Even though he had been moved by Lan Grace's kindness many times and had built up a bit of resistance, this time Mi Milo still found his eyes stinging. Living with her, he had grown dependent. He didn't want to leave her side—but he didn't want to be a drag on her either.
"Lan Grace, I'm really happy you can finally leave Waste Star," he said. "The Second Military Academy doesn't sound as impressive as the First, but it's still very good."
He forced a light smile. "If I have time later, I'll go to your academy to see you."
Lan Grace lifted her head and looked at him. She heard the comfort in his words—he was making the decision for her, telling her to leave him behind and go. The more he thought of her first, the less she wanted to go.
There was only one slot per year; she couldn't bring him. She had already started considering a counterplan: let Mi Milo go first, and she would grit her teeth and stay another year on Waste Star, then leave next year.
"All right, I won't keep you," Mi Milo said, cutting himself off. "I need to think about what parting gift to give you." He didn't wait for her to answer; he turned and ran.
If he stayed a second longer, the tears he was holding back would fall. It would be too embarrassing to let Lan Grace see him like that.
…
Early the next morning, the first package of natural foods Captain Kate had ordered through the Alliance Star network arrived. The moment Lan Grace saw the ingredients, her irritability blew away like dust in a wind. She slipped into cooking mode.
After a month eating her food, Captain Kate was familiar with her range. With limited ingredients, no matter how clever she was, the menu could only vary so much. He had chosen items from among the relatively affordable natural foods—what he liked best, at prices he could still accept.
From Buckner Star's Golden Valley, three hundred grams of flour; an apple from Nanzhen Star's Amai Mountain; one carrot; one onion; and a small parcel from the Starshine Group: a little sea salt and a small bottle of animal fat. More supplies would follow in the afternoon.
In view of the opportunity Kate had offered her, Lan Grace decided not to phone it in. This time she would cook properly.
She cut the carrot and onion into neat little cubes, five millimeters to a side, each one steady and square. She poured oil into a cold pan, then let it heat to a medium shimmer before adding the diced vegetables. Turning them evenly, she made sure each piece was glossed with oil and took the heat. The faint purple of the onion paled as it cooked; only then did she add a small spoon of salt and flip the mixture a few more times before splashing in a little water.
Sizzle—white bubbles surged up where the cool water hit hot oil. In a handful of seconds the little bit of water was boiling, burbling at the rim. When the carrots began to soften, Lan Grace levered up a stick of iron and poked at the fuel under the stove to raise the fire. With the heat up, the pan reduced quickly. Even with only oil and salt, the fragrance filled the doorway, the colors bright and clean.
Using the simplest method preserved the natural food's original texture and woke up the aroma inside the ingredients.
As for the flour, she added water and kneaded quickly, shaping dough into hand‑pulled noodles with practiced motions. She boiled them in rolling water to a firm nine‑tenths doneness, lifted them with chopsticks, and sluiced them through cool water to stop the cooking. She liked noodles "washed" once like this; it kept the bounce in the bite and, with the extra starch rinsed away, the strands were less likely to stick.
She spooned the carrot‑onion topping over the noodles, a clean bowl of hand‑pulled tossed noodles. When she was halfway done cooking, Kane arrived and waited at the side. The moment the food was ready, he picked up the bowl and hustled off with it.
At the door he called back, "Save a bowl for me!"
He could barely keep the hunger out of his voice. This was the second time he had seen her make this dish; the first time, Mi Milo had been hovering, eyes bright and fixed, and Kane had gone without. But today, the sun was high, and the shadow that usually appeared at dawn to trail Lan Grace—Mi Milo—hadn't shown up at all.
Lan Grace glanced at the remaining noodles, shook her head, and sighed. She'd save this for Mi Milo—he liked it. As for herself, girls liked sweets more. The morning package had also included some flour and an apple; that was enough to make a small apple pie.
Waste Star's air was dry and stuffy. The noodles she had set on the makeshift table at her door were already going half‑dry in the heat. Mi Milo still didn't appear. The break in his routine surprised her. Yesterday he had talked about preparing a gift for her; today he was hiding? From what she had come to know of him, he wasn't the type to avoid things.
After finishing the apple pie, she tidied the doorway, shut her own door, and walked toward Mi Milo's room.
The exiles' rooms stood in two long rows in this area. When her batch had been dumped here, the previous batch hadn't died off yet, so the assignments had been random. She and Mi Milo weren't neighbors. She followed the row until she reached his door. She knocked lightly. No sound came from within; it felt as if no one was home. Her brow drew in. She tried again, soft voice: "Mi Milo, are you there?"
Silence.
Something felt wrong. Mi Milo had only one friend on this planet—her. He was always at her side like a little tail, never more than a step away. But today, a whole morning had passed without a sign of him. Had something happened?
An uneasy feeling rose like cold water. The next second, she abandoned patience. Bang, bang, bang—her knocking thudded, the door rattling.
"Mi Milo! Are you there?"
Whether she knocked too hard or the latch was flimsy, with a "thunk" the door swung open. She looked in. The room was empty.
She paused, then noticed something off. The quilt on the bed was tossed and tangled, like someone had gotten up in a hurry. A cup on the bedside cabinet held half a measure of water. She touched it. It had gone cold.