by M. D. Cooper
“Oh yeah?” Misha arched a brow. “How long ago was that?”
“Nonayabusiness ago,” Jessica replied with that intoxicating smirk of hers. “I bet the crew is famished…been a long day. With you aboard there are seven of us, but Trevor eats for three, so make a big spread. I’ll let everyone know that dinner is in an hour.”
“A what?” Misha sputtered. “I don’t even know where anything is!”
“OK, hour and a half, but there’s no way I can hold the horde off longer than that.”
With that, Jessica walked out of the galley, leaving Misha to stare at the long counter and the food storage units, wondering what he had to work with.
It was true he had sold baked goods on Hermes Station, and it was also true he’d bought those pastries rather than cook them himself—intelligence gathering and rising dough did not work on one another’s timelines.
That being said, Misha could put together a few things, provided they had the right ingredients.
Sabrina furnished several images of meals the crew had eaten in recent weeks and Misha saw that they liked hearty food, and didn’t worry about overly sophisticated dishes.
Meat, veg, oat bread, fruit for desert. He could do that.
COOKING FOR THE CREW
STELLAR DATE: 09.03.8938 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Hermes Station
REGION: Naga System, Orion Freedom Alliance Space
“Where the hell is the salt?” Misha muttered. “Why are the labels torn off half these spices…. Sabrina, any help here?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?”
He pulled out the third spice crusher containing a mostly white substance and turned the crank, dropping a few granules on the back of his hand. A quick touch of his tongue and he sighed. “Finally.”
The pot of water sat on the stove, and he added the salt before dropping in the potatoes.
“Set that to boil. Now for the carrots,” he said as he rummaged through the drawers, looking for a peeler. “Aha!” he shouted out when he found it.
At the same time a cry sounded from behind him. “What are you doing in here? Where is your hazsuit?”
Misha turned to see Nance standing in the entrance to the galley, her face a mask of horror—that was until she pulled her hazsuit’s helmet on and covered it up.
“What do you mean?” Misha asked. “Jessica told me to make dinner. I’m working on potatoes and carrots. Do you not like potatoes?”
“I don’t get it,” Misha said. “I thought I passed muster when you brought me aboard.”
Misha could tell there would be no mollifying Nance. “So, what do we need to do?”
Nance replied.
“Mind if I take the potatoes off the burner?” Misha asked with a wink, knowing the question would push Nance’s buttons.
“Well, if I leave them there, it’s going to boil over. What if I’m free and clear and the dinner gets ruined? I’m told that everyone is very hungry.”
“Then what should I do?” Misha asked.
Nance made a very realistic sound of raw aggravation over the Link before waving her hand in the air.
Misha turned the burner off and set the pot to another one before following Nance out into the corridor. She led him to the ladder shaft at the end of the passageway, and slid down it to the cargo deck.
Once down, she led him through a few passages while he watched with great pleasure as her ass-cheeks rose and fell, pushing against her tight hazsuit.
Sabrina sent Misha a smile.
Misha shook his head.
“OK, in here,” Nance said as they reached the entrance to a darkened room.
Misha wondered what might lurk within, but when he stepped over the threshold, lights came on, revealing an extensive medical bay. Yet another very strange thing for a ship like this—though he didn’t even know what this ship did anymore, so who knew what normal should be?
“Why does the way you say that put more than just a little fear in me?” Misha asked as he sat on the bed.
“Uh, sorry,” Misha said as he slid his shoes off and then lay down on the bed.
Once he was still, a field snapped into place over him, and a scanning arch slid along the bed, running down his body.
“What are you looking for?” he asked. “What can you find here that the airlock can’t?”
“So, am I human?” Misha asked.
Nance nodded absently.
“What do you mean, ‘mostly’?” Misha asked. “That’s not a very nice offhand comment to make!”
Nance gave Misha a mollifying wave, but didn’t look over at him, more interested in the scans of his insides.
“But different types of cats, like lions and tigers, can have offspring. How is it that humans can’t?”
Nance said.
“So, am I diverged?” Misha asked.
“I what? I don’t even know what that is.”
“What does it mean?” Misha said. “Am I gonna die from it?”
“Sabrina! Stop it. You’re kidding, right? Stars, I hate this ship.”
“What? How?” Misha asked.
“Uh…isn’t that a bit unethical?” Misha sked. “I didn’t give you permission to send in nano. How come my internal systems didn’t pick it up and neutralize unauthorized intruders?”
Nance glanced at Misha and shrugged.
“Huh? I always thought I was pretty standard in the nano arena.”
What is she hiding? Misha wondered. The fact that she had medical nano that his body couldn’t even detect was in and of itself somewhere on the far side of unusual, but even stranger was her trying to pass it off as normal.
Sure, Naga was on the edge of settled space, and would have been the very image of a true backwater if it wasn’t for RHY Dynamics and their development of Retyna. But that didn’t mean it was low-tech. Not only that, but Misha hailed from from the Pylar Expanse, which had been settled for a thousand years—there the tech was as good as anywhere in the OFA….
Misha kept further thoughts to himself, and after another ten minutes, Nance pronounced him clean.
“So, I didn’t have anything terribly infectious?” he asked once the shield over the bed dissipated and Nance removed her hazsuit’s mask.
“Nothing we’re not already immunized against,” Nance replied. “I cured you of seven different things that would have collectively shaved fifty years off your life, though.”
Misha gave her a sidelong look as he put his shoes back on. She was smirking, but that didn’t really clue him in as to whether or not she was telling the truth.
He was starting to think everyone on this ship was messing with him all the time.
Or they were hiding something.
Or both.
“OK, if I go back to the galley? If I get the potatoes going soon we’ll still have it mashed in time for dinner.”
“Yeah, you know the way,” Nance replied. “Just go straight there.”
“Why do you need to do that?” Misha asked as he left the medbay. “Is there something—” and here Misha wavered his voice eerily “—mysterious that I can’t be trusted to learn?”
Misha sighed. Now even Sabrina was messing with him.
As he walked down the passageway leading to the galley, he heard a strange hissing sound and rounded the corner to see the pot of potatoes back on the burner, boiling vigorously, splashing water onto the stove’s hot surface.
“Do I have a mystery helper?” he asked Sabrina as he rushed in to lower the heat and move the pot.
Misha sighed as he drained the water from the pot and dumped the potatoes into a bowl on the counter. “Surprised he didn’t stick around to help if he wants to eat that bad.”
“Yeah, I can see how she’d be distracting.”
He let the potatoes cool while heating up a pan and searing the steaks. After doing both sides, he was opening the oven to finish them when Trevor walked into the galley.
“Damn, that smells good, Mish. Mind if I call you Mish?”
Misha looked at the mountain of a human and decided Trevor could call him whatever he wanted. “Uh sure, Trevor.”
“Great, Mish. Though back on the bridge you said you couldn’t cook.”
Misha shrugged. “I can’t really bake, but this stuff is easy. Besides, I found this cooking show in your archives. Some guy named Ramsey. He’s a bit hard to understand with the carrot he’s always chewing on, but he’s got some good advice.”
Trevor glanced at the holo of a man in khakis with a massive carrot dangling out of his mouth who was preparing a seasoning for a steak.
“Huh, that is a big carrot.”
“Something you need?” Misha asked.
“Kinda wouldn’t mind taking one of those steaks off your hands,” Trevor replied.
“I’ve only seared them. They’re still raw,” Misha cautioned.
“Seriously, Mish, that’s the best way. I prefer my beef to still have some moo in it.”
“If you get food poisoning and die, Nance will blame me,” Misha said.
Trevor looked Misha up and down before sighing. “Fine. I’ll just have some juice.”
Misha watched the big man stride across the galley, open the cooler and pull out a two-liter carton of orange juice. He tore the top open and poured the entire thing down his throat before tossing the carton into the recycler.
“Some juice, eh?” Misha asked.
Trevor chuckled. “Takes a lot to keep this bod running. Love me some orange juice. I guess that will hold me over ‘til dinner. Just don’t be late with the grub.”
Misha shook his head and turned back to his prep. There was still a salad to be made, and he started on that when a giggle sounded behind him.
“Trevor was smacking his lips; did he steal some of the meat?”
Misha turned to see Cheeky walking into the galley, stretching slowly as she approached.
“Uh…Cheeky, did you forget something?” Misha asked as he forced himself to turn back to the counter.
“Like what?” Cheeky asked as she walked closer.
“Ummm…like your clothes?” Misha asked, focusing on tearing up the lettuce leaves in his bowl.
“Oh!” Cheeky chirped. “So I did. I was playing with Finaeus a bit and I guess I forgot to get dressed again.”
Misha bit his tongue as Cheeky traced a finger down his back.
“What’s wrong, Misha? Don’t you want to check me out?”
“Stars, yes,” Misha said. “But Sabrina has all but threatened to kick me into the dark layer if I so much as look at any of you girls, so I’m just going to make this salad, and think about the dirt it grew in, or something equally unsexy.”
He grunted as Cheeky pressed her body against him and whispered in his ear, “I can be dirty, you know…”
“Ungh,” Misha grunted as Cheeky pushed him against the counter. “Oh, I can imagine, how I can imagine…. Still, Sabrina seemed serious, and I don’t want to piss her off.”
Sabrina said.
“Yeah, look at me,” Cheeky said as she slid a leg between Misha’s.
“Nope. This is a te
st. Not going to look, not gonna look. Trevor will squish me, or Nance will lock me in a cargo hold or something. All I want to do is cook some food and stay under the radar till you get somewhere where I can get off this crazy tub.”
Cheeky laughed. “You’re a good boy, Misha. I think we might just have to keep you.”
“Uh, good,” Misha said as Cheeky pulled away from him and walked out of the galley. He couldn’t help turning to watch her depart, then bit his lip as he took in the sight of her tanned and toned body slinking away.
“Stars, how do you all get anything done on this ship?” Misha asked.
Half an hour later, Misha felt like the meal was finally coming together. Most of the fixings were ready, and he was setting the table. He had set the last of the cutlery in place—metal, no less—when the captain came strolling in.
“Looking good, Misha,” he said as he took a seat on one side of the table—not the head, Misha noted.
“Thanks, Captain. Was worried I’d miss Jessica’s deadline, what with Nance pulling me down to the medbay to poke at my innards. Plus, Cheeky…”
The captain snorted. “Call me Cargo, and I’m not surprised Nance hunted you down. She went over Jessica with a fine-tooth comb too.”
“Cargo? Like the stuff in the hold?” Misha asked.
“Yeah, that’s my name. Being called ‘Captain’ wigs me out. Makes me think of someone else…I prefer my name.”
Misha shook his head as he set a bottle of red wine on the table. “OK, sure. So why did Nance go over Jessica?”
“Notice how she glows now?” Cargo asked, his tone conversational as he uncorked the wine and poured himself a glass.
“Hard not to,” Misha replied.
“Well, she got railroaded into becoming the poster girl for Retyna. So they put their fancy alien microbes in her skin to show it off. Makes her glow, as it turns out.”
Misha stopped what he was doing and slowly turned to face Cargo. “What do you mean, ‘in her skin’?”
“Just that. It’s not like Jessica has real skin anyway. She’s been sporting some artificial polymer ever since her original birthday suit got baked off by a nuke.”
