The conversation turned to more neutral topics, like what Pete would be putting on the menu, whether the champagne would be drinkable or better used to scour toilets, and laying bets on whether Hanratty would smile. Time flew by as their chatting turned the bathroom duty into an afterthought, and they were done before they knew it.
Throughout the rest of the day, Cass felt a sense of excitement infect the station as the crew began to anticipate the midwinter celebration. It was a nice change from the anxiety the communications outage had caused, although there was a reluctance to talk about the celebration openly, as if mentioning it out loud would cause Hanratty to cancel it out of spite. But it was impossible to ignore the look of anticipation on everyone’s faces as she passed them in the hall or sat down to eat in the galley. Even the previously tasteless lunch buffet took on a richer flavor as the crew whispered to each other how much better the next night’s meal would be than the gruel they were eating now. The day couldn’t pass quickly enough.
The next night, long lines formed outside the galley while the smells of cooked food—the kind no one had experienced in months—wafted down the halls. It was virtual torture and the crew shifted from foot to foot, antsy and barely able to contain themselves, trading jokes and telling stories to keep their mind off the dinner that was so close. Cass had heard of one’s mouth watering in anticipation before, but she’d never experienced it, at least not like she was now.
Colin and Anne were standing in front of her, with Colin trying unsuccessfully to remember the punch line to a joke, though based on Anne’s expression, it wouldn’t have helped. At one point, with her back half turned to Colin, she rolled her eyes at Cass, who bit her lip and turned away.
“Cass?”
She turned. Pete, wearing his white cook’s apron, had appeared at her elbow looking harried and carrying an insulated cooler with a thick handle. He was a small man, perpetually hunched over as though carrying the combined weight of the one hundred meals he had to prepare every day. A few strands of dark, stringy hair had escaped his hairnet and were plastered against his forehead.
“What’s up, Pete?”
“I hate, really hate, to ask you this, but I need a favor.”
Her heart sank down to the depths of her stomach. “As long as it doesn’t mean missing dinner.”
“No, not quite,” he said, then hurried on when he saw the look on her face. He gestured with the cooler. “Almost everyone on base is here for the dinner, but there are a few people who can’t make it. It doesn’t seem right that they have to miss the big blowout.”
She groaned. “You want me to deliver it to them?”
He nodded. “I would do it, but it’s going to take everything I’ve got just to get the real meal on the table for everyone.”
Cass tried to ignore the flip-flops her stomach was doing. “What are you offering?”
“The eternal goodwill of your fellow crew members?”
“I can’t eat goodwill,” Cass said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne grin. “Try again.”
“I can promise you an extra dessert.”
“Two. Plus a bottle of wine.”
“Good Lord,” he said. “Not a chance. Two desserts and an extra glass of wine.”
“Got any candy bars hidden back there?”
He looked at her slantwise. “Maybe.”
“Two desserts, an extra glass of wine, and a couple of candy bars.”
“Done.” They shook and he handed her the cooler. She frowned, thinking of something. “Wait, why the cooler? Whose meal am I delivering?”
“Jun’s.”
She glowered at Pete. “You are not going to tell me he’s out at COBRA.”
He grinned and started moving back toward the kitchen. “Afraid so.”
“Jesus Christ. It’s going to take me an hour.”
“No take-backsies, Cass.”
“You son of a bitch! I want three desserts,” she called, but he’d already disappeared through the swinging door with a wave.
Anne, Colin, and the others around her shot her a sympathetic look, but no one offered to take her place, she noticed. The way the food was smelling, ten desserts wouldn’t be a good enough trade.
“If you follow the flag line, it’s not too bad,” Anne offered with a pained smile.
Grumbling, Cass broke out of line and carried the cooler down the hall to her room, where she went through the laborious process of suiting up in full gear, including three under-layers, a parka, bunny boots, and the two-tiered glove system—a neoprene layer under bear claws—needed for the cold. She kept the hood down and the balaclava off until she reached the airlock for Destination Zulu, the ground-level exit, but before long it was time to put both on and cinch them down tight.