Chapter 1: What Kind Of Fish...
Dontae is lost. Not physically. He knows exactly where he is. He's in the 2nd-floor cafeteria, in the Champion Tower of Hegemony International's Jacksonville campus. But he feels every bit as disoriented as if he were in the center of a hedge maze.
The edifice is huge. And completely devoid of people - which feels odd considering that it should be the height of lunch hour. A vague aroma of... "food" permeates the air. Although he sees nothing resembling sustenance in the cafeteria and he can't quite identify the type of food he's smelling - or whether it even qualifies as appetizing.
The space is populated by kiosks, perfectly spaced at geometric intervals. He estimates that there are at least 30 such kiosks in the room. Each one of them devoid of any customers. They're connected to the ceiling by long, black, smooth tubes. Some generic brand of elevator music plays in the background.
He imagines these tubes connect to some massive "mother kiosk" on the second floor. An ebony xenomorph that delivers nourishment to hungry cafeteria patrons below, fed through the black tubes, as though she's depositing eggs in her lair.
He scans the interior for some place where he could pick up a tray or utensils. But no such utility exists. After standing in the room, alone, for nearly a minute, he decides to walk up to a kiosk.
His chosen kiosk - like all the others - is matte black. So black, in fact, that it's difficult to discern its features. It seems to capture all ambient light, defying basic attempts to identify any details of its make or model, other than a gaping edifice at its center.
He studies it for a few moments before it emits an internal series of clicks and whirs. The central edifice glows a faint red and a holographic image appears within.
The hologram displays a miniature man, devoid of any identifying facial features, dressed in black pants and a plain white tunic. Several more clacks and whizzes play out before the hologram speaks.
[Hologram]: Greetings... [three loud clicks ensue] Down-tah.
[Dontae]: Huh...?? Oh, I see. Actually, it's pronounced... don-tay.
[Hologram]: Greetings, Down-tah. Let's get you something to eat!
He's perplexed. He doesn't understand exactly how he's to acquire his lunch.
[Dontae]: I'm sorry. Is there some menu I should be choosing from?
[Hologram]: What did you have for breakfast?
[Dontae]: Well... I had a bagel. But I'm not really sure what that has to do with-
[Hologram]: What's the last book that you read?
[Dontae]: Excuse me???
[Hologram]: [in a grossly-delayed pace] What's... the... last... book... that... you... read?
[Dontae]: What's that have to do with my lunch??
[Hologram]: If you have problems following instructions, I'd be happy to record that in your personnel file?
[Dontae]: What?? No! No. It was, umm... A Time For Malfeasance, by S. Scott Sinclair. I think...?
[Hologram]: What is the capital of New Zealand?
[Dontae]: Ahhhhh... Auckland. Wait! No. It's Wellington.
[Hologram]: How many toes do you have?
[Dontae]: Really???
[Hologram]: [in a grossly-delayed pace] How... many... toes... do... you... have?
Dontae releases an exaggerated groan, an expression that goes completely unheeded by the hologram.
[Dontae]: Fine... it's ten. I have ten toes.
[Hologram]: Interesting... If you were a fish, what kind of fish would you be?
[Dontae]: Oh, c'mon! This is just ridiculous!
A pause ensues as another series of whirs and clacks spits forth from the kiosk.
[Hologram]: Contacting security. Please stand by.
[Dontae]: No! There's no need for security!
[Hologram]: Then maybe you'd like to answer the question?
[Dontae]: Alright! Alright! I guess I'd be a... puffer fish.
[Hologram]: Really?
[Dontae]: Is there some problem with that answer?
[Hologram]: I dunno. Just seems like a rather odd choice.
[Dontae]: Is it, though?
[Hologram]: I mean... you've got a whole ocean to choose from. You could be a great white. Or a blue whale. Or a barracuda. Or... anything. And outta all that, you'd choose to be a.... puffer fish?
Dontae struggles for words. Truth be told, he wasn't even that hungry when he first headed down to the cafeteria. But this little exercise has somehow stoked his appetite. He'd gladly leave, but he wonders whether this failed attempt will be logged with security - or annotated in his personnel file. Besides, he's only here because this is where Corinne wanted to meet him for lunch. So he's feeling rather stuck at the moment.
[Dontae]: Nevermind. I guess I'd be a... dolphin.
[Hologram]: A dolphin is not a fish.
[Dontae]: Neither is a blue whale!
[Hologram]: No one likes a know-it-all, Down-tah.
[Dontae]: Great googely-moogely.
[Hologram]: Look, if this is just too much for you-
[Dontae]: No! It's fine! I'd be a... grouper.
[Hologram]: Are you sure?
[Dontae]: Why? Is there something wrong with being a grouper?
[Hologram]: [after a short pause] No. Not at all. A grouper's a fine fish.
[Dontae]: Then what's the hang-up?
[Hologram]: It's just that you originally wanted to be a puffer fish.
[Dontae]: Oh. My. Gawd.
[Hologram]: I don't wanna influence your decisions. I mean, if you really want to be a puffer fish, then be a puffer fish. Be the best darn puffer fish you can be.
[Dontae]: Not at all. After searching my soul I've come to the profound conclusion that, if I were ever to be a fish, I'd absolutely, unquestionably, want to be a grouper.
[Hologram]: [after an extended pause] Okee-dokee.
[Dontae]: Sweet Jesus...
[Hologram]: Retrieving your meal...
The edifice in the kiosk begins to glow with a faint blue. The black tube connecting it to the ceiling rattles and shakes. Small clouds of steam billow forth. After an extended moment, the steam dissipates revealing a food tray.
The tray holds a small portion of plain white rice, an assortment of raw carrots and broccoli stalks, and an anemic-looking wing that's been deep fried in a dark brown batter. Dontae has no idea from which type of animal the wing was harvested, but he's certain that it couldn't possibly have been a chicken.
Two silvery utensils sit neatly on one side of the tray. The first is a butter knife. The second is... well, he isn't really sure what it is. It's a long thin rod ending in a perfect metallic sphere.
[Hologram]: You're welcome.
Dontae is unsure of the extent to which the hologram can "see" him. Nevertheless, he picks up the rod-and-sphere, fruitlessly inspects it for a moment, and thrusts it toward the kiosk.
[Dontae]: What's this?
[Hologram]: Why, it's your masher, of course.
[Dontae]: And what exactly am I supposed to do with it?
[Hologram]: I can't control exactly how you choose to use your utensils, but I'd presume that you'd... mash with it.
Dontae's not annoyed with the answer. He's annoyed with himself for having asked the question. Because at this point, he should've known the answer he'd receive. He invests a few more moments scowling over the unappealing cuisine sitting on his tray. He has no idea how his answers to the questionnaire translated into these selections. And he doubts there will be any satisfying answers forthcoming.
[Dontae]: Is there any dessert?
[Hologram]: Indeed. Today we're offering apple cobbler, banana pudding, and red velvet cake.
[Dontae]: Can I please get the cobbler?
[Hologram]: Body mass sensors indicate that you are not a candidate for dessert.
[Dontae]: Ohhh...kay.
Without leaving the kiosk, he surveys the room for any sign of a condiment station. There is none. He does a full 360 looking for a drink station. Again, there is none.
[Dontae]: Can I get something to drink?
[Hologram]: Certainly. What would you like?
[Dontae]: Is there an additional questionnaire to determine my beverage?
[Hologram]: The questionnaire is: What would you like to drink?
[Dontae]: Mmhmm, ok. Then I'd like coffee. Two creams. Two sugars.
[Hologram]: Plebes are not authorized to have coffee.
[Hologram]: Plebes aren't authorized to have that information.
Dontae takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. A series of potential responses flash through his brain. He's certain that they will all lead to a note being added to his personnel file - or even worse, a security incident.
[Hologram]: If you're finished, please move along. We want to keep the kiosks free for other diners.
Dontae looks around the cafeteria again. He's still the only person in the vast chamber.
[Dontae]: Can I get a glass of water?
A fresh round of contabulous noises issues forth from the kiosk. Dontae braces himself for the answer, but he's pleasantly surprised when the hologram responds.
[Hologram]: Retrieving your beverage...
The kiosks again glows blue, issuing a new surge of steam as the overhead pipe rattles. When the air clears, a cardboard cup half-filled with water sits in the edifice, next to a small piece of printed paper. He picks up the paper without bothering to read it.
[Dontae]: What's this?
[Hologram]: At Hegemony International, we pride ourselves on a culture of continuous feedback. That paper is your receipt, along with your official critique of this interaction.
He begins walking toward the dining hall with the tray and the receipt in one hand, and his cup of water in the other. He glances down at the paper. It reads: DONTAE SHUKARA. COMPLIMENTARY MEAL. CALORIE-RESTRICTED. INTERACTION: RUDE & IMPATIENT. As he makes his way toward the dining hall, he hears one more thing from the kiosk.
[Hologram]: It was a pleasure serving you today, Down-tah!
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