Author: Trek in Tandem
Archive: with permission.
Author's Note: Originally written in character for an RPG sort of situation in January of this year, this piece answers the burning questions posed by the opening scene of "The Void"--namely, Seven COOKS?? Whaaa?. ;-) It seemed like such a missed opportunity and you know what fanfic writers like to do with those . . . My theory about that scene is that this is not her first time in the kitchen . . .

Inefficient, Human Things

I learned to cook in my third year aboard Voyager. Cooking is an inefficient use of time here on Earth, where there is always enough power for replicators and a variety of restaurants within walking distance. On Voyager, however, we were always conserving power. Replicator usage was rationed. We were fortunate to have Neelix. I don't know who else among the crew would have cheerfully cooked meal after meal for over a hundred people and cheerfully suffered the resulting complaints. When the Bajorans were happy, the Vulcans found the food too spicy. When the Vulcans were content, even the humans were bored. When the Bolians were pleased, the rest of the crew avoided the Mess Hall as soon as they heard.

At the doctor's encouragement, I had reluctantly begun to eat more. Like the Vulcans, I did not appreciate strong flavors or a variety of flavors within one dish. I began to research the art of cooking for myself. Then I began to make suggestions to Neelix and he finally countered with an invitation to come into his kitchen and 'have a go.' I found it surprisingly pleasant, the action of chopping vegetables with precision...to slice, dice, mince, and julienne. To seek perfection through herbs and spices, which I used more often as my palate adapted, matured. I came to prefer complex recipes; the greater the challenge--the greater number of things that might be done incorrectly and thus spoil the dish--the more satisfying I found successful results. I came to enjoy the ordered chaos of the kitchen.

The crew complimented Neelix on the new additions to his menus. I'd made him promise to never let anyone know when I had cooked, that I had ever cooked. I would practically sneak into the kitchen during night shift and leave my attempts in stasis units for Neelix to find in the morning. In private, he sometimes referred to me as "the kitchen fairy." He apparently appreciated the occasional reduction in his own tasks. As time passed and I honed my skills, he encouraged me to allow him to give me credit for my work, but I always rejected the idea. My strategy had always been to remain aloof, to let most of the crew believe I was nothing more than "the ice queen" so many considered me to be. A penchant for such a human thing would make me vulnerable.

And then one night, the captain caught me in the kitchen. Her replicator was malfunctioning again--she always claimed it held a grudge against her for some unspecified, yet deserved, abuse. I never believed it. If an inanimate construct can have emotional responses to people, then Voyager surely loved Kathryn Janeway.

Cooking is inefficient, but power was not unlimited and replicators were unreliable technology (at least where Kathryn Janeway was concerned). She also tended to run out of rations when coffee consumption was up--when Voyager was in or on the brink of crisis and her captain wasn't getting enough sleep. She could have replicated a four-course meal, if she chose, rations or no: Voyager answered to her voice in all things and would expend its last reserves of energy for a drop of coffee at her word. But I knew she adhered strictly to the rationing policy and, after she knew my secret, it was a simple matter to always know when her rations were low or gone, to use some of mine for fresh ingredients and leave a meal in her quarters or ready room. She had insisted I be allotted as many rations as the rest of the crew, though I drew most of my energy from the ship, and I never ran low. Voyager sustained me and I made sure her captain stayed strong of body, as she was strong of mind. We never spoke of it, not aloud.

Eventually, however, she asked if I would prepare a meal for the senior officers, which was, I believe, a success, until we were interrupted. After that, when we gathered in her quarters, I often provided snacks, if not an entire meal. It pleased me to contribute to those evenings. And then my cooking was no longer a closely held secret. I did it openly in the mess hall whenever I chose and the crew complimented my food or complained with abandon and if I was never cheerful, I was myself, and a part of them.

In the Federation, power might as well be limitless and there are many people whose vocation it is to prepare meals from fresh ingredients, chefs who have trained for years to cater to millions of individual tastes. In the Federation, cooking is inefficent, but it is not irrelevant to me.

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