Illustration by Kevin James Hurtack © 2006-7
A Feast of Eyes
by Gareth D Jones © 2007
When the dinner guests were informed that the dish they had just enjoyed – the delicately spicy sauce wrapped in tender flesh but pleasingly crisp on the outside – had actually been the eyeballs of a stiprafian guargitt, the announcement had a profound effect.
The wife of the Minister of Agriculture fainted clean away, to the consternation of her husband whose skin was suddenly tinged slightly green. The Regional Administrator left the table abruptly, one hand on his stomach and the other clenched over his mouth, and headed for the rest rooms. The Senior Curator of the Planetary Heritage Museum, a man renowned for his tolerance and open-mindedness, sat back slowly in his chair and then swiftly gulped down the digestif that the waiters were just serving. The other eight guests reacted with facial expressions varying from nausea to disgust to a vaguely amused smile that was expecting their host, a wealthy business man and leading colonist, to admit that he had been joking.
While the conversation resumed, some telling of other exotic food that they had eaten, others trying to convince themselves that they had not really eaten the eyeballs of a stiprafian guargitt, and the rest arguing with their host, one guest stayed silent, looking thoughtful. He was Silas Compare, owner of the fantastically successful ‘Incomparable' chain of exotic restaurants. The dish had been delicious, exactly as he remembered from the last time he had tasted it over twenty years ago. He had to have it on his private menu. Unfortunately, as far as he knew, the guargitt was an endangered species protected by interplanetary law. It was also very dangerous and was guarded by the specialist Environmental Protection Unit of the Galactic Police. Importing it would also be a problem. He was extremely interested to know how it had arrived on their plates.
Throughout the rest of the evening Silas tried to get information from their host, who was continually evasive, and even from the staff who simply declined to reply. By the time he was being shown out the door later that night he still had no answers as to how his goal could be obtained. His mouth watered at the thought of another chance to eat of the succulent dish. He was not normally an obsessive man, but food was another matter.
###
Monsieur Compare had not appreciated the vast size of the interplanetary wildlife database. It took almost ten seconds to download the stiprafian section to his workstation, during which time he fretted impatiently. Finally he was able to access the information and quickly found the entry concerning the guargitt. The hologram displayed by the computer was in full colour, which did not contribute a great deal to its quality in this instance as the beast was grey.
The repulsiveness of the creature was somewhat tempered in Compare's eyes by its tastiness, but it was undeniably slimy and slug-like. Tender steaks could be had from its eight foot long body, though the front, upright third was more tough. The two stick-like arms near the top of its torso could be fried to great effect, but it was the eyes that would definitely top any menu. There were seven of them, each mounted on a flexible, extendable stalk atop its head. Compare's mouth watered as he looked at the image before him. The fact that it was listed as endangered and protected was irrelevant.
The diet and habitat of the guargitt were detailed very briefly as not much was known about this elusive creature. The text then went on to explain that anyone found to be involved in the hunting, trapping or exporting of the animal would be dealt with most severely. Compare noted that eating was not prohibited. Of course, the fact the he was outlawed form the planet Stipraf would add an element of complexity to the problem. Compare thrived on complexity.
###
Through some of his more dubious acquaintances, Monsieur Compare arranged for a certain little-known space trader of questionable ethics to land on Stipraf, hunt down a guargitt and bring it back to Olpheus III, bypassing the usual official channels. Unfortunately the man's morals did not balk at disappearing with the lump sum of gems that Compare was forced to forward him, so that plan did not produce the desired result.
A second plan, involving members of his own trusted staff performing the same operation, was quickly discarded when a surprising leak in Stiprafian security let out the knowledge that an anonymous tip-off had the Galactic Police on the look-out for craft leaving Stipraf, either officially or unofficially, that would likely be exporting guargitt. Of course were his staff to be caught he would immediately disown them and leave them to their fate, but he did not want to waste a ship. This led eventually, after much careful consideration, to a third plan.
By this time Monsieur Compare was dreaming every night about guargitt steaks and eyeballs, and so he determined that going to Stipraf was the only viable plan. That way he could catch a guargitt and eat it while on the planet surface, thus negating the problems of export. It was remarkably easy, he found, to arrange for the sector police to be bribed, along with other relevant officials, in order to land on the planet's surface. He did so in the regions of swampy woodland wherein dwelt the guargitt. After three days in the confines of his luxury cruiser-yacht, which was now standing off at one A.U. beyond Stipraf's orbit, Compare was glad to step down from his landing craft into the open air of the planet he had been exiled from twenty years earlier. Breaking rules, he found, was so good for the circulation.
###
Monsieur Compare was very sporting about the whole affair. After taking a brief constitutional, while the landing craft's sensors homed in on the life trace of a guargitt, he re-boarded and they set off at a leisurely pace weaving through the trees, held a few feet above the ground on repulsors. The guargitt did not appear to be moving very much, so within twenty minutes they had arrived close enough to initiate the next stage of the hunt.
Centring on the guargitt, the pilot activated the wide-beam stunner, letting it run for a few seconds. The landing craft was guided forward the last few dozen yards and finally came to rest on a firm piece of ground just feet away from the supine form of the guargitt. Compare stepped out once more to be greeted by silence; no birds sang, nor insects buzzed, nor any other creature made any sound of any kind in the vicinity. There was a thud as a small primate became dislodged from a branch and fell to join the other unconscious creatures scattered about the floor.
With most of the landing-craft's internal space having been converted to a five star kitchen, there was not much room for crew, so while the pilot stayed at his station Compare had to approach the dangerous beast himself. It was definitely unconscious. He held a neural disruptor against its head and pressed the firing stud once. That would render it deceased without affecting the quality of the meat. A hand-held repulsor unit enabled him to manoeuvre the hefty carcass into the preparation area of his kitchen where state-of-the-art robotic utilities soon had it cleaned, skinned and gutted.
After carefully considering the procedure he would follow, Monsieur Compare set about preparing the food for consumption. He was a skilled chef in his own right, though he rarely did much cooking these days, and he knew all there was to know about the stiprafian guargitt; the subject had been his main concern for weeks. The preparation was well advanced by the time the pilot had located a pleasant clearing in which to hold a picnic. The area was improved even more by the judicious use of the wide-beam stunner to clear the air of pesky insects. The pilot then turned to his second duty, that of waiter, and began setting things up under an awning outside the hatchway. After much fussing over details, Compare was finally satisfied that the feast was cooked to perfection. He served it up, then proceeded out to the table and settled himself down, hardly able to contain his eagerness to tuck in to the food.
Long seconds later the waiter appeared in the doorway, carrying the plate of guargittian delights. He set it delicately on the table, poured a glass of the highest quality wine and disappeared back inside to watch for game-wardens and the like.
Silas Compare gazed at the food before him for a few seconds, feasting his eyes before letting his taste buds have their turn. His fork sank into the flesh of an expertly cooked eyeball and he raised it to his mouth. Suddenly the fork, still with eyeball attached, flew out of his hand and clanked against the hull of the landing craft. His hand was simultaneously whipped back to collide with the same surface, having the rather painful effect of breaking his knuckles. This was nothing, however, to the horror he experienced as the plate of log-awaited guargitt went spinning off the table, spilling its contents over twenty feet of ground. Before he could recover from his shock a third shot from what was obviously a force-rifle took out the leg of his chair and he collapsed in a mass of limbs and dishes on the floor.
Slow footsteps trudged towards him across the clearing, but Compare did not look up. He could not tear his eyes away from the food strewn across the floor. Where was his pilot? He should have given warning, or at least be rescuing him by now, but there was no movement from the landing craft.
“Get up, Monsieur Compare.” A voice spat out. He recognised the voice but still did not look up as he slowly got to his feet, leaning back against the hull for support. He felt weak with the sudden shattering of his built up anticipation. Then the identity of the voice arrived from another region of his brain. Ronny Scott, the man who had served up the guargitt's eyeballs and started this whole expedition off. He tore his gaze from the food and looked questioningly at Mr.Scott. What kind of a monster could do that to a meal?
“Do you remember me, Compare?” Scott asked. Compare nodded dumbly. “No you don't! You only remember our second meeting. You don't remember me from the first time, do you?”
His brain still reeling from the catastrophe of loosing his long-sought-after meal, Compare could only stare with incomprehension at the features of Mr.Scott.
“Do you remember the woman you killed?” Scott went on.
Woman? Thought Compare.
“In your restaurant, here, on this planet!” His voice was getting louder.
“W, w, well…” Compare stammered.
“Do you remember what she looked like?”
“Erm, er, was she blonde?” Compare managed.
“Was she blonde?” Scott roared. “You killed a woman! You poisoned her and you don't even remember anything about her! You don't even care!” He was leaning over Compare now, gripping his collar. “She was my fiancée!”
“Oh…” Compare mumbled. It really had been an accident.
“You killed her. Then you opened another restaurant. You became famous! You got rich!” His voice dropped in volume and he backed away a couple of steps. “Well I got rich too. I moved to Olpheus III because I couldn't bear to be here any more. I didn't get over her for years, my Carrie.” His voice choked as he uttered her name for the first time. “I never got married. But I finally could live with it. Then what did you do?” Anger filled his voice again. “You moved to my planet. You opened up one of your restaurants! You opened it all up again!”
“I'm very sorry…” Compare began.
“You will be sorry.” Scott said, hefting his force rifle. “Oh, don't worry, I won't kill you. This isn't on a lethal setting.”
“Waiter!” Compare shouted, suddenly deciding that he must get away from this mad man.
“He won't come.” Scott assured him. “He works for me. Why do you think he didn't warn you? I paid him off. Same with the police and the Environmental Protection Unit, and everyone else. Didn't you wonder how you got here so easily?”
Compare had not wondered. He had been concentrating on his stomach.
“Why…?” He could not form an intelligible question.
“Why?” Scott repeated. “Because they would've just caught you. I waited until you were about to take your first mouthful. Now I'll turn you over.”
The man's wickedness was astounding to Compare. He just wanted to get away from his presence.
“But that won't be the end.” Scott went on, dragging Compare's attention back from the meat languishing among the stalks of grass. “I'll make sure your case goes to court, gets the maximum publicity. Your reputation will be ruined. Not only hunting and killing an endangered animal in a protected game reserve, but on a planet from which you've been expelled!” That did not bother Silas Compare a great deal. He had enough money to pay off all fines and anything else.
“Not only that,” Scott continued, “but the whole story of how you killed Carrie will come out. Who'll want to eat in a restaurant run by a poisoner? You'll be ruined!” That was a more serious point, but the name of his restaurants could always be changed. Even so he would loose business. “Your yacht will have been impounded by now. Your dealings with a certain illegal trader will be made known – yes, I arranged that too.” Compare was starting to realise the depth of the man's hunger for revenge. “And even if you do survive, you'll be off Olpheus III forever. The Regional Administrator, with my influence, served a compulsory purchase order on all of your property shortly after you left. The demolition crews will already be moving in. A high court writ has already been filed to have you expelled from the planet.” Scott smiled humourlessly.
Compare felt rather miserable. Not only had he lost his dinner, but now all this. The most terrible part was yet to come however.
“You may be wondering how I managed to serve guargitt at my dinner?” That was something Compare had been wondering. “I brought a small breeding stock from Stipraf as part of a conservation program. I'm lawfully allowed to control the population and dispose of them as I see fit. I can eat guargitt whenever I choose!”
The sheer unadulterated injustice of it overwhelmed Compare and he slumped back miserably. Now he would be exiled from both planets where guargitt were to be found. And Ronny Scott could feast on eyes whenever he wanted!
“'An eye for an eye.'” Scott quoted. “And a life for a life. Or the equivalent.” Compare glanced forlornly at his lost meal one last time before Ronny Scott hit the firing stud and he fell, stunned, into unconsciousness.
THE END
