Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [98]
“My mother used to ask for seconds, sometimes thirds of my baba-root stew,” Chell countered defensively.
“Oh, really?” Neelix tossed back. “That’s amazing, since baba roots are only indigenous to one planet in the Delta Quadrant.”
Chakotay didn’t like where this was going at all, and he had his own dinner to worry about.
“Fine,” he tried diplomatically. “Baba roots it is. Dinner seems to be taken care of for the evening, so why don’t you two take some time to cool off and clean up this mess, and Chell can try his hand at the stew tomorrow?”
“There’s no time like the present,” Chell offered. “But if my skills with the baba root are going to be tested, I think it’s only fair that an impartial judge be empaneled to compare my stew to Neelix’s. That is, unless he’s afraid….”
“Why, you…” Neelix began, tearing off the chef’s hat that had been resting askew on his head since the altercation began and tossing it on the floor as he lunged at Chell screaming, “You don’t know the difference between a ladle and a spatula!”
It took the better part of the next twenty minutes for Chakotay’s frustrated but much calmer head to prevail upon the two men to settle their differences over a stew pot rather than with their fists. Since by that time she had stopped by on her way back to engineering… damn those magnetic constrictors… to tell Chakotay that she wanted to postpone their dinner until the next night so she could go over a few modifications that B’Elanna had devised to enhance the constrictor’s efficiency, he decided that the best course of action would be to allow Neelix and Chell to resolve this situation sooner rather than later.
An exasperated Chakotay found himself removing all but two knives from the kitchen, stationing Neelix and Chell as far apart as the limited space would allow, and monitoring their every move as they divided a pile of Baba roots between them and set to work on their respective stews.
Three hours, and more spoonfuls of baba-root stew than Chakotay liked to think about, later, it was settled. Neelix’s stew was richer and spicier, but Chell’s concoction was certainly edible, and with no love lost between the two of them, Neelix had magnanimously agreed to allow Chell to function as his official culinary observer for the foreseeable future.
The next day was equally torturous for Chakotay. She dropped by the bridge four times to make sure the engineering station located there was calibrated properly to the new constrictor specifications, but she barely had more than two words to say to him all day. By the time he had returned to his quarters for the evening, he had all but decided that somehow he had made a mistake. Duty was one thing. But he couldn’t help feeling that she was intentionally trying to avoid him.
Maybe she’s had second thoughts, he worried. Since she wasn’t the only one, he couldn’t fault her for that. But typically, she wasn’t one to avoid confronting a difficult situation.
Either way it was pointless for him to try and unravel it on his own. She was spending her second night in a row in the company of B’Elanna and her engineering staff studying the stability of the warp core that had come back online just a few minutes before the end of his shift.
He was torn between consulting his spirit guide and hoping Moby Dick would have its typical anesthetizing effect when he was interrupted by a soft chime at his door.
“Come in,” he called, hoping against hope that she had finished her work in engineering earlier than expected. But it wasn’t her. It was Tom Paris.
“Good evening, Commander,” Tom said courteously as he entered.
“Tom.”
“I have the shuttle test reports you requested,” Paris continued, offering Chakotay a padd.
“I requested them six days ago,” Chakotay said with mild annoyance as he gave them a cursory glance.
Tom considered Chakotay carefully before deciding to simply change the subject. “I see you replicated a copy of Melville,