Observe and Honor

          The Captain had invited Major Edison to dine with him that evening in his quarters. Balthazar had to admit to himself that he was more than a little surprised at the gesture. The two men were getting along more amicably than at first but they were still just barely tolerating the other out of the necessity to complete their mission. He wanted Jack Greene to prove both he and his men wrong and show that a Starfleet captain other than Jonathan Archer could reach out to and establish a convivial bond with military men in uniform, that out here on the very edges of explored space the two of them could forge something lasting that would create a more cooperative atmosphere between Starfleet and the MACO. He was about to discover if they could reach step two on that ladder.

      "I hope you like pasta and bread, Major.  Mondays are pasta night in my quarters."

      Edison quietly sighed in relief inside at Greene's proclamation. Yeah. He did like pasta and bread. Hell, there were days that a MACO unit on extended field training had to rely on rations of reconstituted pasta and bread because the closest kitchen or protein synthesizer was kilometers away. "Then we have another thing in common, Captain. I'd love to try some of yours."

      Greene smiled with a delightfully satisfied smirk and turned in his chair to reach the intercom control on the bulkhead of his quarters. "This is the Captain. Tell Mr. Jackson we're ready to be served." Releasing his index finger from the white button on the commpanel he turned back to his guest and arched both eyebrows, furrowing a brow that was remarkably creased and worn for such a young commanding officer. "Lieutenant Don Jackson is our ship's chef. Unofficially. We don't get the pick of the crop of San Francisco's best culinary artists like Jonathan Archer did, but for a twenty-eight-year old kid from the sticks of Missouri he can cook a mean plate of food."

      Balthazar chuckled. "Trust me, sir, when you've spent your entire adult career eating military-grade chow from any stove, pot or protein resequencer you can somehow get your hands on you learn not to criticize the cooking of others."

       "True story, Major. When I was a little kid. We're talking....oh, ten. Maybe eleven. I decided I wanted to be the family chef. I consulted every database I could find on fine cooking. Classic American dishes. French. Italian. Asian. South American food. I even found a recipe for some hideous-looking Vulcan dish that reminded me of what I once saw a cow spit up. My dad's birthday was coming up and I wanted to treat him to something special. So I decided I'd whip up his favorite dish. Chicken parmigiana.

       Followed the instructions. Paid attention to every little detail. When the day came to cook it, I jumped right in. Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who lets my enthusiasm run away from me when I try something for the first time."

      Edison snorted. "Lemme guess. Burned it?"

      Greene let out a nasal laugh that sounded more like the whine from a kazoo. "I WISH I had just burned it. I used chicken that had somehow gone beyond the freshness date and was no longer suitable for consumption by any living creature with taste buds and a stomach. I was in such a rush to make my dad's birthday dinner I didn't check to see if the chicken was safe to eat. Long story short, we ate just a couple of forkfuls and spent the rest of the evening drinking anything in sight to wash the taste from our mouths. Mom and Dad thanked me for my thoughtful gesture on my father's birthday....then kindly banned me from ever again cooking anything containing bird meat."