Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [97]
“Neelix to Commander Chakotay!”
This isn’t happening. Something had better be on fire.
“Chakotay here,” he answered, dismayed, as on cue, the loud clanging of Voyager’s internal smoke alarms began to echo through the halls.
“CREWMAN CHELL!” was all Chakotay could make out over the din before reluctantly turning his steps toward the mess hall, assuring Neelix that he was on his way.
What he faced when he arrived were forty hungry people who had reported to the mess hall for dinner at the end of their shift, an infuriated Talaxian, and a disgruntled Bolian.
Apparently Chell had taken Chakotay’s innocent remarks about “baking the perfect cake” too seriously the night before. Neelix, who always put crew morale first, hadn’t hesitated to offer Chell a chance to use the kitchen. Unfortunately, he quickly realized that Chell had more enthusiasm than talent. The end result was that the well-intentioned crewman had managed to keep Neelix busy most of the afternoon until all Neelix had a chance to throw together for dinner was a large vat of plomeek soup and some undercooked meat loaf. The fire alarm had been triggered in an altercation that included the aforementioned plomeek soup meeting with Chell’s forceful elbow, a stew-pot lid, Neelix’s midsection, and a pan of Cretalian chocolate sauce, all of which were now covered in flame-retardant compound.
Chakotay quickly quelled the slightly mutinous murmurs coming from the hungry crewman by ordering Ensign Molina to distribute ration packs to anyone short of replicator rations before turning his attention to Neelix and Chell.
“I don’t think I’m the only one around here who needs to go on a diet!” Chell was bellowing as Chakotay stepped firmly between them, raising his arms to separate them at least that far within the enclosed space.
“Chell,” Chakotay ordered, “apologize to Neelix immediately.”
Chell withered slightly beneath Chakotay’s steely gaze. Pulling at the strings of the spare apron he had donned, he muttered quietly, “Sorry, Neelix.”
Neelix was, by nature, fierce in a battle, but equally quick to forgive and forget. “Don’t worry, Chell. Cooking is as much art as science. It takes years to master, and you shouldn’t expect miracles on your first day in the kitchen.”
“But this isn’t my first day,” Chell whined. “I was chief cook aboard the first freighter I joined. Look, Commander,” he said, addressing Chakotay, “Neelix has a lot to do. He’s training with security… he’s the ship’s morale officer… he’s going on diplomatic missions. I just think it’s time that he had a backup for his duties in the mess hall.”
Though Chakotay could certainly see the wisdom in Chell’s point, he wasn’t at all convinced that he wanted to know who Chell was about to propose to fill those shoes.
Chell continued. “I haven’t had a chance to really find my place on this ship. Sure, I do what I’m told, but I want to feel that I am making a real contribution.”
“And you believe the mess hall is the place to do it?” Chakotay asked warily.
“I do,” Chell replied, puffing his chest ever so slightly and refusing to meet Neelix’s gaze.
“Fair enough,” Chakotay said simply, wishing to end any further discussion for the time being. “Report to the mess hall tomorrow morning where you will spend the next month observing Neelix. If at the end of that time Neelix feels that you’re ready to assume some of his responsibilities, you’ll have my blessing.”
“But Commander,” Neelix stammered.
“Yes?”
“With all due respect to Crewman Chell, feeding one hundred and fifty people every day is a huge task, and frankly, I don’t think this kitchen is big enough for two people,” he said sincerely.
Chakotay shook his head. “Then what do you suggest?”
Neelix gave the matter some thought then offered his compromise. “The Cretalian chocolate was a disaster, but that’s a pretty complicated dish, so I don’t think it’s fair to judge Chell’s abilities based on that alone. If we were to take something simple, say, for example,