Nutrient Squares

The sign was pulsating and bio-luminescent. It shifted from a queasy chartreuse to a bilious puce. The sign proclaimed “G’larg’s Galactic Goods: If It Exists, We Might Stock It (Probably).” Anish Kulbor was still reeling from the unexpected side-effects of the Xylar Xylo-Swill he’d sampled. More accurately, he had been forcibly introduced to it at the spaceport dive bar. He blinked. His stomach debated heatedly with his inner ear over the merits of zero-gravity. It gurgled in reluctant agreement.

He pushed open the sliding doors. They responded with a low, mournful wheeze. It was like a sentient airlock in a state of profound existential dread. Inside, the market was a sensory overload. It contained a dizzying blend of fermented nebula gas and crystallized joy-extract. There was also something that smelled suspiciously like burnt circuits and regret.

“Right,” Anish muttered. He consulted his Universal Translator. It was currently translating a nearby display of sentient root vegetables into a series of increasingly frantic apologies. “Food. Just… food.”

He navigated aisles that twisted and turned like a quantum entanglement. He moved past shelves crammed with pulsating, iridescent fruits. Jars of what appeared to be pickled temporal anomalies lined the shelves. A small creature with many eyes had a startling number of prehensile digits. It was trying to pay for a bag of wriggling, bioluminescent grubs. The currency it used looked suspiciously like polished space gravel.

“Excuse me,” Anish ventured, approaching a tall, spindly being with a head shaped like a polished chrome samovar. “Where would I find… you know… something edible? Something… Earth-analogue?”

The samovar-headed being looked at Anish with an expression of profound pity. Anish’s translator identified the being as a G’largian clerk named Zorg. “Earth-analogue? Ah, you mean… solid sustenance. You poor, deprived entity.” Zorg pointed a long, articulated finger towards a dimly lit corner. “Aisle 7. ‘Terrestrial-ish Consumables’. We keep it stocked for the… less adventurous palates.”

Aisle 7 was, predictably, a cosmic joke. It consisted of a single shelf. It contained a dusty packet of “Dehydrated Nutrient Cubes (Mildly Beige).” There was also a jar of something labelled “Universal Gravy (May Contain Sentient Particles).”

“This is it?” Anish asked, his voice betraying a hint of cosmic despair.

“It is what your species appears to tolerate,” Zorg replied, with the detached air of a galactic archivist discussing a particularly dull database entry. “Though, I must say, the ‘Mildly Beige’ cubes are rather… mundane. Have you considered our fermented spore sludge? It’s quite the delicacy on G’larg 5.”

Anish shuddered. “No, thank you. I think I’ll stick with… well, I’m not sure what I’ll stick with, but definitely not fermented spore sludge.”

He picked up the packet of nutrient cubes. He turned it over and read the ingredients. They included processed stellar dust and artificial flavouring. The flavouring was vaguely reminiscent of soup. There were also trace elements of cosmic boredom.

“Perfect,” Anish sighed. “Just what I needed.”

As he approached the checkout, a loud, squelching announcement echoed through the store. “Attention shoppers! We are now offering a special on our ‘Sentient Kefir’! It sings you the history of the multiverse while it digests! Buy three, and receive a free pack of ‘Emotionally Responsive Spoons’!”

Anish paid for his nutrient cubes and fled, the mournful wheeze of the sliding doors echoing behind him. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge. He wanted to find a nice, quiet planet. Preferably, he sought one with a good bar and a decent sandwich. However, he suspected that the chances of finding such a place in this corner of the galaxy were extremely low. It was as unlikely as finding a sensible pair of socks on a sentient quasar.