15 Targeted (59 page)

“I am sorry,
Khalla-to-be,
but it is so.” Lit’aal looked sorry for her. “But as Turra says, you would scarcely have time for children anyway. A
Khalla
is joined to the people she serves, even more than her chosen mate. She is an ambassador of good will from the Temple and all eyes are upon her ceaselessly.”

This job was sounding worse and worse but Emily didn’t know how to say that. Clearly to her two priestess helpers, it was the best gig in the entire planet.
If you don’t mind being in the public eye constantly. Ugh!
To cover her confusion, she took another big sip of the soup. But something stopped the flow before she could get half a mouthful. Frowning, she sucked harder. Was something stuck in the straw? Pulling it out of the deep clay pot she started to examine it and gasped.

The straw was made of some kind of stretchy, transparent material that wasn’t quite plastic but didn’t seem organic either. Lodged in its lower half, just below the first curve, was a bulging blue eyeball which seemed to be staring at her.

“Oh my God!” Emily nearly dropped the straw in a sudden surge of revulsion. “What the Hell is that?” she demanded, staring at the eye which still seemed to be looking back.

“A
chiroth
eye of course.” Turra spoke as though it was no big deal. “That is what the Soup of Far Seeing is made of—it enables a
Khalla-to-be
to harness her inner vision. Would you like to eat one of the eyes? It is said that those who do have waking dreams that often portend the future.”

“
No,
I don’t want to eat an
eyeball,”
Emily exclaimed. “I mean…” She took a deep breath and put the straw back in the soup so she couldn’t see the eye. “No thank you. I’m sorry—that just surprised me is all. We don’t…have that kind of stew on the planet where I come from.”

“Because you come from a planet with no other
Khallas
,” Lit’aal said soothingly. “Only a
Khalla
or a
Khalla-to-be
may partake of this dish without dying.”

“What?” Emily was freaked out all over again. “Are you telling me it’s
poison?”

“Only to one who is not a
Khalla,”
Turra said.

“Well…that’s nice, I guess.” Emily swallowed. “But you know, I believe I’ve had enough for now. Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome,” Turra said as Lit’aal whisked the green clay pot away. “It’s wise of you not to fill up on soup. You must have room for each of the courses.”

“There’s more?” Emily asked apprehensively.

“Of course. Here, my
Khalla-to-be,
is the Tureen of Oration.”

“The what?” Emily asked, as Lit’aal put another steaming dish down in front of her. It was a broad, oval shaped dish made of some green metal and it appeared to contain a kind of bubbling, cheesy casserole.

“The Tureen of Oration. A
Khalla
must always be able to address her followers in an eloquent and charming manner,” Turra said.

“Try it,” Lit’aal added. “It’s really good.”

“I thought no one but a
Khalla
could eat this stuff,” Emily said.

The little priestess blushed.

“That is only the soup. This particular dish is not poison to non-
Khalla’s.
One of the chefs is a friend of mine and he let me try a little.”

“I thought you just said we weren’t supposed to talk to the help.” Emily raised an eyebrow.

“So we are not—or a
Khalla
is not, anyway. And it is doubtful whether her personal attendants should either.” Turra gave the other priestess a disapproving look.

“I don’t mind,” Emily said quickly, not wanting to get Lit’aal, who seemed like the nicer of the two, into trouble. “It looks really great—I don’t blame you for trying some. In fact, would you two like to sit down and have some with me now?” She smiled at both of them. “I hate eating alone.”

“Oh, no!” Turra looked even more shocked than when Emily had expressed a desire to go thank the chefs personally.

“We cannot eat the Feast of Becoming with you,
Khalla-to-be,
as neither Turra or myself has any hope of becoming a
Khalla,”
Lit’aal explained gently. “But thank you for asking us. It shows a good heart.”

“It shows an improper understanding of her status,” Turra sniffed. “But never fear,
Khalla-to-be,
we will educate you.”

“Um, thanks, I guess,” Emily mumbled.

“And now you should eat, before the Tureen grows cold.” Leaning forward, Turra took up a strangely carved wooden spoon and began ladling some of the cheesy, bubbling casserole onto a green metal plate.

Emily watched carefully but to her immense relief, there didn’t appear to be any eyeballs in this particular dish. It consisted of long, thin, pinkish noodles covered in some kind of white and yellow sauce. On closer examination, Emily decided there wasn’t cheese in it after all—it still looked good, though.

“Here, my
Khalla-to-be,”
Turra murmured, handing her the plate and a utensil that looked like four long chopsticks arranged in a claw configuration. “Partake of the Tureen of Oration and speak with the tongue of the Goddess.”

“Thanks.” Emily took a minute to figure out how to work the chopstick claw but finally she succeeded in gripping a large bite of the long, pinkish noodles and getting them into her mouth. The sauce was scrumptious—savory and light at the same time but the noodles were firm and flat and very rubbery—almost tough.

“How does it please you?” Lit’aal asked eagerly. “Is it not delightful?”

Emily finished the first bite with some difficulty.

“It’s delicious,” she said, not wanting to complain about how hard the noodles were to chew—though really they were so tough and fibrous she could barely get them down. “And very, uh,
chewy.”

“Oh, that’s the way
Tisla
tongues are supposed to taste,” Lit’aal assured her. “It’s their texture that makes them unique.”

Emily paused with another bite of the long, pinkish noodles halfway to her lips. “I’m sorry,
what
did you say this is made of?”

“
Tisla
tongues—they are an animal native to the northern reaches of our world,” Turra said. “They sing the most beautiful melodies—those who have heard them say you cannot help but weep.”

Emily wanted to weep right now. Didn’t they have anything normal to eat? Anything that didn’t involve alien animal organs? She took another look at the long, slimy pink noodles—
no, tongues—they’re freaking
tongues—
she reminded herself, in their coating of white and yellow sauce and knew she couldn’t eat any more.

“They’re really good,” she said, as politely as she could, putting the four pronged chopstick utensil down. “But I’m getting really full.”

Turra frowned. “You cannot be full yet—you still have many courses to go.”

“Why don’t we save them for later?” Emily asked, smiling brightly. “Something to look forward to.”

“Perhaps the
Khalla-to-be
would like the last course—a dessert the chefs labored over many hours,” Lit’aal suggested softly. “It is very special—the Cream of Courage.”

“Really? The Cream of
Courage?”
Emily wondered why in the world every dish in this feast had to be named after some kind of virtue.

“It’s quite delicious,
Khalla-to-be.
Truly it is.” Quickly Turra whisked away the tureen of tongue and Lit’aal brought out something that looked for all the world like a huge, puffy chocolate soufflé.

“Wow,” Emily breathed. “I have to admit, that looks
amazing
.”

“Oh, it
is.”
Lit’aal set the dish before her, beaming and Turra handed her a golden spoon shaped like a miniature shovel.

“Please,
Khalla-to-be,
partake and be strengthened.”

“Well…” Emily hesitated, the golden shovel-spoon hovering over the delicious looking dessert. “It’s not made of tongues or eyeballs, is it?” she asked, looking at Turra suspiciously.

“On my honor,
Khalla-to-be,
no.” The priestess looked at her earnestly.

“Well…in that case…” Emily dug her golden eating utensil into the puffy soufflé which immediately collapsed into a delicious looking heap of what looked like moist brownie crumbs and molten chocolate.
Just like a chocolate lava cake…
It was Emily’s favorite. She didn’t even stop to smell the bite she’d dug out of the dessert, she just put the whole spoonful into her mouth at once…

She nearly choked.

The flavor wasn’t at all what she’d expected. It was sweet—Emily would give it that—teeth-achingly sweet. But under the intense sweetness was a strange meaty flavor. And not just any meat—
rotten
meat. The texture was meat-like too—crumbly and chewy at the same time. It was like having a mouthful of super sweet rancid hamburger with slime on top.

“Ew…urg,” she gasped, barely managing to swallow the awful mouthful. She glared at both of the priestesses who were watching her eagerly. “That wasn’t chocolate!” she exclaimed. “That was barely food at all!”

“What is shokolat?” Lit’aal asked, frowning. “Is it a delicacy from Earth?”

“It is,” confirmed Turra. “It is often sold on the Mother Ship—Earth females prefer it to almost any other confection.” She looked at Emily. “But
Khalla-to-be,
we never told you that the Cream of
Courage
was made of chocolate.”

“Yes, but
look
at it!” Emily wished she could wash her mouth out—the cloyingly sweet and slimy rancid hamburger taste wouldn’t leave no matter how much she swallowed. “I mean, it looked just like a big, puffy chocolate soufflé and then after I poked it, it looked like crumbled brownies with hot fudge sauce. It looked
so
good!”

“And did you not find it to your liking,
Khalla-to-be?”
Lit’aal asked anxiously. “
Xenox
heart is considered a great delicacy here on Rageron. It comes from a very ferocious beast and gives the eater enormous courage.”

“
Xenox
heart?” Emily shook her head. “No wonder. Look, I don’t want to be rude but don’t you people serve anything that isn’t made of weird alien body parts around here?”

“The Feast of Becoming is made up of cuisine that will bolster a
Khalla-to-be’s
natural strengths and help to free her
Kit’tara
,” Turra said stiffly.