Star Trek: The Original Series: Continuing Missions, Volume 1 by Greg Cox Dayton Ward & Christopher L. Bennett

Author:Greg Cox, Dayton Ward, & Christopher L. Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books

SEVENTEEN

The reconstituted scrambled eggs looked real enough, Pavel Chekov conceded as he studied the clump of egglike mass perched atop his eating utensil. The color and texture, so far as he could tell, approximated the real thing. On the other hand, whatever the ship’s food processors had decided this was supposed to be possessed nothing even close to the flavor he tended to associate with eggs.

Just eat, and get it over with.

“Ours is not to reason why,” Chekov muttered before shoving the eggs into his mouth and doing his best to chew while not allowing the offensive pseudo-food to contact his taste buds. As he swallowed, he grimaced while making a mental note to report the possible food synthesizer malfunction to engineering at his earliest opportunity.

“Ensign, are you all right?”

Only when he heard the question did Chekov realize that his eyes were closed. Opening them, he looked up to see Lieutenant M’Ress standing on the other side of his table. The Caitian communications officer was holding a tray identical to his own, atop which was a plate stacked with some sort of green vegetables he did not recognize. A data slate was tucked under her left arm, and her coat of orange fur gave off a sheen thanks to the recessed lighting of the officer’s mess, making Chekov wonder if she had recently finished grooming herself.

That’s a stupid thing to think, now, isn’t it?

As he started to stand, M’Ress held out a hand, smiling at him as she indicated for him to remain seated. “At ease, Mister Chekov. I noticed your expression as I was walking past. Are you ill?”

Eyeing his eggs, Chekov replied, “Not yet, but I’ll let you know.”

M’Ress laughed at the joke before gesturing to the empty chair opposite his. “May I join you?”

“By all means.” Chekov gestured toward the chair with his free hand. “Be my guest, Lieutenant.” Now self-conscious, he looked about the officer’s mess, though no one seemed to care that M’Ress was taking a seat at his table, even though there were chairs available at other tables occupied by officers of rank commensurate to hers. Watching her fluid, graceful movements even as she performed the simple act of sitting seemed only to heighten his sudden bout of anxiety. For her part, the lieutenant seemed more preoccupied with her data slate than anything or anyone else. No sooner had she sat down than she pushed her tray to one side, giving herself more room for the tablet.

“I was under the impression that humans usually consumed eggs during their breakfast meal,” M’Ress said, waving toward his plate. “You do not?”

Chekov smiled. “I do, but sometimes I also like eggs with a steak for dinner.” It was a favorite meal of his, going back to his childhood. He, along with his stomach, was happy to know that while the Enterprise food processors might not always do well preparing eggs, they made up for it with their steak choices.

The explanation seemed to satisfy M’Ress, who nodded in understanding.

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