Cooking is one of the best parts of my job for the Resistance. It's caring raised to an art form, the everyday alchemy of turning raw ingredients into the strength to fight. Let the anxieties over my charge in her dreampod fade away, my worries about the state of our supplies wait, and let me command my brigade of cooks to show off the abundance we spent seven years building.

  The food we're serving tonight is not much different than what we serve on other nights, in that it's remixes of a few staple goods grown on site: Corn, wheat, rice; beans, pumpkin, zucchini, tomato; apples, oranges, berries, almonds; eggs, rd, pork, milk - with the occasional inclusion of carefully rationed, jealously stored prewar specialties. But what Yuki Takahashi says about stories applies just as well here: "It's never about what's in it, but why it's in there."

  We had a successful mission with minimal bloodshed. We have a new recruit because of it, one who manages to have a heart still, after all that's happened to him. I intend for tonight's dinner to reward that hard work, to welcome our guest.

  The reviews start coming in immediately, as Captain Beauregarde manages to sneak in ahead of the others, curiously still in his Divesuit.

  "Cornbread, chili with beans, green sad, pumpkin soup - barbequed ribs? Damn," he says, letting his head rock back with his theatrical blink. "Hell of a spread today, Merry. I am impressed. Was the pig sick or is the old man?"

  I put a hand over my mouth in case of the giggles; I found it impossible to dislike the Captain once he took my orientation as a sign of good taste rather than a challenge.

  "Berry cobbler too - oh, you know," I say. "Plenty of new mouths came in today, may as well make 'em feel welcome while we shore up our strategic bacon reserves."

  "By plenty you mean 'the one pilot candidate?'" he asks.

  "Not just," I demur. "What's your read on Soos, by the way?"

  He sighs as he loads up his tray. "Feel like that kid's asking 'fels, is it gay not to jockey for position every time you open your mouth?' Bristled at me for trying to be friendly."

  "But not at the girl," I muse out loud. "He took my good faith in, well, good faith."

  "Man, I hope some time with people he can trust mellows him out," he says. "Plenty of fight in him, but fight's not all a Padin needs to pilot."

  "Thank you for your candid opinion," I say, quite seriously.

  "Only kind we serve," he says, saluting.

  Next up are some of the field workers - some as young as 11, some as old as 16 - but the next Pilot is Becca, also in her divesuit, and suddenly I know why Reginald was in his: Moral support for her making full Lieutenant.

  "Is there pork in the chili?" Becca asks, prepared for disappointment.

  "In that pot of it," I say, "but not in this one."

  Because of course I set aside a separate pot for Becca and Isaac, using salt goat instead.

  "You're the best, Merry," she says. "You think of everything."

  "And we have some lovely goat spare ribs," I say, taking those from under their secret samander and serving her a rack. "Your brother attended to them; they're the closest to kosher we're going to get under the circumstances."

  "I'm sure God will understand," she says. "Thanks again."

  "Thank your brother," I say, to her wincing. "He made sure I knew exactly what to do for you two and volunteered his time preparing the goat." And sughtering it, I don't spell out.

  "I'll try to remember," she says. "This is a lot of food. Is it because of the new kid?"

  I sigh. "Not just the one, but yes. What did you think of Soos, anyway?"

  Becca actually takes the time to think seriously about this as she takes a light portion of sad and a rge portion of berry cobbler for her tray.

  Then she answers, "I think he wants to fight, and I think he wants to - save my life right back, or someone's life, anyway, by fighting."

  She looks me in the eye. "And I want to see him try," she says.

  "We'll see if he's worth the chance," I say.

  "I hope so," she says into her beans. "I really do."

  A few techies and builders under Isaac ter, at least 14, and our pilot candidate in Soos joins us. His reaction to the food is speechless wonder, and an embarrassed arm over his mouth to guard against any chance of seeing him drool.

  "Start slowly," I suggest. "Take a little of the soup and start with that, a little of everything else, try it all, get more of what you like. It's not going away and neither am I."

  "I haven't had pepitas since Halloween before the war," he says in awe. "Let alone... let alone fuckin' barbeque."

  "An army marches on its stomach," I say.

  "Like a serpent, on its belly," he says, softly, to himself. "Hell. Was that Napoleon, or Frederick?"

  "If anyone here knows, it would be our archivist, Yuki Takahashi," I say quite seriously. "She's in charge of our library."

  "You have a library," he says. "With books."

  "And games, and movies," I say. "Though we make a point of teaching everyone under our charge how to read."

  Soos takes a deep breath, then starts to rapidly take small bits and pieces of everything we have. When he's done, unable to wait, he takes a piece of buttered cornbread, bites into it with his eyes closed, chews carefully and swallows.

  He turns to me.

  "I'm going to fight," he says. "To - keep this pce going. And make sure more people find it."

  "That may not be your choice," I tell him. "But I hope you do."

  More farmers, repair folks, guards (none younger than 14) come to eat. The cooks who cooked with me and myself are about to join them when one st pilot comes to us, clutching a toddler in an overly rge t-shirt under one arm, bck curly hair starting to grow on his head.

  "Meredith," she says, nodding. "Join me and the Oracles for dinner and a show?"

  "Victoria," I say. "Help yourself, of course. I'll need to return to help put away the dishes if not clean them -"

  "Naturally. I'll join you, for penance in stealing you away to begin with." she says.

  I think at the time that it's a very good thing that blushing is subtle on skin as dark as mine. "Yes, thank you, that would be very helpful."

  "Least I can do," she says. "Besides, I can steal a smoke when the greedy lil' bastard's on your knee. Cause that stuff smells bad, doesn't it, Archer?" she coos to her child.

  "Nasty," he agrees. "Merry made food?"

  "Some nice pumpkin soup and some beans for you, and all that and a rack of ribs for Mama," Victoria assures him.

  "All delicious," I promise.

  After consideration, Archer reaches out a tiny hand to me. "Thank," he says.

  I delicately take it and shake it gently, and say, "You're welcome, Archer."

  We take our dishes to a table under a canopy that, while not marked, everyone knew by consensus was reserved for seven people.

  One - Colonel Fitzroy - was, thankfully, absent, having had his meal run to him in his office while he did whatever it was he did to stave off fatigue for another night.

  The others were the six he, perhaps foolishly, trusted with the actual running of the Treasure Isnd Resistance in his absence: Major Victoria Lam, Security Chief Mun Poitras, Oracle of Machines Isaac Emett Knightley, Oracle of Morale Luis Buenaventura, Oracle of Archives Yuki Takahashi, and myself.

  Oracle of Quarters, Meredith Odetta Baker.

  "First order of business is to thank Merry for an absolutely fucking outstanding meal, one of the best I've seen her do, to welcome the company that Isaac and Mule risked their lives getting over here," Victoria says, raising a gss of honey lemonade, and I put my hands over my face as my peers cheer me.

  "Thank the cooks," I say, "and the farmers, before you thank me."

  "But thank you," Mule says, with a bray of ughter like her nicknamesake. "I dunno if this kid was worth bringing out the ribs, but as long as I get to have some -"

  "- that is the next order of business, isn't it?" Isaac says, carefully cutting his rack of goat ribs into individual bones. "Determining if he's Padin material or not. Fitzroy's desires will not make him so - and I am willing to tell him that if the need comes up."

  "Wouldn't worry too much about that," Luis says, pointing a spoon at him with a grin. "Yung Hay-Soos absolutely leapt at the chance to dunk himself in a pod of goo and dream up a giant robot so he could throw hands at the aliens."

  "Does he have the slightest idea how the ONI Armor works?" Yuki asks, the act of pushing her gsses back up her nose accentuating her frown. "What piloting entails? He's probably expecting foot pedals and joysticks, Top Gun or Gundam shit, not the kind of mental gymnastics the ONI actually requires."

  "He's probably halfway to a crush on Becca already, if that helps," Luis says.

  "It does not," Isaac growls, "but thank you for the warning."

  Luis clicks his tongue, holds up his finger, and changes tack. "In awe of the pilot of the shining armor that rode to his rescue at the very least," he amends. "That's at least one worthwhile weapon to draw on. Betchu that his middle name makes Colonel Fitzroy his second."

  "Then he is the Colonel's son? You've confirmed this," Victoria says, eyebrow raised, face carefully controlled. ("Son," Archer echoes from her knee.) "That fact raises some red fgs on its own for our, ah, operational autonomy."

  I sigh.

  "He is," I say. "Which... I am inclined to say that it is not his fault that he had a man like the Colonel as his father. It shouldn't matter, although I know it will."

  Victoria meets all the others eyes, then mine, and nods, spinning her wrist at me with her finger pointed: go on. I take a deep breath. "What matters is this," I say. "The strain on our current forces is too much. We need a fourth Musketeer, and I believe that we should give Jesus Fitzroy Castelno a chance at pying our D'artagnian."

  Yuki smiles at that, as I knew she would. I think I've convinced her. Luis, likewise, was with him as soon as he spoke with Becca in his presence.

  "My concern is how he'll act to the others," Isaac says. "He has spent seven years in the barbarism of mainnd San Francisco, and... it shows in his speech, the way he reacts to people and surprises. Mule can confirm it."

  "Your worries aren't unwarranted," I say with a shrug. "He has an intense need to prove himself, and isn't always good at expressing that without coming off as hostile - as Captain Beauregarde found out. But a desire to prove himself is not a bad thing, and - well -"

  I actually giggle into my sleeve, and the others look at each other before looking back to me.

  "Well what, Baker?" Victoria says.

  "He has always tried to be on his best behavior for the girls, you know?" I say, grinning. "For Becca, and with me. Which is why I propose to be his test Oracle during his Trial of Knighthood."

  Mule rolls her eyes, and Yuki audibly scoffs. But Isaac sits up straight in his chair, thinking.

  "Seven years after the end of Western civilization and the hets still aren't alright," Isaac mutters.

  I ugh, at least. It gets a smile out of Yuki, as well.

  But Victoria, to my great relief, nods. "And you'll civilize the bastard yet?"

  "I've proven good with feral recruits before," I say.

  "You have," she concedes, and my heart skips a beat. "Everyone close your eyes. All in favor of Meredith Baker administering Castelno's trial, raise your hands."

  I close my eyes and raise my hand. And I know that Yuki and Luis are with me, even if Isaac and Mule are not.

  "Put your hands down. All opposed, raise your hands."

  I realize, with gratitude, that I don't hear the soft white noise of crinkling or sliding fabric from raised arms and hands.

  "It's unanimous, then," Victoria says. "We'll give him two or three days to recover, then start his Trial within the week, may God help him."

  I open my eyes and see Luis with his arm on Isaac's shoulder, while he looks away, troubled, arms folded.

  But he still voted to give us the benefit of the doubt, and I will remember that.

  "Now, what's next on the agenda?" Victoria asks, stabbing her cobbler with her fork so that the juices run red.