It tasted every bit as bad as it smelled.
I’m going to puke, Vicky thought, even as she felt her teeth slide into the mossy growth of mold that covered the surface of the bun. I’m going to puke all over the table, I won’t be able to help it…
And then, mercifully, the horrible rotten bun melted away in her hand. It left no trace behind—not even a black smudge on Vicky’s fingers—though she swore she could still taste the rancid flavor of its cream on her tongue.
Relief flooded her but she needed to get that taste out of her mouth.
“Hey,” she whispered to Lorn as Professor Lornah began talking again. “Can’t we get anything to drink around here? I’m really, uh, thirsty.”
Thirsty? More like desperate to rinse the awful taste out of your mouth, whispered a little voice in her head and Vicky couldn’t deny it.
“Of c-course.” Lorn nodded. Reaching forward, he patted the middle of the table where a small hatch suddenly opened. A squat, square decanter made of some kind of pinkish crystal rose with a selection of thimble-sized goblets around it.
“What is that?” Chain asked, frowning as Vicky gratefully poured herself a tiny glass of the thick, syrupy liquid from the decanter. It was about the color and consistency of honey but it had a warm cinnamon flavor which washed away the taste of rancid cream nicely, she found.
“It’s Kork—it’s m-meant to be an after dinner liqueur,” Lorn whispered back. “Be careful, P-professor—it’s qu-quite strong,” he warned her.
“Doesn’t taste that strong to me,” Vicky protested, pouring another glass and then another. It was the first decent thing she’d put in her mouth since the honey-cake at the very beginning of this dreadful dinner lecture and she was thoroughly enjoying it.
“Victoria, perhaps you’d better be careful with that,” Chain murmured to her, frowning. “Don’t forget, you have to give a presentation next. You don’t want to be too inebriated to speak.”
Crap—he’s right, Vicky thought, pausing with the fourth tiny glass of cinnamon-tasting liqueur halfway to her lips. It’s going to be my turn to lecture next and I don’t even know what I’m going to say!
“And that concludes my lecture for tonight.” Professor Lornah’s voice cut through her sudden consternation. “But please don’t leave yet—we have one more guest lecturer here tonight who has come all the way from the Kindred Mother Ship.”
Looking up, Vicky saw that Lornah was motioning to her as she spoke.
Crap—it was her turn to talk and she had no clue what was going to come out of her mouth.
I’m screwed, she thought as she rose shakily from her chair and started towards the stage. Oh God, I’m so completely screwed.
Chapter Eighteen
Chain watched with concern as his curvy little Elite made her way towards the stairs that led to the stage. Was Victoria all right? She had reacted badly to both the large arachnid and several of the dishes served during the lecture—most notably the thousand-year bun.
Not that he blamed her. He had seldom met a female who had a love for insects or arachnids and almost no one—male or female—would have enjoyed most of the “prandial delights” served to them during the lecture. The last one, especially, had tasted positively rancid.
But it was clear that the people here on Priima Belle had such jaded palates they wanted to taste only “sophisticated” dishes. Chain wondered with concern if anything Victoria could dream up would please them. Was any of the cuisine of Earth as exotic as spider-carried cakes or rotten, oozing buns?
He just didn’t know but he supposed he—and everyone else in the lecture hall—was about to find out.
Chapter Nineteen
Vicky felt dizzy as she climbed the steps to the stage.
Holy God, I’m drunk, she thought somewhat fuzzily as she nearly missed a step. Crap, never tried to teach drunk before. This is going to be one for the record books.
She still had no idea what she was going to say as she made her way behind the blue curtain to where Professor Lornah was waiting for her.
“Well—there you are,” the other woman sniffed in apparent distaste. “I thought you’d never get up here. Everyone is waiting, you know. And I’m sure everyone is eager to see what you’re going to serve up after your, shall we say, rather unique reaction to my own lecture.”
“Sorry about that,” Vicky said, hoping her words didn’t sound slurred. “I’m not good with spiders—even ones that just want to feed me cake. Especially ones that want to feed me cake,” she added with a shudder.
“Well!” If possible, Professor Lornah looked even more offended. “I guess the people of your world just aren’t sophisticated enough to deal with an arachnid-delivered delicacy.”
“No,” Vicky said bluntly, “They’re not. The people of my world mostly grab a shoe and start swinging when a spider as big as a cat runs at their face.”
“Even when the spider—arachnid—is only delivering a morsel of cake?” Professor Lornah demanded.
“Sorry.” Vicky shrugged. “I’m afraid we smash first and ask questions later when it comes to bugs the size of small pets.”
“On Priima Belle, ‘bugs’ as you call them, often are pets,” Professor Lornah exclaimed. “Why, I have a dear little Klik beetle as long as my arm at home named Poncy. She’s so affectionate—sits right on my shoulder and nibbles my ear with her mandibles whenever she wants a treat.”
Vicky tried to imagine having a large bug for a pet and failed. The part about letting the bug sit on your shoulder and nibble your ear was the worst, she decided. But it certainly explained why the people in the audience hadn’t flinched or freaked out when the cake-bearing spiders had crawled on them. Probably they felt about their bugs the way people back
