Lus looked at the crackling fire in the middle of the ring of stones. He had asked around about the usual fare when cooking over a campfire on a mission, so he had prepared accordingly.

Now he plopped the heaviest of his sacks near the flames and began pulling out everything (hopefully) that he would need. He had one sack for tonight’s dinner and another with duplicate ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast, so hopefully the meal turned out well and the others enjoyed it.

The first item out of the sack was a special pot for cooking over a fire that Dasy-Jonil had shown him. He set the pot on the ground, its little legs settling into the rocks and dirt, then pulled the black lid off and looked around for somewhere clean to set it.

Finding nothing close, he strode over to the line of expandable chairs and moved one over by his bag. He set the lid on it, handle side down, then went to grab another to set more stuff on. A clang behind him made him nearly drop the second chair as he spun to find the lid rolling on the ground.

“Blast,” he muttered, setting down the chair and hurrying over to the lid. It had dirt around the edges, so he carried it over to the water dispenser and gave it a quick rinse, then returned to the fire. He set it on the chair again, watching to make sure it stayed. He had to center it a couple times, but he finally had it stable enough to move on.

He reached into the bag and continued unpacking. He pulled out a package of prak sausages and set them next to the lid, then placed the container of eggs and the bowl of shredded, boiled prootas on the other chair.

Lus spent a moment looking over his ingredients and reviewing his plans in his mind. Becky had told him about this meal that her father used to make for family camping trips. Hopefully it turned out well.

Pulling out the small container of oil, he turned his attention to the pot. He poured in enough to coat the bottom and set the oil aside, grabbing the heat resistant glove. It went all the way up his arm so he could place the pot in the flames without burning himself.

It was much harder to get the pot settled than he expected. He had to use the heavy, metal bottom to smash the burning logs, creating a more stable surface. He then had to move the pot around until he found a spot to set it that was flat, balanced, and still in the heat.

Once he had it where he wanted it, he returned the glove to the bag and grabbed the bowl of prootas. He took off the lid, leaving it on the chair, and took the bowl to the fire.

He dumped in the small, cream-colored shreds. A satisfying sizzle told him that the pan was heated perfectly.

Lus watched for a minute, then he grabbed a spatula from the bag. He slid it under the cooking prootas and flipped them, smiling as they sizzled again. The top was pleasantly brown and crunchy-looking.

He waited another couple of minutes and stirred the spatula through to break up the prootas that had cooked into a large pancake. This allowed more of the raw prootas to reach the bottom and fry to a nice crisp in the waiting oil.

After getting it stirred well, he stepped back to the chairs. He needed a break from the suffocating heat of the fire.

He stood in the cooler air until the sweat on his face had dried and his breaths didn’t feel so dry anymore. Hurrying forward, he gave the prootas another stir. They were a little darker than he would have liked, but they didn’t seem too burnt.

Lus took another, shorter break before giving the prootas one more stir. They were starting to look fairly consistently browned, so it was time to add the eggs. He glanced at the chair, then back at the pot in the fire. He couldn’t exactly turn down the fire, so he grabbed the heat-resistant glove and pulled the pot of prootas out, setting it next to the ring of stones.

He stepped over to the eggs, then frowned. He hadn’t thought to bring a bowl to mix them in. Looking around, his eyes caught on the empty bowl the prootas had been stored in. There were still a few raw shreds, but it would probably work fine.

He cracked all eight eggs in and broke the orange-yellow yolks with a fork before stirring it all together into a lighter colored, somewhat frothy mixture. There were a few bits of the egg white that didn’t quite break up, but after a minute of vigorous stirring, Lus decided to call it good enough.

Setting the bowl of eggs back on the chair, he grabbed the heat-resistant glove so he could set the pot back in the fire. It took a few tries to get it stable, then he hurried back to the chair and grabbed the egg mixture.

The eggs sizzled as he poured them over the crispy, brown, shredded proota. He stepped back for the spatula, then returned to the fire to give the egg and proota mix a stir.

The eggs cooked more quickly than the prootas, so he had to stay near the flames, stirring every twenty or thirty seconds.

After a few minutes of stirring, he stepped back and gulped in deep breaths of the cooler air. The moment his face no longer felt like a part of the flames, he stepped back in and resumed his stirring. The eggs were almost done. He just saw a few more bits that seemed too soft.

One more short break and a few stirs later, he decided the eggs looked done. He returned again for the glove and pulled it on, then lifted the black pot from the flames and set it on the rocky ground.

Lus stepped back to the chairs where the package of prak sausages waited. He had never cooked with sausage before, so he wasn’t really sure what to do with it. As he glanced from the round tubes of meat back to the pot, he realized that it might have been better to cook the sausages first.

“Too late for that,” he muttered. He’d just have to come up with a different plan. His eyes darted around, looking for some kind of inspiration, and caught on the lid.

It was fairly flat on the inside and he didn’t really need it for this meal. If he could just get it settled in the flames so that it didn’t tip on the handle, it might make a great surface for cooking the sausages.

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He grabbed the heat-resistant glove and pulled it on, then picked up the lid. He carried the lid to the flames and set it carefully handle-side down. He had to push it down and twist it around a bit to get it settled, but he managed to make it stable enough.

Once he had the lid settled, he returned to the chair for the oil. Because the lid was lower in the flames, he decided to keep the glove on so he didn’t accidentally burn himself.

He poured some oil on the lid and watched it pool in the slightly lower center. When he was sure that it wouldn’t drip into the flames, he stepped back. He returned the oil to the chair and grabbed the package of sausages.

Pulling it open, Lus placed the sausages one at a time on the lid, sliding each one through the oil. They sizzled nicely and he took the empty package back to the chair. He set it next to the empty egg bowl and sighed. Since they weren’t on the ship, he’d have to clean up after himself. But that was a later problem.

Grabbing the spatula, he headed back to the flames and gently turned the sausages, so their browned sides faced up. He stepped back for half a minute to get away from the suffocating heat, then crouched and flipped them again.

It was sweaty, stressful work, trying to get the round sausages to stay on the undercooked sides so they would get evenly browned.

Finally, he just had to call it good enough. He used his gloved hand to carefully lift the lid of sausages from the flames.

Only after he had it in his hand did he realize that he couldn’t set it down without dumping the sausages onto the ground. He looked around frantically, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn’t scoop the sausages with the spatula without rolling them off. He couldn’t set the lid down.

His arm ached and trembled with the effort of holding the heavy lid even. Just as he was about to give up, his eyes caught on the pot on the ground.

“Of course,” he gasped, tilting the lid over the pot of cooked prootas and eggs. The sausages all rolled in and he set the lid back on the chair, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

After rolling his shoulder and swinging his arm to release some of the ache, he looked into the pot. The unevenly browned sausages looked out of place, huge among the bits of shredded proota and small scrambled egg chunks.

Picking up the spatula again, Lus used it to cut the sausages into smaller pieces. His cuts weren’t clean or even, but he managed to break down the sausages into more bite-sized pieces. He stirred the sausage bites into the mixture and smiled. It looked pretty good!

Grabbing a fork from his nearly empty bag, he scooped up a bite. He made sure to get proota, egg, and sausage and slid it into his mouth.

The sausage burst with a salty, meaty flavor and the prootas were pleasantly crunchy, but the eggs and prootas were very bland.

“I forgot the seasonings!” he exclaimed, smacking himself in the forehead. He hurried back to the back and felt around the bottom, finally pulling out a small, travel-size shaker of salt and another of peppin.

He returned to the pot and began vigorously shaking both over the pot. When he felt he had added enough, he grabbed the spatula and stirred everything around again.

Lus didn’t have an unlimited supply of clean tasting forks here, so he grabbed his used fork and wiped it on his sleeve. Then, to be safe, he stepped over to the flames and held it in the fire for a moment.

“That will burn off all the germs, right?” he muttered as he moved back to the food. He scooped up another bite and chewed it thoughtfully.

It definitely tasted more flavorful, but he felt that it was still a bit bland. He gave the seasonings another round of vigorous shaking over the pot and then gave everything another stir.

He cleaned his fork again with a wipe on his sleeve and a brief visit to the fire, then returned for a taste.

This time, he found the eggs and prootas unpleasantly salty, nearly to the point of bitterness. He grimaced at the unpleasant taste and stared at the pot of food in consternation.

“Blast! What am I supposed to do now?” he wondered aloud. He knew how to fix under seasoned food, but he’d never really had to deal with over seasoned food. He stepped away and sank down on one of the empty chairs, cradling his head in his hands.

“It’s all ruined,” he muttered angrily. He couldn’t serve food this salty, but he wasn’t sure how to fix it. He couldn’t just take out some of the salt.

After another minute of self-pity, he returned to the bag, digging through the few remaining items in hopes that he would find something to save him.

To his surprise, he found a package of traveler’s biscuits. They were dense, dry, crunchy rounds of bread that lasted forever, so every spaceship carried a good supply as their backup food source. They were also incredibly bland.

“If I crack some of these into this… maybe they’ll fix it?” he said thoughtfully. Since the food was already basically inedible, he didn’t really have anything to lose. He grabbed out a biscuit and carried it to the pot.

They were too hard for him to crumble on his own. After a minute of futile attempts to break up the rock-like bread, he set it in the pot and grabbed the spatula. It was more difficult to cut than the sausages, but the metal spatula was sharp enough and strong enough to eventually break it apart.

Once the traveler’s biscuit had been broken, it became much easier to crumble the rest of the way. He broke it up as much as he could and stirred it in, then took another taste.

To his delight and surprise, the traveler’s biscuit cut the saltiness and added a new layer of texture that worked well with the sausage, eggs, and prootas. Everything was still saltier than was pleasant, though, so he returned to the package for two more of the hard biscuits.

He chopped them up into tiny pieces, like the first, and stirred it all together one last time. Taking a taste, he sighed in relief.

“It tastes good,” he said with a smile.

[Cooking Complete]

[XP Gained: 25]

[Level Up: Level 4 -> Level 5]

[New Skill Acquired: Chef’s Intuition Level 1]

[Skill Shop Unlocked]

He didn’t have time to worry about what that all meant since he still needed to tidy things up before the others returned from their scouting. He put the lid back on the bowl with eggs goo and raw proota bits in it. It could wait until he returned to the ship, because he had another one to use in the morning.

He put the sausage and egg packages in the fire and watched as the hungry flames devoured them.

The salt and peppin shakers, closed bowl, package of traveler’s biscuits, and glove all went back into the bag, leaving the chairs cleared off.

Since nobody had returned yet, he grabbed the large, metal container that they would use for cleaning and carried it to the water dispenser. He filled it half-full and staggered back to the fire. It was large enough that he didn’t need the glove to get it settled in the coals, but he did have to add a few logs around the edges to coax the dying flames back to life.

Hopefully by the time they finished eating, the water in the container would be hot enough to wash the dishes in. He had another bag with dishes for eating as well as soap, sponges, and rags for washing up.

Lastly, he set the cooling pot on the small, fold-out table. He left the spatula in it and got the metal plates and forks out.

Finally finished, he sank into one of the chairs and stared up at the night sky. “Done at last,” he sighed.