machine, but Basil won’t give it to me. “Come on,” I plead. “Please.”
He relents and hands it over. I do what he did, slowly scanning the QR code, then I close my eyes and wait while the smell is released. “Oh my god,” I moan. “It’s sort of salty, like the Simu-Sea at One World, Vacation World,” I say. “And smoky, maybe? Like it’s been over a fire.” I pull in a deep breath. “And there’s citrus and HoloGrass. And something else.” I sniff again, uncertain. “I don’t know how to say it, but it makes me think of my grandma’s hug. Like the smell of her warm neck when I’m sad.”
I open my eyes and see Basil watching me with a broad smile, which changes his face entirely. Instead of a heavy furrowed brow and brooding eyes under those dark curls, his eyes are wide and sparkling, and his smile flashes. A new feeling ripples deep in my stomach. Like going over a hill too fast in my Smaurto. I squirm a little.
“Want to smell something even better?” he asks, and I nod eagerly as he flips the pages. “This is called a chocolate brownie.” He passes the scanner over the code under a photo of a flattish brown rectangle.
I close my eyes and inhale. “Oh my god,” I say and move my face closer to the machine.
“I know,” he says.
I get even closer, pulling in the amazing smell, trying to find a way to describe what’s happening in my nose, my mouth, the pit of my stomach, but I have no words. No way to categorize it except to say that I want more. It starts to fade, and I shoot forward, wanting every last remnant of the scent. I lean closer and closer until Basil and I bump heads. We both fall back, rubbing our foreheads and laughing nervously. He reaches out and touches my scalp.
“You okay?”
His touch makes all the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, biting my lip. “I’m okay. You?”
He takes his hand away and his fingers seem to tremble. “I’m fine.”
“That was incredible,” I say. “What was it called again?”
“A brownie. It was made with chocolate.”
“My grandmother told me about chocolate!” I say excitedly. “She said it was like nothing else.”
“Everything I’ve ever smelled with chocolate in it has been mind-blowing.”
I turn the little machine over to study how it might work. “Where did you get this thing?”
“I made it,” he says.
My mouth drops open. “You made it?” He nods. “How?”
“You really want to know?”
I nod eagerly.
Basil gets up and opens the door to one of the stainless steel cabinets mounted to the wall. Inside are hundreds of small upside-down brown bottles, stacked ten high and held in place by metal clamps. Tubes run from each bottle to a series of larger hoses, which all connect to the coil snaking out the bottom of the cabinet to the device on the table. “I think this was a food lab,” he tells me. “All of these bottles contain aroma compounds and flavorants that they used to create different smells and tastes.”
I stand beside him to get a better look at the labels on each bottle: diacetyl, benzaldehyde, limonene, ethylvanillin, ethyl maltol. “But how do you know which ones smell like what?”
“I found something called the SuperScent database at the Relics, which tells me exactly how much of each compound to use to create a specific scent, like chocolate. Then I collected all these old cook books with recipes and pictures of food, and I built this scanner and…”
“Oh I get it!” I say, holding the scanner in my palm. “You made a QR code for each picture, which tells the machine how much of each compound to release into the tube.…”
“Exactly!” he says. “So I just run the scanner over the code, and the machine mixes up the smell.”
“This is amazing!”
“Not really. Most of the smells probably aren’t right. I have to guess a lot.”
“Basil. I’m serious. This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. People would flock to
He relents and hands it over. I do what he did, slowly scanning the QR code, then I close my eyes and wait while the smell is released. “Oh my god,” I moan. “It’s sort of salty, like the Simu-Sea at One World, Vacation World,” I say. “And smoky, maybe? Like it’s been over a fire.” I pull in a deep breath. “And there’s citrus and HoloGrass. And something else.” I sniff again, uncertain. “I don’t know how to say it, but it makes me think of my grandma’s hug. Like the smell of her warm neck when I’m sad.”
I open my eyes and see Basil watching me with a broad smile, which changes his face entirely. Instead of a heavy furrowed brow and brooding eyes under those dark curls, his eyes are wide and sparkling, and his smile flashes. A new feeling ripples deep in my stomach. Like going over a hill too fast in my Smaurto. I squirm a little.
“Want to smell something even better?” he asks, and I nod eagerly as he flips the pages. “This is called a chocolate brownie.” He passes the scanner over the code under a photo of a flattish brown rectangle.
I close my eyes and inhale. “Oh my god,” I say and move my face closer to the machine.
“I know,” he says.
I get even closer, pulling in the amazing smell, trying to find a way to describe what’s happening in my nose, my mouth, the pit of my stomach, but I have no words. No way to categorize it except to say that I want more. It starts to fade, and I shoot forward, wanting every last remnant of the scent. I lean closer and closer until Basil and I bump heads. We both fall back, rubbing our foreheads and laughing nervously. He reaches out and touches my scalp.
“You okay?”
His touch makes all the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, biting my lip. “I’m okay. You?”
He takes his hand away and his fingers seem to tremble. “I’m fine.”
“That was incredible,” I say. “What was it called again?”
“A brownie. It was made with chocolate.”
“My grandmother told me about chocolate!” I say excitedly. “She said it was like nothing else.”
“Everything I’ve ever smelled with chocolate in it has been mind-blowing.”
I turn the little machine over to study how it might work. “Where did you get this thing?”
“I made it,” he says.
My mouth drops open. “You made it?” He nods. “How?”
“You really want to know?”
I nod eagerly.
Basil gets up and opens the door to one of the stainless steel cabinets mounted to the wall. Inside are hundreds of small upside-down brown bottles, stacked ten high and held in place by metal clamps. Tubes run from each bottle to a series of larger hoses, which all connect to the coil snaking out the bottom of the cabinet to the device on the table. “I think this was a food lab,” he tells me. “All of these bottles contain aroma compounds and flavorants that they used to create different smells and tastes.”
I stand beside him to get a better look at the labels on each bottle: diacetyl, benzaldehyde, limonene, ethylvanillin, ethyl maltol. “But how do you know which ones smell like what?”
“I found something called the SuperScent database at the Relics, which tells me exactly how much of each compound to use to create a specific scent, like chocolate. Then I collected all these old cook books with recipes and pictures of food, and I built this scanner and…”
“Oh I get it!” I say, holding the scanner in my palm. “You made a QR code for each picture, which tells the machine how much of each compound to release into the tube.…”
“Exactly!” he says. “So I just run the scanner over the code, and the machine mixes up the smell.”
“This is amazing!”
“Not really. Most of the smells probably aren’t right. I have to guess a lot.”
“Basil. I’m serious. This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. People would flock to
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