Eagle X, Mission 21: CTRL

Part 18: Liam

Dr. Leasia handed him a tray and Liam scooped on a large helping of hash. Passing it down the line, one of the scientists adds a green cube of vitamins C and K. Hitman threw on a thin slab of grilled protein and handed the finished product to Blockade. The big man, draped in a sky blue top and white bell-bottom pants, leaned down and presented the finished product to a little round-faced girl who reminded Liam of the thousands of hungry urchins living in the bowels of the gridports. Those unfortunate mouths were the product of a system that made it almost too easy for a reluctant parent to exit a ship accompanied by a minor and board another alone, leaving the child to the responsibility of the station's authorities.

This one's parents weren't unscrupulous deadbeats, just unfortunate researchers too slow to escape before the hortisk pirates took over their facility. The possibility of the parents avoiding the cookpot was slim to none. The haunted look on the kid's face said she understood the gravity of her situation. It mirrored scores of similar looks worn by the researchers.

Dr. Leasia handed Liam the next tray and the next. The ship's crew and the Corgis Adar Tech refugees formed a chow line that stretched the length of the freighter's cafeteria and out the main door. The humming of the ship matched the somber feeling throughout the space. Thanks to the increased ship population, food was being rationed. Not that The Song Brothers lacked the supplies. The smugglers merely wanted to ensure the used stock would be recorded, itemized, and billed.

Pornim and Pi also put the scientist to work, having them staff the kitchen and the infirmary. Desperate, the doctor and her people were in no position to complain.

A handful did exactly that as they labored over hot stoves and chopped away at seemingly endless food prep. Not Dr. Leasia though. She worked dutifully on the chow line barely uttering a word during the previous hour.

"This isn't my first time on kitchen duty," Liam said, supplying mash for the next tray and passing it along. "Had a sergeant who loved to banish you to the kitchen when you got on his bad side."

The scientist beside him, a man with a prominent gut, scoffed.

"Better that than push ups and laps."

"That's what everyone always said, but they didn't know the cook. The man was a wiz with flavors, but he absolutely hated people. He'd rap you across the fingers with an antique wooden ladle for talking, laughing, moving too slow. I secretly believe he spent more time looking for an excuse to smash a finger than he did studying his dishes."

"Didn't people get fed up and strike back?" The scientist quickly cut the last row of vitamin gelatin into even blocks.

"Not many. Not only was he an officer, but anyone on his shit list was guaranteed protein paste sandwiches for every meal."

"That sounds horrible," Dr. Leasia said, finally joining the conversation.

"It was," Liam agreed. "But I learned how to make a few good dishes and, more importantly, I learned that even a low-stress task could be turned into a punishment."

"Do you think this is a punishment?" she asked, giving him a sidelong look.

"Actually, no. We're feeding your people and our fingers are still intact."

"At least there's that," chuckled the guy to Liam left.

The doctor studied Liam for a time. Smiling, he continued to serve food.

"The Songs didn't insist you work in the kitchen. Why give up your free time?"

"I had nothing else on my plate. Plus, who can deny a bit of nostalgia?"

"Or deny a chance to interrogate me," the doctor said. Her voice was calm and collected, and she seemed more intrigued than anything else.

"It isn't everyday you get to pick the brain of a geneticist." Liam smirked and stirred the mash before putting a ladleful on the next tray.