Contravention
Though his contract specifically
forbade drugs and alcohol, most of
the night before was a blur. The band
had been really bad—then nothing.
But if he couldn’t recall using,
he could simply deny it with
a clear conscience. He inserted
the saline drip to detox residuals.
Obviously, he’d had a good time;
he hoped it had been worth it.
The aliens from Gliese 83c loved
the taste of human flesh. They were
too civilized to kill sentient beings,
but alternatives were always possible:
hospitals and outpatient surgeries
did a brisk business in trimmings,
and brokers were able to negotiate
substantial annuities in exchange
for regular harvest of organs
that could regenerate—like livers.
They’d put him to sleep every
three months, and he’d wake up
five pounds lighter, with a newly
sutured incision. Very neat. Just
like a goose, except geese didn’t
survive being made into foie gras.
Hazily, he wondered if Gliesans
had livers, and what they would
taste like. Maybe next time
he’d propose a trade.