Free Morgan's Choice by Greta van Der Rol Page A

fun.
    Everybody bowed at Ravindra, who returned
the salute. Morgan made to sit down but a warning grunt from him
straightened her. Him first, it seemed. He and his officers
accomplished the maneuver with grace. She eased herself into her
seat, folding her legs as best she could, trying to copy the two
women in the room, both wearing the same shapeless gown she wore
herself. They must have incredibly powerful thigh muscles. The seat
gave beneath her weight, shifting to fit her contours. Certainly
comfortable enough, but she’d strengthen her back muscles, sitting
on these things.
    An elaborate cloth covered the low table.
Each setting consisted of a two-pronged fork and a spoon with a
crooked handle, placed to one side of a bowl, and a transparent
mug. Table manners would be interesting. No knives.
    The attendant poured from the jug into the
mugs and set a platter of food on the table. A mound of the cooked
brown grain she’d encountered so often down in the detention cells
was piled in the center, surrounded by selections of various items
she didn’t recognize. Orange things with tentacles, something that
looked an awful lot like a pile of eyes, green vegetables, little
blue hats, slabs of other things and something like a stew in a
bowl with its own ladle. Down in detention she’d only ever been
given a bowl full of fairly spicy food and a spoon. She waited for
Ravindra, watching what he did.
    “ What should I eat, Srimana ?” she said as he ladled grain into his
bowl.
    He shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever you
want.”
    He speared items of food with his fork and
transferred them to his plate. Then he put the fork down.
    Thanks a heap,
bastard . She took what
he had. Except the orange thing with tentacles. It seemed you
picked up the bowl and shoveled food into your mouth with the
spoon, just as she had in detention. She did the same, a bit of
cereal and a blue hat… Oh fuck. It burned like fire, her tongue,
her mouth, all the way down her throat. The heat seared up into her
face, brought tears to her eyes. She forced the mouthful down and
drained the mug in one huge flood. Just as well it was
water.
    Ravindra regarded her with a mix of
amusement and astonishment, his spoon held above the bowl. “Perhaps
you should avoid the firehats. Or anything blue, for that
matter.”
    Thanks a lot. He wasn’t the only one who’d
found it funny. Ignoring everybody, Morgan nibbled cautiously at
anything she took from the plate. The orange things tasted quite
good and the eyes were a type of vegetable with a glutinous center.
There was something that tasted fishy and a pile of some kind of
meat. Most of the dishes were spicy-hot but tasty. Except those
black slimy things that Ravindra seemed to relish. She could still
feel the one she sampled sliding down to her stomach like some sort
of worm. He could have those all to himself. But no doubt about it,
the food was a vast improvement on the nameless mess she’d been
given in the past.
    Dinner over, Ravindra explained that
Morgan would be helping Hanestran with investigating the alien
ship. He answered the few questions. She drifted off mentally when
the talk turned to mundane ship matters. Prasad sat further down
the table, appraising, evaluating. At least Hanestran had offered
her a small smile, which she had returned. The two women, one
wearing the medical corps insignia, the other logistics, eyed her
with the same unfriendly distaste she’d often encountered with
female officers at home. For the rest of them, she felt like
handing out hoops for them to throw. First to land one round my neck
gets...
    Thankfully the mess dinner didn’t last too
long. She stood awkwardly, grateful to stretch her legs. She tried
to stride after Ravindra as he left the room and hit the hem of the
bloody dress. Why women put up with this crap was beyond her
understanding. They wore trousers to work in; trousers and
shapeless shirts but at least they could move.
    “ Will I be expected to attend the