I tried to ignore the gazes of several crew members as I went about my work. The lizard man had seen fit to invite several others over to watch me prove myself, and so far most of them seemed more eager to watch me die than to watch me cook. A number of monstrous alien races, all built for a level of danger and combat I wasn't yet prepared for. Among them the only one that didn't feel outwardly malicious was the vaguely familiar form of an ugly, tiger-like humanoid. Instead of the blood-lust I felt from the crew, or some cases the more singular and direct form of hunger than I wanted from the more savage members, he felt genuinely curious.

I went over my goals once again in my head. Satisfy the crews hunger, make myself an asset, and use the time and benefits that would bring to train, and train hard. In spite of my nervousness I told myself this was all well in hand. I was just stuck on getting past goal number one.

As far as I'm aware I'm not an expert cook, and even if I was I don't remember it. Putting that aside I do have some idea of how your supposed to cook a steak, and with my limited options it was my first choice as a meal to present to those in charge of this ship. Of course that didn't make this simple. Steak, in my mind at least, normally meant cows, and whatever the hell they had on Xecroas definitely didn't fit that description. The meat itself was oddly shaped, oddly colored, and oddly soft. If the locals weren't eating it themselves I wouldn't have had much trust for it at all. It was only a mixture of surviving on their world myself and knowing I had nothing to lose that made the decision for me.

I took a few moments figuring out how to turn the alien grill on, noting that instead of flame rising up to heat the metal it seemed to heat itself, glowing orange almost immediately. A light tap with my fingertips told me it was at least close to the temperature I wanted it to be, even if I couldn't recognize the unit of measurement. Without seasoning or a means to marinate the meat I was stuck with quality that was subpar at best, but I probably wouldn't get a chance to do better unless I proved myself now. There are several steps to preparing a steak properly, I went through my best efforts at each.

First was preparing the grill itself. With some poking at the temperature controls I made sure I had two cooking zones to work with, one for charring and searing, and another for more passive cooking over time.

Then I took a few seconds dabbing at the meat with a relatively clean cloth I found laying on a counter. I had to shake some dust out from the lack of use, but if germs were all it took to put a crew member down they'd have all died a long time ago. Too much moisture in the steak could ruin things, and probably bring smoke into my eyes.

Next, I was supposed to season and salt it, but when it was clear the kitchen didn't even have that, I decided to skip it for just throwing the meat on the metal. The sizzling sound that met my ears as I tossed several cuts of meat I couldn't recognize onto the grill was comforting, familiar.

At least this part was simple.

I waited a few minutes, just a little more than four, checking the meat every minute or so for the grill marks to become prominent, rotating the steaks clockwise after I was certain things were going well. When the marks were done on one side I flipped them, making the same effort to the opposite sides.

My eyes closed as I took a whiff of the cooking food in front of me. Maybe it was the nutrient paste, or perhaps the charred scavenger flesh I had in my time underground, but It smelled almost... good.

I stopped myself from looking at the crowd behind me, but noted that as my work had went on the number of people waiting behind me only increased, the smell of cooking meat attracting many men and a few women who hadn't eaten real food in months at best.

After a while I cut off a sliver of steak with a thankfully present kitchen knife as it cooked, popping it into my mouth as I worked to wrap things up. I stalled for longer than I should have out of fear, but any longer and it would burn.

The taste that met my tongue was odd. Stringy. But not bad, if a little bland. Not nearly as bad as I had expected it to be however. Maybe even passable if I wasn't working with this much of a handicap. I pulled a tray from an overhead counter, before using my new knife to move my creations onto a cooler surface.

If I waited any longer they would only burn, and then what little hope I had would burn with it. Probably alongside my carcass when the crew was finished with me.

I had five cuts of meat around the same size. One a t-bone and the others just cuts of meat I wan't familiar enough to identify. After taking a breath and accepting whatever fate may come of me I turned, not bothering to wait for it to cool. If the body could handle laser blasts and energy attacks it could handle hot food.

My gaze fell on the Tiger-man. He was at the front of the pack, and based on his power and what little I remembered about him he was a leader.

"I don't know what kind of utensils you have, but take whatever you want." In spite of his relatively cold expression he stepped forward a little too quickly for me not to believe he was eager, before simply grabbing at the t-bone with a paw and tearing a chunk out of the meat, nearly all of it in fact, in just one bite.

His expression didn't change as he chewed, but the fact he didn't spit it out immediately was something I took as a good sign. When he swallowed his head tilted towards the crew behind him. The crew members behind him looked on expectantly.

"I'd say he did an alright job. Better than any of us could do." I almost laughed at the relief. At his words a few of the other more important crew members stepped forward, taking the steaks with the same lack of decorum and manners as the Feline warrior had. He turned to the crew members behind him. "Since it's been a rough mission, I'll let the cook give a few of you some real food-" He rose a palm into the air when a cheer rang out, speaking again when they quieted down."-but only for those of you who get us enough supplies to last a while before we withdraw and resupply."

My brows rose. He must have liked it more than I thought. The Tiger-man grinned past his fangs, and I identified the feeling in his ki as nostalgia. He liked how it felt on his teeth.

"If you wanna eat, get back on world and take whatever you can find. The cook can't make food out of nothing. Try for seasoning...and more meat."

Those who heard, even some of the crew who just happened to be passing the kitchens, disappeared almost immediately, blurring down the halls with grins tugging at their lips and a level of excitement in their ki that surprised me in spite of the knowledge that their eating habits were probably worse than my own had been over the past months. After they left he looked back at me, taking a moment to reevaluate my position before speaking again, a frown on his face.

"You know, you living through this cost me nearly five hundred credits-" I leaned back slightly, instincts telling me he was considering killing me outright. "-but if that got us an actual cook I'd pay it ten times over! Especially since you had the instinct to survive a world more than ten times your strength. You might not be one of us, but that kinda drive is almost respectable in meat like you. As much of a surprise as it is, you earned your place in spite of that pathetic battle power."

I felt a real smile grow on my face, before it disappeared at the feeling of air touching the cluster of missing and broken teeth on the right side of my face. How long had it been since I'd actually been complimented on anything? In spite of everything it felt nice to be acknowledged. I listened as my new superior went on.

"I'll let the captain and other commanders know what's going on. You'll be in charge of feeding command staff, soldiers that'd done particularly well, and any VIP's that may find themselves aboard the Diligent Frost. Do you understand?"

I nodded, taking his words to heart. Just because I was relatively in the clear didn't mean my life wasn't still in danger. I do my work poorly and I die, I forget the wrong part of my job description and I'll be killed all the same. Having value doesn't mean irreplaceable.

"You can consider yourself a part of the crew, but I'd associate with the other less essential staff. Maintenance engineers, pleasure slaves, and conscripts who haven't quite died yet. The crew probably won't kill the only cook just cause he decided to speak out of turn, but I wouldn't test it, especially since they don't have to kill ya to get a point across. As long as you can still work we don't care what happens to you. "

"Fair enough, I had a feeling I wouldn't be making friends anyway. I'm alive and I'll take it." He nodded, turning to leave only to stop and look back at me.

"We'll clear out a room for you after we've sorted the new batch of prisoners. Get to work, plenty of us'll be hungry once we leave." Once he left I took a seat, resting for the last time as a conscript. When I stood up again, sensing the excitement of those who I might soon be feeding, I was a cook, and I was alive.

I fed the crew members I was told to, I waited patiently for what supplies they could find to be brought to me, I got used to each utensil and piece of cookware I could find, and when It was all done I took the time to ask what would become of me tomorrow. As it turns out I would be deloused, given fresh clothing standard to people who were actually welcome on this ship, and fed some nutrient paste before I would wait in the kitchens for someone important to ask me to cook. It had to be a low ranking commander at worst. That would be my new routine.

Even with the surprising joy I felt at reaching a goal that had been almost impossible for me to achieve, I didn't let my guard down until I had been guided to and left inside the sparse room that would prove to be my new accommodations. It was the same kind of chamber I had as a conscript, only it was empty. A blanket that smelled of smoke and burnt flesh lay against one of the walls.

I didn't sleep as soon as I came in, ignoring the urge so I could practice with my ki, just like I always did. Only this time instead of darkness and shadow looking back at me, there was enough light for me to make out my own reflection. Just good enough to make out half healed cuts, fresh bruising, a scraggly mess of hair hanging from my my head, and my chin. Dead eyes I was half satisfied and half terrified to see glared back at me. Whatever part me that was left from my time alive and safe in a world that didn't scare me screamed at the sight of it.

My tongue felt at the absent teeth on my right side, and I found myself almost enamored at the taste of my own blood as I practiced, before eventually I burned out my energy and fell asleep like always.

I would spend the next two years looking at that same face on the walls, watching what little light remaining in my eyes fade with every world they burned, and every corpse pulled into my kitchen by the feral and the hungry who happen to call themselves commanders.