Cooking Hot

  Cooking Hot

  Pam Uphoff

  Copyright © 2018 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-1-939746-43-6

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Excerpt from an upcoming story

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Pam Uphoff

  Chapter One

  16 Hija 1408 yp

  Embassy World

  " . . . And I'd really love to go back in a few years when, in theory, the heat's off, and just strip that museum. Look for other buildings. Find out where they went." Ebsa scowled at the fabs. "Even rat shish kabob was better than anything these could possibly produce."

  Ra'd snickered. "Right. Three days after a totally disastrous field mission and you're complaining about the food."

  "Well . . . we've got a hundred semi-quarantined people, with one change of clothes each, and I'm not sure where they're sleeping, nor who's going to feed them." Ebsa prowled around the corner. The Directorate building was the smallest of the three office-and-housing towers of the Empire's embassy on the cross-dimensional world of Embassy. The third floor contained the gym, a med station and the cafeteria, surrounding the central core of elevators, stairs and utilities.

  "Except I suspect it'll be me." Ebsa stopped in front of a locked door.

  "Storage or something." Ra'd shook his head. "It's like you believe in magic and think you can create delicious meals out of nothing."

  "Fabbed ingredients can be made into perfectly edible food." Ebsa tapped his fingers on the door knob. It clicked and he pulled it open.

  "See? Cleaning equipment . . . " Ra'd's voice failed as Ebsa flicked on the light.

  "And beyond the mops, ta da! A nice little kitchenette. I wonder if it works?"

  "You can't even get to it. There's tables shoved in there, on end. Not to mention all the floor polishers and so forth. It's a junk room, not a kitchen."

  "Those are buffet tables. Exactly what I need."

  A laugh from behind them. "The deadly duo, back together. No wonder I felt the Multiverse quake in terror."

  Ebsa put down a robotic sterilizer and glanced back. "Hey Ogly. They let you guys out?"

  That got him a rude gesture. "Same treatment as you. Delousing and new clothes, and even then, this is as far as we're allowed until they're certain we didn't somehow magically bring giant spiders and rats back with us."

  Ra'd was frowning at their old nemesis from college days. "Ogly. Heard you abused my gun."

  Ogly just grinned. "Killed twenty-four giant rats with eighteen shots. And my shoulder. Definitely killed my shoulder."

  "Good."

  Ebsa snickered, watching Ogly try to figure out just what part Ra'd found good.

  More men crowded up behind them. The two Action Teams, the construction and maintenance crew. A couple of the scientists.

  "Have they figured out where we are going to stay?" Ebsa tried to not sound too hopeful. Disco may have decided they weren't contagious, but their own government was . . . probably being sensible. But it left a hundred people flapping in the wind with nowhere to go.

  "Yeah, the injured in the hospital here, the slightly injured in apartments by the hospital. They're going to bring in a bunch of squishies, but for now, the rest of us are in tents around a garage with restrooms." Yeahza grinned. "I made sure there was one for you. Then they pointed us this direction to find fabs and vendos."

  Ebsa winced. "Well if we can just move all this stuff out of the kitchen, I can beat that . . . "

  ***

  "I must say, Izzo, the Directorate coddles its projects. I can't believe you'd send a chef like this into the wilds to nearly get eaten by giant rats."

  Izzo looked over his shoulder to where one of the top Warriors in the Empire was amusing himself turning out five star dinners. He strengthened his Parisian accent. "Scientific expeditions do get our top personnel."

  Ambassador Ashe half closed his eyes as he chewed. "I don't suppose the fellow's from Montevideo? There's a superb restaurant down there, and this is their signature dish. In fact, it's better. Bring that fellow over, won't you?"

  Izzo caught Ebsa's eye and crooked a finger.

  "Director Izzo?" Ebsa wasn't well known to him, just occasionally encountered during training sessions at Versalle.

  The Ambassador smirked. "Yes, as I suspected, a Uruguay accent. Does Madam Castellanos know you've stolen her green peppercorn sauce recipe?"

  "Distinctive, isn't it, sir? And yes, I learned sauces under her tutelage."

  The Ambassador sat back looking smug. "But once word gets out that you've used it, stolen a recipe from your Head Chef, you'll never get a position in a top kitchen."

  Ebsa raised his brows. A twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Good thing I like the Directorate, then, sir."

  "I could pay you more. You wouldn't be sent off to weird hellholes to cook for Action Teamers."

  Izzo blinked. "Trying to steal a cook? In full public view, Ashe?"

  "I thank you for the offer, sir. But I really like going Across. Please enjoy your meal." Ebsa stepped back and half turned before the ambassador spoke.

  "I really can keep you from ever getting a position."

  Ebsa turned back and eyed the man. "Actually, I cook for relaxation and enjoyment. In between weird Across postings with . . . Director? What am I actually classified as right now? Am I going back to the Action Subdirectorate, or have I clawed my way back up into Exploration with this last project, which ought to be in the process of closing down?"

  "The subdirectors are still fighting over you."

  "Oh One! Well, Across with other Teamers of various sorts is an excellent place to be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd best get back to feeding people."

  Izzo let a hint of smirk show as he picked up his fork. "I must get down to Montevideo again, and try that restaurant."

  Ashe growled. "Wasting a cook like this . . ." He stared into space for a moment, then looked back, a slow smile crossing his face. "Izzo . . . I think I need your camp cook for a few more weeks."

  "To train your chefs?"

  "No, to put those uppity Comet Fall Witches back in their place with a cook-off."

  Izzo grinned. "Privately, or publicly? You could also challenge Earth . . . "

  "And everyone else." Ashe grinned back. "It's late fall, so we could call it a pre-holiday festival. Before Ramadan and their Winter Solstice."

  Izzo subdued a desire to laugh. "And Earth celebrates that Christmas thing . . . which is going to fall roughly between the Winter Solstice and the Eid this year. Let's do it."

  Chapter Two

  October 17, 3523 ce

  Fall 1406 px

  19 Hija 1408 yp

  Embassy World

  Director Lon Hackathorn finished up his summary and looked out at the crowd filling the assembly room that comprised half the space in the headquarters building of the Department of Interdimensional Security and Cooperation.

  Disco’s morning briefs were rarely interesting. Usually, about half the embassies sent someone, just in case something interesting came up.

  This morning, when the Ambassador from the Empire of the One, himself, had walked in, all the reps from elsewhere had started calling their embassies. So Lon had a full house for what had, so far, been an ordinary, short meeting
.

  At least twenty ambassadors. And their staffs. And the Newsies have caught on and crowded the back of the room.

  "Are there any further matters anyone would like to bring to our attention at this time?"

  Damn, he's standing up.

  "I recognize Ambassador Ashe representing the Empire of the One." Lon stepped aside as Ashe strolled forward.

  The Oner gave the audience a sharp smile.

  "It has come to my attention that the Comet Fall Witches in The Kitchen restaurant consider themselves . . . "

  Oh great, a dramatic pause. What are you up to, Ashe?

  ". . . the best cooks in the Multiverse."

  What?

  "I disagree, and challenge them to a cook-off. In two weeks. In full public view out in the plaza.

  "In fact, to settle the matter, I invite all the embassies to join in." Ashe smirked. "It's rather short notice for a proper Fall Festival, but I believe we may bring in a few cultural displays as well."

  Fuck. Me. What the hell are they up to now?

  ***

  So, a meeting a half hour later, of all Disco personnel, to see if anyone else had a clue . . .

  "Umm, Xen?" Lon eyed the wizard, who was leaning back with both hands clutching his short hair. "Do you know what the Oners are up to?"

  "No." Xen thumped forward in his chair, splayed his hands out on the table in front of him. "And furthermore I haven't a clue what the Witches might do to win. Or some joker . . . Lon . . . magic spells and potions? Just kill me now."

  "Oh dear. The potential for a world-wide orgy . . ." Q giggled, then sobered. "All right, I can talk to the witches, but just one idiot with the Wine of the Gods could . . . "

  "Trash diplomacy with years worth of repercussions." Xen chewed a fingernail.

  Lon swallowed. "Given everything I've seen and heard about it, I think generations of repercussions is what you mean. Right. I'll lay out some basic rules—no magic, no potions, ingredient list for those with dietary restrictions."

  Inso chuckled. "Don't forget poisons, drugs, psychoactive substances, nanotech . . . "

  "Hey! Chocolate and caffeine are basic dietary necessities!" Q protested.

  Jiol snorted. "Not to mention labeling foods that are—or are not—Halal, Kosher, Buddhist, Vegetarian . . . "

  "Gluten free, Low Carb, Paleo. Good grief." Karl Mantigo shrugged. "So, how much organization do we need?"

  "Lots." Lon looked around. "Jiol, you're the boss. Karl, Juliette, Cactus? You're her minions. Xen? Q? We may need drinking water in spots around the plaza and public toilets. Since you two probably know where the pipes are?"

  The siblings both nodded.

  Xen sighed. "I'll turn all the dimensional gates outward, so at least we won't have too much vehicular mayhem. In fact, Jiol? If you canvas the embassies to see how many people want to cook, you might ask if they want their gates moved to their embassy grounds."

  "That could be a lot of work." Lon injected. "We've seen you pushing absolutely nothing across the ground with great effort."

  Xen nodded. "Thus having the added advantage of keeping my mind off of potential disasters."

  Lon nodded. World-wide orgy. Oh Dear God, are the Oners trying to destroy the very idea of cross-dimensional diplomacy?

  Chapter Three

  19 Hija 1408 yp

  Embassy World

  "A cook-off? With all the other embassies?" Ebsa boggled. "And I'm in charge?"

  The ambassador smiled, or at any rate showed a whole lot of teeth.

  "I . . . will have an equipment list, and consumables . . . How many people am I going to be feeding?" Ebsa looked out the windows. "Small sampler plates, perhaps? For thousands? One! May I borrow all your kitchen staff?"

  "All of them?"

  "On the day. Before then . . . I'll teach them a bit about sauces."

  "Excellent. Go make some lists."

  Ebsa left the ambassador's office, still a bit boggled. :: Nighthawk? Are you around? ::

  :: Yes. But I'm not going to tell you what the Witches are going to cook. ::

  Ebsa grinned. :: A challenge will be good for them. What I actually wondered was how many people live on Embassy. I know we and Earth both have several thousand on staff . . . and it's a family posting . . . but what about the rest?"

  A long pause. :: Andrei says a bit under twenty thousand people work here, with half of them living here. ::

  :: And some people are bound to come over for the cook-off, out of sheer curiosity, let alone the agents picking up information about everyone else. One! I hope the ambassador is going to back up his challenge with a huge budget for food! ::

  He got a mental laugh in return.

  He punched the button for the elevator and fired up his minicomp. Started the list with a bulk buy of 20,000 small disposable plates, 20,000 disposable forks, 50,000 paper napkins.

  At least those are cheap.

  Tables and chairs. We can rent those.

  He stepped out of the way as people exited the elevator, stepped on and tapped the ground floor button. Beef, chicken, tofu . . .

  "Hey you! Shouldn't you be using the service elevator?" The man glaring at him looked quite young, but with that attitude he had to be a High Oner, so he could be as much as fifty.

  Ebsa gave him his best baffled expression. "No." Dropped his gaze back to his comp.

  Green peppercorn sauce, mustard cream sauce, or wine reduction?

  "You're just a cook Da . . . Ambassador Ashe is trying to steal from the Directorate. I don't have to put up with your presence."

  The man was glowing. Not quite to the point that it could be considered a challenge, but . . .

  Ebsa eased off on his outgoing shields for just a moment, then raised them back to his usual "polite public level." Which was enough to let other Oners know he was of the One, but no higher. He ignored the man, now pressed against the wall, watching him with alarm.

  What else do you need for a cook-off? Rice or pasta, beneath the meat sample? No. Too messy to eat. Think bite size, with toothpicks.

  The elevator doors opened, more people got on.

  And how long is this fair going to go on? I could do pastries in the morning, and desserts well after lunch . . . if "lunch" is when the cook-off is . . . or will it be an all day sort of thing?

  The new people were looking over his field uniform and noses were raising, and glares coming his way. He nodded to the pathetic office staffers.

  But, of course, people will be sampling food from all over. It's not like I have to give each one a full meal.

  He got off with the rest and headed for building three. The rest of the bunch turned either for building two—apartments and shopping mall—or the lines for the busses home.

  Except for the idiot who'd not-quite glowed at him.

  "I want to know who you are." Very snarly voice.

  Ebsa glanced at him. "Ebsa Clostuone Montevideo. XR, of course."

  No, not tofu, not in a contest. Mushrooms and steamed asparagus. Maybe a cilantro-poblano cream sauce made with almond milk? Hmm, have to do a bit of experimenting . . .

  "I am going to report you! Who is your immediate superior?"

  "I'm not actually sure who I'm working for, at the moment. Ah, try Wxxo Withione. Not sure where he is, at the moment. Possibly back across at the quarantine world, checking everything. I suppose someone in here will know." Ebsa trotted up the stairs.

  Gotta finalize a menu, make a comprehensive list of supplies, and get it in early tomorrow. Tonight . . . I wonder if I can find either almond milk or cashew milk? I'd like to give an all-the-way vegan sauce a try. Surely there's a grocery in building two.

  ***

  There were two groceries. One standard, one advertising "Real Food."

  Ebsa stepped inside. Always hard to tell what people consider "real food." But the produce section was well stocked, and the meat department . . . a few nice steaks and fresh looking fish . . . "Emu?"

  "It's very tasty." the b
utcher sounded exasperated. "People just won't try it. I have a hundred kilos back in the freezer. One only knows what I'm going to do with it all!"

  "That's interesting." Ebsa eyed the meat on display. "And about five kilos defrosted? I'll take it all and experiment."

  He added some fresh fruit and lots of veggies, found almond milk, and headed back to building three.

  Now I ought to go meet the restaurant staff . . .

  ***

  Ebsa stepped into the beautiful big ultra modern kitchen and sighed in appreciation. The men in white turned to scowl at him.

  "Chef Unsa? I'm . . . "

  "That's Master Chef Unsa to you. I know who you are. A One damned effing nuisance who actually thinks he can show me how to make a proper sauce?" The big red faced man glared, teeth on edge. "Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen!"

  "Oh Dear. So, Ambassador Ashe is less than diplomatic at home?"

  Oh crap, I can't do this alone!

  "What do you think of this cooking challenge?"

  More teeth showing. "That he ought to have let us handle it, not turned it over to a social climbing Upcomer Closey Bastard from some obscure little clan in South America. You don't even have a Cooking Cert from your own precious little school."

  Ebsa ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know . . . I don't think you've missed a single possible insult, there." I think I'd rather do this all alone! "I wonder if we can get enough space for two Oner . . . booths or whatever . . . unless you think I'll show you up?"

  He smiled nicely and left. Right. Now it's personal.

  Chapter Four

  20 Hija 1408 yp

  Embassy World

  "There you are!"

  Ebsa looked around the crowded dining room, but the comment wasn't aimed at him.

  A middle age woman, looking cross. Trailing three sullen teenagers. Taking aim at Dr. Coffee—Ocfe Withione—one of the Archeologists he'd been marooned with.