Claire was idly and happily rubbing oil into the smooth wood of the bar, making it shine with a chocolaty-brown gleam. The evening meal service was in two more hours, and she had a pleasant feeling of lazy goodwill.

She couldn't believe how good a few weeks of relative security could feel. Yes, she'd been fairly secure on Final Say - but there had been all those alien eyes on her, wondering, questioning, and criticizing her. Sometimes scaring the hell out of her.

She dripped a few more drops of oil onto her rag and ran it along the front lip of the bar, getting into the slight groove that collected dust. She could stay here for a very long time. She had company that was almost human, she had work that was only marginally frightening, and she felt safe.

Diva and Juliet had been bugging her to come out with them to see Lower Selta. They'd cautiously begun exploring, and wanted to take her with them. Claire had declined. She enjoyed being alone when the others went out. Alone, but not lonely. Having time to herself, without the constant feeling of being watched, which she'd lived with for years, was blissful.

Juliet claimed to have found a fountain hall that Claire would love - she said it looked like Disneyland, which conveyed almost nothing to Claire except that Juliet was excited about it. Claire smiled a little. Sage understood her reluctance to walk out the door. He didn't pressure her to go, and she'd seen him tersely gesture for Juliet to stop, when he felt she'd pushed Claire too long.

He seemed to understand without asking that Claire wasn't the least bit claustrophobic or bored. She had absolutely no desire to leave the café - it was her sanctuary.

When she heard the outer door open in the kitchen, though she couldn't see it from where she was by the bar, she assumed it was Francois coming in from the passageway. Until she heard the angry Merith voices.

Claire froze. There were at least two Merith shouting in the kitchen. She could hear someone - was that Athlete's voice? - replying in a low, soothing way, but it didn't seem to be working.

Her glasses automatically began translating.

- the other human?

We will not tolerate disrespect, bruck!

I have orders. Get out of my way!

Claire dodged around to the far side of the bar and ducked underneath in a panic. The overhang would hide her from being seen from above, and she pulled a squat chair up to her face to hide her crouching body. Her hands were shaking so badly that she almost knocked the chair over, rather than pulling it toward her.

She curled into as small a ball as she could, and her eyes closed involuntarily. She should try to follow their words, but she couldn't think. She just wanted to shut out their harsh voices and hands and – and –

Claire rocked back and forth, and a buzzing filled her head.

Back and forth. When someone gently touched Claire's shoulder, she could tell it was a human hand. They felt different.

"Claire?"

"Is she alright?"

"Why is she making that noise?"

Claire realized a humming was coming out of her mouth and she abruptly swallowed, cutting off the sound. Her eyes finally opened, and she saw Sage kneeling in front of her. Behind him, she could see the curious faces of Francois and the others, peering over his shoulder.

"Who were those Merith? Are they gone?" Claire asked.

"They're gone," Francois said apologetically. "It was a misunderstanding. No danger."

Claire nodded slowly, her neck stiff. Sage grasped her elbow and helped her stand up without hitting her head on the bar.

“But they said, ‘the other human...’ I thought they must be looking for me.”

Francois telekinetically smoothed her rumpled clothes. “No, Athlete got into a slight altercation on the way home today and they wanted to continue it. It was only an annoyance, we’ve already dealt with it. But they thought he was human, you see. That’s why they said something about a human.

Claire was embarrassed. She'd completely fallen apart over the hint of a false alarm. "That's good, then..."

She felt the threat of tears in the back of her throat and fought it back, but Sage seemed to know. He put his arm around her back, and let her lean against his side while she recovered. Francois went back to the kitchen and the others diplomatically dispersed.

"I don't know what's the matter with me," Claire said, hiccupping. "I've never done this before - even when things were worse. I'm not usually... such a wimp."

Sage rubbed her hand with his thumb. "It's a typical post-traumatic stress reaction. The key word being 'post.' I've seen... I’ve read that while humans are in trauma, they can function well, with bravery and resource. It's only after that their body betrays them."

Claire nodded and wiped her eyes. "I guess. I do tend to hide though. Kitteh, my boss on the ship, told me I should learn to fight."

Athlete, who'd been rearranging chairs, nodded emphatically. "I don't know much about human psychology, like Sage, but that is always good advice."

That night, during the supper service, Francois had a surprise for his guests. He levitated out twelve tiny bowls filled with crème brûlée. It was a rich custard using the frozen egg yolks he’d received in his latest shipment. It was adjusted, of course, for each alien’s digestion.

Claire had tasted a tiny bit with her finger earlier and found it delicious. Unfortunately, her esophagus also burned like fire and the chef scolded her for trying something after he’d put in the special additives. He’d given her a shot glass full of something that tasted and felt like chalk dissolved in water, but it had soothed her raw throat.

Francois addressed the guests. “If you will be so kind as to observe the delightful smell of the delicacy in front of you,” he paused while they audibly sniffed. “And then direct your attention to your server, to see the final step of preparation.”

Now Francois brought out six small torches to caramelize the top layer of the crème brûlée. Claire picked up her torch and saw Francois turn off the heat sensor above the bar. He wasn’t supposed to be able to do that, but he’d gotten a special favor to access the sensor so that he could do this without setting it off. He always seemed to have friends where he needed them.

Claire flipped on the tiny torch and proceeded to caramelize the first dish. About twenty seconds was all it took... she spun the ramekin with her hand as Francois had shown her, getting all the edges even. The Vel in front of her gasped at the tiny open flame.

They looked up and around and Claire was sure they were wondering how Francois was allowed to do this. Seltans were very leery of open flame.

Claire smiled as she finished the first and moved to the second dessert. This wasn’t rocket science, but it was fun to have a rapt audience.

“Please don’t worry, we’ve practiced with these,” Claire said.

She finished the second dessert and flipped off the torch.

Francois smiled and as he spoke, Claire’s glasses translated:

As you will now see, the open flame has caused the sugar particles to undergo chemical change, each molecule loses an... electron (approximation) and they fuse into a new layer. The cream used in this dish is derived from an Earth animal similar to the Tergre palangonami, (a picture of a furry looking cow popped up on her glasses for a moment). The milk of this animal is high in calcium and provides the smooth texture of this traditional dessert. The robust flavor is from vanilla, an extract derived from a plant grown in the southern hemisphere of Earth.

A globe of Earth appeared on Claire’s glasses, highlighting the southern half of Earth – from the equator down.

Correction: Vanilla is derived from the vanilla bean which grows successfully on four continents.

North and South America, Australia, and Asia were now highlighted. Claire loved her glasses so much. She wouldn’t understand half of what Francois said on these nights without them.

Francois turned to Claire. “Could you please tell our guests some of the other uses of vanilla while they eat?”

Two weeks ago that would have put Claire in a cold sweat, her mind blank, but now she simply waited for her glasses to look it up.

Uses of vanilla:

Baking (i.e. cake, specialty bread, cookies)

Drinks (i.e. white hot chocolate, vanilla smoothie)

Non-cooking uses:

Potpourri

Cleaning agent, to reduce food odors

“Thanks,” Claire whispered under her breath.

You are welcome.

Francois liked it best when Claire told personal stories about food, so tonight she talked about making banana bread with her grandmother (which made the matriarchal Vel customers happy) and having vanilla ice cream smoothies while watching sports. She glanced at Athlete, remembering watching reruns of him on TV, but he didn’t notice.

After cleanup that night Claire waited until the other girls were asleep and then got her glasses out again. Talking about her grandmother made her homesick for human things.

“Show Earth,” she whispered. “More videos of Earth.”

Accessing downloaded videos. Please wait.

When the video started, Claire could tell it was another home movie. The camera was moving clumsily in a panorama shot of a police station and an older woman was talking.

“Here I am, next to Basher’s station. He graduated from the academy last month, and now he’s working here!”

There was a large parking lot with three cop cars parked by the front door. A bike rack out front held several black police bikes and an American flag waved from a tall flag pole.

The lady walked closer to the door still filming. “I asked him if I could come visit him today, and he said to come on his lunch break. I knew you would want to see it all, Karen, so I borrowed your camera.”

Just then the front door opened and Basher walked out. He looked a lot younger then; more relaxed and without the coiled tension Claire had felt in him when they met.

“I thought I saw you out here,” he said with an easy smile.

“Say hello to Karen,” she said. “I am going to send this to her. ”

Basher smiled. “She’ll be home in a month when her semester’s over. She could see it then.”

His mother ignored him. “Which car is yours?”

“None of ‘em. I’m gonna be on bike patrol for a while. If I do go out, it’ll be ride-along.”

“Well, a policeman on a bike is still a policeman. I’m so proud of you.”

Basher hugged his mom, and then said, “But can you please put that away while I show you around? They’ll give me a hard time about it already...”

The video clicked off.

The next video was dated six weeks later, and now that Claire thought about it, about six months before the Hadron explosion. It felt surreal to see this window into the world, knowing how radically everything was about to change.

The camera seemed to be mounted on something (it was very still) at the back of a huge church. A polished, wooden crucifix hung below a stained glass window. For a moment Claire wondered if this was a video of Basher’s wedding, but then she realized the pews were filled with people in black.

Several people in front of the stage moved to sit and revealed a closed, blue casket.

“Are you sure you should film this?” someone whispered off the screen.

Sniff. “I don’t know. But I already had the tripod for the wedding, and now...” A broken sob. “I don’t know. I just think Basher may need to see this again. After he’s had time for it to sink in.”

“We are here to celebrate the life of Karen Marie Hendrickson,” a priest began. “A girl who we all loved, and who we look forward to embracing in heaven.”

He gave a short eulogy, followed by a short speech from the girl’s cousin, and then Basher.

By the time he got up to speak Claire was already crying. She crept into the bathroom so she wouldn’t wake anyone up.

He didn’t say much, but Claire was amazed he could say anything. Apparently his fiancé had died a week before their wedding, as the priest had said.

When the funeral was over the video stopped.

Claire had been sobbing into a hand towel and now she used it to wipe her eyes and vigorously blow her nose. She wasn’t crying just for Basher or that girl’s family, she was crying for all the people who were about to die in the Hadron explosion. How many people at that funeral were still alive? How many loved ones had they lost in the aftermath of the explosion and the Spo purges?

“Hey Claire, are you okay?”

She jumped. Sage was knocking at the bathroom door.

“Yeah, one second.” She forced herself to breathe deeply and then washed her face before opening the door. “All done.”

Even in the dim light, apparently Sage could tell she’d been crying. “Are you alright? Did you have another nightmare?”

“No, I was only...”

What was she doing? She was watching the private videos of a man she’d barely met and grieving over everything they’d lost.

“Were you thinking of Jenelle again?”

Claire jerked. She’d told Sage the story of Jenelle in the safety of the dark last night. Somehow having him bring it up now, face to face, felt like a slap.

“No, I was homesick.”

She could tell that Sage would be happy to comfort her again, but she felt momentarily uneasy with him. Basher’s videos had reminded her where she came from and why she was here. She may not blame Sage for everything the Rik had done to humanity... but she was human and he was Rik. She felt like she’d suddenly surfaced and was sane again.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “Goodnight.”