Page 5 of Accidentally Abducted

Looking at him, really looking at him, I realize that Jake Morrison might be completely correct. And for the first time since this assignment began, I find myself genuinely curious about what the next three days might bring.

"Very well," I say. "Let us figure it out together."

Chapter Three

Jake

I wake up to the sound of something crashing in the main room, followed by what I can only assume is alien cursing.

"Zeph?" I call out, squinting at the ceiling that's somehow shifted to a soft sunrise orange overnight. Either the ship really does respond to moods, or it has a better sense of interior design than most humans I know.

"I am... experiencing technical difficulties," comes Zeph's voice, strained with what sounds like embarrassment.

I roll out of bed, pull on yesterday's jeans, and wander into the main room to find Zeph standing in front of what I think is supposed to be a kitchen counter, staring at a pile of what looks like metallic sludge with the expression of someone whose entire worldview has just been challenged.

"Let me guess," I say, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. "You tried to make breakfast using your extensive human research?"

"The food synthesizer was programmed with optimal human nutritional requirements," Zeph says, poking at the sludge with something that might charitably be called a spoon. "This should be... pancakes."

I look at the gray, vaguely pancake-shaped disaster on his plate. "Okay, I have several questions. First, where did you get the pancake recipe? Second, why does it look like industrial paste? And third, please tell me you have a backup plan."

Zeph's face does that blue flush thing that I'm starting to find ridiculously endearing. "The recipe was sourced from a popular human cooking platform. The synthesizer interpreted the ingredients according to their chemical compositions. And... no. No backup plan."

"Right." I walk over to examine the alleged pancakes more closely. They smell like nothing, which is somehow worsethan if they smelled bad. "Zeph, buddy, I think your synthesizer might be a little too literal. Pancakes aren't supposed to be nutritionally optimized. They're supposed to be delicious and terrible for you."

"But surely optimal nutrition would be preferable?"

"Not for breakfast foods. Breakfast foods are supposed to make you happy, not healthy." I grin at him. "Although points for effort. These look very... structural."

Zeph stares at the pancakes like they've personally betrayed him. "I wanted to provide you with familiar foods. To make your stay more comfortable."

And there it is, that earnest thoughtfulness that keeps catching me off-guard. Here's this guy who was supposed to be conducting compatibility tests with my ex-boyfriend, and instead he's trying to make me pancakes at what I'm guessing is probably the crack of dawn, ship time.

"That's actually really sweet," I tell him, and watch his expression brighten slightly. "But maybe next time we could tackle breakfast together? I mean, assuming your synthesizer can handle basic ingredients."

"You would... teach me to prepare human food?"

"I would teach you to prepare food that humans actually want to eat, as opposed to food that's theoretically good for them." I lean against the counter next to him, close enough that I can smell whatever it is he uses that makes him smell like clean laundry and something vaguely spicy. "Trust me, there's a big difference."

"I would like that," Zeph says, and there's something almost shy about the way he says it. "Though I should warn you that my people do not typically engage in food preparation. Most of our nutrition is synthesized according to individual metabolic requirements."

"So you guys don't cook?"

"We do not... cook recreationally, no."

I stare at him. "Recreationally. You think cooking is recreational?"

"Is it not?"

"I mean, it can be, but mostly it's just... what you do when you want to eat something that doesn't taste like cardboard." I pause, processing this new information about alien culture. "Wait, do you guys ever eat for pleasure? Like, just because something tastes good?"

Zeph considers this seriously. "Pleasure-based consumption is not... discouraged, but it is not emphasized in our culture. Food is primarily viewed as fuel."

"Oh my god." I turn to face him fully. "Zeph, you've never had a really good meal, have you? Like, something that makes you close your eyes and make involuntary noises of appreciation?"

The blue flush returns, deeper this time. "Involuntary noises?"

"You know, like... mmm, or oh god, that's so good, or..." I trail off, realizing that my examples are starting to sound less like food appreciation and more like something else entirely. "Never mind. The point is, food can be an experience, not just nutrition."

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