He looked at his plate of lean fish and vegetables arranged with such artistic flair, it should’ve been photographed for posterity. “It is beautiful. Alas, I have grown older.”

The members of the Dominion’s most numerous species experienced a diminished sense of taste in the final decade of life. It never went away completely, but for them the flavors became muted. The profiles of their meals grew spicier and bolder to stimulate their tired tastebuds. Any galactic chef knew this, let alone a Red Cleaver one.

“No worries,” I told him. “I will be back.”

I walked away to the wall, snapped up a transparent soundproof barrier around myself, and pulled up a screen to the kitchen.

“Orro?”

He appeared on the screen, a looming dark mass of quills. Things must’ve been hectic.

“What’s going on with the Holy Ecclesiarch’s food?”

His spikes trembled. “I was given specific dietary requirements due to health restrictions. Mild food only, to avoid ‘unnecessary strain’ on digestive system.” His voice told me exactly what he thought of that.

“His time is coming to an end, and mild food isn’t going to make a difference. He has only a few meals left. I will take full responsibility.”

Orro clapped his clawed hands together. “Then I will dazzle!”

“Go for it.”

I dropped the barrier. Five minutes later Droplet emerged from the kitchen, dashed over to the table, swiped off his plate, deposited a new dish, and withdrew. The new plate held a fish that had been descaled, cooked, and sliced into sections. The sections were reassembled into the original fish shape, and the whole dish was soaked in a rich dark broth. The aroma of spices drifted on the slight breeze. The elderly man took a single bite and smiled at me.

Crisis averted.

I drifted through the dining room again. House Meer was about mid-way through their meal. The Smiles delegation finished the main course and moved on to their customary tea and dessert, which meant they would stay parked for another half an hour. Half of the observers had left. Only Dagorkun, Cookie, Karat, and Tomato remained at the observer table. Tomato hailed from a republic neighboring the Dominion. He was green-furred, large, and a bit bear-like. His translation software had informed him that his name phonetically matched tomatoes, and upon arrival, he assured me that he was not a fruit.

I checked on Caldenia. She was in one of the terminal rooms, accessing the Gertrude Hunt news database. Gaston was with her. His mission for today was to stick to her like glue. I didn’t want any surprises.

Karat saw me looking and waved me over. I approached their table.

“Your sister said you would provide all necessary information to me.”

Thanks, Maud. “What can I clarify for you?”