by Pam Uphoff
Speaking too loudly. "I know I said I'd be your backup, but I really didn't expect any of them let alone all three to be expelled from that over priced boarding school! Honestly Coffee! It's high time you put some time and effort into your own children!"
All at a high volume.
"Expelled?" Coffee bent his gaze on the teenagers.
"You wouldn't even talk to us." The tall boy glowered.
"I was marooned for nearly four months. I've only been back for four days."
The youngest, a pudgy girl, stuck her lower lip out. "And you didn't bother to call us."
"I, uh . . . " Coffee trailed off. "I told you I would be Across, and might not have good comm connections. I . . . assumed everything was going all right. My email's got over six thousand new messages. You're right. I . . . ought to have called. Immediately."
Ebsa filled a plate for Dr. Itchy. "Ex-wife?"
"Ex-sister-in-law. His wife ran off with a politician, and when Coffee got huffy and asked for custody of the kids, she gave it to him. Everyone figured it was revenge, since she'd raised them to be rude spoiled little snots."
Itchy's wife Tieh nodded. "Since her new husband hasn't been able to get her pregnant, she avoids all mention of them, so as to not shame her rich catch."
"Oof! These Game Marriages are . . . "
"Brutal to the children." Tieh took her plate. "Not that we'd ever planned on having children, but we will raise her as well as we can."
"Or him" Itchy snickered.
"Whatever. We've got an appointment with the doctor here tomorrow." She shook her head. "You warned us, Paer warned us."
"And you didn't believe us. Nobody ever does, about that wine." Ebsa flipped the steaks, then grabbed another stack of plates and started filling them.
For undersized customers. A tall skinny girl. "I'm a vegetarian. Vegan."
"Excellent. I'm testing an almond milk based sauce." Ebsa loaded a plate with green beans, carrots, and broccoli, and got generous with the sauce.
Her little sister scowled at him. "I'm a carnivore."
"Ah, for you . . ."
Her eyes widened at the size of the steak.
"And . . . just in case some adult checks . . . a single braised green bean. And the sauce on the side, in case you're adventurous."
The older boy shrugged. "Whatever." He glanced toward his father and aunt, both sitting, and by their expressions, not having a cozy chat.
"Eh. Parents. Grab a separate table and ignore them." Ebsa handed him a plate.
Crowd six steaks on the grill, refill the salad bar, check the dessert buffet, flip steaks, grab a stack of plates . . . I wonder if the Directorate School has any Camp Cook trainees in need of an internship?
"I prefer my steaks well done." A man was not taking the next plate.
"No problem, wait a minute." Ebsa left one steak on the grill, and stepped away to pull plates out of the dishwasher. Eyed the stacks of dirty dishes. I need a break to deal with them.
Back out to plate the last steak and hand it to the savage . . .
A slight stir . . . he glanced over. Ambassador Ashe, with his current wife, Xaum. Two kids and two flunkies in tow. One of them the boor in the elevator.
Oy! I wasn't expecting boss types again! Is he trying to catch us at our worst or does he just like my cooking?
Ebsa ducked into the kitchenette and grabbed the top two linen tablecloths, six linen napkins and six sets of flatware. Spotted two empty tables next to each other. No sweat for the experienced . . . Whip the tablecloths across, shove the chairs out of the way, the tables together, deal out napkins and flatware, shove chairs, graciously hold a chair for the ambassador's wife, and disappear.
"One! That's bloody inconvenient." Ebsa started scraping plates and loading the dishwasher. If I do ten every time I come back here . . .
"Don't you have wait people?" The tall boy was back.
"Nah. We're field staff, we expect people to be more independent."
"Do you . . . pay waiters?"
"Right now?" Ebsa eyed him. "Yeah. Let me get a tray."
Six glasses, ice and water.
"Napkin over your arm, hold the tray with your fingers spread for stability, right hand free to serve . . . or grab the tray if it's tipsy."
And off he went.
Should have made him wash his hands!
Ebsa tossed more steaks on his little grill, fixed six salads and sent them back with the boy.
"What's your name? I'm Ebsa."
"Call me Epic. They asked about wine?"
"Umm, I think there's one in the fridge . . . I'll bring it out."
Flip steaks, load plates, a few special requests, but most of the people just grabbed the plates as fast as he loaded them . . . He left the grill bare and grabbed the Riesling. Four wine glasses.
"Fruitier than is proper for a salad, but crisp and complex." Ebsa grinned. "Also the only white on hand. I have a rather interesting red blend in stock as well."
Ashe sighed. "We'll have the white now and the red with those steaks I see you're serving."
Ebsa wielded his corkscrew, poured for the ambassador, received a nod and filled the adults’ glasses.
Then back to the grill to do something about the line that was backing up. Epic appeared to have scraped all the plates and loaded the dishwasher. Ebsa found the soap and started the machine.
Good thing the supplies I ordered six months ago were delivered here yesterday. Along with a note that it was bad form to hog a freezer box for so long.
He whittled down the line, sent Epic out with hastily defrosted rolls and butter, "Collect any salad dishes they're finished with." Then he loaded six plates and escorted them out, carrying two and taking the rest from Epic's tray.
Madam Xaum eyed the plate. "Is this what you will be preparing for the Fair?"
"I haven't settled on a menu yet. I'm testing this sauce—it's vegan, and served over vegetables would be so much more elegant than tofu for the vegetarians. "
"Indeed. Now the visual impact . . . "
Ebsa winced. "Unfortunately for a mass event, paper plates will be . . . "
"No. Just . . . no!" She pulled out a minicomp. "I was thinking something like these."
Tiny souvenir plates, with a rearing golden unicorn on white china.
"Twelve centimeters across? That's the right size, and very impressive, but between the tight time frame and the budget . . . "
Nose up. "We will not be cheap."
The ambassador looked resigned but nodded. "Souvenirs are good."
"I'll have an itemized list and projected costs for you in the morning, sir." Ebsa ignored snickers from the next table.
:: Suck up! ::
:: Shut up, Yeahza, or I'll stop feeding you. ::
Ebsa turned to find Epic coming up behind him. Napkin over the arm cradling the red wine, four goblets in hand.
The kid catches on fast!
Walking back, he eyed the kid. "Did you actually eat?"
"Yeah, real fast, to get away from my sisters. Sophie-the-Veggie and Goose-the-Predator."
"So how old are you, and what level did you get expelled from?"
"Seventeen. Senior year. My aunt says I've screwed up any hope of college, but why should I try? With so little from my dad, there's no way I can afford college."
"Huh. Yeah, I suppose his going on a multi-year dig was not very wise of him, but he probably had planned to be in touch and visit regularly."
"Oh? He sent an email and some pix once in three months. Then you all got marooned. No wonder I didn't notice any difference."
Ebsa winced. "And they're talking about three months here, just to be sure of no contamination. I wonder if we have a high school here? In fact, I think Disco has a small school. I wonder if you could get into it?" Ebsa eyed the boy. "Because 'moved to Embassy World and attended school with students from multiple worlds' sounds pretty good on a college application. And if you can't get scholarships, you might think about the Director
ate School."
"You like working for them?" the boy looked around the kitchen.
"Oh yeah. Mind you, in three months cooking ought to go back to being a hobby. Fun, but not the career I'm interested in."
"Ha!"
They looked around. Dr. Coffee grinned. "Ebsa's the hero of the Project. Now, I've managed to get a double sized squishy out where they've decided to put us for now. Let's go check it out."
Ebsa checked his wallet and slipped the kid a cash card. "Thanks. I needed the help."
Then he unloaded the dishwasher.
Three people wanting steaks, and it looked like he was done . . . Except for Ra'd walking in, talking to Ajha, Paer and Fean behind them, giggling about something.
Ebsa grinned. The perfect judges! Five emu steaks coming up!
"So, you're still the Mess Chief?" Ajha grinned as he loaded up on fresh salad greens.
"Well, someone has to feed them—of course I seem to also be feeding most of the local Directorate staff as well. I'll probably get reamed by my boss for unauthorized cooking."
"I'll . . . allocate some funds this direction." Ajha sighed. "’Subdirector of Exploration.’ I ought to have run screaming as soon as Izzo uttered those horrible words."
Ra'd snickered. "There's worse . . . maybe. Izzo said he needed to talk to someone about changing the training at the school. And admissions to the team training track especially."
"Oh." Ajha shuddered. "That's a swamp that needs draining. But it'll involve small scale politics, mass firings, and possibly real backstabbing. Hopefully not on the scale Izzo just dealt with. Poor man looks sick, when he lets it show."
Ebsa flipped his experimental steaks. Grabbed plates and loaded veggies, then the steaks. Turned off the grill. "Let's grab a table. If anyone else shows up, they're on their own."
He glanced over to where the Ambassador was lingering, apparently deep into a conversation with one of the flunkeys. The boor from the elevator was leaning back in his chair, as if disassociating himself from the conversation, or perhaps from the Ambassador's wife who was gesturing at the two teenage girls.
Ebsa plunked his plate down, and headed back to the kitchen. Six little plates with a miscellany of desserts from the pretty well cleaned out buffet, forks, on a tray, and quickly swapped for the empty dinner plates.
And that's it. They're on their own.
He flopped down between Ajha and Paer. "And my momma wonders why I don't want to run a restaurant!"
Paer snickered. "But it does get you Across, even if they think it's only to cook . . . " She twirled a forkful of emu. "Weird things. What is this? I'd almost say really really gamey wild chicken, with very red dark meat."
"It's too lean to be goose." Ajha took another bite.
"Not unlike the T-Rex. Which is related to birds." Ra'd grinned. "I hope you didn't import some Giant Rat Steaks."
Fean shook her head. "It's a lot like ostrich. The sauce is very good but . . . "
Ebsa took a bite and chewed. "Yeah, leaner than I'd expected. The almond milk sauce doesn't work. Butter and mushroom would be better. It's emu."
And someone has a listening spell on us. Probably one of the Ambassador's staff taking an opportunity to spy on a subdirector . . . Or Mister Master Chef?
"There's a Real Foods Grocery with a fantastic produce department, and the butcher's got a couple hundred kilograms of frozen emu steaks. I may see if he'll keep it frozen for me, until the cook-off. It could be a unique stand-out dish."
That got him some odd glances from friends and superior alike.
Ebsa decided to change the subject and cleared his throat. "Paer? How, umm . . . are things at the hospital?"
She heaved out a deep breath. "Lady Gisele . . . she's the Comet Fall Goddess of Health and Fertility . . . she's amazing. She says no one else is going to die and told me to stop worrying about Rye and Woofie, that it would take time, but they'd recover fully."
Ebsa swallowed, nodded. Too frightened to ask about scarring and vision.
Poured sauce on his veggies and sampled that. Yes, this will be perfect for the vegetarians. Otherwise, beef and chicken. The emu's too lean, and not traditional, anyway.
The listening spell faded and a chair behind him scraped. He didn't turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye spotted a thin man walking away.
Ajha glanced toward the man, then turned to Ra'd. "So . . . care to talk about Prophets? How many did you know?"
Ra'd snorted. "Keep in mind that I was fifteen years old at Rangpur. I don't have an adult's memory of them. Dad was away a lot, we lived in Makkah part time until my mother died when I was eleven—she was quite old—so I knew them all, but not well. My Grandfather Emre and Grandmother Elif lived long lives . . . But after Mother died, we moved to Riyadh—my step-mother is a daughter of Victor. He was the most scholarly of the Prophets . . . I stayed with them for a couple of years."
Ra'd shrugged. "I went into training at 13, and probably spent more time with my dad those two years than the thirteen previous." He looked away. "There was a break in the fighting, the war was confined to the far Northeast and Fort Rangpur just a watch post, so some of the families came out . . . and stayed too long."
Paer snickered. "And wound up here. If you think he's a bit stiff now, you ought to have seen Ra'd right after."
Ra'd snorted. "The transition from fighting a desperate losing battle to a suburban Parisian high school was not smooth. And that's after a . . . contentious . . . meeting with that hideous hive mind thing. Fortunately they, it, whatever, decided that they needed Warriors, and agreed that they would not again attempt to initiate one of us into the priesthood."
They pondered that in silence.
Ebsa finally spoke. "I suspect there's a whole lot more to that story."
"Oh yes. But no one died, or was even seriously injured. The President paid all claims and we all got pardons for miscellaneous . . . happenings."
They all looked at him.
He shrugged. "We only stole two police cars. There may have been some reckless driving involved, mental coercion to acquire plane tickets, assault on ecclesiastical guards . . . But the property damage in Makkah was their fault, not ours. We got Abbas back before they did anything unforgivable, and left."
Ebsa shook his head. "When I was fifteen, I thought I was bad ass to skip school."
He eyed the man walking toward them. The elevator guy, great.
The man stopped and elevated his nose. "The Ambassador thanks . . . " Nose and jaw dropped. He stared at Paer. Jerked his eyes away from the President's daughter. "for an outstan . . . ding . . . " He boggled at Ajha.
So did he just recognize the Subdirector of Exploration? Or more likely he saw all of Ajha’s interviews while he was a Philosopher of the One.
Then Ra'd turned and gave him a good look over. The poor guy actually paled as he recognized a millennia old Warrior.
He looked back at Ebsa. "Who the hell are you?" His voice was a little high.
"Ebsa Clostuone Montevideo. Please tell the Ambassador I was delighted to serve him and his family and flunkeys."
That got a glower. "One flunky. I'm the Ambassador's oldest child." He shrugged and his shoulders slumped a bit. "Although I suppose I'm a flunky too. Good steak. Did you know one of the Ministry cooks was sitting behind you, listening."
Ha! I was right! Ebsa snickered. "This cook-off could be quite entertaining."
That got him a wide-eyed spooked look, that swept the table before he retreated to follow the ambassadorial party out the door.
Fean had her knuckles stuffed in her mouth. "Oh, that was awesome. And being overlooked will probably be good for my ego, once I stop laughing."
Chapter Five
20 Hija 1408 yp
Paris, One World
"Does anyone have any idea what the hell the Ministry is up to, now? Or I suppose I should say, the Council."
Rael blinked at her boss's boss, Orde Withione Tarsus Ottoman, the President of the Empi
re.
Urfa's conference room was stark and bare. A desk at one end, and a table running the length of the rest. Easy to sweep for both electronic or magical listening or recording devices.
The President, on his rare visits, sat at the head of the table, not displacing his Director but rather giving in to Urfa's insistence that he sit there.
A glance around showed as much bafflement as she felt. "Umm, what is the Ministry and/or Council doing, sir?"
Urfa drummed his fingers on the table. "Ambassador Ashe challenged, first the Comet Fall Witches, and then all the other embassies to a public cooking contest.”
Rael sat up. “And how are the other polities responding?”
“It appears to be turning into a public holiday and fall festival of some sort. They're talking about cultural displays, dancing, music." Urfa snorted "He blindsided everyone, except Izzo, who thinks perhaps it has something to do with Ashe's attempt to steal a cook—Ebsa—from the Directorate."
Orde snorted. “Can’t be that simple.”
Rael snickered. "Does the ambassador know anything about Ebsa other than his cooking?"
The president's eyebrows rose. "Now that's an interesting thought. Ebsa's name hasn't been mentioned as a Warrior, so perhaps the ambassador is unaware . . . or is he hiding an effort to recruit a Warrior for the Ministry behind a grab for a talented chef?"
Idlo shook his head. "Wouldn't work, but perhaps he thinks if he keeps Ebsa around long enough, he can . . . I don't know? Show off the Ministry to advantage?"
Rael nodded. "Ashe might think that would work, a lot of people have trouble believing the field agents love the adventure."
"Don't lose track of other possibilities. The Council may have a motive, but whether it involves Comet Fall or one of the other Worlds . . . Or what they have planned . . . "
Rael drummed her fingers on the bare table. "Could it be personal? Ashe putting a bit of a spotlight on himself? We're just a year and a couple of months away from the start of the next presidential election . . . "
Orde nodded. "And Agni's damaged himself badly. The War Party nomination could be wide open next year."
