The Shadows of Xaya

Kacey - 1

Tom drags his booted feet along the scuffed metal alloy floor as he paces in the galley. His footwear is... nonsensical. He is not an engineer, he is an administrator. An important one, the most important one on this planet, but there have been few reported foot injuries in clerical work. He could safely wear the normal slippers with squishy petro soles that most people make do with. Instead, he wears the 2.4-kilogram magboots that are mandatory on off-base excursions but make little sense here. In the galley.

The little clicking sounds he produces as he walks back and forth are hilarious, and usually, I would laugh the way I was taught to, silently and inside my own head. But his face is sheathed in barely controlled rage. I do not need to check his vitals or the proxy mood score in his health tab to know that he is just a few degrees below seething. I try to look busy while I wait for his food to finish.

Research suggests that attempting to look busy while someone in your vicinity is frustrated allows them to escape the inner dialogues of their anger. I do not know if this works; I have not tested it out on many. Most people I have encountered on base are not as volatile as Tom. I try to look busy and fail. I could update the inventories again or restock plates from the sonic washer, but I already finished those tasks after the first shift breakfast two hours ago. I send a message to the base AI, FLORA, instead. Low priority. "Subject: request; Body: look into predicting when patrons will request meals, special attention to non-shift bound employees."

This will be the only way to accomplish my goal of having food provided in a timely fashion instead of having to wait for it to cook. Survey data says they want food ready when they come in. They will need to give me advanced warning. Two minutes ago I had been reading the doctor's patient updates and nutrition recs when my wrist comp flashed a holographic message up over my forearm a second later. All it said was "food now" and I could already hear the clicking of Tom's feet down the hallway. 

The only person who ever sends me advanced notice of food requests is Zia, the botanist, and he's nice to literally everyone and everything. He's the only person who will put their own dishes away, who stays a little bit longer during his lunch break just to make small talk with me. He also sent me a short email last week stating he was hungry at 2300 as a joke, I think. He will be a good replacement when Zeke leaves, I think. 

I know I am not as important to base function as everyone else. Ellis, the janitor--or waste and materials manager... I need to do better at correcting myself--are often overlooked and that is perfectly acceptable. But twenty cycles ago, at our quarterly base meeting, I had encouraged everyone to let me know ten minutes before they wanted their food ready so it could be waiting for them, and so far, only one person (5%) has consistently alerted me to their arrival. Although I function in both the nutrition and health domains, I feel like I am more involved with the preparation of "food" than I am with overall health, and nutrition always has lower quarterly evals. They would be better if people did what I asked.

Tom is still clicking away. It is still hilarious. I am caught by a wave of spontaneity and record a clip of the galley to my wrist comp, and then send it as a low priority message to Ari, the doctor, with the body a plea to kindly remind people to alert me of food requests ten minutes before they actually want food. I end the message with a smiley face and attach a caption to the video stating "or else this will keep happening". The doctor is my closest friend besides Zeke. I hope they find the clip of Tom walking underneath the pale white galley lights with me leaning against the cabinet between the sink and sonic washer entertaining. I am staring at my wrist comp like I expect it to give me fresh food.

Five years ago I would have never jested like this, especially with the chief medical officer. But Zeke says it makes me more approachable and I want the doctor to like me. Plus they are not on base right now and I hope that these images alleviate any homesickness they may experience, even if it's unlikely the doctor ever feels that mix of bittersweet nostalgia. But if they did, there'd be nothing to get the doctor's mind clear. The transports that travel across the surface do not have pods in them and the doctor does not have implants, anyway.