The war over lunch

Hi All,

Prologue

They needed a Brit . I said was that I  was a chef.  That was perfect. I'd only worked at Burger Queen in Dudley, but I had an NVQ level 1 in cooking and hospitality. That was fantastic they said. Before I knew what I was doing, I had become a fully fledged Imperial Citizen and assigned to Her Imperial Majesty's Royal Barage as a Chef for English cuisine. It was intense , but rewarding work and frankly the aliens looked after their human subjects well, probably better than any human government did,  allowing freedom of religion, an excellent healthcare, education, retirement and jobs system: there was no unemployment , no chavs and almost no crime whatsoever, people lived an average of about 150 years and that life expectancy was increasing with every generation. Every citizen also got shares in the Imperial Company Plc, the dividends  roughly worth  5,000 Ducats. I checked this out. That's something like £20,000,000 ! Today it is worth £50,000,000 thanks to a pound that's gone down the toilet. 

All this talk of war you see between Mars and the Yanks. Because Britain always supports the Yanks, we or rather they have been dragged into it as well. None of this bothered me right now :war or not I had to think about prepping the Yorkshire pudding. Surprisingly so many of our alien friends enjoyed Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding, so much so the French chef was busy twiddling his thumbs all day. Or at least that's what I'd heard on the grapevine. Another rumour was that she'd been assigned to the Imperial Hareem. Not that was such a bad thing. Afterall the Martians or whatever anyone calls them are Angels and the picture of perfect beauty, not only that but they smell beautiful as well. I guess that's why they are also called the Fragrance, because something to do with ferry moans.

'Chef of the English'  she said in that funny English, but  Mediterranean sing song type accent .

'Yes? ' I gasped  at the ten foot tall woman in front of me.

I still do that  when I smell and see one of them. They are literally Angels, male and female , replete with humanoid body , halo and wings, which led to numerous wacko pscyos back on earth denouncing them as demons controlled by the devil in disguise or some other crap, which incidentally partially fuelled the war cries ,  with the exception of their feet which looked more like some kind of a cross between what you'd find on a chicken and an eagle. Apparently the Cambridge boffins had deduced they were some kind of evolutionary fusion of birds and mammals, or some kind of duck billed platypus  but who knows.

'You are to be moved to the Imperial house of this ship and are to cook this menu for Her Majesty and guest '  as she handed me a scroll, sealed in wax with the imprint of the Emperor herself. 'Come along there is much to do, the food is to be served in the ocean room and we have not much time for this light lunch' .

'OK' I muttered dumfounded.