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Authors: Tracy St. John
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shuddered. “Now that’s love. Putting yourself on the line for your poor mom.”
Thankfully oblivious to the disgust her food choices engendered, Mom pushed her plate towards me. “Sure! The ronka first, Shalia. Pilchok is more like a dessert, though they say it’s meat.”
The ronka was in bite-sized chunks, a deep brown with bluish veins – or something that looked like veins – running through it. It smelled amazing, but I eyed it with some distaste. Some things you don’t want to eat just because they don’t look right. Ronka had that look.
Smell won out. I speared a piece with my fork. Before I could think much more about it, I shoved it into my mouth and started chewing. My face was all scrunched up as I waited to taste something along the lines of sewage.
Good heavens. Kalquorians may not be able to cook chicken, but they can cook the hell out of ronka, whatever it is.
Imagine the most perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked filet mignon you’ve ever eaten. Now imagine meat even richer tasting and practically melting in your mouth. Ronka is twice as good as that. Seriously.
The Pageant Trio watched me breathlessly, as if expecting me to burst into flames at any moment. They were on the edges of their seats, waiting for my face to rot before their eyes as the ronka spread its evil pestilence through my body.
Stupid cows.
I still wasn’t willing to get into it with anyone over food, however. For all I knew, I’d end up on a colony with them as my next door neighbors. Heaven help me. So I swallowed my delicious bit of paradise and said, “I think it’s okay. At least they didn’t cook it into sawdust.”
Tanned shoulders slumped, and I was given looks of supreme motherly disappointment, like I’d shown them a report card that wasn’t all A’s. Screw them. I was really looking forward to the pilchok now.
The chunk I took from Mom’s plate certainly looked like meat, kind of like pork dipped in gold. But it’s texture was more dessert-like. It flaked, like pastry. And it was sweet. Dip it in chocolate sauce, and I would eat it until I blew up.
I have to chalk up my bad chicken to inexperience from the Kalquorian cooks. The ronka and pilchok were five-star all the way.
It was with great relief when Mom finished eating her meal and was escorted to the rec room by the ever patient Weln. I couldn’t bear another bite of chicken though. I made nice conversation with the other women for as long as seemed respectable before I begged off, citing my recent illness and continuing weakness. I went back to my room. I managed to snag an orderly on my way and begged him for a nice ronka and pilchok meal of my own. He had it to me in less than ten minutes. It was heavenly.
I’m having it for dinner too, here in the privacy of my room, with no judgmental Earthers to look at me like I just drowned the baby Moses. I’ve decided communing with my own kind over a meal is vastly overrated.
September 9
Oh my God. I have officially lost my mind. I don’t even want to write this down. If anyone ever knew, I’d be hanging from a tree. Or worse. Much, much worse. I cannot fathom why I would do such a thing.
Okay. Deep breath. Here I go, from the beginning.
I got the clearance to try a little solo walk. It looked nice outside, so I ventured out. For a wonder, the humidity wasn’t instant sauna. It was still a little hot, but there was a nice breeze. It felt good to be in the sun for a change.
Behind the medical building is a little concrete path. This trail winds down to the Memorial Garden, a place where fallen officers who had attended the Academy are remembered. There are plaques on a series of tall marble walls that enclose benches and flowerbeds in a huge semi-circle. It’s very nice and peaceful, even though the lack of
Thankfully oblivious to the disgust her food choices engendered, Mom pushed her plate towards me. “Sure! The ronka first, Shalia. Pilchok is more like a dessert, though they say it’s meat.”
The ronka was in bite-sized chunks, a deep brown with bluish veins – or something that looked like veins – running through it. It smelled amazing, but I eyed it with some distaste. Some things you don’t want to eat just because they don’t look right. Ronka had that look.
Smell won out. I speared a piece with my fork. Before I could think much more about it, I shoved it into my mouth and started chewing. My face was all scrunched up as I waited to taste something along the lines of sewage.
Good heavens. Kalquorians may not be able to cook chicken, but they can cook the hell out of ronka, whatever it is.
Imagine the most perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked filet mignon you’ve ever eaten. Now imagine meat even richer tasting and practically melting in your mouth. Ronka is twice as good as that. Seriously.
The Pageant Trio watched me breathlessly, as if expecting me to burst into flames at any moment. They were on the edges of their seats, waiting for my face to rot before their eyes as the ronka spread its evil pestilence through my body.
Stupid cows.
I still wasn’t willing to get into it with anyone over food, however. For all I knew, I’d end up on a colony with them as my next door neighbors. Heaven help me. So I swallowed my delicious bit of paradise and said, “I think it’s okay. At least they didn’t cook it into sawdust.”
Tanned shoulders slumped, and I was given looks of supreme motherly disappointment, like I’d shown them a report card that wasn’t all A’s. Screw them. I was really looking forward to the pilchok now.
The chunk I took from Mom’s plate certainly looked like meat, kind of like pork dipped in gold. But it’s texture was more dessert-like. It flaked, like pastry. And it was sweet. Dip it in chocolate sauce, and I would eat it until I blew up.
I have to chalk up my bad chicken to inexperience from the Kalquorian cooks. The ronka and pilchok were five-star all the way.
It was with great relief when Mom finished eating her meal and was escorted to the rec room by the ever patient Weln. I couldn’t bear another bite of chicken though. I made nice conversation with the other women for as long as seemed respectable before I begged off, citing my recent illness and continuing weakness. I went back to my room. I managed to snag an orderly on my way and begged him for a nice ronka and pilchok meal of my own. He had it to me in less than ten minutes. It was heavenly.
I’m having it for dinner too, here in the privacy of my room, with no judgmental Earthers to look at me like I just drowned the baby Moses. I’ve decided communing with my own kind over a meal is vastly overrated.
September 9
Oh my God. I have officially lost my mind. I don’t even want to write this down. If anyone ever knew, I’d be hanging from a tree. Or worse. Much, much worse. I cannot fathom why I would do such a thing.
Okay. Deep breath. Here I go, from the beginning.
I got the clearance to try a little solo walk. It looked nice outside, so I ventured out. For a wonder, the humidity wasn’t instant sauna. It was still a little hot, but there was a nice breeze. It felt good to be in the sun for a change.
Behind the medical building is a little concrete path. This trail winds down to the Memorial Garden, a place where fallen officers who had attended the Academy are remembered. There are plaques on a series of tall marble walls that enclose benches and flowerbeds in a huge semi-circle. It’s very nice and peaceful, even though the lack of
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