Survival Tactics

Shields Failing

Later, when they were in their thermal sleeping pouches, Burnham looked over at the indistinct lump that was Detmer, tinted blue in the dying glow of the chem-stick they'd used for light, and felt a stab of envy. Here, alone and far from home, she could understand the appeal of having another body beside her as she slept, and she wished that she had Detmer's confidence and faculty with such matters. For Burnham—who'd never truly been in love and barely had a sexual history to speak of—the process of courtship was like being dropped into a conversation when you didn't know the language. She wondered of Detmer knew how fortunate she was. Probably not.

"Keyla?" she asked.

"No, I wasn't trying to sleep or anything. I'm actually just sitting here working on my novel."

"How did you know I like my food spicy?"

"What, you think I'm some kind of alien shapeshifter? Or that this is all some kind of elaborate hologram, and that you're actually aboard a Klingon ship and they're testing you to see how humans deal with stress?"

Now that she mentioned it, it was a plausible scenario.

"The Loy Krathong party Mike Turner threw for us right after he got transferred to the Shenzhou. About a year and a half, two years ago, remember?"

Burnham let out a small laugh. "Oh god, yes! He made a whole Thai banquet..."

"And damn near overloaded the environmental systems, because they stopped filtering the fumes from all those Thai chilis."

"The environmental systems always had problems," Burnham mused, remembering how the small, tidy cabin had become translucent with steam from the wok and the acrid scent of chilis frying in oil.

"It was an old ship. And remember that cadet who was on night watch got a dose of it through the vents and stumbled into sickbay, his eyes were watering and he was hysterical...he thought we had a coolant leak." Detmer laughed.

"And Turner had made seafood drunken noodles. He said it was extra spicy..."

"'Heroically spicy', I believe were his words. 'No mere hoo-man not of Thai origin can withstand it.' And then you ate, like an entire platter of it."

"It wasn't that much," Burnham said defensively.

"It was several platefuls."

"I don't think it was that much."

"All the junior officers discussed it at length in the chowhall the next day. We were all duly impressed."

"I recall it differently."

Detmer continued, "And you mentioned to him that Vulcan tastebuds are wired differently than human's, so their food is much spicier and has much more aggressive flavors—I remembered you used that term 'aggressive flavors,' I'd never heard that before—than most human cuisines."

"Hm, I'd forgotten about that," Burnham said, her eyes, closed, her mind taking her back to the cramped, worn cabins and berths of the Shenzhou. "I remember Saru—Saru, of all people—brought that Kelpien bisque. It was bright blue."

"Ugh, yes. It was, like their version of plankton or something. Smelled like a sea lion carcass."

"It was good, though."

"You ate it?"

Burnham gave a little shrug, then remembered that Detmer couldn't really see her in the fading light. "I'm a scientist. I explore new things."

"No, I mean after you ate your body weight in drunken noodles, you could still pack away Saru's Cerulean Sludge?"

Burnham laughed.

"And not put on any weight. As always. You bitch."

"Where did Turner end up? I know he transferred to the Europa for a TDY, but I don't know what his final assignment was."

"The Manitowoc," Detmer said. "He went into the command track."

"You keep in touch?"

"Off and on."

They settled into silence and their own personal reveries. Burnham thought of her conversation with Captain Georgiou the next day, when she had explained to Burnham why she'd only stayed for one small plate of fried rice. "The captain can't overstay their welcome. They must attend to show respect and gratitude for the invitation, stay long enough to be a presence, and then leave early to allow the crew to have fun. Otherwise, it quickly becomes a work event, and people can't relax and be their truest selves."

It was another lesson in humanity from Georgiou for which Burnham was eternally grateful.

After a moment she heard Keyla sob. "Damn you," the woman said quietly in the darkness. "I hate you so much for taking that away."