Title: Bad Day, a sequel to Feeding the ARC
Author: Pinkcat
Rating:T
Spoilers: not really, maybe series 5
Description: It's a bad day at the ARC, seen through the eyes of the kitchen staff and Chef Bernard Rice.
Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval or its characters. I write only for fun.
Author's Note: This is kind of sad. It's not my usual light-hearted fluff. It's got a positive angle to it, but just wanted to warn you that it is a little angst-y.
Bad Day
It was a bad day at the ARC. The anomaly alert went off before the canteen was even open. Bernie was baking sweet rolls when he heard it. Chef Bernard Rice hated the sound of the alarms. He himself would not be in danger of course, but people he knew and liked would be.
Bernie went about his business, preparing the canteen for breakfast. The dishes were being prepared when the alarm went off, so there was nothing he could do. There would be a lot of wasted food. In this instance, when the alarms went off so early, and food was prepared but not served, he had some options.
There was a shelter for the homeless not far, so Bernie could take the prepared food there. Lester and Bernie had discussed it, and Lester had left the matter in Bernie's hands. Anytime Bernie would need to dispose of food it would be during a crisis that required all of Lester's attention. So the decision was entirely Bernie's.
Bernie opened for breakfast, and as expected, the breakfast crowd was very light. The soldiers were all gone and the techs were busy. The menagerie and medical staff were on alert and could not leave their posts.
When breakfast was half over, Bernie left his servers in charge, something Bernie rarely did, he liked serving people himself. Today though his attention was required elsewhere. Bernie called the shelter and informed them that he had loads of prepared food that would go to waste. They were delighted and grateful to receive it. Bernie assigned two sous chefs to pack it all up, and then one of the servers would drive it over.
Bernie was concerned that breakfast was nearly over, and no soldiers or techs had come in. When the crisis was over Bernie always heard in someway. Usually it was from returning soldiers or techs who'd been on duty during the crisis as they came in for coffee or whatever they could eat. Sometimes it was from the staff that had not been directly involved, but knew what was going on, and they updated Bernie.
Today there was no news, and Bernie knew from experience that that was a bad sign. The mission had gone wrong in someway, and most likely there were casualties.
In the case of a bad day Bernie knew appetites would not be strong, but the staff would need to keep up their strength. Most people would be forcing themselves to eat, but not really caring. This was a fact that chefs were aware of but frankly it broke their hearts.
Bernie was an old chef. He was only fifty something years old, he wouldn't be exact, but he had been cooking for over 30 years. He knew food and he knew people. Food did more that just make the body function. It started conversations, avoided fights, and brought comfort. Today, Bernie had a bad feeling that the ARC would need lots of comfort.
As always, Bernie liked to be prepared. He sent his most experienced sous-chef, Ryan, up to the control room to assess the situation. Ryan was an old hand at this, and would get the needed information without interfering.
Ryan could tell just by walking into the control room that it was bad.
Jess Parker, seated at the ADD, was a picture of control and focus, but Ryan could see the frenzy and fear in her fingers as they frantically typed. Her voice also controlled and focused, and that worried Ryan. Jess was optimistic and happy and always conveyed it in some way, a little silly comment here, a light hearted laugh there, she couldn't help it. There was no hint of optimism or happiness now. Ryan felt an awful sense of dread. Then, Ryan heard her calling for medics, a lot of medics. It was bad.
Ryan had heard more than enough. As he turned to leave, he saw Lester and his face confirmed Ryan's worst fears. The teams were facing multiple dangers, the fighting was intense, and there were people hurt. No, thought Ryan, looking into Lester's eyes. That was incorrect. There were people killed.
Ryan walked into the canteen. His steps were heavy. Bernie knew without looking that they were in the worse-case scenario. Bernie put his hand on Ryan's shoulder and the two exchanged nods.
Bernie sighed heavily, and shook his head to clear it. They had a job, even though it might seem mundane and trivial now, compared to what the rest of the ARC was encountering. Bernie went to work.
"Comfort food, people," he announced simply. Everyone nodded. The sous-chefs, without specific orders, went to their pre-assigned posts. This was just one of the many emergency scenarios Bernie had prepared for. Ryan gathered the ingredients for steak and kidney pie, making half the normal amount. The second sous chef, Kim, was tasked with 'Sunday roast,' again half the amount as normal. The other chefs were making soups—potato, chicken noodle, vegetable beef; macaroni and cheese; mashed potatoes; and of course, fish and chips.
Bernie baked. He was a baker at heart, and when he felt low, like now, that is where he went, to his ovens. He made his people, that's what the hundreds of ARC workers were, his people, scones and crumpets, shortbread cookies in honor of the Scots, soda bread for the Irish, and brownies and chocolate cake. By the time he was done, Ryan had news.
Some of the control room staff had wandered in, beat, and the servers gave them coffee and the soup that was ready.
"Epstein says that it was a bad incursion," Ryan told Bernie. "He didn't want to say what kind of creature it was, but I could tell it scared the hell out of him."
Bernie pictured some of the creatures that gossip pegged as the most horrible: raptors, t-Rex, or the dreaded future predators. Strictly speaking, if you were in the ARC you had clearance, but unofficially, the less you moved your lips, the better. You needed to keep proving you could keep a secret this gigantic.
"Any confirmed fatalities?" asked Bernie in a hushed whisper.
Ryan solemnly nodded. "Yes, but no names. There's all kinds of injuries too. Epstein says at least three teams of medics were sent into the field.
Bernie groaned. "Ok, Ryan, thank you. Do your best to keep our staff calm." Ryan nodded and went back to work.
Lunch was brought out, set up, and prepared to dish out. Normally it was cafeteria-style, but on days like today, Bernie offered extra, gentle service. He gathered everyone, from the dish washers to sous-chefs, into the canteen for a quick talk.
"Now, I know we're all curious. We're all a little scared and anxious. We need to put those feelings aside, and be kind, reassuring, and I know this is asking a lot, but positive. Today there are going to be a lot of tired, worn-out, testy people. Some will no doubt be in shock, numb. Do not take it personally. Do not needle anyone for answers, but if they need someone to listen to then by all means do. Do your jobs, however. By Mr. Lester's orders, everything is charged to the ARC today. No one pays for anything, not even a stick of butter. Ok, people, lets get to it."
End Chapter One
