Tom Ligon - The Delicate Crunch of Marshmallows

10. Build the best damned spaceships you can.

Buzz entered the safety cubicle wearing a faded T-shirt and shorts, instead of the usual jumpsuit. “Raid!” he yelled, causing the two poker-playing technologists to scatter their cards and chips.

“Sir?” one said, amidst a slow rain of cards in the light gravity.

“Just kidding. I’m six months overdue on a safety survey. Thought I’d get it out of the way.” Buzz slipped into a seat at the monitor console and began testing the system.

The console was computer-monitored, but also had direct fail-safe indicators for critical fire and air circuits. Partway through the survey, Buzz found an indicator which would not respond when queried. He pulled the panel, and found a bypass jumper.

“What the…? Who screwed with the gas detector in Chem 5?”

One tech came over to look at the jumper. “Beats me, sir. We’re stand-ins. Only been here a couple of hours. I could see if anyone’s got the lab reserved.”

“Do it,” Buzz ordered as he pulled the jumper. The circuit responded with an immediate alarm condition. “Oh hell. What does that mean?”

The computer answered. The sensor was non-specific, but was detecting significant quantities of abnormal compounds in the air, possibly toxins or combustion products.

“Sir,” the tech reported, “Dr. Thompson has had that lab reserved for two days.”

“Damn!” Buzz grabbed a breathing mask and a fire extinguisher. “I should have kept a better eye on her after that memo. I hope she hasn’t done something stupid. Come on, grab your gear.” Buzz pressed a silent alarm to page a replacement emergency team.

Seconds later, they were two decks down, outside the chemical instrument bay from which the alarm originated. Buzz cautiously touched the door to see if it was hot, then pulled the handle and opened it a crack. No smoke emerged. “Doesn’t look like a fire, anyway.”

Buzz handed his fire extinguisher to one of the safety crewmen, switched on his air-quality monitor, then checked the fit of his mask. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. His two assistants followed with fire extinguishers.

Erica looked up from her work, annoyed. “Damn! I thought I’d deactivated the alarm.”

Buzz looked around. Nothing was burning, but Erica was hiding a tray in a drawer under the bench. On the bench was an electric hot-plate which was running orange-hot and producing a thin curl of smoke. He pulled his mask back and sniffed cautiously. It almost smelled like wood burning. He pulled the mask off. “Damn, Erica, that’s what had us worried. After that thing with Peterson, I dunno. I just thought—”

“Thought I might be doing myself harm? And miss this picnic? Buzz, are you out of your ever-loving mind? Do you know some of the stuff people are fixing up for it?”

“Well,” Buzz paused just a second, “I’ve been smelling all sorts of interesting stuff cooking.”

“You hear about the hot tub?”

“Just rumors. There’s also some wild talk about raiding the peanut oil stocks and heading for the hangar. Oh, and a couple of techs are building what looks like a dunking machine. The target flapper is marked ‘Rule 2.’ ”

“Uh-oh. Wonder who that’s for?” Erica winked. She pointed to the firefighters, and a small crowd of curious on-lookers gathering outside the hatch. “Chase those nosy rascals out of here and I’ll show you the top secret project I’m bringing.”

Buzz turned to his assistants, shrugged, and shooed them outside. When they were gone, he turned back to Erica. “Campfire?”

“Even better.” Erica retrieved the tray from the drawer. It contained a stick and a sheet-metal mold. She plucked a white object from the mold and skewered it on the end of the rod. “We may be a little limited in fancy food up here, but we sure as shootin’ can come up with a little sugar and starch.”

Buzz moved closer. “I’ll be damned.”

Erica put a drop of liquid on the burner, which produced a puff of grey smoke. “You’ll be blessed. I’m still working on the smoke. I’ve managed to synthesize most of the components, but I think there must be some sort of catalysis going on involving glowing coals that I’m still not getting. Here, hold this. Not too close. That’s it, now rotate it at about two RPM.”

Erica positioned a sniffer over the burner, then picked up a cylindrical piece of wood with gouges in it and prepared to shave off another piece.

Buzz recognized the carving from Erica’s childhood. “Erica, stop! That’s too precious to burn!”

Erica turned the carving over and glanced at the face on the other side. “What? This piece of junk, precious? Buzz, I’m flattered, but I’d burn it to a cinder if I thought it would help morale up here. Don’t worry. Truth is I never finished it. The back is supposed to be flat. ” She dropped a wide sliver onto the burner, and it burst into flame momentarily. “But don’t waste it! There, that’s right. Not so close! Now, it’s perfect. ”

Buzz pulled the marshmallow away from the burner and admired it.

“Not bad, for an amateur,” Erica observed. “With my help, of course.” She turned to the gas analyzer. “Got something here. Computer doesn’t have a name for it though.” She reset the instrument and put another sliver on the burner.

Buzz touched the golden crust of his prize and determined that it needed to cool a bit. “Erica, if I’m not mistaken, somewhere in inventory we’ve got a couple of dozen two-by-fours.”

“No good,” Erica replied without taking her eyes from the analyzer’s display. “Aircraft-grade fir. Terrible for cooking. Besides, they’re emergency supplies. Don’t worry, I’ll get this.”

Buzz plucked the delicacy from the skewer. Erica turned to watch as he cautiously placed it in his mouth. He bit down, and smiled as broadly as good manners would allow.

“How was it?”

Buzz savored the flavor before answering. “Erica, that was terrific. I don’t remember ever eating one that was so light. And it tasted sort of… I don’t know…”

“Fruity?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“That’s because we don’t have corn syrup. I used a mixture of sugars which is mostly fructose. Primarily because the sugar we have is mostly fructose. And they’re about twice as fluffy as any commercial marshmallows, due to my secret process, which I will not reveal, although, if you keep in mind where we are, you may find a few clues. Also, I use just a trace of peanut oil to keep them from sticking to the mold. Notice how that improves that oh-so-delicate crunch?”

Buzz nodded. “Absolutely. A masterpiece, my dear. I’m sorry I said what I did about hotdogs.”

“You’re forgiven. Especially if you’ve found a way to whip up some kosher franks for the picnic.”

“Sadly, no.” Buzz hung his head. “Even if I could, perhaps it would not be wise for the station sawbones to suddenly show up with meat.”

The comment struck Erica cold. She lapsed into a distant stare and did not reply.

“Oops,” Buzz said as he recognized his blunder. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful thoughts. Forgive me.”

“You’re not the one who needs forgiving, Buzz. God help me, I’m a heartless bitch. Here I am joking and fixing these silly balls of goo, after I killed a man.” Erica’s chest heaved.

“Enough of that,” Buzz ordered. “Forget what I told you back then. Zerk Peterson did himself in. You failed to help him. I failed to help him. His co-workers failed to help him. But we’re no more to blame, and probably less so, than those lawyers who cleaned him out, and those consultants who came up with GO—oops, almost said it.”