Some of the dogs picked at their food like company diplomats at a high-level formal dinner; others wolfed it down with great gusto, growling over it, their jaws snapping as they ate.
‘They-uh-seem to enjoy their food,” Yana observed as the dog nearest her savagely gulped down his carefully prepared meal as if it were a bear, just-killed.
Bunny shrugged, grinning at the vagaries of her charges. “They do, right enough. And if one doesn’t get it down fast, another’ll try to snag it. That’s one reason we chain them apart. Cuts down on meal fights.”
“That cat of Clodagh’s that followed me home seemed to want to eat the fish Seamus gave me frozen solid,” Yana said.
“Nah! He might bat it around a little and gnaw at the edges, but he’ll wait for it to thaw, or better yet, for you to cook it for him.”
“The same way you cook for the dogs?”
“Of course not. The same way you cook for yourself.”
“I don’t,” Yana admitted. “I’m ship-bred, you know. Food supplements and healthful nutrient bars for rations. Occasionally we get something else, but only the crew members assigned to cook for special functions learn to cook. So, how would you cook it to feed yourself and, uh, guests?”
Bunny grinned at the folly of the people who ran her world but didn’t know how to feed themselves, then patted Yana on the hand and said, “Don’t worry. It’s not hard. I just stew it with a handful of my aunt’s herbs and it makes right good eating.”
Yana thought that over for a moment. Then, taking a breath, she asked, “Tell me which herbs make that sort of fish palatable.”
“Sure, but you ain’t had a chance to get any yet. So I’ll scrounge enough. Meetcha at your place.”
Yana had her stove fire going nicely when Bunny arrived with a small sack of the things she had filched from her aunt’s kitchen.
“Aw, don’t worry about a pinch of this and that,” Bunny said when she saw Yana’s worried expression. Then in short order, she demonstrated the art of concocting a fish stew from the herbs, a handful of rice, and chunks of what cooked into edible root vegetables. Bunny used all the fish from the string. “Because a stew gets better the longer it’s alive. All you gotta do is freeze what’s left overnight and thaw it on the back of the stove when you’re getting hungry. I’ll also show you how to make pan dough.”
She did, and Yana ate a gracious sufficiency. Bunny was still mopping up the stew juices with some of the pan dough when Sean’s unmistakable voice called out, “Slainte, Yana!”
Bunny was closer to the door and, at a nod from Yana, went to open it.
“Ah! Any left in the pot?” he asked, sniffing expectantly.
“Wouldn’t Clodagh feed you?” Bunny asked, catching a plate and a spoon from the shelf on her way to the stove.
“She had enough, and I needed a little space,” Sean said, undoing his coat and hanging it neatly beside the others on the door pegs.
“Who got out this time?” Bunny asked as he settled at the makeshift table so comfortably that Yana stifled the apologies she was about to make.
He paused long enough to ingest a spoonful before he answered.
“The Yallup group,” he said, jamming a piece of pan bread down into the juices. “Lavelle, Brit, and Sigdhu made it; they’ll be grand with some rest and decent eating, though Siggy lost another toe. The odd thing”-Sean wriggled his spoon about as if the movement would solve the oddity-“is that two of them made it.”
“Yeah!” Bunny looked awed by that.
Shouldn’t outworlders survive on this planet if their native guides were efficient? Yana wondered.
“Who?” Bunny went on.
“The team geologist the Yallups sent, father and son, Metaxos by name, Diego and Francisco. Damn fool brought his kid along for the experience.” Scan spaced his phrases, eating in between gouts of information. Bunny snorted at the folly of folk’s notions of experience; Scan grinned, light from the mare’s-butter lamp on the table dancing in his silver eyes. “The son’ll sing about it. The father .. . now, that’s where the trouble begins. He’s aged. The boy said his dad was mid-forties. Looks closer to ninety.”