On the Indigo Farm

No matter how you looked at this place, it was way too surreal.

Surely, the sun yet graced us with her warm, orangey light. Indeed, grass grew wildly, spreading itself on the seemingly boundless plains. True, sheep grazed the grasslands, roaming without a care. Yes, a magnificent limestone building stood on a hill, overseeing the entire estate, flanked by barns and annexes, in front of which a small café had been set up, complete with outdoor tables and advertising signages.

This place, without a doubt, was a farm. A farm specialised for tourism, even, given the existence of the café. I would not be surprised if it had space for guest rooms, ones that offer bed and breakfast, or even a full-fledged inn. I would not be surprised if it was a famous tourist destination on Earth.

…If the grass weren’t blue, the buildings weren’t pure black, and we weren’t inside a nano-cermet cube buried deep underground, that is.

“I didn’t go to the wrong coordinates, did I…” I did not.

It became apparent that the café Reina specified was on some Kexteran’s estate; someone that was bored enough constructed a place resembling an Earth-style farm and café for whatever inexplicable reason.

And somehow, I did not find it surprising.

———————————————

As I flew closer to the building, the building’s magnificence became apparent. Its odd colour aside, it was carefully decorated throughout, complemented by a small but well-designed garden. With three floors and a small clock tower, a myriad of hanging pathways and arches, the structure was of considerable size, even if it wasn’t huge.

It was certainly closer to a palace than a farmhouse, at least for an Earthling. Maybe, even a specific palace on Earth.

The café itself was neatly situated in front of a section of the garden, in front of statues of alien, or perhaps mystical creatures and flowers that I had never seen before. Just beyond a small fountain, depicting what appeared to be the Kexteran version of Jupiter, was a small plague, bearing the name of the place:

“Café Indigo. Why in English though?” I whispered to myself.

Regardless, it was not the time to think; I should not make Reina wait any longer.

——————

Within the elegantly decorated café itself, there were three persons sitting around a table already. Our adorable mushroom; an elderly Kexteran gentleman in a tuxedo and glasses; and finally, a fish in a tank.

I wasn’t joking. There was a fish in a tank, held up by some humanoid exoskeleton, casually sipping tea with a mechanical “mouth” below.

“Hmm… this is good. A slight saltiness and a hint of umami, complementing the rich flavours of the mushroom. I can see the reason why Rah’tan’s mushroom cordials are famous.” A middle-aged man’s voice came out of the universal translator. “If I could find a way to source this reliably, the profit margin would be through the roof with the human or Elven customers!”

The fish in the tank spoke, seemingly with a strange obsession of money.

“Ah, Connie! Over here!” Reina called out to me.

“Good morning, Reina. May I ask who those two are?”

“Nice to meet you, Lady Constance. I am Kante di Aqua, an ex-Merchant of Genetian origins. I look forward to doing business with you.” The humanoid exoskeleton bowed, as if it was performing a medieval greeting For some reason, he was treating like the nobles in novels and films.

“Genetia? Well, isn’t that the celebrated home world of the Genetian Corporation.” I replied, recalling the name of the galactic-spanning corporation-state that was even known on Earth, a backwater planet by galactic standards. A place, or perhaps a civilisation, the corporation is not only the conduct of commerce, but also the instrument of government; where commerce is the king, and everything else subservient.

“By ex-Merchant, I assume you are in the same situation as Reina and me?”

I took a brief break, then continued.

“Though, the position of ‘Merchant’ is actually that of an upper level manager in the Corporation, isn’t it?” I said, thinking that in Earth’s terms he would have been a governor of a Federal State; here, he would be in a higher position compared to a newbie like me.

“You are correct, Lady Constance. I am a Sage serving under Archon Indigo. My specialty is inventory counting.” Some useless detail got mixed in.

“Then you outrank me both in your past job and your current job. There’s no reason for you to speak in such a formal way. That is something I’ve only seen in films and historical records.”

With a surprised voice, Kante, the fish in the tank replied. “Forgive me, Constance. I thought that was the appropriate way to greet a human, especially a great one who has the honour to be chosen by an Archon.”

The fish in the tank showed a face I did not know a fish can show: embarrassment, along with a hint of disbelief. “But you really looked like a princess” was written all over his face.

I glared at Reina; she pretended that she didn’t notice. It must had been her who drilled the ridiculous notion that I am a noblewoman into his mind…

“That said,” Kante came back to his senses and said, “it is truly fortunate to meet you in my fleeting life. The Earth Federation market was still in its infancy when I came over two years ago, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to learn of the exotic merchandise Earth can offer before I return to the Azure Sea.”

“…Surely, it would take but a decade for the Corporation to gain a solid foothold on Earth and its colonies. At most.”

With Kexteran cybernetics, it was not uncommon for one to live for centuries.

“That might be the case for long-lived races such as humans and Kexterans, but for us, even after enhancement, a decade’s life would be considered venerable.”

…Is that so.

Without me realising it, the elderly Kexteran served me a cup of amber liquid in a well-decorated china cup. The aroma smelt like tea; tea from Earth, to be exact. Synthesised by the machine to fit my tastes — or so I thought, until I saw the dripping tea filter and loose tea leaves sitting over the counter. It was probably the real thing, I thought.

“My Lady, please have some Darjeeling tea. This one is on the house.” The elderly Kexteran said. He was still in the whole “noble” act.

“Thank you, and my sincere apologies for ignoring you for so long.” For some reason, I spoke in a pretentious way as well. “May I ask that you are?”

“My name is the Beak of the Tranquil Sea,” he said, his Kexteran name automatically translated by the universal translator, “a humble farmer who owns this Indigo Farm.”