The war over Lunch : pre drinks

Hi All,

I was totally rushed off my feet, although my new found companion was helping out and surprisingly good at mopping floors, chopping vegetables , pot washing oh and  cooking, plus she was bloody attractive with a body that would make any heterosexual man or lesbian burn with lust, especially when she showed her fantastic ,ahem, well when she was kneeling to scrub the tiles that needed cleaning ;  it wasn't hells kitchen, but heaven's kitchen. 

I discovered there was only the two of us on the job, which also meant we also had to serve drinks before the meal. How could any of us waiter in chef whites? This didn't matter much for my companion as her purple cloth - the standard Martian clothing consists of one long piece of cloth specially wrapped around the body to knee length - didn't seem to be affected by the various smells of a kitchen. In fact she still smelt of that wonderful sensation you get when smelling fresh baking bread, but as for me, that was a different story. The answer was a smart piece of tech- a suit which changed from chef whites to waiter's clothing every time I left the kitchen to the dining room.

The ocean dining room was one of those things that you get used to after a while. It was like stepping into a sunlit sea, in every direction. There was no obvious signs of glass and whatever it was holding back the water , it was utterly opaque. You could see dozens of fish, from those multi coloured tropical ones to big tiger sharks, coral reefs and all the stuff one fines in a Attenborough- bot documentary.  It had occurred to me that this could be a star trek style 'holo deck', but apparently it was all real and not some holographic projection, which would explain the sharks helping themselves  to a baby whale or whatever it was they were tearing apart and some other aquatic life forms mating just behind the coral reef.  The only thing in the room, in the centre,  was a dinner table and two chairs for the guests.  I didn't look down because, it was as if you were walking on water with each footstep producing a tiny wave, probably like chucking a pebble into a pond.

It took two of us to carry in the drinks. I was carrying a large silver tray upon which rested two enormous gold, jewelled encrusted gemstones and my companion- who I hadn't learned her name - a silver tray with a Nebuchadnezzar  of Vintage  Martian Red.  From my understanding of Martian - the language exam is a part of nsturalised citizenship- I gathered the wine was bottled some 67  million years ago. Old as the dinosaurs.

Martian red is , like the planet itself, rust red and extremely potent to humans. We'd probably classify it as a port ,with whisky type alcohol strength.

There was one other figure in the room and that was Her Imperial Majesty Emperor and Supreme Autocrat Esther II. I have no idea why Martians choose to have human names. It's one of life's mysteries . Esther was a beautiful woman, as most of her kind were, olive skinned and a mop of ebony curly hair  ,  probably in her late thirties ,  but her halo was much brighter and her wings rainbow esque ,  like that of a pirate's parrot, her body wrapped in a purple cloth. She seemed to be watching the sharks eat.

'The French chef'  she explained '  cooked a , how do you say :  a "shit meal", so a meal was made of him. Or her. I forget this gender fluid, stuff, but those sharks are all for equality., they'll eat anything '.

My hands were shaking and I was desperately trying not to wet myself ,  my speech came out as one does when gurgling tcp.

' well put the wine and one goblet  on the table . It seems our guest will not arrive. But I shall need a bigger room as we have several other guests to entertain.  Alice - so that's her name-  if you don't mind , the relevant information is being dispatched to you now'.

'Yes indeed , that suggestion is excellent'.