She found that amusing. “And which are you?”
“Urn, well, considering I’m a supervisor of the Shore Patrol, the Navy cops, at the base here, let’s say I’m not on the skill level. I got shot up and survived; few others did during that engagement long ago, and they needed a hero for the press, so that’s me.”
“I’ll bet you’re just being modest. Would you care to join us, by the way? It seems quite silly for us to be calling table to table.”
He looked over at the wan Takamura. “I don’t want to intrude, and three’s company. I’m not sure that your companion likes Navy men.”
“Oh, it is all right,” the physicist responded softly, with a surprising accent. “So long as it is a purely social thing.”
“Understood,” he responded, snapping his fingers for the human waiter to come over. “I’m joining the ladies. Just move a setting over, please.”
The waiter nodded knowingly. They did the illusion of the old days really well here; he suspected that once that waiter vanished into the back, there was nothing but a robotic prep center programmed with the dishes of all the local and a few internationally famous chefs, but, what the heck, illusion was always what fancy restaurants sold even in the old days. Ambience, they called it. That and a menu that inevitably had a lot of stuff in French on it.
“I guess I should introduce myself first,” he said, settling in on a proper chair between the two. “Gene Harker, of the frigate Hucamarea, in port here at the Navy base and getting a refit.”
“Kati Socolov,” the cute anthropologist responded.
“Doctor Takamura,” the physicist added, getting the formal distance down cold. He suspected that she was already sorry she’d come. She was, therefore, the one to work on a bit.
“Well, Doctor, if I recognize your accent and ethnicity, you probably have an appreciation for sushi and sashimi. Unfortunately, nothing much of that sort here, but—” he looked at the starters “—the conami cocktail here is a well-prepared and spicy raw shellfish on a salad bed. We have several officers of Japanese or Korean ancestry aboard and they find it quite tasty.”
Socolov looked at the menu and shook her head. “Not as easy for me. I normally don’t like to eat heavy meals, but it has been a long time between decent restaurant stops and it may be awhile again.”
He nodded. “Well, there’s a mixed tungi plate here, which is fried and broiled local vegetables, all fresh, with a spicy sauce. It’s excellent. If you don’t think you can eat it all and something else, I’ll gladly share with you.”
“Fair enough! And what for the main course, then?”
“If you like fowl, the duck is excellent, and it’s true duck. It was imported here a couple of centuries ago and has become a main protein source. I’ll be stereotypical Navy and order the fillet, so there will be a good representative of local things on the table. The local blush wine might cover us.”
“My! You are the gourmet here!”
“Well, I’ve been stuck here for months, so there’s only so much you can do. The joints near the base are really joints, crawling with bugs and lowlife and with food and drink that makes the stuff on a Navy frigate seem good, and the on-base clubs are very limited. I try and get away once in a while to the city for something decent, even if it costs me an arm and a leg, because it is the only civilization I get, and, like you said, it might be a long time between decent meals.”
“This meat and fish and fowl is all true animal matter?” Takamura asked, dropping a slight bit of reserve. “Yes, the real thing.”
“I did not think they still killed things for people to eat in civilized areas,” she responded, sounding more concerned than chilly. “It seems so—unnecessary. Cruel and unnecessary, considering how perfect synthetics are these days.”
He shrugged. “Some people just think that the real thing has a taste and character that the best synthetics don’t. Sometimes that means all the things you forgot, like gristle, bone, inedible parts, but there’s a mystique to it. You can get natural, all-vegetable dishes here, of course, if that is what you require.”
“No, I—I believe I should not eat here. This is a place of death that pretends to be a place of delight. I cannot support it.”
“Then I won’t eat, either,” Socolov told her, and everybody got up together, much to the consternation of the waiter and maitre d’.
“No, no! Please! This was a mistake! I should have known it! I will get a taxi back. You remain and eat a good dinner and we will speak later.”
“You’re sure?”
“Do not worry! This man will make sure no harm comes to you, I think.”
“But perhaps not to you,” he responded quickly. “Eh? What do you mean?”
“Call for your taxi from inside and remain there until it arrives,” he advised her. “There was a man across the street in the shadows when I came in who only had eyes for this place, and he wasn’t looking for me. This can be a dangerous place, in this day and age, when so many desperate people feel they have no reason to remain civilized.”
It really got to the physicist, and she walked over, ignoring the maitre d’, and peered out. “Where?”
Harker walked over, looked out, and squinted. “There! In the alley over there and to the left of the store. He’s smoking something. You can see the burning ash every so often.”
She frowned. “You see much better than I do, apparently. Oh—yes, I see what you mean, but it would never have occurred to me that it had anything to do with us.”
“I told you, ma’am. I’m a cop. Would you like me to make the call for you, or would you prefer I escorted you to wherever you wanted to go?”
“No, no, that’s all right. Go back and have your dinner. I will take care of myself. The young lady has been under a lot of pressure of late and she can probably use a pleasant evening. I was talked into this but now realize that I do not wish to be here.”
“As you wish,” he responded, and went back over to Katarina Socolov. He was a bit proud of himself for doing that to both the Doc and Mogutu. Now the mercenary would have to decide who to shadow, and Takamura would think she was being menaced. Two birds with one stone.
“Goodness! You don’t think we’re in any danger, do you?” the anthropologist asked him.
“I doubt it. But it’s best to take no chances with things like that. Come, relax! Let’s make our order and at least have a decent meal.”
Over dinner—which she barely picked at—the two exchanged some small talk, he told her some true stories of his early life, the ones that you could still eat while listening to, anyway, and she opened up to him, if only in a generalized fashion.
“You’re a full doctor of anthropology?” he said, trying to sound amazed. “And you’re here?”
She laughed. “It’s not as amazing as all that. I’m fairly new, I’m heavily in debt with no close surviving family, and I’ve just finished a project with my old mentor and publication’s near. There’s not much call for my line of work in the remaining universities right now, and I needed funding for fieldwork, and I got an offer.”
“For a field study? Where? Surely not here? There’s not much anthropology on this dirt ball unless you want to study the dynamics of the common roaches when they reach fertile new planets.”