A Feast in the Asteroid Belt A Feast in the Asteroid Belt c Copyright 2005 by Harry Viens All Rights Reserved Worried about the timing for dinner, Janis had been watching the clock all day. There was so much to be done! She had no idea how the preparations were going and all the while time was running out. Behind her, Janis could hear faint clattering and clicking from the kitchen and she longed to be in there, dicing vegetables, stirring the soup, thickening the gravy, instead she was stuck at the head of the table, one of the two guests of honor, bound by tradition to simply sit, feast and entertain the notables and guests. It was frustrating. Next to her, at the head of the short table that served as the host table, Charlie seemed to have not a care in the world. He was swilling glass after glass of wine, telling stories, calling for more appetizers and had not even once even glanced at the clock. Men. Typical. So much to be done, and no interest in what had to be done. Meanwhile politicians, businessmen, their wives, ordinary citizens, even the Priests and their concubines walked up, knelt in respect and expressed their thanks to Charlie and Janis for the feast, praising the preparations and toasting the health and welfare of their hosts. Each interaction required a few moments of conversation, some polite exchanges, inquiries about children, families and the future. Here in the Belt everyone knew everyone else’s business. Dark or enlightened, there were no secrets; so manners, formality, ritual and pretense substituted for the protection of privacy. It was a system that had worked well in ancient Japan and China for centuries and had found a new life in the Belt. Janis was so busy talking, accepting congratulations and well wishes she barely had time to worry about the kitchen work, but it nagged at her. In spite of being the guest of honor and officially excused from labor, she couldn’t let go of the work that had be to be done. In between the rouged faces of the women, thrusting themselves forward, kissing her on the cheeks and remarking on her loveliness, she thought about mundane tasks like washing and chopping vegetables or the small fruits from the hydroponic tanks. She ignored the leering stares of the single men and the cooing and chattering of their escorts, remaining focused on what she should be doing instead of relaxing. Janis was a professional cook. Not just a cook, but perhaps the most famous cook in the Belt. Food and fine dining was her life; her fame and likeness were ubiquitous throughout the fragmented colonies called the Belt. She had tweaked and teased flavor from spoiled, freeze dried food that had made the year long trip from Earth. She had brought magic to the fungus and lichens that grew in the vacuum of space, clinging desperately to the rocks that twisted and spun in orbit between Mars and Jupiter. She had even managed to tweak delicate aromas and savory flavors from the digitized pseudo-foods churned out by the synthesizers, yet on this most important feast of feasts she was stranded in the dining room, a spectator, not an architect. It was making her crazy, exacerbated only by Charlie’s’ laughs, snorts and guffaws as he sucked down glasses of wine as the guests paraded by, offering their congratulations, best wishes and enduring affection. The attention was flattering, true, much appreciated, and certainly appropriate given the holiday, but still she felt he could take it all a bit more seriously! Fuming inside, Janis continued putting on a good public face as the holiday spirit required. A quick glance at the clock brought her a new wave of angst. The main course would have to be in the oven soon! There was no time to waste. Moments later the Sergeant of Arms appeared at Charlie’ shoulder and whispered something in his ear. She knew it was the formal request for his help, and now finally time to get to the real work of preparing the main course. Charlie nodded, swilled down a final glass of wine and stood. Waving and smiling he walked to his dressing room, swaying and stumbling as he went, supported by the Sergeant at Arms. Janis stood, knowing she would be called to duty once again, and only a second later her personal assistant appeared, touching Janis gently on the elbow. Gathering her skirts around her, Janis smiled and nodded at the assembled guests, allowing herself to be escorted from the banquet room at last. As she moved away from the head table, assistants were wheeling into place the thrones of honor Charlie and Janis would occupy as they presided over the main course. A moment later she was in her private dressing room and attendants swarmed around her, helping her undress. When she was nude the attendants stepped back and bowed their heads in respect, parting to admit a shriveled old woman into the room. It was Morag, the high Priestess, there to deliver the blessing before the real work of preparation began. Morag, a woman Janis had worked with so many times before over the years was a legend to most people, but to Janis an old friend. Janis knelt as Morag placed her hands on Janis’ head and mumbled under her breathe the sacred blessing. Even after all these years Janis couldn’t make out the words. Only when Morag’s reedy dry voice whispered “Arise” could Janis understand what she had said. Janis stared into Morag’s pale blue eyes. She saw great love there. “Morag, once again we are here to prepare the feast.” A smile broke across Morag’s craggy face, “Yes, once again.” Janis had always worked in the kitchen. This was her first time in the preparation room, and she didn’t know what to expect. “What should I be doing?” The smile extended, and Morag pointed to a large cushioned chair. “For the time being, we wait. Relax and sit,” gesturing at the chair. Janis nodded and repeated the ritual response required when one was invited to sit in the presence of a High Priest or Priestess, “May my comfort bring you comfort.” With great humility she walked to the chair and sat, settling into the cushions and relaxing. Morag smiled and stepped in front of Janis, caressing her face and pulling strands of stray hair from her face. “Janis, you are so beautiful tonight.” Janis blushed and bowed her head, what a wonderful compliment from the High Priestess. Behind her she heard the noises of the kitchen again, voices were raised, and the activity seemed to pick up. Looking up at Morag she asked, “What is happening? Are they ready for me?” Morag continued stroking her face. “No child, not yet. I believe Charlie has just arrived.” Janis squirmed in her seat. There was so much to do, so little time. The feast would begin in an hour and Charlie was wasting time no doubt. “Janis.” Morag spoke her name with soft affection, plucking Janis’ attention from the thoughts of the kitchen work and focusing it instead on Morag’s smiling face. “Relax, everything will be fine.” Morag raised her hands to cradle Janis’s head, cupping her hands at Janis’s jaw, just below her ears. Comforted, Janis smiled and tilted her head slightly, raising her right hand to cup Morag’s. Behind her, a circular blade whispered from its concealed compartment, severing Janis’ head in an instant. Separated from her torso it fell freely into Morag’s hands. The attendants sprang to action, picking up the twitching torso pumping blood from the stump of the neck and placing it on a stainless steel table to be wheeled into the kitchen. One attendant stood by Morag, opening the door to a small chamber in the wall. Inside was Charlie’s head, jaw chattering, eyes fluttering, trying to focus in spite of the blood draining slowly out of his flesh, puddling beneath the stump of his neck. Janis felt her life ebbing away as well as her head was placed to face Charlie’s. In the rooms behind them, their clothes were being sewn onto torso dummies. For the feast, their heads would be bathed, colored with makeup and placed on the dummies to watch in silent composure as their flesh was consumed by the guests. In a world with limited protein sources, today would be a treat for all except the guests of honor. Janis kept her eyes focused on Charlie, her anchor in these last moments. His lips had stopped moving, his pupils dilated and fixed; as fixed as the smile on his face. “Men.” Even in this most solemn of moments, he couldn’t take anything seriously.