Trip thought my idea was dandy and met with me to discuss it after breakfast a few mornings later. He was enthusiastic about everything except the possible taste of the dishes.

"They won't be the best food experience," he warned. "Mostly like some sorta big cracker I'd guess but if we were starving it would work as extra rations. You'd have to experiment and see what sorta seasonings would be stable enough and flavorful enough to make it palatable."

I grinned. "Oh I can think of a few flavors that might help—taco tableware, dill dishes—"

"Paprika plates?" Trip grinned. "Pepper platters?"

"Possibly," I nodded. "I'd be willing to start experimenting if you and your engineers can get me some of the protein blocks. I don't know who'd be willing to help me with the synthesizer programming though."

"Maybe T'Pol," he offered off-handedly. "She's got the skills and she might be willing if you presented it as a challenge."

"A challenge?" I asked, noting how he blushed a little.

"Wellll," Trip drawled, "She's gotten better, but the best way to get her involved is to tell her why something can't be done. She'd never admit it, but that woman loves to prove me wrong."

"Is that a fact?" I grinned.

"I'm hardly ever wrong, actually. I just present the con side first," Trip pointed out. "She jumps on that, and before you know it, problem solved. It's kinda fun to watch."

"All right then," I rose up. "I'll see what I can do about moping and griping in hopes she'll take the bait. In the meantime I need to take a pup for a walk."

Even before marrying Jon I loved his dog. Our dog now, actually. Porthos was our fur child and he seemed pretty pleased to have another person in his pack. I made time to take him for a walk in the mid-morning, usually going through the hydroponic station and cleaning up after him and telling him all about upcoming menus. To his credit Porthos was non-judgmental and wonderfully affectionate; beagles are lickers to the first degree and generally pleased about attention from anybody.

Except Justine.

The first time I walked him through the galley she had a fit, yelling at me that I was violating sanitation rules. Porthos, who'd never been yelled at in his life thought we were being attacked and barked at her, standing his ground at my ankles. When Justine found out it was the Captain's dog she huffed and made a fuss about how the accommodation did not include the galley and I needed to keep him out of food prep and storage areas.

It took a lot of soothing to calm Porthos and me both down after that, and even though Justine had a point in terms of regulations, being a bitch about it didn't make things any easier. Jon grudgingly agreed that the rules were correct, but ended up giving Porthos treats for a week straight just to make up for it. When I pointed out that I too, had been yelled at and needed treats, Jon created a game involving mints and pillows that went a long way towards making me feel better.

I walked Porthos to Sickbay, where Phlox greeted us both warmly, casting a professional eye over my companion, stroking his head.

"You look healthy today," he told the dog. Pleased, Porthos wagged his tail in agreement and I laughed.

"He knows he's getting a shank bone tonight so life is looking good for him."

"One of the few joys of a dog's life," Phlox agreed. "So, about your sous. She does have a listed issue for lifting anything heavier than nine kilos but other than that is fit for duty."

"So that's about twenty pounds," I mused. "All right, that's not really an excuse for getting out of the dishes then, or basic prep."

"Not really, no," Phlox agreed. "Although writing her up would be tricky since you are both the same rank."

"Yeah," I sighed. "And Jon can't mediate since he'd be accused of having a bias. I'm not sure what to do at this point."

"Wait," Phlox advised. "The time will come when your sous will have to either rise to the occasion or be hoist on her own petard."

"At what cost?" I winced. "I'm all for letting her suffer the consequences of her own folly but not at the expense of the crew!"

"True," he sighed. "Both of us will be watching though, so with any luck it won't be anything too dangerous."

Porthos and I left, and out of the two of us he was the cheerier one by far. I left him in the quarters with a rawhide strip and took myself to the galley, wondering if the open-face sandwiches had been laid out yet for lunch. When I got there Justine was back on the holo-screen watching something that she turned off when I came in. There was nothing on the counters, nothing laid out or ready to go.

"Lunch?" I asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

"I was waiting for you," Justine replied. "Are you through with the dog now?"

I went to wash my hands, trying not to curse under my breath—it was going to be a loonnng mission.

-oo00oo—

It turned out Nona was right about the semolino. But not quite in the way I would have suspected. About three days on, I got a page to the Situation Room. That was a first—I'd never even BEEN in the Situation Room, and given that chefs generally aren't part of command missions I guess that's no surprise. I brushed the powdered sugar off my apron as best I could and hustled up to the A deck, feeling a little excited and a lot nervous.

I'd be seeing Jon actually doing his job—kind of neat, even if I wasn't sure what part I'd be playing in it yet. As the turbo lift went up I wondered if I was needed to plan a banquet, or arrange for food supply packages to somewhere . . . logical reasons for me to be up near the bridge and in the thick of things. I reached the bridge, got off on the wrong side, and had to have Hoshi direct me to the right room with a little grin.

So much for being a competent professional.

Jon was already in the room along with Trip, T'Pol and Phlox; when I joined them they gave a nod before looking back at my husband.

"Good you could make it, Chef." Jon murmured. "Do you have any way of making baby food?" he asked me in complete seriousness.

I nodded. "Uh, yes, Captain. What . . . sort of baby are we talking about?"

"One Vulcan infant," T'Pol told me. "There is also a Tellerite child, and three human children to be fed as well."

I looked at the screen on the table monitor and saw a group of people there, looking back at me. Yes, definitely a Vulcan baby in the arms of an old Vulcan man, and what looked like a Tellerite toddler clinging to the man's pant leg along with three other kids, all older, clustered around the man who I realized looked a bit gaunt.

"What's going on?"

Jon looked at T'Pol, who spoke up. "These are the survivors of the Celestial Symphony of Phinda, Tellar Prime. Their ship responded to a distress call three weeks ago and the shuttles containing the majority of the symphony members going to provide aid did not return. This is Saroz, lyre-master, and the children of the Symphony."

The man on the screen gave a nod and spoke, his voice deep and measured. "I seek support and relief for the children, and hope that your ship and crew can determine what has happened to our crew."

"We fully intend to do that," Jon assured him. "First step is to bring you aboard and make sure you're decontaminated. We'll send a team to your ship as well to look at whatever can be salvaged or stored on the Enterprise."

"Thank you Captain Archer," Saroz intoned. "We deeply appreciate the assistance."

I looked at Jon and gave a little nod. "Baby food," I repeated. "Also, easily digestible nourishment for the other six—they look like they've been on short rations."

"They have," T'Pol murmured.

"All right, we have our mission," Archer intoned and nodded a dismissal for everyone. He gave me a glance and I stayed behind, waiting until he spoke again.

"Franny, do you know of anyone on board who has experience with kids?" he asked me.

I thought for a moment, because Jon knew I had more personal interaction with the crew and a better sense of their personal lives.

"Phlox of course," I murmured, "And I think Ensign Cholokwesi has a baby brother back home—those are the only first-hand folks I can think of aside from those of us who babysat a lot as teens."

"Okay then," he sighed. "I'll get our guests back to the ship and you can go make something for them to eat. Saroz has been starving himself to make sure the kids had food; I'm sure you saw that."

I nodded. "Plomeek for him then, with something richer if he can handle it. Where are we going to house them?"

"They'll probably want to stay together; survivors usually do," Jon murmured, looking pensive. "I may give them the game room and move air mattresses in there, depending."

I nodded and gave him a quick hug, getting a little powder sugar on him before brushing it off and heading out, thinking about easy food.

Easy food really isn't always that easy. I was going to have to figure out what would be best for three different species, check for allergies and try to make the meals appealing. While I had a good idea what the human kids would eat, I wasn't sure about either the Vulcan baby or the Tellerite toddler, so that meant doing a computer search. When I got to the galley, once again Justine was on it.

I cleared my throat loudly. "Sorry to interrupt you, but I need the database," I told her.

Justine slowly got up and gave me the seat. "Why?"

"We're expecting guests," I replied, and dropped into the chair, starting my search. "Tell me; do we have any oatmeal, semolina or tapioca?"

"How should I know?" Justine replied, and I turned to glare at her.

"Go. Check. With. Sath." I snapped. "While you're at it, ask him for baby bottles or the equivalent from medical supplies, get the ingredients for Plomeek laid out and start working on the dinner shift vegetables."

Justine blinked a little; it really was the first time I'd used my no-nonsense tone with her and I think it caught her by surprise. I kept glaring at her until she slunk out of the galley, then I took a breath and went back to my search.

I won't lie; it felt good to assert a little authority.