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Enjoy Every Sandwich

Mark L. Van Name


“How bad could it be?” I said.

Lobo’s laughter echoed from every speaker inside him, and when you’re a twenty-five-meter-long killing machine, that’s a lot of speakers. He kept it echoing longer than I felt was necessary.

“Seriously, Jon,” he said. “Are you asking me how badly we could pay for your stupid lunch plan?”

“Yes,” I said. “Think about it.”

“Jon, we’re hiding in orbit with a bunch of weather and comm sats so dumb that their combined outputs aren’t enough to entertain a tiny fraction of my mind. Thinking is all I’m doing these days, and as you should know, I do it very well.”

When Lobo gets in a mood, which is more and more often these past weeks, it doesn’t hurt to appease him. “I’m not saying you don’t think well. I’m suggesting we view this differently.”

He let the sigh echo for almost as long as his laughter. “Go ahead.”

“First, we’re on Gash, a planet the old families chasing us have no ties to. Even though the Expansion Coalition claims to provide what little government Gash has, they pretty much leave it alone, too. That means there’s almost nothing in the way of police or military to worry about. We’ve been in hiding, moving from planet to planet, for six months, so we’re probably no longer even a priority for the crazy old bastards. And, even if the families looking for us are looking here, which they’re almost certainly not, and even if local scanners spot me the moment I enter the town, I’ll be in and out in a couple of hours, max.”

“In which time,” Lobo said, “their surveillance systems will spot you and tell their local agents—AI or human—which will then hire freelance talent to pick you up. If I were running this search for the old families, I’d have set up such systems on every planet. We have no reason to believe they aren’t doing the same thing. Further, given the stakes—your unique abilities—I cannot believe they have lost interest.” He paused for several seconds, which is never good, because in Lobo time that’s some serious computation. “My current best model, which admittedly assumes their planning software is as good as I am, has someone arriving wherever you are in fifty-seven minutes.”

“Which certainly means that I’ll have over an hour, because what are the odds their systems are as smart as you are?”

“Good point. There’s almost no chance their systems are as good as I am. I’ve revised my model. You may be happy to know that my estimate is now one hour and thirteen minutes before they arrive at the EatSafe. Do those extra sixteen minutes change anything?”

I ignored his question. If I let him control the direction of the argument, I’d never have a chance to sell him on my approach. “Even if you’re right,” I said, “I’ll be in this new EatSafe restaurant smack in the middle of a tourist town doing its best to mimic an old Earth American West stereotype, so visitors will be everywhere. EatSafes are hardened and don’t allow weapons inside, so whoever comes for me can’t come in and force me out. I couldn’t be safer.”

“No,” he said. “You’re safer here, now, and the people who come for you can simply surround the restaurant and wait for you to finish.”

“True, they could surround the place, and I suppose they could even send in someone, but I know how to handle both of those situations, too.” I also couldn’t get away with ignoring his points completely. “True, I am safer now, inside you, but I’m also bored and tired of living on the groceries we picked up two weeks ago. This EatSafe flies in the best local fish, offers a huge assortment of fruit drinks I’ve never tasted, and has a chef who’s supposed to be an underappreciated genius due to break out of this backwater planet anytime now.”

You’re bored?” Lobo said. “At least you have me to talk to. I’m stuck with you and the mini versions of me I’ve scattered around this planet’s networks. I’m the one who’s bored.”

“That’s the best part of all of this,” I said. “It’s not just a meal—it’s a drill. If I’m right and no one shows, we learn something critical. “If—”

“—when,” he said.

There’s no point in arguing with Lobo when he gets to this point. “—you’re right, the forces are bound to be small, and we’ll get some action. After all, you will be with me.”

“No. I’ll be near you. It’s not like I can stroll into a restaurant and have a sandwich.”

“Okay, you’ll be near me—but if there’s action, you’ll be part of it. Monitoring me and the surrounding area are more interesting activities than just setting here. Having even the possibility of something to do absolutely has to be less boring than what you’re doing now.”

“True enough,” he said, “and given the likely lead time and the fact that the restaurant is an EatSafe, my best models place the odds of you dying at well under two percent. You are remarkably hard to kill.”

“And, afterward I promise we’ll make a few jumps and visit another planet, one with much more interesting networks for you to monitor.”

“That would be more entertaining.”

I smiled. “So is that a yes?”

“Tell me your plan,” he said. “And wipe that smirk off your face.”

* * *

To blend in with the other tourists, I stopped at a shop a couple streets over from the restaurant and picked up what the tags swore was the place’s best-selling outfit: tan pants made of some rough and not very comfortable fabric, boots with two-inch heels and tops that came halfway up my calves, a blue shirt with entirely too much silver trim, and a big white hat. The mirror told me I looked fantastic. I’m not sure I’ve ever looked more stupid.

I tuned to the machine frequency and asked the mirror what it really thought.

“Why can you talk to me?” it said.

“Why shouldn’t I talk to you?”

“No one ever does.”

“Maybe they’re just all rude.”

“No doubt about that. Let’s face it, and I mean no offense here: you walking meat sacks are, as a rule, pretty insensitive, especially to us machines.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “But I’m trying to do better. Think of me as a one-man hospitality center for humanity.”

“Does someone pay you for that?” the mirror said.

“No. I do it as a labor of love.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

Not counting Lobo, machines suck at detecting sarcasm. Whether Lobo is more machine or more human is something I’ve never quite resolved, despite his body being very clearly that of a killing machine.

“Thank you. Anyway, what do you really think of this outfit on me?”

“It’s my job to tell you and every other customer that they look great in whatever they buy. I’m allowed to suggest size changes when meat flaps are hanging out or bulging like snakes fighting under the fabric, but other than in those circumstances, which are not, by the way, anywhere near as rare as I’d like, I just tell people they look great.”

“And you do it very well,” I said, “but I would love your honest opinion.”

“Thank you for asking. The fact that I’m stuck in this low-end shop doesn’t mean I couldn’t do better work, much better work, than what we offer here. I was built to be able to serve people buying the finest handmade clothing, garments with superb tailoring and exquisite fabrics—which, by the way, is nothing this place has ever sold. Oh, the fabrics in my databases, the colors, the textures, the active filaments, I could tell you such stories—”

“—and I would love to hear them, but I have to leave soon, and I don’t want to depart without knowing your opinion of this outfit.”

“Are you going to walk out without buying anything if I tell you? Because that will get the payment system on my ass, and let me tell you, when it gets pissy, no machine in the store is happy. You would not believe—”

“No, no,” I said. You cannot let a machine get on a rant. “I promise to buy something. I’m just curious as to your thoughts on what I’m wearing.”

“Okay,” it said, “because you’re nice, I’ll tell you. You look pretty much like any other nearly two-meter-tall human male in that outfit: ridiculous and not at all representative of the real clothing of that time—did I mention my databases contain the entire history of human fashion?—and exactly as realistic as this entire fake town, which is to say not at all. Though your skin tone is significantly paler than the norm here, so at least you have that bit of individuation going for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll take the whole ensemble.”

“Don’t blame me later for how your friends react,” the mirror said. “I told you the truth.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

“I think you look incredibly stupid,” Lobo said over the comm. Because I’d sold this trip as a drill, he’d insisted on mission lenses, so of course he could see me in the mirror. We’d decided to avoid comm devices and just communicate over a machine frequency, though not the one most machines use, so I bet he’d also been listening to my conversation with the mirror.

“Despite what the mirror said,” he added.

Of course, Lobo had listened. Why would he not? His boredom was profound, and gathering data was his biggest relief. “But I also look just like everyone else who buys this,” I said. “It’s all part of the plan.”

“And thanks to the twenty-two minutes you’ve spent walking here and shopping, my model estimates an attack as early as fifty-one minutes from now. Also part of your plan?”

I ignored him and headed for the EatSafe.

* * *

The holos had not done the place justice. The EatSafe logo was appropriately tucked under the giant “SALOON” sign, dust covered everything, and the at least apparently wooden exterior appeared rough and unfinished. The panes in the windows shimmered a bit in the light, their multiple layers and density making the inside a hazy blur that felt historically appropriate for a time and place with lousy glass. The swinging doors stood open, facing out, their sensors discreetly hidden in the grain of the wood. The door behind them also looked unfinished but was, I knew from the EatSafe promos and specs, armored enough to keep out crashing vehicles and small missiles. I walked up to the doors and touched the knife in my pocket, a test to make sure the security software wasn’t offline.

It wasn’t.

“Welcome, good sir,” said the doors. “We look forward to serving you the finest food in these here parts—after, of course, you check your weapon.” A bin extruded from the wall under the swinging doors. “We will, of course, return it when you leave.”

“Weapon?”

“The knife in your front left pants pocket,” it said. “And, may we say, sir, what a fine outfit that is.”

I switched to the machine frequency. “Do you get a cut for praising the outfits?”

“Why can you talk to me?” it said.

“Why shouldn’t I talk to you?”

“No one ever does.”

Somebody needs to give these machines a broader social range. Still, I could stick with a script, too. “Maybe they’re just all rude.”

“No doubt about that. Let’s face it, and I mean no offense here: you walking meat sacks are, as a rule, pretty—”

“—insensitive,” I said, “and yes, we are, for which I apologize.”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, do you get a taste for praising the outfits?”

“Not me personally, of course,” the security software said. “No one thinks of security systems. We just do our jobs—even though without us this entire place would be out of business. No, no one thinks of us. We serve invisibly.”

I was sorry I’d asked, but I hadn’t spoken to anything or anyone other than Lobo in weeks, and I was curious, so I pressed the point. “Does the business get a cut of the price of the outfit?”

“Not directly,” it said. “But if you return to the shop for another purchase, then the EatSafe earns a small percentage. Nothing happens here without money flowing.”

Not a surprise, but I suppose it’s nice to know that wherever you go, no matter how backward the planet, everyone and everything is always hustling for a piece of the action. I placed my knife in the bin, which immediately vanished into the wall.

“Well, thank you for a job well done.”

“Thank you, sir, and enjoy your meal, secure in the knowledge that no one has ever been hurt or attacked in an EatSafe, no one at all.”

“That is great news,” I said.

“It’s not news,” Lobo said, “because they advertise that fact, but it is useful confirmation.”

I shook my head and ignored him. The door in front of me slid open, and I stepped through into a waiting area as rustic as the building’s exterior.

“Table for one,” I said to the podium in front of me, “preferably a table against the rear wall.”

“Those tables require four guests,” the podium said. “We seat singles along the bar.”

“Okay, I’ll order four meals,” I said, “so now you can give me one of those tables, preferably one as far as possible from any window.”

“Those meals will need to include beverages and will incur all fees,” the podium said.

I took out the comm/wallet Lobo had loaded with local currency from one of his accounts here and thumbed the podium enough credit to buy four of everything on the menu. Lobo’s local miniversions were constantly siphoning tiny amounts of money from large corporations and shuttling it to accounts he controlled, so going overboard on lunch wasn’t going to hurt him.

“Very good, sir,” the podium said. “Very good indeed. And may I say how perfectly wonderful you look. Your choice of outfits is superb. You are clearly a man of great taste.”

I felt bad for the machine having to suck up so much just because I’d spent a lot, but sucking up was in its software DNA.

“Please follow the waiter to your table,” it said.

To my surprise, an actual human stepped out of a door that opened behind the podium. A woman a good head shorter than I and with umber skin, she was dressed in a sleek cobalt jumper that didn’t at all match the theme of this little tourist trap. She looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. “Follow me, please.”

As we walked to the table—a perfect choice against the rear wall, no other people or tables nearby, no direct line of sight from any window—I said, “I wouldn’t have guessed this restaurant would have waiters, nor you to be one.”

She smiled and motioned me to sit. “I’m not. I’m Jeanette Dee, the chef here.”

Now I recalled seeing her in the coverage on this place, but everything I’d watched had featured action scenes with immaculate cooking facilities, fancy clothes, and perfectly coiffed hair.

“You just dropped enough money on this meal,” she said, “that you triggered a human-service exception. Everyone else in the kitchen is busy, and I wanted to see what kind of person would spend that much just to eat here.” She stared at me intently. “Not what I expected.”

I laughed. “Don’t let the outfit fool you. Or offend you too much.”

She chuckled.

“I picked it up around the corner, so I’d blend in with the other tourists. I’m actually a good guy in hiding from some very bad people who want to trap me, maybe kill me. I’m not sure.” Telling the truth was refreshing and unlikely to cause me any trouble. If they came for me, she’d find out, and if they didn’t, she’d never believe it.

This time, I got a full laugh from her. “Hey, I didn’t mean to pry.”

The more outrageous the truth, the less likely anyone is to believe it. “Not a problem,” I said.

She headed back to the kitchen.

“Before you go, do you mind if I ask you something?”

She turned back to face me. “Ask away.”

“Few people choose to be chefs, fewer still use mostly human crews, and even fewer do it on a backwater planet like Gash. Why are you doing it? And, why here?”

This time, she stared at me for a bit before speaking. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I love food, and I rarely get to talk to anyone who prepares it. I just want to understand.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Cooking is magic, its own kind of alchemy. We take what planets provide, and we transform it into something delicious and, if we do it right, beautiful. We feed people, sure, but at our best we also bring them joy and even thoughtfulness. The best meals engage your brain and touch your heart.”

“Those are big goals for an EatSafe in the middle of a tourist construct.”

She laughed. “Maybe. Maybe I won’t hit them, or hit them often, but I can try. I should try. What’s the point of doing anything if you’re not going to give it your best? And, when I see someone’s face fill with happiness and know my food—I—caused that, all the work is worthwhile.”

“Still, why here?”

“My moms raised me here, so I’m from here. Simple as that.” After a moment, she added, “Also, someday I’ll be doing it somewhere else. I hope.”

I was rarely comfortable interacting with people, and I was fine going long stretches without talking to anyone, but I suddenly realized that even for me, six months with minimal human contact had not been the best idea. I was definitely talking too much. And though Dee didn’t resemble Zoe in any way, she reminded me that a mere six months ago, I’d been in love with a woman who was sleeping in Lobo with me—and who was now gone from my life.

“Do you understand?” she said. Her focus was intense, her gaze direct and unwavering.

I nodded my head. “Yes, I think so.” This meal had already touched my heart, and it hadn’t even started. “Thank you, Chef. I look forward to eating your food.” As she turned again to go, I realized I had to ask one more question. “What should I order?”

Chef Dee kept walking and chuckled. “You don’t,” she said. “I’ll choose. It’s lunch, so I’ll keep it simple, but afterward, you tell me how I did.”

She vanished around the corner.

I was now looking forward to the meal even more.

“If you keep chatting with every person and machine you encounter,” Lobo said, “you’ll never get to eat. My most aggressive model now gives you only forty-five minutes before a capture team arrives.”

“Only if their systems are almost as good as you are,” I said. “I’m banking on them being nowhere near as smart.”

* * *

An hour later, I had eaten so many small bites that I’d lost count, and I was once again grateful for the nanomachines in my body that never let me gain weight. I had taken my first couple bites of the main dish, a delightful open-faced fish sandwich on house-made bread that was so delicious I wondered if I’d ever eaten real bread before. Three kinds of local fish sat atop sauces and vegetables I didn’t recognize. The strangeness didn’t matter. Each morsel I tasted was delicious. Finger-size wedges of the sandwich shared the plate with little clouds of a whipped starch that mashed potatoes would be if they ever reached their full potential—and in the process somehow acquired a tangy edge.

I was still chewing the second bite when Lobo said, “The assistants the old families are employing clearly aren’t anywhere near as smart as I am, as you’d hoped, but—”

I hated when he baited me, but I finished chewing, sighed with happiness, and went for it anyway. “But?”

“They aren’t stupid, either. You’re a minute or two from having a guest.”

I stared longingly at the barely touched plate. “Just one?”

“Yes and no. Just one person is coming inside the restaurant, but if I’ve tracked everyone properly—and the odds that I have are, of course, very good indeed—another nine people are scattered around the outside of the building. They are also, by the way, doing very bad jobs of blending in, but the real tourists don’t seem to notice or care.”

“Maybe those people are not here for me.”

“Seriously, Jon? Why have I had to use that word with you twice today?”

“Wishful thinking on my part.”

I watched as a lone woman rounded the corner from the reception area, made eye contact with me, and headed straight for my table. A seating bot was trying to steer her to another table, but she brushed past it and said, “Jon Moore, there you are!” To the bot she added, “I’ll join my friend. Right, Jon?”

I smiled, nodded, and motioned her to the chair across from me. “Please.”

“You should finish quickly, Jon,” she said. “We’re late for our appointment.”

I shook my head. “This food is too good to rush.” To the servbot that immediately appeared I said, “Please ask Chef if she is willing to make another of these sandwiches for my guest, and also bring my guest the juice flight.”

After the bot glided away, the woman said, “Really? You can stall, but you’re not getting away. I’ve got a dozen—”

Lobo said, “Nine.” Listening to his voice in my head and to external voices with my ears always required an annoying level of extra concentration.

“—people surrounding this building. We’ve got you.”

I nodded, took another bite, and smiled as I chewed and then swallowed the delicious mixture of fish, bread, vegetables, and spices. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t offer it.”

“If you’re right, if I’m trapped, telling me won’t hurt you in any way. If you’re wrong, and I walk out of here, telling me still won’t matter, because I’ll let you know right now that I have no interest in hurting you or your people.”

“From what the briefing materials told us about what you did on Studio, you’ll have to forgive me for not believing that.”

I closed my eyes for a moment as the memory invaded me, as it had so many nights over these past six months. The man shooting Zoe and laughing. The rage I felt. The moment when I couldn’t contain it any longer and let loose the nano-cloud that turned the four ships and their crew into dust.

I opened my eyes, my smile long gone.

“You have no clue what really happened on Studio,” I said, “but it doesn’t matter.” I picked up the last of my juice flight, a delicious purple beverage I had never tasted before, and took a small sip. “Nothing like that will happen here today.”

“Damn right,” she said. “Whatever help you had that day isn’t anywhere near. We tracked you from the edge of town, and you’re alone. The executive transport that dropped you off is long gone. You’re on your own.”

“Good news,” Lobo said. “They know nothing about me being here, and my disguise as a shuttle is still working. I have to give you a little credit: this lunch has already proven to be a useful drill.”

Carrying on two conversations at once was getting more and more difficult, but I know that sometimes Lobo does this just to annoy me—and also so he can later point out his own superiority at multitasking. I ignored him.

I cut another bite off a sandwich wedge and savored it.

She sighed. “Adeela. My first name’s Adeela, and that’s all you get.”

“Nice to meet you, Adeela.” I put down my fork and sat back. “Here’s how it’s going to go. I’m going to finish this sandwich. I haven’t yet decided about dessert, but I’m at least considering it. So, I highly recommend you relax and enjoy your own sandwich, when it comes—which should be soon; Chef and her team are very quick.”

She leaned back and studied me for a minute.

“I thought you’d be bigger.”

“I get that a lot.” At nearly two meters tall, I was a popular enough height that I didn’t stand out in many crowds.

“And older.”

“That, too.” I didn’t share with her that somehow the way my long-lost sister, Jennie, had fixed me when I was sixteen, combined with the nanobots that later melded with my body, had left me perpetually twenty-eight. Either the old families chasing me knew fact that or suspected it, but they sure didn’t need confirmation.

Her sandwich arrived. Chef Dee placed it in front of Adeela. She faced me and said, “I told you I’d be back to ask, and here I am. What do you think?”

“Your food is amazing, Chef, easily the best I’ve tasted in recent memory.” I bowed slightly. “I am still enjoying it more than I can say. The flavors are both delightful and intriguing, and I find I can’t stop smiling. Thank you.”

She nodded her head and grinned, satisfied but also not surprised with my answer. “I’m glad to hear that.” She faced Adeela. “I hope the food proves to be as good for you.”

Adeela nodded but did not answer, so Chef left.

“No point in being rude,” I said.

“Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m getting tired of it.”

I leaned back and stared at her for a moment. As I did, on the machine frequency I said, “Lobo, how long will it take you to descend and take out Adeela’s nine people?”

“I don’t need to descend to do that,” Lobo said. “I just needed to adjust my position so the firing angles were good, and I’ve already done that. When you say ‘take out,’ though, do you mean kill?”

I continued to stare at Adeela, who seemed perfectly comfortable staring back and not speaking.

“No,” I said. “They’re just doing a job. I mean trank them, and with a big enough dose that we have plenty of time to get off planet and head to the jump gate.”

“The people in the ships on Studio were also just doing jobs,” Lobo said, “and you took no chances with them.”

I shook my head, which caused Adeela to raise an eyebrow in question.

“I give up,” I said to her. “I thought if I waited long enough, you’d get bored and at least try the food. Please, don’t waste it. It’s truly wonderful.”

To Lobo, I said, “You know that was different. You know what they had done. So drop it and just tell me how long it will take to trank those nine people.”

I was grateful that Lobo’s sighs were less effective in this mode of communication. “Fine,” he said. “Given projectile travel time and the possibility of further angle adjustment should they move to new positions, no more than forty-three seconds from when you say the word. Probably much less.”

Adeela still wasn’t eating.

I leaned forward.

She braced as if I was about to attack.

Instead, I lowered my voice and spoke quietly as I looked into her eyes. “A famous and long-dead Earth philosopher once said, when asked upon his deathbed for the most precious lesson he had learned in life, that we should all enjoy every sandwich. I can’t think of better advice, though I admit to being terrible at taking it. As much as he was using ‘sandwich’ to stand for life’s simpler joys, the actual sandwiches in front of us are truly exceptional. So, I intend to enjoy every last bite of mine. Whether you’re right, and you collect your bounty later today, or I’m right, and we never see each other again, I don’t see what you have to lose from enjoying your food. And you know I can’t have poisoned it, because smuggling poison into an EatSafe is a very hard task indeed. It would never make it past the security scanners.”

I leaned back, ate a bite, and smiled. I motioned to her plate. “Please.”

Adeela shook her head. “You are definitely not what I expected.” She shook it again. “Sure, why not?” She cut a sandwich wedge in half and put a bite in her mouth. After a little chewing, her face brightened with a wide smile. “Damn, that is good.”

I nodded. “Oh, yeah. If you live here, you should eat here every chance you get until some better place snaps up Chef Dee—and you can bet someplace will.”

“I can’t really afford to come here often,” Adeela said, “though that’ll all change later today.”

I shook my head again. “No, it won’t, but that doesn’t matter, because this one’s on me. I had to pay for four guests to lock down this table.”

“So you were expecting us?” She looked surprised.

I shrugged. No point in giving her too much information. “More that I feared someone might be coming.”

“And yet you stayed?”

I pointed at my half-empty plate. “I had to enjoy this sandwich.”

She chuckled. “Fair enough.”

We finished our sandwiches in silence. Adeela was a fast eater, so as I took my last bite, she was nearly done.

As she was chewing her penultimate bite, I asked Lobo, “Once you trank them, how long will they be out?”

“At least three hours,” he said, “though I cannot be certain that she doesn’t have more people on the way.”

“Can you spot any movements that suggest she does?” I said.

“No,” he admitted, “but I will still feel better when you get out of there, and better still when we are well away from this backwater planet.”

“Almost,” I said.

“So what do you think happens next?” Adeela said. “I mean, after you pay.”

“I already paid,” I said, “as part of locking down this table.”

“So what now? Are you picturing some sort of old Earth gunfight in the street? We go out the doors, stand back-to-back, walk apart from each other, turn, and see who can shoot faster?”

I smiled. “Nope.”

“Good,” she said, “because I have no interest in that kind of dumb game. The moment you step out of here, my people will surround you, restrain you, and take you to my ship on the edge of town. I’m not wasting any time in delivering you and collecting the rather sizable bounty.”

I smiled again, waved my hand, and a servbot glided over. “Please bring one of every dessert for my friend.” It headed back.

“You paid for that already, too?”

“Oh, easily,” I said. “I paid for way more than that, so you might as well enjoy it. I’d love to join you, but I’m full.”

“The dessert is for me? Haven’t you been listening to me?”

Over the machine frequency, I said to Lobo, “Take them all out now, and tell me when you’re done.”

I leaned forward. “Yes, I have, but as I’ve been saying, it’s not going to go like that.”

“And why not?” she said.

Lobo said, “All nine are down.”

“Contact your people,” I said.

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Let me be more accurate,” I said. I gave her a moment to understand. “Try to contact your people.”

She turned away from me and whispered.

After nearly a minute of increasingly frantic whispering, she turned back to face me, her face red with anger. “What have you done?”

“Me?” I said. “Nothing. But my people have taken out your team.”

Lobo said, “So now I’m ‘your people’?”

To him I said, “Not now. Go with it.”

She stood. “You bastard. I should—”

A servbot rolled up. Two grabbing arms extended, and several small doors opened on the side facing her.

“Let me remind you where we are. If you move to strike me, the EatSafe will have to restrain you or, worst case, trank you. Neither of us wants that, though, honestly, it wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You bought me a sandwich and killed nine people while I ate it? What kind of animal—”

“Who said anything about killing? I told you we weren’t playing any Old West games, and we’re not. My team has tranked yours; that’s all. Your people—all nine of them, by the way, not twelve—will come around in a few hours and be none the worse for it.”

She sat. “But your team could have killed them.”

The servbot waited a few seconds and then moved two meters away.

“Of course.”

“And should have, if you ask me,” Lobo said.

I ignored him and did my best to keep my focus on Adeela. “I generally hate killing.” I paused. “Despite what they may have told you.”

“Maybe you’re not what they claimed,” she said, “but there must be some reason they’ve put a bounty this big on your head and spread the word to every inhabited planet.”

“So in your experience every person a powerful group seeks to eliminate is a bad person?”

She took a few beats before answering.

“Of course not. Life is never that simple.”

“You’re right,” I said, “it’s not, and it’s not simple with me. None of that matters right now though, because as I told you, we’re never going to see each other again. All that does matter is that you have a choice.”

“What choice?”

“I’m going to leave. You have the choice whether to sit here and enjoy the desserts, or follow me out the door, get tranked by my team, and wake up with the rest of yours.” I stood. “Please, choose to enjoy the desserts.”

I walked away slowly.

A servbot carrying half a dozen desserts glided past me toward Adeela.

At the turn to the reception area, I paused and looked back.

Adeela was still seated and staring at me. Desserts filled the table in front of her. They looked amazing. I wanted to go back and keep talking, enjoy the food with her, maybe convince her never to come after me again, but Lobo was right: it was time to leave.

After a few seconds, Adeela turned away and ate a forkful of what appeared to be a cream-covered tart.

I strolled through the reception area and out the front door of the EatSafe. I turned left and picked up my pace. Here and there, people were gathered around the fallen bodies, trying in vain to wake them. Others walked around the sleeping people as if they were just stones in the road. No one paid any attention to me.

Huge white clouds towered in a beautiful light blue sky. The warm air enveloped me and felt wonderful. The taste of the last bite of the sandwich lingered in my mouth, and I savored it.

“Meet me at the rendezvous,” I said to Lobo.

“About time,” he said.



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Framed