The Kitchens Of Ranor

“And there it is! The biggest restaurant in the galaxy!” Nathaniel announces. On the viewscreen is a glowing arc. This is the luminescent ring of Ranor, partially obscured by the dark planet. As they get closer, city lights become visible.

Ranor is a rogue planet. It orbits no star and sits in the cold of interstellar space. It is the largest colony of the Vlymons, humanoid creatures with swirls of white, black, blue, and red-orange on their skin. They each have one red eye and one black eye. Ranor is ruled by an individual known only as “The Chef,” a culinary and business genius who has converted the entire colony into a restaurant.

The ship lands and Nathaniel is shown to a table by the Vlymon waitstaff. They wear box-shaped hats. He is accompanied by Haticat, Fred, Doctor Bill, and Blacky, his pet flying ray. “What would you like today?” the Vlymon asks.

“I don’t know. There are too many choices,” Nathaniel says, struggling to skim through the digital menu of millions of dishes.

“Then might I suggest The Chef’s ladder? A series of small plates chosen by The Chef himself based on your biosensory profile?” The waiter poses.

“Okay,” Nathaniel says.

“Perfect. I shall return with your first plate,” the waiter says.

While Nathaniel waits, a four-meter Sauropod at the next table catches his gaze. “Hi, thar. Get’n The Chef’s laytor?”

Nathaniel blinks. “What? Did you say something?”

“Shore. I akscha if yer wer get’n The Chef’s laytor,” the Sauropod says.

Nathaniel looks at Haticat and then back at the long-neck Dinosaur. “My ears must be malfunctioning. Did you ask if I was getting The Chef’s ladder?”

“Shore did,” the Sauropod says.

“The shore asked? Is there an ocean near here? Does it talk?” Nathaniel asks, more confused than ever.

“Naw. Shore. Shore. As in certeen,” the Sauropod says.

“Certain?” Nathaniel queries.

“Shore,” the Saurpod says.

Nathaniel looks at Haticat again. Haticat speaks. “Why are you talking like that? Is it the way your species mouths work?”

“Naw. It’s an akshint,” the Sauropod says.

“A what?” Nathaniel exclaims.

“An akshint. It’s a stole uff tak’n. It’s a furm uff art. All the people on planeet Barksheed tak this woy,” the Sauropod explains.

“Well they should stop,” Nathaniel says.

“How do you know what he’s saying?” Fred asks.

“Naw, we lake it,” the Sauropod says.

“It’s an insult to language itself,” Nathaniel says.

“Yer nod toe bee mer talleereent uff otter cultures. Don’t bee narraw minnedeed. Yer gotta travel mer,” the Sauropod says.

Nathaniel now turns his head fully toward the sauropod. “I’ve been to hundreds of planets. I’ve seen right and wrong. You’re talking wrong.”

“My brain hurts!” Fred complains

“We don’t have centralized brains,” Doctor Bill corrects him.

“Then I guess it’s my whole body that hurts,” Fred says.

“On Barksheed, yer bee tak’n wrang,” the Sauropod says.

“Stop talking,” Nathaniel commands.

“Yer a root Dinosewer,” the Sauropod declares.

“Shut up,” Nathaniel says firmly.

Their food arrives. Nathaniel receives a sizzling hot plate of laser-fried daggertails. The Sauropod is given eggs, maple candy-coated bacon, and mustard cupcakes. “I’m glad I didn’t get that. How did The Chef know what I would like and dislike?”

“The Chef is brilliant. Sensors in the waiting area measure the relative velocity of your taste reception. The reason people like different combinations is because the quantum wave functions of different kinds of foods interfere constructively or destructively depending on their frame of reference. This is the general theory of like-relativity that The Chef published,” the waiter explains.

“Oh? I’d like to read that,” Nathaniel says.

“There’s a link on the website,” the waiter says.

“I’ll check that out,” Nathaniel says. He returns to his meal of daggertail.

Then the Sauropod starts talking again. “How is the doogertell?”

“Shut up!” Nathaniel yells.

“Dar bee sutton wrang wid yer aft yer can’t stent an akshint,” the Sauropod says.

Nathaniel jumps from one table to the other, pointing a knife at the other Dinosaur. “Either talk right or don’t talk at all. Drop the akshint or I’ll remove your larynx!”

“Yer a root Dinosewer,” the Sauropod says.

Nathaniel holds the knife closer. “A what?”

“You’re a rude Dinosaur,” the Sauropod says.

“That’s better,” Nathaniel says, returning to his table.

Eventually, the daggertail plate is taken away and a plate of Szechuan microraptor is served. Microraptors are non-sentient Dinosaurs of the family dromaeosauridae. It resembles a tiny version of Nathaniel. The smell is intoxicating. The Sauropod is served a fruit salad containing peach, strawberry, banana, and tomatoe. Once again, Nathaniel is glad he does not have to eat it.

“Is it passabeel to get anotter tooble? This har Dinosewer is trabble,” the Sauropod complains.

Nathaniel slaps his claw onto the table. “I told you to stop talking like that!”

“Hmm. I’ll see what I can do,” the waiter says and steps away.

“Doctor Bill, remind me to wipe out all life on Barksheed next time we fly past it,” Nathaniel says.

“Definitely,” Doctor Bill agrees.

Soon, the Sauropod is guided away to another room. A second waiter approaches Nathaniel. “How is everything today?”

“Excellent. That was the best microraptor I’ve ever had. The only problem was that Sauropod. Some people have no respect for those in earshot,” Nathaniel says.

“He made my ears almost bleed,” Fred declares.

“We don’t have any blood,” Doctor Bill reminds him.

“I said almost,” Fred says.

“Well, we hope you enjoy the next dish prepared. It will be here soon,” the waiter says.

A few moments later, a plate arrives with a single burger. It sits on a bun topped with lettuce and tomatoes. “This is so good. What animal is this made from?” Nathaniel asks.

“That is one of our Human meat burgers,” the waiter says.

“Oh,” Nathaniel says, still chewing. “I’ve never hunted Humans before. Usually, I see them in Human societies where hunting them is illegal.”

“On Ranor, the only law is The Chef’s recipe book,” the waiter explains.

“Hmm. Delicious,” Nathaniel says.

The waiter leaves and Nathaniel finishes his burger. “Can we still be good guys if we kill people, so long as we eat them after?” Fred asks.

“Every species eats others, so as long as we aren’t eating our own species, I guess that’s okay,” Doctor Bill says.

“That makes sense. I just hope no Humans find out I sometimes eat them, because that will make it harder to be friends with them,” Nathaniel says.

“They should be fine with it if they know you never kill them yourself and only eat them on Ranor after the Vlymons have killed them, and we can help them fight the Vlymons if they want,” Haticat says.

“Yeah,” Nathaniel mutters, “I wonder what Vlymons taste like.”

“Are you enjoying your burger?” the waiter asks from behind them, causing Nathaniel to jump a little bit.

“Oh, I’m finished. What’s next?” Nathaniel asks.

“Sauropod steak,” the Vlymon says while a second waiter arrives with a plate covered in a gigantic steak.

“Wow! That looks amazing!” Nathaniel remarks. It was the juiciest, fattiest steak he had ever seen.

“This steak is fresh from our latest catch. It came in just ten minutes ago,” the waiter says.

“Great! Do you have farms or game preserves on Ranor?” Nathaniel asks.

“There is no need. New food comes to us every day. This sauropod flew in from Barksheed,” the waiter explains.

“Oh, interesting,” Nathaniel comments.

“I hope you like it,” the waiter says as he leaves. Nathaniel slices a big chunk and tastes it. It is the best steak ever.

“I think that steak might be from the Sauropod with the akshint,” Haticat says.

“Oh, I know,” Nathaniel says.

“You might be on the menu next,” Haticat says.

“Probably. That’s why we’re going to sneak out,” Nathaniel says, stuffing another chunk in his mouth. It is so good.

Haticat looks around. “When?”

Nathaniel looks around too. “Now.”

They make it as far as the third entertaining room when they are stopped. “Were you leaving already? We wouldn’t want you to forget to pay,” the waiter says.

“Oh, no, I was just looking for a restroom,” Nathaniel states confidently.

“Of course, right this way,” the Vlymon says, grabbing Nate’s arm. Others grab Haticat, Fred, and Doctor Bill. Blacky follows. He is directed through the kitchen doors and brought to a small room with a table.

“That’s not a toilet,” Nathaniel remarks.

Two big Vlymons enter the room. “Your active saliva glands will make an excellent addition to The Chef’s next dish,” one says. “Prepare him for surgery.”

Nathaniel wrenches away from the waiter’s grip, ducks, and runs under the table. The two big Vlymons reach for him, bumping heads and knocking off their square hats. He grabs a nearby knife and stabs one of them. There is a quick fight and Nathaniel escapes, followed by his crew. Dozens of Vlymons give chase, but Blacky gains them a headstart by flying into the face of the lead Vlymon. “Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!” he yells, finally grabbing the flying ray and stuffing it into a pot.

They run and run, but every exit is cut off. They shoot lasers and the cooks throw knives. Then the kitchen staff find and make use of a flavor ray. After being narrowly missed by a beam of curry and a beam of garlic, they are all hit with a beam of horseradish. Seven meters in every direction smells strongly of horseradish. The Stuffians are knocked out. Nathaniel’s snout drips and he feels like he is about to die. He can’t breathe. They are quickly surrounded and captured.

A large Vlymon wearing an extra-large hat steps up. “Thank you for running away like I planned. We already have an order for active Dromaeosaur adrenal glands.” Still stunned by the horseradish, Nathaniel is tied to a table and stripped. “I am The Chef. Everything that happens on this planet is according to my recipe. Once I have enough customers to supply me with meat, I can create the tastiest meals ever made or thought of. I will master the corners of flavor! Everyone will want to eat here. I will put even the Candy Wizards out of business. Once I control the food supply in this arm of the galaxy, acting as middleman between predator and prey, I will then be able to take control of all ecosystems!”

“You’re evil!” Haticat yells, struggling against his captors.

“Put the Gruezhlings in the freezer; they’ll be tomorrow’s soup-of-the-day,” The Chef says. The staff carry them away, leaving The Chef alone with Nathaniel.

“The Tyrannosaur wanted these as fresh as possible, so there’s no time for anesthesia.” The Chef leans over Nathaniel’s abdomen and carefully pierces the skin with his scalpel. ZAP! A current of electricity flows from Nathaniel’s body into his, knocking him unconscious onto the floor.

It takes only a minute for Nathaniel to wriggle out of his restraints and get dressed. Then he zaps The Chef as hard as he can until his skin burns, reasoning that with him dead, the galaxy is safer. He leaves to look for his crew, but just before he steps out the door, he returns to The Chef’s body on the floor and nibbles on his cheek. “Hmm. Not bad,” he mutters. “Needs soy sauce, though.”

Nathaniel goes looking for his crew. However, the freezer is heavily guarded. Vlymons are everywhere, cooking, coating, chopping, carrying, cleaning, calibrating, and calculating. He sees Blacky pulled from boiling water and flopped on a plate. It is sprinkled with pink mountain salt before being carried out the server doors. He needs a distraction. He finds his way to the intercom system. “Attention all customers! As of just now, we have a new special on hunt-them-yourself Vlymons. That’s right, any Vlymons on Ranor are legal catch for the next twenty-four hours. Simply bring your kill to the kitchen to receive our signature spices and observe our patent-pending lightning-fried cooking method. Also, as a special thanks to you, the first one hundred Vlymon orders will be absolutely free!”

Finally, Nathaniel has the chaos he needs. Staff and predatory customers are running everywhere. He runs to the freezer and pulls out his crew. They are stiff and stuck together, so he carries them all the way back to his ship, where they thaw out as good as new.

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