomorrow, so I figure I want to get an early night if I’ll be looking for an apartment in the morning.”

He wanted out before this argument escalated into a full-blown shouting match. The last thing he needed was to get caught in the middle of workplace drama on his first day.

Tenir’s attention snapped back to him. “That’s won’t be an issue, Mr. Reynolds. Given Krenheim’s… less than ideal safety margins, I took the liberty of contacting a reputable apartment building ahead of your arrival. The choice is yours of course, but a reservation’s already been made for a one room apartment twenty minute’s travel from our current location – assuming ideal traffic conditions.”

“So more like forty minutes ninety percent of the time,” Saria said sourly, her earlier combativeness cooled a little. “With that said, you should probably take it, Mark. She’s a stuck up hang-claw, but she wouldn’t stick you in a shithole. At least, not after paying so much to get you shipped out here.”

Ah, that explained it. He’d thought it was a surprisingly kind gesture from a woman that otherwise seemed all business. Her not wanting him to get ‘disappeared’ walking down the wrong alley trying to find somewhere to stay made a lot more sense in that light.

He pulled out the omni-pad again, scrolling to confirm. Sure enough, there was an address for a mid-tier hotel in one of Krenheim’s safer districts, complete with a confirmation code.

“Ah, thanks for that,” he said, actually meaning it even if she had an ulterior motive. “Really. I wasn’t looking forward to having to perform a search in a new area by myself at this hour.”

Tenir’s smile returned, and for a moment it seemed almost genuine. “It’s no issue. I do my best to take care of all Lady Vorn’s employees. Even those who don’t appreciate it.”

“I’d appreciate you staying out of my business half-horn,” Saria grumbled.

“Right, well, I think I should get going then,” he said, grabbing his rucksack. “Thanks for the tour Saria, and thanks again for everything Mrs. Kren.”

“Tenir will be fine, Mr. Reynolds. I am addressing you as such according to your own customs, but amongst the Consortium, first names hold more import in both formal and informal settings,” the Nighkru said.

He nodded, even as he turned to leave.

“Hey, if you don’t like the apartment, Mark, I’m more than happy to let you bunk in the mech bay!” Saria called after him. “I’ve got a spare cot!”

“Not going to happen,” he heard Tenir’s voice say dryly from behind him. “Security would have your head.”

He left before the two could start arguing in earnest.

Again.