I knew within 5 minutes of arriving at the colony that they had a good cook. 3 for 3 on smiling faces. There is, in my experience, no clearer indicator of the quality of the grub. 2 out of 3 might be a good command, 1 of 3 might have just been a weirdo, but 3 of 3 had always meant a good cook.
I dropped my bag in the transient quarters and headed directly for the chow hall. It wasn’t regular meal hours, but one of the hallmarks of a good cook was there was always something to snack on. Another was the cook knew everything that was happening.
Theoretically I should report to the commander first, but fresh off a shuttle you could always get away with going to eat, shave, or shit, which were my 3, 2, and 1 smile options. I had always found it better to get the lay of the land before reporting to the commander. First impressions matter, and to honestly assess a colony I couldn’t let the command narrative color my interpretations.
I opened the door to the mess hall and confirmed my initial assessment. The smell was wonderful, as dinner was clearly on the stove. To my left as I entered were an assortment of grab and go snacks. Two other indicators of a great cook jumped out at me as well. First the place was decorated nicely. That might not seem important, but it meant the cook cared about the people eating the food, and not just the food itself. Second, there were already people sitting at a table, eating and chatting.
One of them was the colony commander. So much for that plan. I grabbed a nutribar and a drink and went to his table. Might as well get this over with.
“Inspector Evan reporting, sir,” I shook his hand. He had a firm, practiced handshake, another good sign. It usually meant he went out regularly and interacted with the civilian colonists instead of cocooning tightly in a military bubble.
Major Chase, according to his uniform, “I thought you might come here first. Please, join me.”
As I sat down he wasted no time getting to the point, “What’s wrong with the twelves?”
He was asking about Teraformex 12, the terraforming plant that had seeded the planet. “Sir?”
“Evan, we both know they don’t send out inspectors this early when things are going well. I’ve been following the other 12 series colonies. Two have been written off so far.”
“Technically sir, there is nothing wrong with the twelves,” I answered, “but people have a way of messing things up.”
“Explain.”
“What was it like when you first landed?” I asked, “When you were able to plug in?”
“Everyone else was really excited. Day one, power without rationing. Honestly, I was just shocked it worked without electrocuting everybody.”
“Low opinion of the company?” I asked
“My first assignment was a colony with sevens.”
I whistled out a breath. Teraformex 7 colonies had worse than an 80% fail rate.
“It ate everything rubber. All the weather seals on the early habitats went like that,” he snapped. “You would go out to clear it and it would eat the tires like spaghetti o’s. The only thing that made it tolerable was a good cook. One of the reasons we survived. He figured out how to make it into this god awful drink. Fermented, sour, nasty and about 90 proof. Once we got the colonist drinking it they eradicated enough of the T-7 in their stills for the colony to make it.”
“So you are understandably skeptical of version 12. Probably works in your favor then. The problem is the photoelectric properties are too good.”
“Too good?”
“Yes sir. Every colony is supposed eradicate the plants at a certain rate. So much for crop land, so much for housing, so much for solar cells. And it’s the last one that’s the problem.” I sighed. “T-12 is better than the solar cells. Higher yield per acre. Free, easy power. So people ignore what it’s doing to the atmosphere, avoid doing the work they know they are supposed to be doing. They leave too much area cover with it, and it terraforms the planet right past the green zone.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem here then.” He started to get up. “Follow me to command tent for the requisite death by presentation, and I show you.”
Sensing my reluctance to go straight to the slideshows, he added, “Don’t worry, the cook will hold dinner.”
It was hours of updates, satellite photos, and data. Everything looked close to right. The terrain use and eradication plans looked correct. Two things worried me during the presentation. Atmosphere was at the top end of the schedule and power production was higher than projected. According the satellite imagery all the land use was correct though. By the end of it, I could notice that the air was more oxygenated than one would expect at this stage of a colony, because it didn’t put me to sleep. And the dinner was amazing. Desert was an English Walnut Date Cake topped with a fresh date. It was delicious. One of the first colonists had applied for a variance to bring date trees and the cook had made good use of them.
The next day we went out for a land survey. It was nothing I hadn’t seen before, backs of solar arrays, groves of trees, rows of corn, soy, and other crops. The Major was droning on about which colonist owned which land. The residential habitats were visible in the distance, but I was sure the problem was out here somewhere. We were driving by the third solar array when I realized the problem.
“Stop the car.”
I got out and stood between the two banks of solar arrays. They were both facing away from the road.
“Why are they both facing away from the road?” I started walking out into the field of solar panels.
Major Chase paused for a second. “My command isn’t authorized to leave the road during inspections. Privacy rights of the colonist.”
“Luckily I have a little more oversight. They should have read the fine print on their land contracts.” I walked out in the field and saw the grey-green grassy tendrils of Teraformex 12 growing out of the panel surface. The colonists knew their commander wanted the eradication to continue on schedule, so they had dug up the T-12 and put in solar panels. And then they planted it right back on top of the panels. “Sir, you have a problem.”
“The air is still within acceptable trajectory. If they destroy this immediately we should be able to save the colony,” he looked at me hopefully, “Right?”
“They planted it right over the solar cells.” I pulled up a chunk of the T-12 and the roots had cracked and shattered the panels.
The Major uttered an expletive.
“They are going to have to make a choice between their cheap easy power and their air.” I shook my head. “You’ve studied history; on a billion planets has humanity ever made that choice correctly?”
We rode the rest of the day in silence, the solar arrays facing away from the road indicting each successive colony group. We drove past the date grove, which was something I hadn’t seen on a colony before. Usually change from the master colony template don’t happen until the colony is established and self-sustaining. I had inspected thousands of worlds and never seen a date tree. It was a subtle reminder that every colony is different.
That night I sat in a corner of the chow hall writing up my findings. There was a pall in the command tent where my notional workspace was, and a distinct feeling that I was unwelcome. People left me alone as I type away, doing calculation based on revised understanding of land use and function. The numbers were looking grim. It was possible, if they did everything right, to reduce energy use enough to compensate for a rapid eradication program. And it was just possible, by my rough math for that eradication program to hit the green zone for atmospheric conditions. If the colony was doing everything right though, they wouldn’t be in this mess. If I wrote them off though, that would stop shipments of replacement and repair parts. Then they wouldn’t be able to get new solar panels and they were absolutely doomed.
I was running the last brutal formal, expected future return on investment, when someone sat down across from me. I looked up and saw an older, bald soldier sitting across from me. He outer uniform top was off, and his undershirt looked steamed to his skinny frame. He regarded me with deep brown eyes that stood out from the adjacent smile lines.
He extended his hand, “Sta Sarn’t Beaufort LaPonte at ya service.” He somehow managed to speed through a slow drawl. His long finger were bone and leather. “Word round, ya bout to do for us all.”
“Inspector Evan,” I replied trying to keep thing somewhat formal. It’s important to maintain a professional distance in this situation. “What can I do for you Sergeant LaPonte.?”
“Gi’ Maj. Chase a chance for starters. An help me finish off this Jambalaya.” He pushed a bowl my direction.
“You’re the cook, LaPonte?” Figures. A good cook on a colony like this knows everything that’s going on. Including when someone is about to write them off.
“Ayuh. I see ya in here running ya numbers. Figure if ya had good news ya’d be in the head shop steada ducking em in here.”
“I’m not quite finished yet.” I answered.
“Aren’t finished, but ya know.” He winked, “Ya knew when ya sat down inna corner. Might just be a cook talking, but I trust a man’s gut over a brain any day.”
“You know much about colony development, LaPonte?”
He shook his head no.
“And I don’t know much about cooking. But as I understand it, a new colony is closest to baking as opposed to regular cooking. You have to follow the recipe exactly or the whole thing falls like a bad cake.”
“Ever bake onna new colony?” he asked. I shook my head no. “Recipe don’t help much. Atmosphere’s changing every day, so the recipe does too. Ya don’t get no cake from a book of numbers, ya get it from an oven.”
I looked at him and he looked at me. After a minute he stood up.
“Well I got to clean, but enjoy ya Jambalaya an take all the time ya need.”
I got the results that the cook knew I knew were coming. Tongue reveling in spicy goodness, I ran the numbers again, to be sure. And then a third time.
I took off the next day. In my official report I should have written the colony off entirely. Instead I only downgraded it to doubtful. They did have a good cook after all.