"Soups and Sharks"

[Guest Lieutenant_JG_TParek]

"Soups and Sharks"

Lieutenant j.g. T'Parek

Personal Log

September 15, 2155

 

T'Parek entered the mess hall and walked straight to the rear of the starship's eating area. The Vulcan woman paused before pushing an out-of-the way door open and stepping inside. This challenge may be as difficult as retrieving a quantum signature...

 

"Chef, I need to speak with you."

 

A rather round, jolly-looking man turned from the ship's enormous protein resequencer and regarded the scientist with a look of bemusement and disappointment. "Is something the matter with your food, Lieutenant?" Before she could respond, he quickly added, "And if there is, I'd be happy to whip up a replacement for you." This was a man who obviously took great pride in his work, and wouldn't have denied it if T'Parek had called him on it.

 

She sighed in a very audible fashion. "Nothing is wrong with the food itself. In fact, I find your food extremely satisfactory."

 

"Then your problem is what, Lieutenant?" He was obviously confused.

 

She hesitated a moment, choosing her next words very carefully. "Not the food itself, Sir, but the selection of foods available does not 'sit well' with me. I am certain that you are aware that as a Vulcan, I have different dietary needs than those of the human members of the crew."

 

He nodded. "I'm aware of that, and I've been putting more salads out. I already told you that. And those salads are specially prepared to provide for all of your nutritional needs: You won't be having any deficiencies under my watch." He smiled kindly.

 

How do you ask an accomplished chef to dabble in areas in which he has no expertise? Aiming right for his ego, she answered her own mental question. "Perhaps you might be interested in a chance to increasine your already impressive culinary repertoire. As a trained gourmet, I assume that you have virtually no experience preparing off-world cuisine. You could very well become one of Earth's premiere exoculinary experts..."

 

Smirking, he replied. "I'm guessing that you are asking me to prepare you some Vulcan dishes. Am I correct?"

 

A flicker of surprise ran over her face before she responded. "You assume correctly."

 

"Have a recipe that you want me to work my magic on?"

 

She pulled a padd out of her left hip pocket. "As a matter of fact, I was rather hoping that you would ask me that." The jowly cook automatically began scanning the recipe. "Any approximation of the soup would be appreciated, Chef."

 

The smirk widened into a grin as he uploaded the data into his databanks. "Well, give me about thirty minutes, and we'll see what we can have for you. Go out and take a seat, and I'll bring you your supper," he stated as he handed the padd back to the Vulcan.

 

T'Parek nodded slowly. "I am in your debt. Sharal Heran," she thanked him, invoking the ancient Vulcan form for the highest level of gratitude.

 

With that, she turned and left the kitchen, striding boldly into the quickly-filling mess hall. Walking to the drink dispenser, she filled a regulation-sized mug with haltriya tea, a Vulcan favorite that had been loaded into the device not long after she came aboard the Challenger. She selected her usual table, an out-of-the-way one with an attractive view of the starfield to its left. Sipping her tea, she began studying the rest of the padd's contents, and soon became immersed in her reading.

 

"Ma'am, may I have this seat?" An unfamiliar face in an even more unfamiliar uniform stood before her. She nodded, slightly confused.

 

"Of course... crewman... crewman... ?"

 

"Pardon me, Ma'am, for not introducing myself. I am Corporal Samuel Watterston... 'Sam' for short. May I assume that you are lieutenant junior grade T'Parek?"

 

Understanding dawned. "You are a member of the Military Assault Command, I assume." She nodded, realizing her breach of etiquette in not answering the human's question. "Yes, I am Lieutenant T'Parek."

 

"Great! Then I picked the right table. Me and my buddy, Corporal Roberta Dolan, are being assigned to Science. Actually, we already were assigned, come to think of it. We're your gofers, chauffeurs, and bodyguards." He grinned widely. "I'll be pleased to bodyguard, Ma'am."

 

If looks could change the temperature of the room, the mess hall would have been at absolute zero. "That won't be necesary, Corporal. In fact, I recommend in the future that you..."

 

T'Parek was interrupted by the arrival of a second person at their table. "Mind if I cut into your schmoozin', Sam?" The Southern-accented woman cuffed the MACO sitting across from T'Parek and her tea. "Sorry about that, Lieutenant, but Sam here has a thing for Vulcan females. Something about the ears..." The MACO known as Roberta Dolan raised her hand in the traditional Vulcan gesture and T'Parek returned the symbolic hand position. "Call me Bobby, Loo-tenant." She sat and looked around."I've been on the ship for less than three days, and I've already had a nicer reception than among the last Starfleet officers I've served with. It'll sure be nice servin' here."

 

She nodded. "That they are. I am not certain what their reaction will be to military personnel, however. Humans can have a stigma about new ideas and new ways of thinking, I am obligated to mention."

 

They both shook their heads before Watterston responded. "We haven't seen it. Although we've been told that your first officer was a former MACO. Perhaps that lessened the blow to the routine of Starfleet personnel around here."

 

"A possibility. They have been - I believe that the term is 'conditioned' - to the presence of MACO's."

 

"That's exactly right, loo-tenant," Dolan assured. "Don't you be worryin' about us Military Assault Commandos. We'll be alright." She pointed to the triangular emblem on Watterston's shoulder. "That's why we have our little mako shark by us at all times. It reminds us to always be on our toes, keep our ears and eyes open, be aggressive when necessary, and to respect the food chain. Or in this case ... the good ole' chain of command."

 

Before the science officer could reply to that last comment from the newest member of the Science Department, a bowl of soup was suddenly thrust in front of her.

 

"Your plo-mik soup, m'lady."

 

T'Parek instinctively suppressed a slight smirk, but there was no mistaking the twinkle in her eye. "Thank you, Chef." She raised the oversized soup spoon to her lips and tasted it. It was the perfect temperature: Hot, but not hot enough to burn your mouth. And she hadn't tasted soup with such a perfect flavor since she was last on Vulcan several years before. "Chef, you have created a remarkable bowl of soup. My congratulations on your accomplishment."

 

The ship's cook swaggered off with a smug look on his face.

 

"What was that all about?" Watterston inquired.

 

She sighed and took another sip of the light green broth while pondering a response. "I'm sorry, Corporal, but Chef's doings are classified..."

 

=END LOG=

[eagle 0]

indeed......an excellent....repast....eh.. :rolleyes: ...and well done... B)