Hunger Pain

The natives are restless. So am I.

It’s closing time at the Starlight and as usual Tom is taking his sweet time picking a meal. It took me three seconds and I’m the most indecisive person I know.

Check that. Tom is way worse.

“You’re options are limited,” I say. “Why is it taking so long?”

“ _Because_ my options are limited." Tom ignores the irritated hiss from the line behind us. That takes bearings of cast iron.

“That makes no sense. You have a brain the size of the Death Star! You solve differential equations in your sleep!”

“Flattery gains nothing.”

Seconds tick by like hours. Torches and pitchforks are moments from materializing. I glance at the line of hopeful patrons. Wow, that girl is pretty. Pretty annoyed too.

“I’ll have the WD-40.” Tom grins. “Classic.”

“It took ten minutes to pick _that_?” I look at the pretty girl. “Robots. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t destroy ‘em.”

Tom’s optics darken. “Not if you wanna avoid the robot invasion.”

I think he’s joking. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.