She’d done it again. Somehow despite having done all she could to memorize the route to the kitchen and still wound up lost. She had studied the map outside the auditorium, made a note of all the turns and levels found herself nowhere near the kitchens. She’d made it to the auditorium for the briefing, barely even though she’d woken up pleasantly and with no discernible side effects and as such had no excuse for being so late. Since she’d slipped in so late to the debriefing she had sat at the back and caught her breath as people introduced themselves. The room, for all that it was cast with the illusion of trees, and how cool was that, had reminded her of a lecture hall. That association made her think of her family, her scholarly family and she felt her stomach sour and it had nothing to do with the effects of stasis. She fiddled with her sleeves and tried to focus on the meeting, feeling as out of place there as she had most everywhere but a kitchen. When the others rose to introduce themselves she hadn’t stood up, they were important people, leaders and skilled workers who would be doing vital work for the ship. She was just a cook. But that was ok. They didn’t need to know who she was to appreciate her cooking.

When the tide of people had left the hall she’d left with them, smiling and greeting people as they moved and dispersed to their stations. She’d spent a moment outside the hall to study the map and then set off, confident that she’d be apron-ed and cooking in no time. But that just hadn’t worked out, had it? She’d made a wrong turn or two and wound up near a garden of some sort and had asked directions from a gentleman who was wearing a paper suit who was going from flower to flower sticking a long metal instrument into the bell-shaped flowers hanging from a trellis. Directions had been given but then curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d asked him what he was doing. Many moments later she knew more about pollination than she had before but she had lost some of the direction in the conversation and had to be re-directed by some women who were wheeling large carts of laundry down a corridor. They had gotten her a little further and had even supplied her with an apron from their stock and with smiles and promises to say hello when they were down for meal she’d taken off at a jog, certain she’d make it there in no time. Except she’d gotten distracted by the sound of singing, loud nearly discordant singing and she’d paused outside a small classroom and watched as a group of about twenty children, led by a smiling teacher sang one of her very favorite songs “C is for Cookie.” It was a short song which was fortunate and this time when she set out it was at a run. 

She’d been close at that point and in less than a minute she scents and sounds of the kitchen called to her despite the sterile air of the ship, guiding her to the one place she wanted to be just then. She skidded into the kitchen and waved in the general direction of people and then slumped forward, putting her hands on her bent thighs and gasping for breath. Boy was she out of shape. No toned, tight military body for her. Nope, just one more way she was a disappointment to her family. But it didn’t matter, what was that old saying? Never trust a skinny cook? 

As she slowly caught her breath she finally looked up and grinned a sweet, sheepish grin. She looked around and held up her apron as if it answered some question that had been asked. 

“Sorry I’m late.” She panted, her eyes falling on a pair of men. The older one was a heavyset black man with a mouthful of rolls and eyes that sparkled with humor. She liked him immediately, he reminded her of a few of the chef’s she’d worked with in the past and her smiled broadened as she took him in. The young man next to him was skinny and tall and she wanted to walk over to the pair and put a roll in the younger man’s hand after slathering the roll with butter. She resisted the impulse and instead calmly made her way over to them holding her hand out for shaking. 

“Hi, I’m Penelope Raffin, Penny for short and I’m supposed to report here for work. Do either of you know who is in charge?”