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“That’s good, right?” I said. “Your species is space-faring. They can rescue us.”
Chax shook his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he said.
“Why not?”
“The bigger the empire, the more stretched out the defense resources,” he said. “And I’m only a farmer. Nobody is going to waste resources to come looking for me.”
These Titans might be more technologically advanced, but their way of thinking between the classes hadn’t changed.
“If you’re an alien, how come you’re speaking English?” I said.
“I’m not speaking English,” he said.
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, okay, then,” I said. “Speaking American.”
“I’m not speaking American either. I’m speaking Titian.”
“Then how come I can understand you?”
“Because of this.”
He pressed a hand to the plastic strip at his neck. My hand went to the identical strip on mine.
“It’s called a translator strip,” he said. “It makes it possible for different species to talk to each other.”
My stomach growled loudly.
“Are you hungry?” he said.
“No,” I said, still processing the information.
I had so many questions, so many—
My stomach growled again. Traitor.
“Are you sure?” he said. “Because when most species make that noise, it’s because they’re hungry.”
“I’m not,” I snapped. “It happens when I’m scared half to death by a half-naked man suddenly turning up in my bed in the middle of the night. People have been shot for less.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” he said.
He leaned over to the recess in the wall I noticed earlier.
“It can make whatever you want,” he said. “You just have to tell it. Computer, make a Methusida steak. Medium rare.”
The machine glowed with light and a moment later, a plate appeared with a steak and some funky-looking purple vegetables on the side.
I could even smell it. Had I lost my mind or did I just see food pop into existence from nowhere?
I reached out a hand.
“Take it,” he said. “It’s a Titan specialty.”
Instead of going for the plate, I snatched up the knife and turned it on him.
