“Sometimes. Or to do an interactive.”
I frowned.
“What’s an ‘interactive?’”
“Oh, doesn’t your species have them? It’s a show or program where you take a part in the plot.”
“That sounds like fun,” I said agreeably. I had done some Drama in high school and really enjoyed it, though I only ever got bit parts. “Do they give you a script so you can follow along?” I asked Sir.
He shook his head.
“No, of course not. You’re able to follow the plot by listening to the thoughts of the other characters.”
“What?” I shook my head. “You can hear each others’thoughts?”
“Korrigons are naturally telepathic,” he explained. “Though usually only with close family members, by choice—otherwise life would be too chaotic. But in the case of interactives, the thoughts are pre-recorded along with the vid—they’re part of the program.”
“I’d like to see that,” I said honestly. “Though I don’t think I’d be able to participate.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t,” he said, waving one hand dismissively. “Your underdeveloped brain wouldn’t be able to pick up on the thought patterns of our more advanced species.”
I wanted to bristle at this condescending comment, but he clearly wasn’t trying to be rude—he was just saying what he thought was the truth. And honestly, he was probably right—Icouldn’tpick up on other people’s thoughts—though it stung to admit I was somehow inferior to him.
“Just because we humans aren’t telepathic doesn’t mean we’re primitive or less intelligent than you Korrigons,” I said defensively.
“Yes, it does, little one,” Sir said breezily. “Come—let’s go into the food preparation area. Are you hungry?”
By that time I really was—it had been a long time since the breakfast burrito I had scarfed down before Aunt Maizy called to ask me to get Prissy from the groomers the day before—so I followed him eagerly. We walked into the kitchen and I wondered if I would see the alien version of a refrigerator and a stove. Instead, there was only a round metal table with round benches fixed to it—it looked like a kind of picnic bench, I thought—and a wall with about fifteen doors set into it.
“What isthat?”I asked, pointing to the wall. The doors all appeared to be glass or some clear material that looked like glass anyway, and they were all different sizes. One of them, in the middle of the wall, looked big enough to let a Clydesdale horse walk through it. But others were much smaller—one in the far left side was as tiny as a mouse hole. The glass in each door was dark, but I wondered if they would light up if you turned them on. Were these alien ovens of some kind?
“This device is my Matter Synthesizer,” Sir told me. “It makes almost anything I need—be it mechanical, chemical, or edible.”
“It does?” I looked at the wall full of doors with even more interest. “How? Anddon’tsay my brain can’t comprehend it,” I added, glaring at him. “I really want to know and I got A’s in chemistry, you know.”
“I can’t get into the physics of it, but suffice it to say that it gathers molecules from the air and spins them into different components to achieve the result I ask of it,” he told me.
I frowned skeptically.
“So you’re about to serve me an air sandwich for breakfast?”
“Not at all—the air molecules will be transmuted into food that will be exactly set to your human nutritional needs.”
“Wow,” I murmured, finally impressed. I had been dismissing all his talk of his people being superior to every other species in the known universe as pure arrogance. But if this wall of doors—this Matter Synthesizer—really worked the way he claimed, it wasamazing. The kind of tech that could end world hunger, just for starters.
“Yes, itisquite impressive,” Sir murmured distractedly.
As he spoke, I noticed he was perusing something that looked kind of like one of those three-fold pamphlets that some restaurants print their take-out menus on. He was so much taller than me, though, thatI couldn’t see what was written on it.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing up at it.
“The nutritional guide for humans which the Commercians gave me.” Sir said. “I reproduced it in physical form so that I could refer to it when I feed you.”
“When you feed mewhat?”I demanded suspiciously. What did those blue worms that abducted Earth women and sold them as brides to alien men know aboutmynutritional needs?
“You’ll see. Now hush, little one—I must concentrate in order to communicate with the Matter Synthesizer.”
Sir took a thin golden wire, which I hadn’t seen earlier, from a hook on the wall and placed it over his head. It widened to fit around his horns and then seemed to shrink so that it sat just at the level of his temples, like a thin golden crown. Then he closed his eyes and seemed to be thinking hard.