In my previous post, I mentioned that I was hungry again. It's been a while since then, as I've been adapting to the situation and gathering my courage. However, hunger is such a force of nature that resisting it is only possible to a certain extent if there is an easy way to obtain food. And I know that there is.
So I left my den. I tried pressing the elevator call button, but apparently the machine still wasn't working. If there's no mechanic on-site, you have to call or abduct one from somewhere. And that might take time. The stone staircase didn't seem so scary anymore, so I opened the pressurized door.
And at that moment, I heard a strange clicking sound. It was as if a flock of angry scissors had rushed down the stairs. At the top of the staircase, something resembling a shoebox decorated with yellow and black warning stripes scurried down. The sound came from its silvery, cicada-like legs. In front of the box were two white spots; eyes, I assumed. It also had a tail that looked like the telescopic antenna on those old radios.
The creature was fast, so I slipped back into the corridor and tried to slam the door shut. Except that the wasp-striped creature had gotten in between. So I tried to slam the door shut a couple more times, just to be sure. The metallic clangs echoed in the hallway until I began to hear a flood of profanities. I didn't understand a single one of them, but sometimes words contain so much power that their meaning becomes clear.
The creature I forcefully, but accidentally, attacked is called Babaru. She is now lying next to my laptop, at a corner table in the far right corner of the café. Her legs are hidden somewhere under her body and eyes are closed, but the antenna is still sticking up. I have apologized to her a thousand times, and Babaru assured me that everything is fine. Her skin is made of very durable organic metal. I don't understand anything about this physiology. But hopefully it means that my attempt to harm her was unsuccessful. Although there is a clear dent in Babaru's side.
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A hand-drawn portrait of Babaru, which more or less does justice to her appearance.
Babaru is still quite a mystery to me, but she said she belongs to the noble and ancient species of Friip. They don't like being called machines, even though the word friip translates directly into every other known galactic language as "translation machine." Friips function as universal translation machines. They know all possible languages and can translate everything that is said into each listener's native language. They can do this for an entire café at once. And they can even participate in the conversation themselves.
For my relief, the café is empty of customers and there is only me and Babaru on this table. Only the regulars, who clearly spend all their time here, are present. I have seen the cook again a couple of times, and I am not ready for more now. The bartender and waiter is the same bald, burly man who greeted me when I arrived. His name is Winston. A talking cat, of the Siamese breed, sleeps at the top of her climbing tree. Babaru told me her name is Pearl. And yes, I can also have conversations with the cat, thanks to Babaru.
Looking back, I wish I hadn’t hurt Babaru. Looking forward, I wish just to sit peacefully while waiting for my plate of macaroni casserole.
Till next time.
- Johnny