Cooking Hot

by Pam Uphoff

  The Ambassador was grinning, and looking further Ebsa spotted the Witches' indignant expressions as they had obviously overheard his mother's carrying voice.

  "Those odd Purple people had some very nice smoked pork ribs, but the sauce was a bit too spicy and covered the flavor of the meat instead of complementing it.”

  “Yes.” The ambassador’s voice oozed glee. "I suspect we’ll win, however informal the voting. I believe I hijacked a young protégé of yours. The sauces! They could have been straight from your kitchen. I hope you don’t mind him stealing your recipes."

  Ebsa flipped a steak. Good thing the crowds were thinning. He was almost out of everything.

  “Oh, that boy!” His mother’s carrying voice. “Always puttering about the kitchen, trying new things. That green peppercorn sauce you’re so fond of is one of his recipes. Such a pity, but he has no desire to go into business with his poor old mother.”

  Ebsa slid a glance toward the ambassador . . . who was a bit blank faced as his mother rattled on . . . “My lone chick, out having adventures. One knows where . . .”

  Paer snickered, coming up behind him and hugging him. “Your mother is wonderful.”

  “Taken in small enough doses.” Ebsa admitted, and turned his head as his mother's voice rose.

  "Such a flattering offer, but no. I own my restaurant, and love Montevideo."

  "One!" Ebsa breathed. "Now he's trying to hire my mother?"

  "Certainly. Call anytime. You're already on my priority list."

  Paer's eyebrows rose. "A waiting list and a priority list?"

  "Well, that's what Rico says. I have somehow never seen the ordinary waiting list."

  Paer hugged him and headed back out.

  ***

  "Hotdogs are disgusting.”

  Ebsa looked over at a tall fellow. Hard to put an age to him, silvery streaks in dark hair. But there was something old about him.

  The red-headed teenage girl beside him threw up her hands. "Doctor Storm! We're on vacation, you should try to enjoy all the new experiences."

  "Hotdogs are not new." He eyed Ebsa's little plates and picked up a mixed chicken and beef one.

  The girl grinned and grabbed all steak. "At least they eat good in this weird place."

  The old guy chewed and swallowed. "I'll give you that." He caught Ebsa's eye and gestured around the plaza. "Do you do this often?"

  "This is the first time we've tried a fair. Usually it's all business and diplomacy . . . are you new here?"

  The girl grinned. "Yeah. We found this weird portal thing and just walked through . . ."

  "Red!"

  "C'mon, Doc, they're friendly!"

  "Humph!"

  Ebsa cleared his throat. "Well, this is Embassy. Where the various parallel worlds try to talk instead of invading each other. If you want official contact, that black building over there is the place to start. Umm, probably not today, though. They’re all running frantically about trying to prevent clashes."

  The old guy swung slowly around. “Fifty or sixty large buildings, and I notice plenty of more modest . . . embassies. I . . . am impressed. And terrified at the thought of my government having such a massive access to getting into trouble.”

  “Daawwk!”

  “We’ll think about it.”

  ***

  Quick footsteps, the hard click of boots, Captain Yfda swept a slow look around the plaza, then spotted Paer. “Paer? Have you seen any loose horses? We’re missing two . . . and if that Earther asshole has butchered one of them for his damned French cuisine . . . What? You’ve seen them?”

  Paer was giggling, “No, but some of the Comet Fall Smart horses were admiring them . . . You’d better check the hills.” Her eyes unfocused a bit . . . "Xen's checking . . . He says the mares liberated two of your horses . . . and have managed to dose them with the Wine of the Gods."

  Yfda slapped his forehead. "So we can't take them home for two weeks until the von Neumanns are all gone . . . and . . . well, much though we'll miss them in the drill, it's just temporary. And Music and Tar Baby are actually really fine animals . . ."

  Paer snickered. "Not that you guys have a stud farm or anything, but . . . maybe some retirees might have considered breeding black parade horses . . ."

  Yfda huffed a bit. "Oh, we all think we should have a stud farm. Not just buy random black horses. But it's expensive, and we don't actually go through that many horses."

  Ebsa tsked. "Now you've got him thinking about it. Shame on you!"

  Paer giggled. "If I had the time, the place . . . I'd breed Crystal. Ooo! To Pyrite!"

  "Half god-horse foals can't talk." Xen walked up behind them. "Sorry, Captain. They may be smart, but they're still horses. The mares are almost worse than the stallions."

  Yfda nodded. "And in three weeks, testicles, right?"

  "Right. Give them muscle relaxants if they have colic symptoms. And wait a year before you geld them, that'll let the stem cell action settle down, so you don't have to do it all over again."

  ***

  Master Chef Unsa stalked up and glared around the booth.

  "I. Hate. Your. Guts."

  Ebsa gave him a friendly nod. "Yeah, sorry about that. But I'll be around for another few months if you'd like a bit of . . ." He stopped as the Master Chef spewed an amazing torrent of obscenity.

  All five of Ebsa’s assistants stopped and stared wide-eyed.

  "Unsa, there are children present!"

  More invective, and with a glare at the ambassador's pair, before he turned back to Ebsa. "You've probably just gotten me fired!"

  "No, Unsa, you've gotten yourself fired—maybe—because you turned this into a battle, instead of a learning experience." Ebsa tapped the edge of his biggest sauce pot. "Sauces are my specialty. If you'd like some demos, I'll provide."

  Unsa stalked away, still cursing.

  He wasn't returning to his booth, and leaning out to look, Ebsa could see Unsa's junior cooks packing up. He glanced back at his own assistants. "Bad loser. And no, I will not define any of those terms for you."

  That got the kids to relax, and Goose giggled. "Why not, Ebsa?"

  "Umm, well, I'm not actually dead sure of some of them, but the ones I know mean, 'Drat, I'm out of food.' And, umm, 'Curses! My evil plan has been foiled!' And stuff like that."

  Well, surely it was a minor sin to make them laugh.

  A snort from the other side. Ambassador Ashe looked amused, but laid a censorious stare at his pair. "And no matter what it means, you will not repeat a single word of it."

  Arwen and Tiger nodded quickly.

  "Good. And . . ." Ashe turned and eyed Ebsa. "Perhaps all I ought to say to you is, ‘Curses! My evil plan has been foiled!’ Or words that effect."

  "Umm, yes, sir. I'll interpret that in these circumstances."

  "Good. So, girls, enjoying yourselves?"

  Nods.

  "Good. I'll leave you to it."

  ***

  "Very clever, this fair of yours." Agni glared at a vidcam toting newsie. "Brilliant, even. Interviews, your name all over, and not a whiff of internal political maneuvering."

  "Thank you, Agni. And thank you for not creating a problem." Ambassador Ashe eyed the man thumping a chair down across the table from him and sitting.

  One forbid Agni would wait to be invited!

  "I thought you'd left."

  Agni leaned forward on his elbows. "I did. I needed to do some thinking, damn it all . . . I have recently had a bit of an epiphany. Yeah, look skeptical. I'm not much given to navel gazing. Pity really. I might have avoided some—in retrospect—political fucking disasters."

  Ashe raised his eyebrows.

  "Look, I'm rude and pushy. Loud mouthed. Profane. But . . . when the assassination attempt started, I jumped in and fought to protect the President. Didn't matter what his damn party was, what his policies were."

  Ashe shrugged. "I'd have done the same. We can't have government by murder. By threat."

>   "Not what those bastards left in the War Party apparatus think. That pack of second tier assholes treated me like a traitor to the party until I kissed their collective asses. Got no support for a presidential run until I agreed to support their policies." He stared angrily across the plaza.

  "I . . . hated it, hated them, hated everyone and started taking it out on people who had nothing to do with it. Fuck all bureaucrats. And the War Party leadership."

  "You could have switched parties."

  "To what? My fucking enemies in the Isolationists? The Strong Federalists that I'd undermined and insulted for decades? The Modernists? No, not one of them would have admitted me, let alone supported me in a presidential bid."

  He glowered across the table at Ashe. "I hate myself for what I've done to myself. I've torpedoed my career, my reputation, and my self-respect. So I've decided to sit out the next election. And dammit all, finally do some serious thinking."

  Ashe eyed the man. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "So you'll know better than to sell your soul." Agni showed his teeth and stood up. "This was a perfect way to start a more aggressive political career. Good luck."

  "Thank you." Ashe smiled. "It has succeeded in two of its main purposes . . . even if it did fail on one minor point."

  Agni snorted. "Rumor had you trying to steal a Directorate Chef. Did you know he was a Warrior? Effing pretty boy Closey turned out to be a damned outstanding Directorate agent!"

  "Yes. He would have been invaluable to me."

  Agni grinned. "You'll find plenty of willing agents, once you declare. Half of them will be rats trying to stab you in the back."

  "If, Agni. If. My soul's not for sale."

  "Good." The big man turned and stalked away.

  Ashe sat back and watched him go. Then turned his gaze on a empty spot. "Interesting, don't you think?"

  "I wonder if it will last."

  The ambassador's head turned as Xen Wolfson appeared in a different spot. "Damn. I thought I'd finally learned how to spot your lightwarp."

  "Sorry. So you said two main purposes?"

  Ashe waved at the plaza. "All the Worlds got together and had fun. Learned about each other. Learned to appreciate each other. It was well worth it, even if I am stuck with my old chef."

  Xen flashed a grin. "I'll leave you to ponder Agni's advice then . . ." His head turned at sudden screams.

  "Spiders!"

  ***

  “Spiders!”

  Ebsa's head jerked around at the scream. Everyone was backing away from a spot on the pavement . . . a large black spot . . . moving . . .

  Too large to be a normal spider.

  Too small to be from Dystopia.

  And no one here—including me—has any antivenom.

  Ebsa spun and leaped for the open door of the squishy. He needed . . . he pounced on a big jar, an extra he hadn't needed for storing sauce. Grabbed the big green spatula as he passed and bolted for the crawling menace.

  Shields! Don't just kill it, we need to analyze it, find out if it's from Dystopia. Male, female, young or old.

  Oh One! If it'd just hatched, there could be hundreds of them . . .

  He spun the lid off the big jar, tightened a circle of shield around the spider and plopped the mouth of the jar down on it.

  He slid the spatula under the spider, tipped the jar over and slapped the lid on the spatula and pulled the spatula out from under it. Screwed it on tight.

  Stood up and looked around.

  "Does anyone see any more spiders? Anywhere?"

  Wolfson, coming at the run, slowed and started a slow sweep around, magic flowing across the ground.

  Ebsa tried to control his panting. Don't panic. Maybe it's just the one spider.

  Giant spiders bounding across the ground toward this crowd . . .

  Hundreds of people dying . . .

  Stop. Panicking. It’s one single spider.

  So far.

  Stop imagining disasters and get your brain in gear. Do the next thing.

  "Right, now we need a genetic analysis, see if we can tell where it came from."

  "Ebsa! It's just a tarantula." Tiger's nose was about a centimeter from the critter.

  Wolf walked over and looked. "Yeah. But they aren't native to Embassy."

  Arwen snickered. "Maybe it's a pet that got out in the Great Escape."

  Ebsa blinked. "The what?"

  "After Rael tried to kill Captain Wolfson, the God of Just Deserts came here with his Hell Hounds. And every pet on the whole world escaped."

  Tiger grinned. "It was funny! All the dogs had a great time! The cats mostly had to be fetched down from trees."

  Arwen had been tapping at her com. Nodded in satisfaction. "The vet says there were three pet tarantulas that he knows of, and he’s coming down with his wand to see if this one is chipped."

  Pets? Why would anyone keep a big hairy spider for a pet? And what do you do with it? Take it for walks in the park so it can kill and eat its own dinner?

  Ebsa held the jar at arms-length and looked at the hairy monster. "Isn't it kind of small for implanted ID?"

  A chubby little man trotted up. "Oh yes, but the micros these days, you just have to be very careful . . ." He spun the lid off the jar, handed the lid to Arwen, and reached in and grabbed the tarantula.

  Ebsa choked as he pulled the spider out. Turned it over and pointed what looked like a pen at the middle of it.

  "Yep. There's the chip. I'm surprised it could survive here, not a whole lot of insects to eat." He dropped the spider back in the jar and Arwen closed it. "I'll check the code and find out who owns it."

  As he turned away, Ebsa shoved the jar at him. "Why don't you take it? I . . . don't actually like spiders."

  "Oh sure, no problem."

  Ebsa watched the vet trot back to the embassy and then wobbled over to one of the chairs and collapsed. The sun was close to the horizon and a few lights were starting to glow. The crowd that had fled the spider didn't appear to be returning, only a few hard partiers were still circulating.

  "Well. That was a nice anticlimactic ending to a major adrenaline rush, and looks to have closed down the Fair. Anyone hungry? I've got a few steaks left, and maybe some veggies."

  ***

  "And at the end of the day, The Embassy Fair is judged a rousing success, with good food, great music and some really fun entertainment." Napoleon had the best—the pirate attack on the sailing cart—playing behind him as he talked. "And our top of the Embassy cam analysis of the crowd movements confirms my on-the-ground personal check of the varied cuisines that showed a tight race between the contestants.

  "But the winner is . . ." He hoisted his example . . ."Earth Bogota Nuke for their hotdogs and beer, with apple pie and ice cream for dessert."

  He took a bite of a big juicy wiener with mustard, onion, and relish. And muttered around his mouthful, "Can't beat it."

  Excerpt from an upcoming story

  One Wedding

  Pam Uphoff

  Chapter One

  1 Muharram 1410yp

  Gate City, One World

  "Thank the One you're back!" Paer's voice was loud over the comm.

  Ebsa paused, half out of his grubby field khakis. "Problem?"

  "It's my birthday! Dad's arranged this huge party, practically a ball, and invited everyone I've ever met in my entire life. The party starts in three hours, you have to get here." She sounded desperate.

  "Paer? Are you all right?"

  "Yes! It's just . . . men keep cornering me and . . . explaining what strategically valuable husbands they would be. I'm getting calls from arrangers. Please come. I need your sanity."

  "Right. Three hours. Government House or Versalle?"

  "Government House. Dad's . . . well, he needs to regularly get into the news, and . . . "

  "A big birthday bash for his daughter works nicely. Right. Tell all the guards to let me in, please."

  "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

&nbs
p; "I still have to clear it with Ajha."

  All the rich men bringing her presents . . . He tossed a quick glance at his footlocker. Some nice mineral samples, some spectacular crystals, a bit of gold . . . Oh hell, forget those things. I have the perfect gift, something none of them can beat. And no import license . . .

  A deep exhalation over the comm. "Yes. Go clear it with him. Wow. Just hearing your voice has helped. I'll be fine if you can't come."

  He snorted. "Oooo, that had putting up a good front all over it. I'd better run."

  He punched off, and tapped in Ajha's code, while pulling up the right forms on his comp.

  He tapped away at the forms while the wait light flashed.

  Click. "Ebsa? Problem? Didn't know you were back."

  "Just got in. Minor problem . . . Ajha, do you owe me any favors?"

  "Free lessons in the subtle use of influence?"

  "Leave to leave almost immediately for Paer's birthday party in Paris and an import permit for the present I want to give her?"

  Finished the form . . . sent it.

  "Import permit? I'm almost afraid to ask . . . Ah, here's your form. You want to import two . . . Wait a minute. You have two actual . . . in a bubble, I presume? Where did you get them and for how long have you not been telling me about them?"

  "Umm, five and a half years? They're from that world where Ra'd and I first encountered the Helios." Ebsa walked to the kitchen fab and ordered a bucket of pseudo tomato cubes. And a large red ribbon.

  "I really don't know how you fail to mention things like this to me, now and then. What is Paer going to do with them?"

  "Play with them until she finds a good zoo to take them, or releases them to the wild back on their world of origin."

  There was a thump from the comm that he hoped wasn't Ajha's head hitting the desk.

  "Right. Your permit is in the works. Go with my blessings or some such nonsense."

  Ebsa found the bar handles of the double bubble at the bottom of a drawer and opened the bubble. Excited cheeps. He pulled out the big dog crate, and checked for cleanliness. With the double bubble, essentially no time had passed and the bedding was still clean.