Kav'eth
Precisely thirty minutes after leaving Derek in his quarters, I return to escort him to the dining facility.
The intervening time was spent reviewing assessment protocols and attempting to calculate optimal conversation topics for shared meal experiences.
Our research files suggest that humans use meals as opportunities for "bonding" and "getting to know each other"—concepts that translate poorly into actionable diplomatic strategies.
The door slides open at my approach, revealing Derek seated on the couch, bouncing one leg in a rapid, repetitive motion that suggests nervous energy or impatience. He looks up as I enter, and I note that his posture has improved since our earlier conversation. Less panic, more... evaluation.
"Ready for our first official alien date?" he asks, standing and smoothing his clothing. "Please tell me it's more exciting than sitting in separate chairs talking about compatibility metrics."
"The dining experience has been optimized for human preferences," I inform him, gesturing toward the door. "Our nutritional specialists have prepared a meal designed to provide ideal sustenance while introducing you to Nereidan culinary traditions."
Derek follows me into the corridor, his movements carrying an excess energy that seems characteristic of his species, or perhaps of his particular physiological condition.
I notice he taps his fingers against his leg as he walks, a repetitive motion that suggests nervous energy requiring release.
"Optimized for human preferences. Right.
And how exactly did your nutritional specialists determine what my preferences are? "
"Extensive analysis of human dietary patterns, nutritional requirements, and flavor preferences," I recite from the briefing materials. "The meal will provide comprehensive nutrition while remaining palatable to human taste receptors."
"Comprehensive nutrition," Derek repeats, and there is something in his tone that suggests skepticism. "What about specific nutritional goals? Training nutrition? Macro targets?"
I pause in my walking, uncertain of his meaning. "Macro targets?"
"Macronutrients. Protein, carbohydrates, fats.
Ratios and timing based on training cycles.
" Derek stops walking entirely, turning to face me with an expression of growing alarm.
"I need one-hundred-eighty grams of protein daily, two-fifty grams of carbs timed around my workouts, forty grams of healthy fats.
Please tell me your nutritional specialists at least considered basic sports nutrition principles. "
"The meal provides optimal nutritional balance for human metabolic function," I state, though I am beginning to suspect this response will prove inadequate.
"That's not what I asked," Derek says, stopping completely in the middle of the corridor. "I asked about macronutrient content. Specific numbers. Grams of protein, carb ratios, fat content. You know, actual nutritional information."
I stare at him, realizing that my understanding of human nutritional requirements may be significantly more limited than our research indicated.
My skin flushes with uncomfortable heat as the inadequacy of our preparation becomes apparent.
"The synthesizer was programmed with comprehensive human dietary data. "
"But you don't actually know what's in the food you're serving me," Derek says slowly, his expression shifting from skepticism to something approaching disbelief. "You don't know the protein content, the carb count, whether it fits any kind of training nutrition plan."
"The nutritional content is optimized—"
"Stop saying optimized!" Derek's voice rises, echoing in the corridor. "Optimized for what? For someone who sits at a desk all day? For an endurance athlete? For someone trying to build muscle mass? For someone cutting body fat? Optimal nutrition isn't one-size-fits-all!"
I feel my bioluminescence dim with the heat of embarrassment, the glow beneath my skin flickering erratically as I struggle to maintain composure. "Our research focused on general human nutritional requirements."
"General human nutritional requirements," Derek repeats, running his hands through his hair.
"Do you have any idea how my body works?
How anyone's body works? I haven't eaten a meal without calculating macros in two years.
I time my nutrition around my training schedule.
I eat specific ratios to support specific fitness goals. "
"I was not aware that human nutrition was so... complex."
Derek stares at me for a long moment, then starts laughing, not with humor, but with what appears to be frustrated disbelief. "You kidnapped me to evaluate me as a potential life partner, but you didn't bother to research anything about how I actually live my life."
The accusation is more accurate than I care to admit. "Our research teams focused on broad compatibility indicators rather than individual lifestyle specifications."
"Broad compatibility indicators," Derek says. "Right. So you know that humans need food, but not what kind of food. You know we exercise, but not how or why. You know we form relationships, but not how they actually work."
"The assessment protocols—"
"Are completely useless if they don't account for who I actually am," Derek interrupts. "This is like trying to evaluate whether we'd be compatible roommates without knowing that one of us is nocturnal and the other gets up at 5 AM."
I find myself struggling to formulate an adequate response to this criticism. The research protocols seemed comprehensive when reviewed in abstract, but Derek's objections suggest fundamental gaps in our understanding.
"Perhaps," I say carefully, "the dining experience will provide opportunity for you to... clarify your specific requirements."
Derek looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. "You know what? Fine. Let's go see what 'optimized human nutrition' looks like. But I'm warning you—if this meal doesn't meet my basic macro needs, I'm going to be cranky for the rest of this assessment."
"Noted," I say, though I suspect crankiness may be inevitable regardless.
The dining facility has been configured according to human social dining protocols, a table for two, ambient lighting adjusted to what our research identified as "romantic" levels, and place settings that mirror Earth dining customs. The meal itself waits under warming covers, prepared according to the most sophisticated human nutritional data available to our science teams.
Derek settles into his chair, looking around the space with obvious assessment. "Very... formal. Very first-date-at-an-expensive-restaurant. Did your research teams specify romantic dining protocols too?"
"The environmental configuration was designed to facilitate bonding conversation," I explain, taking my own seat across from him. "Shared meals are identified as significant bonding opportunities in human culture."
"They can be," Derek agrees. "When both people are eating food they actually want to eat."
I activate the warming covers, revealing what the nutrition team assured me would be an ideal human meal: a protein portion that has been synthesized to approximate what humans term "chicken," a complex carbohydrate component designed to mimic their "rice," and various plant materials arranged in aesthetically pleasing configurations.
Derek examines the plate with the focused attention I might give to a diplomatic treaty. He picks up what appears to be a small piece of the protein, sniffs it with obvious skepticism, tastes it cautiously, then makes an expression as if he has consumed something mildly toxic.
"It tastes like..." he pauses, searching for words.
"Like what chicken might taste like if someone had only read a description of chicken and tried to recreate it from basic molecular components.
But also somehow less appetizing than that sounds.
" He cuts another piece, examining its texture with scientific precision.
"It's got the protein fibers, but no actual flavor complexity.
Like eating chicken-flavored cardboard."
"The protein was synthesized to match human poultry preferences," I explain. "The molecular structure should be identical to your Earth chickens."
"The molecular structure might be right, but it tastes like artificial chicken flavoring.
" Derek prods the carbohydrate component with his fork.
"And this rice... it's the right texture, but there's something off about the flavor.
And I still have no idea how much protein I'm getting or whether this fits my macro targets for today. "
"The meal provides approximately 30% protein, 45% carbohydrates, and 25% fats by caloric content," I offer, recalling the basic nutritional breakdown.
Derek looks up sharply. "Okay, that's actually helpful. How many grams of protein total? What's the total caloric content?"
I realize with growing discomfort that I do not possess this information. My bioluminescence dims further, betraying my embarrassment at this fundamental oversight. "The... precise quantities were not specified in my briefing materials."
"You don't know how many calories or grams of protein are in the meal you're serving me."
"I was informed of the percentage ratios—"
"Percentages are useless without total quantities," Derek says, setting down his fork.
"If this is a 400-calorie meal, 30% protein is about 30 grams. If it's an 800-calorie meal, that's 60 grams. For someone my size with my training schedule, that's the difference between adequate nutrition and completely inadequate nutrition. "
I feel my bioluminescence dim with embarrassment. "I was not provided with such specific metrics."
Derek sits back in his chair, studying me with an expression I cannot quite identify. "You really have no idea what you're doing, do you?"