It was disheartening to know that even in a city filled with giant man-eating monstrosities Noname was considered the most frightening thing around.

Despite the many assurances and contracts the Rayans had given them, the Parabellums remained paranoid, only reluctantly allowing Noname out of quarantine after they tested them for disease. Their methods had been crude to say the least. Noname still cringed when they recalled how they locked it inside a cage with an unfortunate neanderthal and forced it to lick their body.

The worst part of this discriminatory treatment was that Noname couldn't blame the other races for fearing their kind. The ga’soni were unlike any other species on Manu. They thrived off food that was hazardous to most other creatures and had to co-opt the remains of other beings to fully utilize their intelligence. It didn’t help that young ga’soni colonies were little more than feral animals, and were known to prey upon innocent beings. Reviled by all, most ga’soni gravitated towards Raya, a decision that only deepened their pariah status.

For that reason, Noname refused to form a covenant with the goddess of life and remained disease free. The ga'soni would never be able to coexist with the other races unless some colony reached out in good faith.

While Noname was grateful that Raya never tried to force her gifts upon them, her refusal to clearly mark the ga'soni loyal to her greatly impeded their mission. Although Noname could easily differentiate a Rayan colony from an unaligned one—infected worms tended to be thicker, lumpier, and less glossy—these nuances were lost on non-ga’soni.

On the bright side, the Parabellums' hostility was refreshingly non-speciesist in nature. Granted, some were revolted by Noname’s appearance, but many weren't inherently intimidated by their odd biology and only avoided them out of a fear of getting sick. The situation was by no means ideal, but it was far better than they dared to hope.

The novelty of being in a new location also helped ease the pain of being a pariah. Noname had been taking in the city’s strange architecture when an unusual, red-headed hybrid slithered up to him.

“Morning. My name is Velvet, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you keep your teeth in place?”

“Pardon?” Noname asked, too taken aback at being approached to register her question.

“From what I understand, you are able to move that elephant’s skeleton by functioning as its muscles, but its gums look to have rotted away. So how are they staying in place?”

Some of the worms wrapped around Noname’s “mouth” instinctively brushed the molars Velvet was peering at. The teeth no longer had a practical function, but Noname kept them for the sake of aesthetics.

“We glued them to the jawbone.”

“Oh, I see. Another question. How are you able to feed all the worms in your body? Or do you only need to feed a central organ?”

"Since our colony is composed of so many worms we devised a rotation system. Worms on the outmost layers of our 'body' feed first and will take their place within the center of the colony after they've had their fill."

“Fascinating. Do you consider yourself a male or a female?”

“Ga’soni do not have separate sexes. Each of the worms within our bodies can produce and fertilize eggs. But we understand that this is confusing for non-ga’soni. Feel free to refer to us as male or female. We do not have a preference.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So, your people are called ga’soni? All this time we’ve been calling you corpse worms.”

Noname let out a displeased noise. The sheer volume of worms on their body turned that mild vocal slip into a booming, headache-inducing, thrum. Velvet backed away while Noname’s overseers pointed their spears at them.

“Forgive us. We dislike that term and our annoyance rings loudly.”

Velvet returned an unsteady grin. “I understand. I certainly wouldn’t be happy if I were called something so horrible.”

Noname bowed their “head” in gratitude. “We appreciate it, lady Velvet. Might I ask how are you able to speak to us? I was told that only the archduke, Sarin, and the zeraphs could understand us.”

“Tyto has been making these wonderfully convenient—if expensive—talismans that can implant an entire language into someone's head. Zhu explicitly ordered me not to take one in case they did anything to our minds, but I snagged one anyway,” Velvet tittered mischievously.

“I see. Forgive us if we are being rude, but not many are willing to speak with our kind just to exchange banter. Do you need something from us?”

“No,” Velvet replied immediately. “Believe it or not, I just wanted to speak with you. I’ve raised many exotic beasts, but I never imagined meeting something as unique as you.”

Noname tried to bottle their offensive at being compared to an animal. It became easier when Velvet asked, “Would you like to see some of the ones I raised? I can’t bring you to the main stables, but I show you some of my personal pets.”

“I would like that.”

Velvet hummed as she escorted Noname. Her flanged singing was haunting yet beautiful. The longer Noname listened to her otherworldly cadence the more at home they felt.

*****

“This meat is fucking raw!” Zozo, the self-proclaimed god of all things cuisine shrieked.

The ophidian handling the platter of mutton he was pointing at rolled her eyes. “I am aware. This is for the archduke. He prefers it this way.”

Zozo had to bite his tongue to keep himself from ranting about the pseudowyrm’s criminal lack of taste. One day Zozo would come up with a gastronomic delight that would save the archduke from his savage ways but that was a battle for another day.

“Very well, take it and get out of my kitchen! You’re interfering with our operations.”

“Actually,” Rask, Zozo’s tegu bodyguard, interrupted. “Your crew just finished doling out all the slop.” The eye patched lizard caught the spatula that came flying at his head, an impressive feat, given his lack of depth perception.

“Do not contradict me! I am Zozo, the greatest chef that has ever lived!” The tokai gecko adjusted his toque haughty and grabbed a cart laden with ingredients. “Come Rask, it is time that I defend my title from that mutant upstart!”

Rask rolled his remaining eye. “Joy.” As the two lizards left the ziggurat’s kitchen, Rask glanced at Zozo’s hat. “Why do you even wear that thing?”

“My apron? To keep me clean you fool!”

“Not the damn dress, the hat. Aren’t those things used to keep hair out of food? You don’t have any, so why do you wear it much less sleep with it?”

Zozo was silent for a long time. His voice cracked when he spoke. “I have my reasons.”

Zozo’s usual moxie returned when they arrived at the zeraph barracks. He dramatically kicked the door open.

“I Zozo—the greatest chef the cosmos has ever conceived—have come to avenge the injustice done to me!”

Shrike, who had been sipping a glass of water, sighed. “Oh gods, not you again.” She spoke in zostian in the hopes that the obnoxious gecko wouldn’t recognize her, but fate let her down again.

“You! Translator! Go and summon the cheater!”

Shrike reluctantly scooted out of her chair. “Rook, the obnoxious gecko is back.”

The chieftain hurried over from another room. “Good to see you again, Squeaker! You are just as adorable as before.” Rook bent down and gently tapped the end of Zozo’s snout. She tittered at his outraged squeak. “Come for a rematch, eh?”

Zozo dragged a ridiculously high stool over and climbed up it. From this vantage point, he stood two arms taller than his hated rival.

“Your insidious tricks are no match for my culinary skills! This time I shall strike you down!” His already hardened eyes grew stormier when he turned them on his bodyguard.

“Rask, help me down. I am afraid of heights.”

*****

“Zh-I mean the archduke told me that he was enforcing a strict rations system. How does this orange booger get away with these contests?” Shrike asked Rask as the two competing cooks prepared their stations.

The lizard gulped down a mouthful of cockroaches. “Zozo was one of Iris’ favorite zealots, so the lil pisser gets a lot of leeway.”

“Oh,” Shrike muttered vaguely recalling the name. “Guess that explains why he’s got a bodyguard. Have you ever actually had to protect him?” she asked, suspecting that the tegu would abandon the obnoxious creature as soon as any real peril reared its head.

“Yes,” Rask nodded gravely. “Though mostly from our own guys.”

The two looked up when Zozo let out a harsh whistle.

“Five judges! Five dishes! Whoever prevails, is the greatest chef of all time!” The tokai pointed a knife at Rook. “Unless of course, she wins! Because the only way that would possibly happen is if she cheats again!”

Shrike pinched her nose and walked over to the judging table. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Rook regarded her fellow zeraph with a warm smile. “What would you like?”

“Just make it quick so I can leave early.”

The chefs agreed to make a bean dish. Shrike let out a shout when a thick cloth suddenly obscured her vision. Zozo narrowly dodged her furious elbow. Somehow his toque remained on his head. “It’s just to make sure there is no bias,” he hissed as he finished tying the blindfold.

Shrike only had to endure the darkness for a few minutes before two bowels were thrust in front of her. The annoyed zeraph scooped a spoonful from the bowl on the right. She could already tell that it was Rook’s cooking. The seasoning wasn’t perfect but the mouthful she downed didn’t taste like seawater. When Shrike popped the last spoonful into her mouth, she grimaced and fished a hair out of her mouth.

Zozo let out a triumphant whoop. “Hah! See! Proof that you hairy monkeys are inherently inferior cooks! Now bask in my greatness!”

Rook patted the gecko over the head and shot Shrike an apologetic look. “Oh dear, I am so sorry about Shrike.”

Shrike shrugged. She had stomached far worse. “It’s no big deal.”

When Shrike tried Zozo’s dish she was instantly annoyed. It was a massive improvement over his previous disaster. The last time Shrike tried his food, she instantly spat it out. Her irritation grew when the pompous gecko puffed up at her reaction. Zozo’s grin faltered when Shrike picked a brightly colored scale out of her teeth.

“Impossible! Improbable! Espionage! It’s sabotage I say! Sabotage!” Zozo shrieked rapidly.

Shrike smirked at the dismayed reptile. She realized that if Rook won the match, she would probably be roped into this one-sided rivalry again but her dislike of Zozo was so great she voted for her fellow zeraph anyway.

“You still can’t go. You still need to translate!” Zozo declared after he finished his temper tantrum. He glared at Rook and stomped his feet when she returned a friendly wave. “You may have cheated your way through that round, but the tables will turn now! Enter, Guld, my fellow lizard.”

The tegu mercenary greeted the others with an unsteady wave and got himself comfortable. “How ya doing Zozo? Been awhile since we actually hung out.”

Shrike raised a brow. “I thought you wanted unbiased judges?”

“....Fuck you,” was Zozo’s only response.

When Zozo refrained from putting a blindfold on Guld, Shrike called foul again, but Rook just waved it off.

“I’m not here to win. Squeaker is an amusing little guy.”

“What would you like?” Zozo asked, in his most cordial manner—which wasn’t saying much.

“Anythin’ with alcohol,” the tegu replied, his jowls puffing with excitement.

“I’m a chef, not a brewer,” Zozo scoffed, his friendly facade already slipping. “I can’t do anything about your thirst, but I can whip you up something nice and meaty.”

Guld shot Zozo and Rook the stink eye and spat on both of his plates. “I hate them both,” he declared.

And then he walked away.

Zozo scrambled after the other lizard. “Where are you going, you damn drunkard? What about your patriotic spirit? What about lizard solidarity?” The enraged tokai clawed at his face when the other reptile exited the building without so much a backward glance. “Damn it! Rask, find a replacement judge! Diglit! Get in here now!”

The next judge was a golden tokai. LIke Zozo, Diglit was a descendant of the coalition’s war gecko breeding lines and was bigger and more brightly colored than any tribal or thrall tokai.

“Hello I’m—”

“Just shut up and make your order,” Zozo interrupted.

“Oh, ok. Something with meat and a bit of fruit would be nice.”

Zozo whipped up a bowl of ground tento meat mixed with berries and insects. Rook, being less familiar with a tokai’s palate, offered a small, undercooked bird stuffed with various fruits. Zozo preened, assured of his victory. He became less confident when Diglit devoured both dishes with obvious relish.

Zozo’s heart hammered as he waited for the other tokai’s verdict. “Well?”

Diglit shrugged. “No idea.”

Zozo clenched his spoon so tightly the wooden utensil snapped in half. “What do you mean you don’t know? My dish is a tokai favorite, it’s been refined for years!” The chef stomped his feet. “Somebody get me a doctor! I demand to know the cause of his medically impossible lack of taste!”

“Oh, we don’t need a doctor, Cookie. I already know what’s wrong with me. Haven’t been able to taste anything since that accident a few years back.”

Zozo’s right eye twitched. “What?”

“The top layer of my tongue was burnt off. Taste buds never recovered. Damn shame, but I am just glad it don’t pain me no more and that I can still talk proper. I still appreciate the grub though. I’ve been losing weight recently!”

Zozo proceeded to bash Diglit over the head with a ladle until the other tokai declared him the winner.

Zozo performed a little jig. “Yes! Get used to that taste of defeat because another one is coming! Send in the moron!”

A young jumbo cautiously ducked her head beneath the doorway. The dinosaur may have been a child but she was already pushing two thousand pounds.

Zozo started assembling his dish without even asking what the jumbo wanted.

Confused, Rook asked, “What would you like, dear?” When Shrike translated her inquiry, the young dinosaur dumbly looked up, slowly opened her mouth, and took a bite out of a block of clay she had been keeping in her pants.

“What do they even eat?” Rook asked Shrike. She tried to sneak peeks at Zozo’s station but the underhanded gecko foiled her every attempt.

Shrike shrugged. “I think they are herbivores, but I don’t know what they like.”

Zozo stifled an evil snicker. It was true that jumbos were primarily herbivores but they had a taste for insects as well. He smugly continued stuffing bamboo shoots with crickets, bits of bark, and berries.

Unsure of what to do, Rook ended up handing the jumbo a melon that she hadn’t even bothered peeling or cutting. Smiling dumbly, the dinosaur accepted the humble offering and popped into her mouth. Rook jumped back when the fruit exploded in the jumbo’s jaws.

“Tasty!” The child declared as she licked juice off her lips.

“She didn’t even do anything with it!” Zozo protested.

The jumbo ignored the tokai. “Sixty-two stars.”

“Since when could you imbeciles count past ten?”

Zozo took a deep breath to collect himself. Jumbo might be easy to impress but they still had clear and predictable preferences. The simple dinosaurs always picked Zozo’s dishes over plain fruit or raw vegetables. He smugly placed his creation onto the jumbo’s table and backed away. “Chewie shooties,” he clarified, his voice strained at the indignity of using the idiotic name her kind applied to one of his masterpieces.

As predicted, the jumbo’s eyes lit up. She lunged forward, but in her eagerness, upended the table.

“Oops. Spilled.”

“Fuck!”

While Zozo contemplated suicide over this cosmic injustice, the jumbo bent down and lapped the shoots off the floor. She spat out a dust bunny and scowled. “Taste like dirt. Blechy.”

Veins bulged from Zozo’s neck. “That’s cause you licked it off the ground, you dumb asshole!”

“Lizzy lady wins!”

Rook had to grab Zozo to keep him from rushing the bear-sized whelp. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

*****

Zozo had to spend several minutes taking his anger out on a piece of meat with a mallet before he was ready for the next round.

When captain Goruza arrived the garja could still sense his residual rage. “What’s got you steaming, Cookie?”

“I don't want to talk about it!” Zozo snapped. “Just tell me what you want.”

The hulking carnivore bared his oversized teeth. “Not sure I like your tone.”

“Well, I don’t like the fact that you exist or being called Cookie so get over it.”

Goruza snapped his immense jaws just inches from Zozo’s face. The force of his bite produced a tremendous pop. To Goruza’s disappointment, Zozo didn’t even flinch.

“Give me two different meat dishes,” Goruza grumbled. “I like variety.”

Being obligate carnivores, garja cuisine was extremely limited. Their taste receptors lacked the ability to detect sweet tastes and the few plant-based sauces they enjoyed had to be used in extreme moderation. Cooking for meat eaters primarily boiled down to figuring out the right amount of salt and nailing the texture.

Zozo briefly grilled a few tento ribs until the outer layer was brown and then infused the meat with a considerable amount of salt. Rook was still working on her steak when Goruza picked up his first rib. He could have easily swallowed the entire plate if he wished, but to the garja’s credit, Goruza took the time to savor his meal. His jaws cleaved through the bone as if they were stale bread.

“I’ll admit you’ve gotten better, Cookie,” Goruza grumbled once he finished. Zozo titled his snout haughtily. He somehow developed an even snootier look when Rook presented her well-done steak.

To a garja, any piece of meat that wasn’t mostly pink was overcooked but as a career soldier, Goruza never turned down edible food. He ripped the steak in half, scrutinized the taste for a few seconds, and then swallowed. “Too dry and not enough salt. Afraid to say this is rather boring.” He was about to toss the remaining chunk into his mouth when he suddenly paused.

Zozo rushed to his ground. “What’s wrong? Is there another hair? Is it a booger? I bet it's a booger. Booger in the food is an instant disqualification! I am the best! I am the best!” He pointed at the others and slapped his chest. “Get on your knees and grovel before me!”

Goruza pushed the boasting cook away. “Nothing like that. There is just this funny-looking picture on the meat.”

Shrike walked over and took a peek. “Oh, there’s a little smiley face on it,” she remarked as she looked at the two dark spots that formed the eyes and the upturned crescent stain beneath them.

Rook laughed. “I didn’t notice that. I wonder how that happened?”

Goruza stroked his chin as if he were looking at some magnificent painting. “I like it. I never considered the idea that you could make pictures with food. What a revolutionary prospect.”

Zozo blew his tongue. “Pfft! Who cares what it looks like? Mine was the tastier one!”

“Your ribs were delicious and the bones gave it a nice crunchy texture but this picture is very endearing.”

Zozo jumped onto the table and grabbed Goruza by the collar of his shirt.

“No! Absolutely not! You will not be swayed by such juvenile trickery! I am the superior chef, and you will declare me as such!”

“Get your hands off me! Have you forgotten that I am a captain?”

“Fuck your rank! There is only one Zozo and there will be one less Goruza in this world if you deny me this victory!”

Goruza could have easily bitten the smaller reptile's head off but settled for shoving him off the table instead. “Fine. You win. Happy?” he growled and stomped off.

Zozo let out a triumphant cry as he basked in the tepid round of applause he received. Even Shrike joined in, just happy that the farce was finally over.

“Nah, the contest ain’t over yet!” Somebody shouted. All eyes went toward Onion. The human mercenary had slipped in unnoticed some time ago. She had been practically bouncing her seat throughout the culinary duel. “You’re still two for two!”

Shrike’s face turned as red as her hair. “You shut your whore mouth!”

But alas it was too late. “Crap, you're right!” Zozo snarled. He looked around and huffed. “Where’s Rask? He was supposed to bring a replacement like an hour ago!”

Just then, the tegu returned. He stood up straight and his usual bored expression was nowhere to be seen.

“There you are! What took you so long?”

Rask stepped aside and gulped nervously. “Everyone, please welcome lady Natsume.”

The few mercenaries and zealots in attendance bowed hastily while the zeraphs just exchanged confused glances.

Natsume's elegant attire and movements clashed with the building’s drab interior and blandly dressed occupants. Sessa slithered beside the synth while the channeler’s smaller and more vibrant mate lazily trailed behind them.

“I heard there was a cook-off going on. I am rather disappointed that nobody thought to invite me,” Natsume said.

Zozo bowed so low his toque almost slipped off his head. He scrambled to readjust it, his fear of exposing his dark secret outweighing his apprehension of his most vicious critic. “Apologies, madam. I did not want to disturb you. I know you’re a busy woman.”

Natsume ran her fingers through her hair. “Not nearly as busy as I’m used to. So, what mediocre special do you have planned for me?”

Zozo sucked in air until his torso was as round as a balloon. Some tokais, especially those that lived near canyons and other rocky areas were capable of inflating their lungs. This ability made it more difficult for predators to yank them out of tight crevices. As far as anyone knew, Zozo didn’t possess a drop of rock tokai blood, so it was a mystery as to how he had inherited the trait. Some theorized the arrogant chef’s ego was so inflated that he spontaneously developed the skill.

“For years, your harsh words have been the boogers in my lemonade! But from now on, the only thing your lips will be doing is savoring my fine food or singing my praise! Rask! Prepare to pull!”

The tegu used his lips to shift a smoldering cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “You sure about this?”

“Now!”

“Alright. Alight.” The tegu knelt and grabbed the other lizard’s tail. “Three. Two. Pop!”

Several zeraphs screamed when Rask yanked the appendage right off. Rook grabbed a towel and rushed over to Zozo. Rask blocked her path. “Relax. He ain’t hurt. It's just something our kind can do. It’ll grow back in a month or two.”

“Pity,” Shrike said after she had translated the tegu’s statement. “Was hoping he’d bleed to death.”

Zozo grabbed his severed tail and lifted it over his head.

“Behold! The finest ingredient you’ll ever lay eyes upon! The second you dig your teeth into this, you’ll rue every insult that you hurled my way!”

Natsume yawned. “You tried this trick before. You didn’t impress me back then.”

“That was because somebody swapped my tail with somebody else’s when I wasn’t looking!”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“Enough of this needless chatter! Such a splendid ingredient requires my full and undivided attention!” In an instant, the chef’s haughty bluster was replaced by steel eyed concentration. He handled his knives and meat cleaver with the same gravity a renowned warrior would wield a sword.

“So how long is this going to take?” Sinuous asked. “I haven’t eaten in two weeks.”

In the grip of Zozo’s cooking mania, the ophidians comments were hot needles poking into his psyche.

“You cannot rush perfection!”

“What is there to perfect? I eat my meat raw. Can’t I just have that chunk over there?” Sinuous reached for a slab of elephant meat. He drew his hand back when felt a sharp pain rap across his knuckles.

“What was that for?” Sinuous asked, shooting his mate a resentful look.

“You’re being rude,” she hissed back.

“Last I checked, so is hitting somebody with a spoon! What gives?”

If Sinuous’ glare was a wildfire then the look Sessa returned was a volcanic eruption. The channeler flicked her head in Natsume’s direction and whispered, “It took years for me to get in her good graces. You’re not going to spoil all my effort!”

“Well, if me snagging a snack is all it takes to undo all your work, you need to work on your ass kissing skills. As a matter of fact, you could start practicing on mine because I am not waiting any longer.” Sinuous’ taunting eye roll became an eye bulge when Sessa hands tightened around his throat. Although Sinuous was an exceptionally large male ophidian that weighed over three hundred pounds, he was still dwarfed by his average-sized mate.

Sessa shot her male a nasty grin filled with hundreds of recurved teeth. She traced a finger across his red underside. “If you weren’t such a lovely shade of red and black, you’d be dead.”

A pair of long venomous fangs swung out of Sinuous’ jaw. “And if you weren’t rich, I wouldn’t be dating you!”

Natsume hid her grin behind her sleeve. “I like your mate; he reminds me of Zhuzhu. I just wish I could overpower my mate as easily as you do.”

Both ophidians nodded stiffly, trying to stifle their revulsion. Ophidians were notoriously prudish and despised discussing romantic matters with other species. Eager to change the subject, Sessa poured a canteen of water down Sinuous’ mouth. “If you’re that hungry maybe some water will tide you over,” she remarked, allowing him to wriggle away once the drinking vessel was empty.

Sinuous rubbed his neck. “Ooh, it’s not like that idea never occurred to me!” he shot back caustically. “Fine, I’ll just find something to do until the tokai is done.” He sullenly made for the door but then whirled around without warning. Before anyone could react, he sank his fang into a drumstick tucked into the corner of Zozo's desk. The smug ophidian grinned around the meat but refrained from swallowing when Zozo shouted, “Stop!”

Everyone braced themselves for the inevitable high pitched, self-aggrandizing, and unhinged rant but it never came. Instead, without looking up, the chef asked, “Do you know why I am so passionate about cooking?”

“Why?” Natsume inquired on Sinuous’ behalf. Assuming that the ophidian even cared to hear the tokai’s explanation in the first place, he was too busy trying to keep his mate from confiscating his snack to have asked.

“The need for food is the root of all suffering. To persist, life must take life, and creatures will go through extraordinary lengths to calm their temperamental bellies. But as if hunger wasn’t bad enough, we’ve also been cursed with finicky tongues. The most easily procured foods are usually bland or unsatisfying, whilst the most delectable treats will weaken the body if not taken in moderation. A good chef will strive to make a nourishing meal that is sweet on the tongue and light on the heart, but no matter how skilled they are, they cannot change the fleeting nature of taste.”

“Cooking is an inherently ephemeral art, and this aspect leads many of its practitioners to eschew quality in favor of quantity. ‘Why bother investing hours into a single dish that can be inhaled in seconds?’ I’ve heard many so-called chefs ask. Pah! It’s no surprise that almost all those pretenders were warm blooded, though I do occasionally hear fellow coldbloods make similar comments,” Zozo hissed. He would have glared at Sinuous if his eyes weren’t glued to his work.

“What makes you think warmbloods care less about taste?” Natsume asked.

“Pardon if my next statement comes across as insulting, lady Natsume, but while your tail is covered in scales, you are not one of us. We are creatures that are governed by restraint. By and large, we tire faster and our inability to control our body temperatures means we must spend more time calculating our next move. But perhaps the most oppressive form of moderation we must endure is our slow metabolisms. Oh sure, it comes in handy during lean times, but those periods are few and far between. While warmbloods are free to fill their stomachs every few hours, we have to choose between sneaking in a few nibbles a day or one substantial meal every three or four.”

“Delicious food does not last, but it is often the difference between a good day and a terrible one. As somebody that cannot partake as often as they like, it is my duty to ensure that every bite of my creations delivers a burst of flavor worthy of being savored.”

Natsume blinked in mild surprise. “I see, that was quite the passionate speech. Sinuous, don’t you think that Zozo made some good points? Perhaps you should respect his wishes and save your appetite?”

Sinuous’ and Sessa’s not so friendly tug of war match promptly ceased. Seizing his chance, Sinuous triumphantly swallowed his prize. “Sorry, ma’am but I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my skull being stretched around like a lump of dough.” When Natsume closed her eyes in exasperation, he stuck his fork tongue at his mate.

Zozo pounded his table. “You damn oversized noodle! I was being profound! How dare you block out my inspirational speech!”

“Are you done yet? I am still hungry,” Sinuous replied dismissively.

“Let’s be real, the only reason you whipped out all those fancy words is because you were trying to impress lady Natsume,” Rask chuckled.

“Yeah, duty of a chef my ass. If you actually believed anything you said, you wouldn’t have tried blatantly handicapping Rook.” Shrike pointed out.

If rage could move the earth, Zozo would have produced a magnitude 9 earthquake. “You! You! You!” He shook so violently that his outline almost blurred. His outrage exited his body through a long-suffering sigh. “You know what? Forget it. Here. A plate of tokai carpaccio for the ophidians,” Zozo grumbled. A trace of life returned when he presented Natsume's. “For the dignified lady, a tokai wellington, a dish based on a recipe taken from one of the archduke’s cookbook.”

The three tucked into their meals without delay.

“Well, what do you know, sliced raw meat tastes exactly the same as unsliced raw meat!” Sinuous complained. “Still, I will admit you’re a very tasty tokai. You stored up a lot of juicy fat,” the surly serpent admitted before his mate had even elbowed him.

“Yes, he certainly carries a distinct flavor,” Sessa added, ignoring Sinuous’ irritated glare. “I suppose it's that diet of his.”

Natsume nodded. “Indeed. For once I have no complaints.”

Zozo who had already puffed up to a comical degree at Sessa’s comments, became round as a balloon. “Really?”

“Well, actually, it would have been nice if I had a drink to go with the meal, but other than that, yes. You’ve done an admirable job.”

Zozo pumped his fists. No matter what happened after this moment, he could walk away from this contest with his head held high.

“Come pretender! Let’s see how your concoction compares to my magnum opus!” The tokai cocked his head in confusion when Rook stayed seated and clapped.

“I withdrew as soon as you ripped off your tail. Turns out self-mutilation puts me off the cooking mood. Congratulations Squeaker.”

Zozo stiffened. On one hand he was relieved that he won. He had lost sleep over his previous loss and might have suffered a lethal case of insomnia if he was defeated a second time. On the other hand, winning through forfeiture was incredibly anti-climactic. A part of him wondered if Rook had surrendered out of pity, and the rest of him demanded he issue a rematch to quash that suspicion. Time seemed to freeze as he contemplated his next move.

Pettiness won out over pride.

“Hah! I win you! You suck!”

“Now, now, there are few things less unsightly than an ungraceful winner,” Natsume chastised. “If anything, you should be thanking the zeraphs. It’s because of them that you’ve improved your ability at balancing flavors.”

Afraid to offend his most fearsome critic, Zozo resisted his natural inclination to brush off any opinion that contradicted his own. To his consternation, he couldn’t dismiss the truth of her words. Having evolved on a world of abundance, Lunarians needed more sugar, salts, and fats than the beings that lived on Manu. Consequently, their tastes differed radically. Besides their inherent biological differences, there were cultural elements as well. Lunarians almost exclusively ate basic meals that could be prepared within minutes. Cooking for the average Parrabellum soldier or laborer was mainly a matter of warming a meal up and adding enough sugar or salt to it. The upper echelons that Zozo primarily served possessed slightly more refined palates, but besides rare foodies like Natsume, cooking for them mainly boiled down to including higher quality ingredients.

Picky eaters did not exist within the Fringe, but the zeraphs prided themselves in creating delicious foods from a limited selection of ingredients. Their preference for subtle flavors provided Zozo with a challenge unlike anything he had faced. Unpleasant as their criticisms had been, their rejection was the greatest learning experience in his life.

“You’re right, lady Natsume,” he muttered as he extended his hand towards Rook. “I will never entertain the idea that you will ever be my equal, but I will thank you for helping me become better than I already was.”

“What an asshole,” Shrike grumbled as she exited the building.

“Do not feel too vexed at your loss, there is no shame in being the second greatest chef in the world!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zozo,” Natsume snorted. “You might be the best Parabellum has to offer but you still have much to learn. The fact that a tribal cook presented you with a legitimate challenge is evidence of that. Rook wasn’t even their best.”

Zozo’s eye twitched. “What?”

Grinning, Natsume pointed at a zeraph with a broken arm. Upon being singled out, the petite woman whistled and slowly sidled behind her husband. “From what I hear, Thrush is their clan’s head cook. Rook was merely filling in while she recovered.”

Zozo’s eyes glazed over as he stared in the zeraph’s direction for an uncomfortably long time. Rask pried the knife out of his hand before the tokai did anything they would all regret.

*****

Someone had infiltrated Aldrin's office.

It wasn’t a simple case of thievery; nothing had been absconded or misplaced. Had the intruder chosen any other target, the break-in would have gone unnoticed, but the transgression was plain as day to Aldrin.

The intruder had enough foresight to relock the door after they had snooped through his room, but Aldrin did not blindly trust locks like so many others did. Bolts and bars did an excellent job of keeping common footpads out, but they were no match against professional saboteurs that could phase through solid objects.

He stared at the door hinge. The three strands of nearly invisible silk he tied to it had snapped.

Aldrin was almost glad that the infiltrator had came when they did. Maintaining this subtle alarm was an incredibly tedious process. Every time Aldrin received a guest he had to reapply the string. Had they struck a bit later, Aldrin might have given up on repairing it.

The threads that he had affixed to his locked drawers were also broken. Aldrin clenched his fists as he processed this outrage.

His knee jerk reaction was to pin the blame on Tyto or Luke, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Luke might have been given some measure of freedom, but he was still under constant surveillance. From what Aldrin heard, the dirty cretin was intimidated by his escort to say the least.

At face value, Tyto was an obvious suspect. Too obvious. Aldrin would not put it past the zeraph to take advantage of his allies, but he would have been a fool to risk the coalition’s ire so soon. No, if Tyto planned to betray them his strike would land months or years from now.

And if those two were guiltless, that could only mean that the infiltrator was one of their own. Besides the obvious questions of ‘who?’ Aldrin needed to know the ‘why?” Was this espionage committed by a treasonous insider or a disgruntled colleague? Aldrin suspected the latter. Only somebody in the highest echelons would gain any tangible advantage from snooping through his things and he doubted any of them would be willing to directly betray the archduke. There was a small urge to hunt down Sarin and publicly accuse her of the deed, but Aldrin possessed enough self-awareness to realize it was just personal enmity clouding his judgment. Shaking his head, he grabbed a stack of paper from his drawer and scanned them for any smears.

A sudden thud on the door had Aldrin reaching for his pistol. He relaxed when he heard a vaguely familiar voice on the other side of the door.

“Hey, Algae, it's me, Arnei. Can I come in?”

Aldrin grit his teeth. He did have business with Arnei and the other concubines, but on the other hand he was uncomfortable around them.

Sighing, Aldrin used his long prehensile tail to open the door. “It is Aldrin you, buffoon!”

One positive of being a natural curmudgeon was that Arnei and the other lamias were less inclined to take offense when he reflexively grimaced upon seeing their faces. Aldrin tore his gaze away from Arnei’s scowling face, hoping that the ridiculous pang of grief he felt would flicker away sooner if he did.

“Hey, it’s been like ten years since I’ve talked to you. Sorry if my memory is a bit rusty. I bet you wouldn’t have remembered mine if I didn’t announce it.”

“Distance is not an excuse for your ignorance, sister. I am one of the coalition’s preeminent engineers; my name should be engrained in your brain. I am constantly inundated with tasks, but I take the time to acquaint myself with all of our siblings, and unfortunately, my acute memory prevents me from forgetting yours.” In truth, Aldrin did not memorize all of his sister’s names, nor was he even aware of how many he had. It was impossible to forget Arnei, however. Not when the blonde lamia was rumored to be their creator’s favorite. It also helped that she was one of his few siblings that didn’t have a number attached to her name.

“Well, since you’re being a dick, I’m going to keep calling you Algae, anyway. Also, do you mind not calling me sister?”

“Your lack of self-awareness is stupefying, sister. Why do you take issue with me calling you sister?” Aldrin asked crossly. He may not have enjoyed speaking with the concubines but he was still proud to call himself their elder brother. There was only one leaf on the family tree that Aldrin refused to acknowledge as family. “We were created by the same entity; hence we are siblings. Do you dispute that undeniable fact?”

Arnei crossed her arms. “Zhu is not my dad. I don’t want to even entertain the idea given the things I’ve done to him.”

“Ah, I see. Aversion toward incest. A common behavior amongst most lifeforms. Of course, we synths are not actually genetically related to our creators, so your aversion is irrational. Nonetheless, in the interest of our mutual goal, I will humor you.”

“Humor me about what?” Arnei asked with a quirked brow.

Aldrin rolled his eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. You obviously wish to enlist my help in repealing the archduke's vow of celibacy.”

“What? I am not—”

“Again, don’t waste my time with empty fibs, nor is there any need for you to feel any shame. I approve of your seedy, underhanded attempts to fertilize your otherwise vestigial fallopian tubes and have prepared tools to aid you in this endeavor,” Aldrin declared with a smile. Although he viewed coitus as a disgusting and undignified affair, he eagerly awaited the day Zhulong blessed them with a descendant. One of the transmuter’s greatest desires was to mentor one of the archduke’s biological offspring. Junior unfortunately never exhibited any interest in Aldrin’s line of work. He doubted any of Arnei’s future sons would be suited for the field but perhaps her successful coupling would encourage Natsume to sire one.

Arnei was about to curse out the transmuter but was interrupted. “Oh yes, and before it slips my mind, you may want to reconsider your stance on your parentage. According to my research many male devourers find it very stimulating when their mates call them ‘daddy’. I do not know why that is the case, but the data does not lie!”

“What the fuck Aldrin? What the fuckity fuck fuck?”

Paying no mind to Arnei’s flustered snarls, Aldrin retrieved a box beneath his bench. “For the past few weeks, I have intermittently worked on highly sophisticated pieces of equipment that will entice any male that finds hominid-like creatures attractive. Behold!” He dramatically lifted the lid and proudly unveiled his project.

Frowning, Arnei reluctantly peered inside the box. She was underwhelmed to say the least. The only things inside were three tiny heart-shaped stickers. Three literal heart-shaped stickers.

Arnei’s lips curled in disgust. “What I am I even supposed to do with these?”

“Well, you would use them to cover your—”

Arnei raised her hand to cut him off. “You know what, I don’t even want to know.” She slammed the lid back onto the crate.

Aldrin ‘s eyes hardened. He polished his monocle and readjusted it. “Do my eyes deceive me or did you just look down on my brilliant invention?”

“You didn’t invent stickers.”

“Bah! Very well, if you lack the sense to utilize my state-of-the-art suit, then perhaps I can interest you in a bottle of stimulant I have been brewing?”

“Aldrin, I am a den mother,” Arnei replied, face in her hand. “I practically stumble into a barrel of oviserpent venom every other night. I don’t need any aphrodisiac and I sure as shit am not interested in whatever weird gadgets you’re pedaling.” A contemplative glint entered her eyes. “At least, not yet.”

Aldrin stiffened. In an instant, he bridged the distance between them and jabbed a device into Arnei’s ear.

“What are you doing?” Arnei demanded. She tried to shove the transmuter off her, but the slippery engineer kept slipping through her arms.

“You may recall that we have allowed those two filthy hostages to leave quarantine. I thought Sparagmos had cleared them of any disease, but it seems he was negligent. Medicine is not within the realm of my expertise, but no doubt your dramatic shift in behavior has been caused by some vile parasite. We must extract it before it can do any further damage!”

Arnei finally managed to grab the lithe transmuter's shoulders. “I am not sick!” She crossed her arms. “I am not some brainless sex maniac either!”

“I never claimed that you were stupid. Not verbally at least.” Aldrin adjusted his monocle. “Are you certain that you’re alright? Your unabating degeneracy is well known.”

“I just wanted to speak with you, but I’m starting to think that was a mistake.”

“Speak to me about what? I can help enhance your physical appeal, but I am afraid that is the extent of my knowledge on romantic matters.”

Arnei threw her hands up in frustration. “I am not here to talk about Zhu! Part of the reason I came here was to take my mind off him.”

Aldrin’s dimmed. He turned his back on the lamia and focused his attention back on the blueprints he had been working on earlier.

“Pardon my skepticism but no one other than the archduke and Dirge ever visits me just for the sake of it.”

“Well, maybe if you were less of a naggy asshole you would get more visitors.” Arnei rolled her eyes. “But yeah, that’s the reason why I came. Don’t you think it's weird that we’ve had like five conversations in the twenty years we’ve known each other? I hardly know you and I’d like to change that.”

“Have you ever considered the notion that was a deliberate effort on my part?”

Arnei shrugged. “I always figured you were just too busy making and building shit to have. But if you actually like being a grouchy hermit I’ll go ahead and find someone else to talk to.”

Dismissing her with a nod and grunt would have been the easiest course of action. Instead he exploded, “I don’t enjoy being a recluse, but what choice do I have? Amicable or abrasive, I’ll always feel the sting of loneliness!”

Aldrin’s beak produced a regretful clack when Arnei’s eyes bored into him. “What do you mean?”

“To be a transmuter is to see everything you cherished be destroyed. The others resent us for the relative safety our role afford us but what is there to envy? Replace and repair. Replace and repair! That is all I’ve done for the past twenty-four years!” Aldrin took a breath to calm himself. He did not know why he vented these feelings to Arnei of all beings, but it was too late to put a lid on his impulsive rant. “I am an old creature, Arnei. A gnarled oak tree surrounded by sproutlings. Yet, no matter how many years pass, my ability to mend does not improve. And try as I might, I couldn’t heal those that were dear to me. My esteemed elder siblings passed when they were half my age and I’ve outlived every mentee I took under my wings. Solitude is a small price to pay compared to the feeling of loss.”

Arnei’s gaze softened. “I get it. That’s why you cling onto Zhu like some spoiled baby. He’s the only one that hasn’t died on you yet. The only one that can’t.”

Aldrin’s eyes blazed. “I do not watch to hear you of all people criticizing my devotion to the archduke.”

“Don’t get all huffy. Like I said. I get it. I’ve been in your position plenty of times. Way more actually. I’ve raised thousands of zealots and animals. Only a handful have ever made it past age five.”

“I suppose your familiarity on the subject eclipses my own,” Aldrin admitted bitterly as if expertise on the subject was something to be envied. The transmuter glanced at a few black scales that he had sewn into the flesh of his hand. “How do you handle it? Loss that is?”

“I’m afraid there aren’t any fancy tips I can give you. All you can do is focus on the positive and keep moving forward.”

Aldrin looked unimpressed. “In that case, I see no reason to make any adjustments to my current strategy.”

“Do you remember Genna?”

Aldrin snorted. “Of course, I remember! I am Aldrin, I do not forget things!” His frown deepened when Arnei eyed him skeptically. “She was the harpy,” he grumbled to prove that he remembered. “Only an utter dullard could have forgotten her.” For reasons beyond him, fell abilities and powered flight were utterly incompatible with one another. The coalition tolerated the occasional combat-capable flight synth, but Genna had been a mere tier-two that could barely keep herself aloft for fifteen minutes. The resources used to create her had been ultimately trivial compared to Zhulong’s regular contributions, but Garm took umbrage with the other devourer’s wastefulness and ever since the coalition implemented a strict policy against creating “decorative” flyers. “What about her?”

“A long time ago, Zhu went on one of his indoctrination marathons. While we were singing to the babies, he just randomly started handing out these weird sweets he looted off an Empyrean raider.” Arnei chuckled as she reminisced. “They were delicious, but Genna passed. She figured that they would be a one-time treat and she said didn’t want to get hooked on something she’d never get to eat again. A few months later she got during a siege. One of the last things she said to was ‘I wish I had tried one of those sweets’,” Arnei’s smile developed a bitter quality. “Girl was always an airhead.”

“Is this story supposed to alter my mindset?” Aldrin asked. “Because it's only reaffirming my position.”

“There’s no avoiding regret or sadness, Aldrin. It’s something you just have to learn to live with. The only way to beat them is to live your life to the fullest and make sure you have more happy days than sad ones. When the end draws near people don’t pat themselves on the back for all the heartaches that they dodged. They’re going to think about the good times or dwell on the things they missed out on. And trust me, you’re missing out on a lot.”

“Who’s to say I’ll even have time to contemplate my imminent death? Perhaps I will be shot in my sleep.”

Arnei rolled her eyes. “Come on, Aldrin! I’ve been around nearly as long as you have! I am not going anywhere. I might even end up outliving you, so pull that stick out of your ass and have a drink with me!”

“I see that you’re as forceful as the archduke says,” Aldrin sniped. Nonetheless he shelved the documents he had been securitizing. It wouldn’t hurt to humor her. “Very well, I suppose I am entitled to a brief break.”

Arnei looped her arm around his shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Can’t wait to see what kind of drunk you are!"