"Do you want to super-size that?"

Estaban stared at the food machine, trying to figure out how to make it work. There were little screens with pictures of meals, some of which looked like they might even be human food. Estaban was plenty hungry, not having eaten since his spaceship suffered radical failure (exploded) down here deep towards the galactic center, in machine culture space. His standard life-pod had been swept up eventually by machine lane-patrol, and he had been deposited here in the biot rescue unit. The machines rescued biots when they could, for both practical and machine-moral reasons. (What good is all that automated production capacity with no consumers?) Whenever Estaban put a finger tip on a meal screen, all that happened was a weird sound came out of the chrome speaker box. Finally, he tried the Universal Translator program in his pocket AI. He touched a screen that had a picture that might be a torta, and his AI translated "Do you want to super-size that?"