The place where Lan Grace, Mi Milo, and the other exiled criminals lived was on Waste Star's Sector Nine—two rows of houses built on an open plot between the natives' settlement and the Alliance detachment stationed to guard the Waste Star.
As for these rooms they lived in now—one could say it was the only benefit they received after being exiled here.
Because the air on Waste Star was severely polluted and acid rain fell from time to time—highly corrosive acid rain that was lethal to those living here—
Even if there was no food, one's dwelling had to be sturdy enough to withstand the acid rain.
Thus, on every Waste Star, the Alliance authorities would build houses out of anti‑acid‑rain materials and provide them for free.
In front of the exiles' houses lay a broad open space—convenient for patrols to pass through, and convenient, right now, for Lan Grace to make a fire and cook.
In the interstellar era, as technology advanced, some discarded materials had likewise been upgraded again and again.
Previously, Lan Grace had collected some combustibles on the garbage mountain—once lit, they could burn for a long time.
She drove a few iron rods into the ground, set up an iron rack on them, laid a clean iron plate on the rack, lit the fuel below, and waited for the iron plate to heat up.
While waiting, Lan Grace stayed busy. She stripped the carrion rat's meat from the bones, cut it into strips of roughly uniform length and thickness, then quickly laid them on the heated iron plate.
Sizzle— The heat promptly rendered fat from the fresh meat.
On the scorching iron plate, the meat strips shrank slightly; the rendered fat steadily increased.
Carrion rats grew up eating all manner of rotten food on the garbage mountain; thus, their meat was sour and bitter.
But the mountains of carrion on the garbage mountain also fattened them into round bodies with thick, rich meat.
If one could remove the sour bitterness from carrion rat, such meat would absolutely count as a fine cut.
Given her limited ingredients, Lan Grace could not slowly draw out the off‑taste; she could only use the spiciness of those sky‑facing chillies to mask the meat's inherent sour bitterness.
Patiently she waited. When the meat strips were about half done, she sprinkled chilli powder evenly.
As the meat sizzled in its own fat on the iron plate and the chilli powder rolled once through the oil, a wave of rich, spicy aroma wafted out, dispersing into the air in an instant.
The natives who had been standing around, waiting to watch a joke, stared wide‑eyed, incredulous!
Then, as they recovered, they began gulping air, as if they could inhale all the fragrance into their stomachs.
Even the few soldiers who had warned her earlier that carrion rat was inedible now wore surprised expressions—and, enticed by the aroma, unconsciously licked their lips.
They had not expected Lan Grace to make carrion rat smell this good.
No matter how good it smelled, it was still carrion rat—and the meat's taste was sour and bitter.
Lan Grace kept her focus on the meat strips on the iron plate. She flipped them to sear the other side. When they were about four‑fifths done, she sprinkled a small pinch of salt.
By now, the aroma had drifted far, drawing in almost all the natives of Sector Nine's settlement and the soldiers garrisoned here.
Many natives followed the scent over. More soldiers had their appetites roused.
Any who were not on watch came hurrying to watch.
Lan Grace waited patiently as the meat strips on the iron plate were fried in the sizzling fat to about nine‑tenths done, then scattered down another generous handful of chilli powder.
The rich, spicy aroma once again expanded. Half a minute later, Lan Grace looked at each strip—its surface seared golden, evenly coated with red chilli powder—and then shook out the last of her salt evenly.
She had no time to marinate the meat slowly—her stomach was too empty—so she could only load the surface with extra salt and chilli powder, using a heavy hit of flavour on entry to mask the meat's sour bitterness.
In truth, from the scent alone, Lan Grace already knew today's rat‑on‑the‑griddle was passable.
By her standards, it was worth about five points out of ten.
Given ingredient constraints, it was basically on par with, if not better than, food‑street fare.
The instant the rat‑on‑the‑griddle was done, Lan Grace heard a loud gulp behind her—Mi Milo swallowing.
He had watched the whole process by her side. Now, seeing the once grotesque, repulsive carrion rat presented as strips of meat boasting colour, aroma, and taste—
With the fragrance filling his nose, an intense urge surged up in him—to taste, right now, whether this carrion rat tasted as intoxicating as it smelled.
But the carrion rat was Lan Grace's. On Waste Star, food was the most precious thing. As her friend, he could not just ask her for it.
Lan Grace turned and saw Mi Milo itching to move yet restraining himself, and could not help wanting to laugh.
"Come taste my cooking. It's rare to have something good today—my treat."
She added, jokingly, "But go easy and leave me some—I'm about to starve to death."
With that, Lan Grace stuck a strip with her fruit knife, blew on it lightly, and popped it into her mouth.
Mi Milo was a little surprised that she would share such precious food with him!?
He hesitated for a moment, then remembered he still had half a bottle of nutrient solution in his pocket. Only then did he settle his mind—he would give Lan Grace the nutrient solution later in return.
He could not wait any longer. He reached out, pinched a strip from the iron plate, ignored how it burned his mouth, and took a big bite.
Under the pressure of his teeth, rich meat juices burst forth. The carrion rat meat, which should have been sour and bitter, after Lan Grace's cooking became fragrant, spicy, and refreshing. His tastebuds were so intensely stimulated that two words popped into his mind at once—delicious!
The onlookers saw Mi Milo's eyes light up after he took a bite, then saw an expression of utter satisfaction as he surrendered to the taste.
There was no need to guess—those aromatic meat strips on the iron plate were absolutely good!
Unlike Mi Milo, who carefully savoured each bite, Lan Grace was truly at the end of her tether with hunger. She ate fast, stuffing several strips into her mouth in quick succession, barely chewing before swallowing—her primary goal was to fill her belly.
As she ate, she worried.
Would the nearby natives—whose eyes had gone green with greed from the aroma—pounce?
Quite a few soldiers were watching as well, their eyes fixed on the meat strips on her iron plate. What they were thinking required no words.
Lan Grace understood—this was Waste Star, and rules and order were far worse than she might imagine.
At the moment, the reason the hunched, black‑skinned natives had not rushed over to snatch was likely because they could tell that the soldiers stationed to maintain order here were just as covetous of the meat strips as they were.