“I would hardly call them our fellow men,” Lady Stanton said.
“They are human, are they not?” Mr. Foster objected.
“Given us, like the beasts of the field,” Lord Donner remarked, “for our use and stewardship. Surely an ardent evolutionist such as yourself must understand the relative ranks of all beings. The poor will always be with us, Mr. Foster. As Lord Stanton has said, they are of a lower order.”
“Though flesh of a somewhat higher order may be especially pleasing to the palate,” Lady Donner said.
Mr. Williams said, “This must be flesh of a very high order indeed, then.”
“It is of the highest, Mr. Williams. Let me assure you on that score.” Lady Donner smiled down the table at Mrs. Breen. “You have partaken of ensouled flesh at our table before, Mrs. Breen. I trust tonight’s meal is to your taste.”
“It is very good indeed, my lady,” Mrs. Breen said, looking down at her plate with regret. She would have to stop now. She had already eaten too much.
“And how would you compare it with your previous repast?”
Mrs. Breen put down her fork. “Somewhat more piquant, I think.”
“Gamy might be a better word,” Mr. Williams put in.
“As it should be,” Lady Donner said, looking squarely at Mrs. Breen. “It was taken wild.”
Mrs. Breen was quiet on the way home.
The hatbox sat on the shadowy bench beside her, intermittently visible in the fog-muted light of the passing streetlamps. Outside, a downpour churned the cobbled streets into torrents of feculent muck, but the First Day revels continued along the riverfront, fireworks blooming like iridescent flowers in the overcast sky. Mrs. Breen stared at the window, watching the rain sew intersecting threads upon the glass and thinking of her last such journey, the shattered window, the blood upon the cobbles. She wondered idly what such a debased creature’s flesh would have tasted like, and leaned into her husband’s comfortable bulk, his heat.
After the meal, the men had lingered at the table over port. In the drawing room, Lady Donner had been solicitous of Mrs. Breen’s comfort. “You must stay for a moment after the other guests have departed,” she’d said, settling her on a sofa and solemnly adjuring her to call within the week. “And you must join us in our carriage to the Ascot next month,” she said, squeezing Mrs. Breen’s hand. “I insist.”
There had been no need to open the hatbox she’d handed Mrs. Breen as the butler showed them out. It had been uncommonly heavy.
Mrs. Breen sighed, recalling her husband’s confidence in their restoration.
“This was your doing,” she said at last.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Letters,” he said. “A delicate negotiation, though one somewhat mitigated, I think, by Lady Donner’s fondness for you.”
“And you did not see fit to tell me.”
“I feared that you might object.”
Mrs. Breen wondered if she would have. She did not think so. She felt her place in the world more keenly now than she had felt it even in her era of privation, when she had striven in vain to fulfill her grandfather’s aspirations.
The carriage rocked and swayed over an uneven patch of cobblestones. Something rolled and thumped inside the hatbox, and she feared for a moment that it would overturn, spilling forth its contents. But of course there was no danger of that. It had been painstakingly secured with a sapphire blue ribbon of mulberry silk. Mrs. Breen could not help reaching out to caress the rich fabric between her thumb and forefinger.
She sighed in contentment. They would be home soon.
“I do wish that you had told me,” she said. “You would have put my mind much at ease.”
“I am sorry, darling,” Mr. Breen said.
Mrs. Breen smiled at him as the dim light of another streetlamp jolted by, and then, as darkness swept over her, she took an unheard-of liberty and let her hand fall upon his thigh. Tonight, she vowed, she would give him the heir he longed for.
How to Identify an Alien Shark
Beth Goder
Honored guests, thank you for attending this seminar on the Tucabal-Gor, colloquially known as alien sharks. I am Dr. William Smithson, the foremost expert on these xenoforms.
Ever since the infestation in the Atlantic Ocean last July, world leaders have been scrambling to assess the situation. Despite fear-mongering articles you may have read online, the alien sharks have not eaten anyone. In fact, they appear to spend most of their time criticizing our economic systems and submitting papers to academic journals. Some of them have even been published.
However, after the Twiller Incident last month, we can no longer stand idle while these aliens live in our oceans, rent free.
Today, the greatest scientific minds come together, from across disciplines, to tackle the problem.
Now, I will start the presentation. Let me just find my data stick. Excuse me. This scarf always gets in the way. Scarves are tricky things, aren’t they? There we are.
Please absorb the following information into your neural implants:
How to Identify an Alien Shark
(1) The Tucabal-Gor look like a cross between a Carcharodon carcharias (great white shark) and Alopias vulpinus (common thresher shark). Please be assured that all other species are definitely not alien sharks. Despite rumors to the contrary, the Tucabal-Gor cannot change form.
(2) Tucabal-Gor have an orange dot under their mouth parts. (We do not recommend getting close enough to check for this feature.)
(3) Many Tucabal-Gor will greet humans by saying, “Excuse me, economist.” (“Economist” is a term of honor within many Tucabal-Gor cultures.) If a shark is speaking to you, that is a sign that it is an alien.
What to Do If You Encounter an Alien Shark
Under no circumstances should you attempt to discuss economics. The sharks have a superior understanding of all economic systems. Not only have they surpassed our comprehension of macro- and microeconomics, but they’ve discovered a third branch, best translated as predator economics, which involves the cannibalization of other ideas into one super theory. They also have a sport called “sunk cost,” where economists enter an arena and conjecture to the death.
Never attempt to convince an alien shark that they are wrong about economics. We advise that anyone caught by an alien shark should simply listen to their theories. Perhaps take notes.
The Twiller Incident
Economist Carl Twiller, who clearly did not heed our warnings, took a ship out to the Walvis Ridge and discussed economic theory with a shark for twelve hours. Twiller disappeared under the water, arguing all the while, and appeared on the shore of Namibia the next day. In his back pocket, the sharks had placed a list of demands carved into seaweed.
Twiller claims that, during his underwater adventure, he saw the sharks morph into many strange creatures, including a seahorse with a tail able to grasp a writing implement.
Clearly, this is utter nonsense.
The Tucabal-Gor cannot morph into other species. The majestic shark is their natural form and cannot be altered. Not even a little bit.
Thank you for absorbing that information. Now, let us take a look at that list of demands, which includes the privatization of all Earth’s oceans, and some of the lesser bodies of water, as well as mandatory economics education for all Earth’s sentient life forms.
Who’s that in the back? Excuse me. The seminar is not over. Please do not attempt to leave.
It is my thought that perhaps we should listen to the extremely reasonable demands of the Tucabal-Gor. After all, we humans spend most of our time on land, and are hardly ever in the ocean. It’s not as if the sharks want to annex the whole planet.