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This was inspired by some, uh, recent events in my own life, but I'm still blaming the Twitter crew. Enjoy!
Comfort Food
Attempt #1
The replicator chimed. "One plate of grilled octopus, tenderized and flavored with black pepper, olive oil, lemon, garlic and white wine; presented with grilled asparagus."
Gabriel Lorca found himself holding his breath as he took the steaming plate of food out. Would it finally be right this time? The smell was, at least; it wasn't quite as pungent as he tended to like his Kelpien, but part of that, no doubt, was the difference in meat. He'd experimented with a few different options in this alternate universe, but had discovered that the closest analogue was the Earth-based squid. How terribly ordinary.
Of course, the dish was considered exotic and esoteric among humans, so there was that, at least.
Bringing the lights up just enough to see what he was doing, he took the plate over to the tiny dining area in his temporary quarters. The doctors at Starfleet Medical weren't quite ready to let him completely out of treatment yet, but they'd agreed to release him to outpatient therapy a couple of weeks ago.
As far as he was concerned, it hadn't happened a second too soon. If one more person suggested getting his eyes replaced…
No. He wasn't going to ruin this moment by thinking about that. He shook his head to clear it before picking up the fork and digging in, closing his eyes and hoping.
A moment later, he sighed.
Not quite.
The octopus prepared with a traditional, simple human method wasn't bad, and it wasn't like him to waste food — he'd learned that lesson at a very young age; you never knew when your next meal would happen — so he ate it. But he was still disappointed. The octopus was actually a bit too tender, tending toward soft, and there wasn't enough of a sweet taste to counteract the pepper. The asparagus was at least a good complement. It, too, had been flavored with black pepper and butter.
Finishing the meal in silence, he dumped the plate into the recycler and sat back down at the desk in his quarters. "Computer, open research file Lorca-gamma-four. Note ingredients for the most recently replicated meal."
"Working. Information placed in file."
"Add note. Not quite firm enough and needed something sweeter than lemon. Octopus isn't quite as firm as Kel — wait, strike that." He still sometimes forgot the subtler differences between universes. "Replace. Octopus is a good substitute if not overcooked, as it loses firmness. End log."
"Note saved."
"Close file. Re-open previous file." He'd been studying the specifications of the various ships in Starfleet's arsenal, trying to get a sense of the engineering aesthetics. It wasn't the most interesting work, but it demanded enough of his knowledge to keep him from getting tired and bored.
The next schematic that came up was for the Fleet's newly-designated flagships, the Constitution class. These appeared to be large enough to approach the scale he was more used to seeing among the Emperor's fleet. Grinning, he stretched in preparation for settling in to a long session.
Just as he arched his back, his gut contracted into a painful cramp.
He folded back up with a hiss, allowing himself to lean forward and wrap his arms around his thighs. If there'd been anyone else here, he'd never have allowed himself to show this kind of weakness, but he was alone, and this Federation held an ideal that sentient beings' right to privacy overrode security needs in most cases. There weren't any recorders.
The cramp subsided as quickly as it had come, and he straightened back up. That was when the room began to spin, and an ominous sound came from the area that had just cramped.
Oh, shit.
It was only after he'd scrambled into the head that he realized how apropos the sentiment had been.
