"...What is this place? A warehouse?"
The moment I stepped into the Citizens Supermarket in the colony’s residential district, I couldn't help but mutter under my breath.
It was nothing like any supermarket I’d ever known.
The Produce Corner, which should have been right by the entrance with its vibrant display of fruits and vegetables, was missing. The Fresh Fish Corner, with its catch of the day laid out on beds of ice, was nowhere to be found. Even the Meat Corner, usually bathed in that familiar red lighting, didn't exist.
All I saw were rows of sterile, gray steel shelves, stacked with box after box after box, all perfectly aligned.
The air didn’t smell like food. Instead, it carried the faint, clinical scent of packaging materials and disinfectant.
"It’s quite rational," Lucia said, sounding genuinely impressed.
"Temperature control, humidity control, and above all, 'loading efficiency.' Everything has been optimized for interstellar transport and long-term storage. Round fruits and irregular vegetables are inefficient shapes; they only create wasted space inside containers."
"...Not exactly the stuff of dreams, is it?"
I let out a heavy sigh and began pushing my cart forward.
The shelves were filled with dried foods packed into square cases of various sizes. There was Tau Ceti System Dried Beans Block and No. 6 Agricultural Plant Compressed Dry Vegetables (Mixed).
Every single item was compressed into a cube and vacuum-sealed until it was rock hard. It looked less like a grocery store and more like a building materials trade show. The Proxima Centauri Reconstitution Dry Mushroom didn't even look like food anymore; it looked like chunks of a corkboard.
"...Hm? Is this candy?"
My eyes were drawn to a section where the packaging was slightly more colorful.
Asteroid Belt Hydroponics High-Sugar Content Dried Fruit (Cube).
Even the fruit is square, I thought, exasperated. Still, I was a sucker for sweets. Next to it were Outer Rim Root Chips (Salted). Those looked like they’d go well with a drink.
"Well, I guess they have some treats."
I looked over the options with interest and tossed a few into the cart. They seemed much better for my mental health than the rock-hard Deep Space Seaweed Plate or the Synthetic Quinoa Brick, which was just grain compressed into the shape of a literal brick.
And then I reached the section that occupied more than half of the supermarket’s floor space.
"...Are all of these cartridges for a Food Printer?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief.
Metallic cylindrical canisters were lined up in massive rows across the entire wall. The packages were labeled with large letters indicating the nutrients they contained.
The largest canisters were labeled Type-A (Carbohydrate Base). I assumed that was the base for all staple foods. Next to them were Type-B (Protein Base), Type-C (Lipid Base), and even Type-F (Dietary Fiber Filler).
"Look at this, Lucia. Look at the way they’re stocked."
I pointed at the mountain of Type-A canisters.
"The A-type is stacked twice as high as the others. It’s like the 'black ink' of the food world."
"Black ink? ...I don't quite follow your meaning, Master, but since carbohydrates are the most vital source of calories for life support, it is a logical conclusion that their consumption would be significantly higher."
Next to the brand-name canisters, they even sold Compatible Cartridges that were about thirty percent cheaper than the official ones. They even carried the usual warning: The use of non-genuine cartridges will void the printer’s warranty.
I didn't even want to contemplate the risks of using "off-brand ink" for things I was going to put in my body, but I imagine many struggling families don't have a choice.
"...The dream I'm looking for definitely isn't here."
I hurried past the "ink" section and headed for the Instant Food Corner at the back.
This was the main event. This area was for those too poor to own a printer, single people looking for a quick fix, or those looking for specialty luxury items.
Here, too, the dried foods and retort pouches were arranged with military precision. You either added hot water, shoved them into a microwave-like heater, or just tore the bag open and ate. The entire lineup was designed to eliminate effort entirely.
"...Huh."
I scanned the shelves and felt a small wave of relief. Until I’d arrived here, I was worried I’d have to survive on the toxic stews of the slums or those flavorless clay cubes. Apparently, that wasn't the case. In a "proper" establishment, there were things that could at least be classified as meals. Perhaps my first impression of this world’s food had just been skewed by the worst-case scenario.
I started browsing from one end of the shelf to the other.
First up was the pasta. Mogumogu Foods Galactic Pasta (Neapolitan-style). Naming sense aside, I could see the pre-boiled noodles drowning in a tomato-colored paste inside the clear pouch. It probably had nothing to do with being al dente.
Next to it was the Manpuku Corporation Instant Risotto Cube. The description claimed it "expands ten times its size when hot water is added." That was a rate of expansion that made me question the laws of physics. Was it called "Manpuku" (Full Stomach) because it literally inflated inside your gut to make you feel full? If so, that was borderline malicious.
There were meat dishes too, after a fashion. Gattsuri Dynamics Vacuum-Packed Hamburger Steak. It was a flat disk about five millimeters thick. To me, it looked like a frisbee or a drink coaster, but I suppose this was what passed for a Salisbury steak here.
"Whoa, what’s this? Buono Systems Pizza in a Tube... You suck the pizza out? If an Italian saw this, they’d have a stroke and declare war."
The insanity continued. There was Kachikochi Bakery High-Compression Bread (Block Type), which was hard enough to be used as a blunt-force weapon, and Ajidzukuri Lab Powdered Steak Sauce Flavored Soup, which boasted that it reproduced the flavor of meat juices without containing any actual meat.
The Puripuri Chemical Dried Synthetic Shrimp contained zero crustaceans, and the Yaminabe Industry Stew Canned Food listed its ingredients simply as "contains meats," which felt like the start of a horror movie.
Every package was inorganic, devoid of any "sizzle" or appetite appeal. The photos were tiny, while the nutritional facts were printed in a font that was aggressively large.
Still, there might be a winner hidden among the junk.
"Alright... One of everything, from here to here."
I started sweeping items into my cart, one after another, moving from one end of the aisle to the other. I didn't know what half of them were, but I didn't care.
"Master, you’re wasting money again... The sodium content in that Buono Systems Pizza in a Tube is well beyond recommended daily limits."
"It’s an investment. I’m going to find the ones that are actually edible. Once I find a winner, I’ll come back and buy them by the case."
This was the modest "nouveau riche" indulgence of a man with nearly three million credits to his name.
Just as my cart was reaching its limit, I stopped. On the very bottom shelf, tucked away and covered in a thin layer of dust, one package caught my eye.
Oriental Flavor Co. Space Curry (with Rice).
"...Curry."
My mouth watered at the mere sound of the word. Curry—the miracle spice dish of humanity. As a certain great teacher once said: "Curry is delicious regardless of how it's served." No matter how much the world changed, as long as the concept of curry existed, there was hope.
"...However."
I picked up the package and frowned. The photo showed a thick brown roux served next to a mound of white rice. At a glance, it looked like a standard curry. But the texture of the rice in the photo was strangely smooth and featureless. There were no outlines of individual grains; it looked like a block of white tofu or a chunk of an eraser. And the label said "with Rice" rather than "Cooked Rice."
Was it a retort pouch? Dried rice? Or something else entirely?
"...I have a bad feeling about this. But curry is curry. As long as the roux is decent, I should be able to make it work."
With a feeling akin to a prayer, I placed the Space Curry into my basket. I chose to believe that among this mountain of "future space food," there had to be at least one thing that could comfort my soul.
"Let’s head back, Lucia. The work on the sink should be about finished by now."
"Yes, Master. I shall have a drone transport the bags."
Pushing the overflowing cart, we headed toward the automatic checkout gate. It was a soulless but efficient system that instantly deducted the total from my ID the moment I passed through.
Was this mountain of goods a pile of hope, or just a stockpile of despair? I’d find out the moment I got back to the ship and added hot water.