“I still feel like hammered shit,” he told Tristan. “I’m not sure I’m up for culinary experiments.”
“Just try it,” Tristan said. His craggy face had permanent smile lines etched into it. He was tall and lean, with unruly white hair that always looked like he had just taken off a helmet.
Aden tried to determine whether he was being set up for a practical joke—make the new guy puke his guts out after a bender, ha ha—or if Tristan was really just sharing some of his extensive knowledge of the system’s culinary cultures without bad intent. It was probably the latter, he decided. Tristan was too good-natured to play mean pranks. And even if it was an initiation ritual of sorts, Aden figured it was best to be a good sport and play along. He gamely filled up a fork, making sure to get equal amounts of egg and mush, and took his first bite.
The spiciness was a fair bit beyond his usual tolerance level. It made his tongue burn, then the roof of his mouth, then his throat. He felt his nose starting to run almost instantly. But it wasn’t just all nuclear heat. The egg yolks blended with the ingredients in the base dish into a flavor that was surprisingly complex even in its ferocious intensity.
Tristan watched with a glint in his eyes as Aden swallowed the first bite, then another. After his third bite, he had to put the fork down and tear off a piece of the table liner to wipe his nose, then another to dab the tears from his eyes.
“Well,” Aden said in a strangled-sounding voice. “You’re right about one thing. I’m not even feeling the hangover anymore.”
Tristan laughed. “It stops hurting halfway through the pan. And by the time you’re done, you’ll find yourself thinking you might want another.”
Captain Decker and Henry appeared at the door of the eatery, and Tristan gave them a lazy wave to get their attention. They walked over to Aden and Tristan’s table and sat down on the free chairs. Henry looked at Aden’s dish and said a Palladian word, approval in his voice. Aden assumed it was the native name of the dish.
“Really, Tristan?” Decker said. “His first time on Pallas One, and you’re taking him to have that for breakfast.”
“He’s doing fine,” Tristan said. “Better than I thought he would.”
“I can’t have our new linguist taking up residence in the head on the galley deck for the next two days. Or on IV fluids in the medical bay.”
“Where are the others?” Tristan asked.
“Tess has been doing an exterior hull check on the heat sink array on Zephyr since 0600. Maya is off doing Maya things, like she does.”
“Tess is doing EVA after drinking with us last night?” Aden couldn’t even fathom getting into an EVA suit right now. They were not designed to handle sudden gastric emergencies.
“She knows her limits,” Decker said and watched pointedly as he wiped his nose again. “Apparently you don’t know yours quite yet.”
“How do you like it?” Henry asked Aden.
“I think it’s pretty good. I’ll let you know for sure once the numbness on my tongue wears off.”
Henry chuckled. Decker just shook her head, but Aden could see the little smile turning up the corners of her mouth almost imperceptibly. Aden knew that she was the crew member closest to him in age—he was forty-two; she was forty-three. But she was at the top of the hierarchy aboard Zephyr, and he was all the way at the bottom, junior to even Maya, who was just about young enough to be his daughter. It had been a strange dynamic at first, but he found it liberating in a way. In the prison arcology, he had been responsible for managing the conduct and daily tasks of over a hundred people for half a decade. Here, he only had to do what he was told. He was only responsible for his own actions, his accomplishments and failures. There was a certain freedom to it. Maybe it was the only freedom that really mattered.
“We have a new contract,” Decker announced. “As soon as Tess is done with her business, we are out of here. So do your last-minute shopping now if you need to stock up on anything.”
“Off the contract board?” Tristan asked, and Decker shook her head.
“Half the stuff on the board is for runs to Hades. Most of the rest wasn’t worth our fuel or time. This one’s back-channel.”
“What’s wrong with Hades runs?” Aden asked.
“We don’t have the rating for Hades approaches,” Henry replied. “It’s so close to the sun, you need heavy shielding. Too much heat and radiation.”
“They build special freighters just for that run,” Decker added. “Hades beats up ships. Everything has to be shielded. Triple-redundant systems, special pilot certification, and it all adds to the tab. Not worth it for a hull our size.”
“So what’s the job?” Tristan asked.
“Courier run. We’re heading out to pick up some cargo and deliver it.”
“Speed or discretion?”
“We’ll go over it on the ship,” Decker said. “Take your time with breakfast. But don’t be late, or we’ll have to wait half a day for another slot. Everyone needs to be back on the ship and buckled in by 1100. If we miss our slot, whoever made us late gets to eat
