Captain Kate, whose palate had been spoiled by recent feasts, was thoroughly vexed. After tasting dishes that were beautiful in color, aroma, and taste, he had had nothing but thin porridge and simple sides for several days in a row. He was about to go crazy.
He had already told his nephew several times that he wanted to place specific orders. But the message that came back from the other side was, "No custom orders for the time being."
Lan Grace's heart had been completely occupied by her desire to leave Waste Star. There was no room left for culinary inspiration. When she phoned it in, Captain Kate could feel it in every bite: the food made from natural ingredients that had been delivered these past few days held far less of the energy he had become accustomed to. The gap between cooking with care and cooking to make do was obvious enough to drive him to come in person and see what was wrong with his high‑energy delicacy "source."
…
That day, Lan Grace had accompanied Mi Milo out into the wild grass to catch insects. When they returned, they discovered her room had been robbed.
She opened the door to an emptiness that rang—aside from one bed and one table, everything else was gone. The room had held a stash of fruits and vegetables that kept well, and the table had had a casual scatter of low‑grade nutrient sticks she no longer used; all of it had vanished without a trace.
The sight made Lan Grace pause. The words "A thief!" flashed across her mind.
Mi Milo stepped in behind her, saw the state of the room, and gaped. His mouth couldn't close. "Who did this!" he shouted, wholly indignant.
No one answered him, of course.
Lan Grace didn't panic the way Mi Milo did. She was startled for an instant and then returned quickly to her usual calm. When a tree grows tall, it catches the wind; she understood that. Everyone in the vicinity of Sector Nine knew that as a convicted exile she was somehow "wealthy." Rumors said her room held more natural food and nutrient tubes than anyone could count. She had heard those rumors a month ago.
She had figured the detachment's patrols would deter thieves. She had underestimated human greed.
The things she made every day from natural food could not be hidden from others' eyes and noses. The aroma alone drew spectators to her door at regular times every day. Watching her cook, breathing in the smell of her food—this had become a daily entertainment for soldiers and natives alike. And so her room had been "visited."
Lan Grace could almost be sure that the ones who had gone through her room weren't just one person. With that much stuff, no single thief could haul it all. And if she wasn't wrong… those thieves were probably exiles just like her.
With soldiers patrolling nearby, the natives didn't have the guts. Among the exiles, on the other hand, who wasn't a bold, desperate sort who could do anything when pushed?
Well then. With this theft, she didn't even have enough natural food left to cook for others at noon.
She looked down at the two bottles of insects in Mi Milo's hands and decided that, once she'd prepped them, she'd send over a plate to tide people through.
When Captain Kate arrived, what he saw was Lan Grace patiently blanching the insects.
A bad feeling rose at once. Yesterday he'd at least gotten a bowl of congee. Today—was he not going to get a single bite of natural‑food cooking?
Kate knew these particular insects were his nephew Kane's favorite. He himself had tasted them a few times when Kane tucked a skewer or two into the meal bag on his way over. They were good—but the energy they contained was far too meager to compare with dishes made from natural food.
These days, Kate cared more about energy than taste. Flavor could take a back seat.
As a sector manager and commanding officer, his appearance instantly drew the attention of the many soldiers who were hovering nearby to watch Lan Grace cook. Kane, who was standing by to collect the meal, was no exception.
"Uncle, what are you doing here?" Kane asked, a little startled.
Kate flicked him a glance but didn't answer. He walked straight toward Lan Grace. With a cluster of detachment soldiers fanning out behind him, he seemed for a moment like a bright star with its court. His expression had been stern, but the instant he looked at Lan Grace, it smoothed into something respectful and mild. "Miss Lan," he said, "you're not going to make me eat only this today, are you?"
He wasn't happy, but none of that showed on his face. His tone was even and frankly ingratiating, as if he were asking idly. His identity in Sector Nine was exalted; anyone here had to listen to him. Even so, he did not dare to act high and mighty toward the young woman in front of him who could make such food.
He was clear on the bargain: only by keeping Lan Grace happy could he ensure the quality of his future meals. If he offended her and she refused to cook for him, the loss would be his. With her skill, she would thrive anywhere, not just in Sector Nine—she'd do well even on Alliance Star. Meeting Miss Lan on Waste Star felt like finding a treasure.
As for using his authority to threaten her—he wouldn't even consider it. He was a soldier; soldiers ought to be upright. Anyone with ability deserved respect. He disdained petty coercion.
Lan Grace, hearing his voice, finally looked up at him. She didn't know Captain Kate by face, but his words made it easy to guess who he was. Turning the insects on the iron plate, she gathered her energy and offered an apology. "Something unexpected happened today…"
"Oh? What happened?" Kate had come in person to find out why the quality of his meals had been falling.
Lan Grace was not about to tell the whole truth, and she had no intention of pursuing what had been stolen. She knew, more or less, who had done it. If she wanted to pin down exactly which few, she could find out with a few days' quiet observation. For her, getting food now was easy—cook something and more ingredients arrived. For "those people," it was not easy at all.
Hearing that exiles from their intake had been dying, Lan Grace felt a rabbit's grief at the fox's death. The food stolen from her room might buy someone a few more days of life.