Do No Harm

by Chris Kennedy

“I know,” answered Marinara, “but it is tradition. And what chef can resist tradition?”

  “I wish I could stay on Earth longer,” Choc said with a sigh. “I really love this little group. But exams are in six weeks, and—like I said earlier—my mother says come home immediately after. My father wants to move forward with the restaurant, and she is to be the manager. She wants me home to be the chef.”

  “Wow,” Michael remarked. “They moved fast. Have they got a building?”

  “Yes,” Ch’c’lt responded, “and they’ve ordered a sign, which was designed months ago. My father’s not sure it is the right choice, now, but we are going with it. He says it is too expensive to change it.”

  “But a sign and restaurant building are good progress,” Meryll said. “What will it be called?”

  “My mother says a business associate of my father suggested it. He said since the restaurant would be located on Karma where a lot of the Earth merc companies congregate, it would be a good name.”

  “What is it?” Michael asked.

  “To Serve Man.”

  “Um,” said Michael.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Meryll.

  “Ah, I’m not so sure that’s the best choice.” Marinara was clearly amused but restrained his mirth. He flashed in a brief staccato sequence, and a single snrk of laughter came from the translator. The other two were clearly trying to muffle their laughter.

  “I don’t understand,” Choc said.

  With the bipedals too occupied containing their laugher to speak, Marinara heaved himself up on the edge of his tank and came eye-to-eye with Choc. “Well, it is the same name as a legendary cookbook.” When it was obvious that Choc was still confused, he tried a different approach. “Let me put it this way—how do Besquith view all other species?”

  “As food. Why?” she asked, then her eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh!”

  Marinara finally gave in and laughed. After a moment, Choc joined him.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Exams were looming and Marinara’s classmates were discussing their future plans. Ch’c’lt was becoming distraught about returning to Karma. Meryll and Marinara tried daily to reassure her that returning to her parents would work out.

  Some classmates were traveling home for the semester break, others were preparing for internships or further exams. A few had discussed getting the credits together and cramming for the Master Chef certification exam.

  Marinara felt he had all the time in the world to study for his Master Chef certification; after all, Wrogul lived nearly 1,000 years He had received two offers of internships at prestigious Michelin-starred restaurants that were intriguing to him. One was a Chicago restaurant whose Master Chef was also a Master in molecular gastronomy. That was very enticing! And the private kitchen table dining experience at that particular restaurant cost 1,000 credits per couple. Of course, he wouldn’t be getting that income, but still!

  The other offer came from a Tokyo restaurant founded by Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto. Marinara admitted the number of years it took to become a certified Master Sushi Chef didn’t appeal to him—he had plans to get his own restaurants and Tri-V shows started—but he would be working with and learning from professionals in the field. What really appealed to him was the possibility of showing off his talents preparing dishes in front of the customers. He was sure that the restaurant management would soon see the appeal of putting him on public display, even as an intern. And then Tri-V would discover him and instant success was his. It seemed Atelier would be his choice.

  But there were a few drawbacks. He wanted to pursue more studies in Italian cuisine, and neither restaurant would facilitate that. And Meryll wouldn’t be traveling with him. She said she would stay at the New York apartment and continue her Master’s thesis; that way, they wouldn’t have to sublet the apartment or pay rent for empty rooms. He had offered to use his credits to buy the building instead, so rent wasn’t an issue, but she insisted he save his credits to pay for his Master Chef certification.

  Master Chef. He should make a decision soon. He had more than enough knowledge and kitchen poise to pass the exams. But his original goal had been to study at every cooking school on Earth. Now he could feel the tug to do more and become more. He guessed it came with life experience. Or, as Meryll put it, climbing the ladder of success, rung by rung. Well, he could do that—easily. After all he had eight arms! He could jump rungs of success!

  Marinara looked out of his mobile tank and noticed Ch’c’lt walking by, unaware of those around her.

  “Choc! Wait up,” he called out. “Let us get a beverage.”

  The two settled at a nearby table and ordered their drinks. Marinara stared intently at the Jeha.

  “What is wrong? You seem very disturbed.”

  “It’s my parents,” she replied. “They have become increasingly anxious about me remaining here in New York. They’ve asked me to move to the Houston Starport as soon as my last exam is done. That means I would have to leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But why?” Mari asked in puzzlement. His eyes swirled in independent confusion.

  “They tell me they have heard rumors of aliens in Human Earth cities being threatened for being Terra-lovers. There is some race-baiting happening in some of the Union ports, and on Capital Planet.” Choc stared at her arms folded together on the table surface.

  “My mother says she heard a couple of Besquith talking about how they want to get rid of mankind and punish those who like the Humans. She fears I may get caught in some political events and wants me home immediately. She wants me to skip my last exam and get to the starport tomorrow for the first ship home.”

  Marinara was silent, then he heaved himself to the edge of his tank. “I had hoped we had a little longer before you had to leave. But maybe your mother is correct. Perhaps you should skip your last exam and transport home safely. You don’t need the academy credentials. Or you could plead emergency and ask them to let you take the exam in absentia.”

  Ch’c’lt nodded slowly but said nothing, continuing to look at the table.

  “If you wish, I will ask Meryll to help you with any papers or passes you need for the trip. Do you need to pack anything?”

  “No, I am ready for transport. I feel I am running away by not completing my steps to achievement.”

  “But you must stay safe, Ch’c’lt, to be an example to others and show how other races can get along with Humans. That is most important.”

  Ch’c’lt nodded again without looking up.

  “If I don’t see you at the class exam tomorrow, I will know you have taken precautions and left for the starport. Contact me when you are home safe, Ch’c’lt.”

  The Jeha’s only reply was a single nod and a sigh.

  * * *

  The next morning, Marinara felt a sense of relief as he completed the final test question on the school slate and handed it to the test proctor. Done.

  He also felt a strange sense of sadness that Ch’c’lt had not made it to the test. She must have made the decision to leave for the starport. Perhaps she would be able to message him before the shuttle left for Karma or after she returned home. He realized he already missed her quiet and diffident disposition. He hoped she could put her training to good use in the family business.

  As he wheeled down the school hallway, he noticed a commotion as the hallway merged into the student lounge. Local law enforcement was stopping students and asking questions. A dog—no a wolf—stood off to the side watching the activity with a grin that showed too many sharp teeth.

  Marinara slowed his progress as a law officer wearing the city uniform looked up and saw his mobile tank. He headed toward Marinara, and, as other officers noticed the movement, they headed toward the Wrogul as well.

  “Excuse me,” the Human stopped in front of Marinara. “Are you the Wrogul student known as Marinara?”

  “Yes, I am.” Marinara felt a chill, as if a bucket of ice had been dumped in his tank. “May
I help you?”

  “You’re close friends with a Jeha? Goes by the name of Ch’c’lt.”

  Marinara felt the emotional chill deaden his arms. “Yes.”

  “You need to come with me. We need to talk.”

  “But she is all right, correct?”

  “Just come with me, sir—um, Mist—you—umm, just come with me, please. We need to talk.”

  By now, the other officers had converged on them. Campus and city law enforcement made up the mix. The wolf, decked out with Union ID, sashes and belts, looked at Marinara slyly, and he felt a flash of fear. It was sentient! Was this one of the Besquith Ch’c’lt had mentioned? The alien stared at the Wrogul and seemed to sense his thoughts. It lifted its head, showing its sharp, pointed teeth. It turned and paced down the hallway beside the Wrogul’s tank.

  The first officer reached the campus security door and pushed it open. All entered, lining up against the wall while the alien moved to a corner and sat on its haunches. The original officer—Goldherne, his name tag read—sat at the desk and gestured the Wrogul to move his tank around to the other side of the desk.

  “How do I refer to you?” the officer asked.

  “Sir, my name is Marinara,” the Wrogul said politely. “I’m a student here from Azure. I live in the brownstone apartment at—”

  “Enough!” the officer exclaimed. “The name is Goldherne. Officer John Goldherne. I have some questions about your relationship with the Jeha. Where were you at 6 am this morning?”

  Marinara struggled to keep his behavior neutral and kept his arms in the tank, but he was becoming increasingly irritated by the officer’s tone and delivery. “I was here in the student lounge. I came early for a last-minute study session with some classmates. Our exam was this morning. Is my friend all—”

  “I’ll ask the questions. Did anyone see you in the lounge?”

  “Well, yes,” Marinara hesitated, tamping down his growing apprehension. “I was here with two other classmates. We were reviewing the notes for our exam and quizzing each other on the concepts.”

  “Hmm. I suppose they are witnesses, then.” The officer looked over at the alien sitting in the corner. It lifted its head and eyed the Human officer. He turned to one of the officers standing against the wall. “Lankford, get your phone out, we’re going to record this interview. Gomez and Gloriouso, go outside and keep anyone else from entering.

  Lankford stuttered. “My phone, sir? You don’t want the Tri-V camera?”

  “No, just your phone. If you can’t do that simple thing, I’ll use a slate.”

  Lankford struggled to get his phone off his belt.

  Goldherne looked at the alien in the corner. “Lujkhas, you’ll be a witness to the interrogation?”

  The alien nodded once and settled onto the floor. Goldherne turned back to Marinara.

  “You are a Wrogul, correct? You look like an octopus. How many arms do you have?” Goldherne began counting, straining to see into the tank.

  “What, sir? My friend, is sh—”

  “It’s dead, Wrogul. Dead. Sliced and diced and torn to pieces. Lots and lots of pieces. Millions of millipede pieces.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael came as soon as he got Marinara’s message. Meryll was already with him. She had obviously been crying.

  She rushed over to Marinara’s tank and held her hands out. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her wrists gently and pulled her closer to the tank. The officers in the security office watched the display with interest,

  “Marinara, I’m so sorry, dear. Are you okay?”

  “I will be okay, Meryll, but I wish to go home. I have much to think about.”

  Michael interjected, “Home, to the apartment, not—”

  “Yes, Michael, home to the apartment. Please. As soon as we can leave.” Marinara blinked his large, turquoise eyes slowly and flashed sadness. “I have much to think about.”

  Meryll glanced at the nearest law officer. “We’re going now,” she said firmly.

  The officer gave a curt nod. “I’ve recorded and time-stamped a file of the interview. A link has been sent to its—” the officer nodded toward Mari’s mobile tank “—pinplant account.”

  Michael laid a hand on Meryll’s shoulder and nudged her toward the door. She disentangled her hands from Marinara’s arms and laid a hand on the edge of his tank. Together they turned toward the office door and left.

  “Our transport is in the student parking,” Michael said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I can’t talk right now, Michael,” the Wrogul responded glumly. “I have much to think about. I want to be in a secure place where I can meditate on the events. I want to go home.”

  Michael and Meryll looked at each other sadly.

  * * *

  Marinara had spent most of the afternoon sitting quietly in a corner of his tank. He occasionally splashed to the surface and grabbed a slate and stabbed at it, before setting it down and sinking back below the surface of the water.

  Meryll knew he could do most of his research and messaging through his pinplants, so she was curious what the slate activity meant. She hovered nearby in case he needed assistance, but he remained quiescent. Eventually, Michael left to get himself a cheeseburger while she sliced some fish and ate some sushi rolls. She placed a few prawns in Marinara’s tank. Marinara reached out an arm to snag them but stayed submerged in the corner.

  After several hours, Marinara heaved himself to edge of his tank and hung four arms over the side. “Michael, Meryll, I am ready to talk now.”

  Michael snagged two kitchen chairs and pulled them closer to the tank.

  “What happened, Mari?” Meryll asked softly.

  “Choc, she was—she was murdered this morning. She was packed and ready to leave for the starport when someone—something—broke in and killed her. She had been crushed and knifed—cut into pieces. They painted the walls with some of her blood. Slogans. Symbols. ‘Go home alien.’ ‘A dead alien is a +.’ Things like that.”

  Meryll gasped, and her eyes filled with tears.

  Michael looked concerned. “Why did they keep you so long?”

  “At first they just wanted to know about Ch’c’lt and me. How we met, what her politics were. Then they began to ask why I came to Earth. What did I hope to accomplish here? Why did I choose school here and not on other planets? Did I know there was an anti-Galactic movement afoot here in New York? What were my politics. Did I hate aliens like MinSha and Veetanho?”

  Michael looked puzzled. “But you’re alien, why—”

  Meryll swung toward Michael, eyes flashing in anger, and gestured a cutting motion across her throat.

  Marinara simultaneously heaved himself further out of the tank, turquoise eyes swirling in anger. “I am Human!” he said hotly. He seemed to wilt then and slid back into the tank, leaving just two arms to grasp the edge.

  “The officer asked me about my knife skills. I was renowned in class, he said, for my abilities. My professors told him. He conferred briefly with the alien in the corner, then changed his questioning. He asked if I staged the crime myself to make it look like a conspiracy by Earth Humans. I was about to ask if I needed legal representation when one of the other officers whispered in his ear. They do not know I can read lips, and I watched them. The younger officer told the other they had no evidence of water or tracked conveyances at the site. The other officer seemed disappointed, then changed the subject to friends and classmates of Choc.”

  Michael and Meryll sat silent for several minutes. Marinara watched them, equally silent.

  Finally, Meryll spoke. “This sounds ugly. Where do we go from here?”

  “We move cautiously,” Michael said. “But I’m going to reach out to my brother and tell him what happened. See what he thinks.”

  “I, too, have reached out,” Marinara added. “I have sent messages to Brull and my grandfather. I also got updated class results as soon as I finished my la
st exam. I have passed all my courses and am good to go with my internship.”

  Michael looked incredulous. “You still want to go to Tokyo, with all this happening?”

  “It may be for the best,” cautioned Meryll. “Marinara needs to get out of the city. New location, new outlook. Maybe he can escape this incident and keep attention focused on his cooking.”

  “Yes,” agreed Marinara. “I have a new purpose. To show Earth that aliens can love them and their culture. To share Ch’c’lt’s story and vision for peace through food. I want to be at the top of my game, as you Earth citizens say, and become even bigger. Instead of one restaurant, I want a dozen. Instead of one Tri-V show, I want three.”

  “Admirable,” Michael said dubiously. “I guess we should get started with our lists. Figure out what’s going with us to Japan.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Marinara rested in a corner of his tank, reviewing the day’s activities. Brull had sent a brief message: “Got it. Research. Will be in touch.”

  He remembered Harryhausen’s brief conversation as he was preparing to leave Azure. He had kept aware of what was happening around him, what the Americans called “spidey sense.” He thought he had done well, but now he was doubting himself. He recorded observations. He kept notes of conversations. He looked for patterns. Now he was just tired and depressed. What was the purpose of his existence? Did the Humans really hate aliens that much? Was he fooling himself that they accepted him?

  Officer Goldherne had introduced the idea that perhaps he was the instigator of the attack, to cast suspicions on other races. Then he had switched tactics and suggested perhaps the attack was meant for, or would include him, as well. It was this thought that prompted him to accept his internship offer and head to Tokyo. It was time for a new environment.

  He settled deeper into the corner to ruminate.