The Delicate Crunch of Marshmallows

Erica returned the smile, took the cup, and held it over her head. “ ’Bout here.” She turned the cup back over, looked into it, and sighed theatrically. “Know what I really miss?”

“Real coffee,” they said in unison, and sighed again.

“Come to think of it, I think every science fiction author predicted that, too,” Buzz observed.

Erica leaned back in her seat and swiveled it so she could gaze at the little carving spotlighted on her wall. “And I miss working with my hands. I can remember carving that as a kid, in summer camp.”

Buzz closed his eyes. “Summer by the lake. Sailing in that silly little boat that always had the most dubious-looking green stuff growing under the floor.”

“Spring’s ‘golden hour.’ ”

“Birds in trees.”

“Cats, sitting in windows watching birds in trees.”

“Thunderstorms, watched from a warm, snug house.”

“Getting dressed up and going out to a fine restaurant.”

“For a good steak, with broccoli and a real baked potato.”

“One thing I don’t miss is my relatives asking me when I’m going to start a family,” Erica said with a scowl.

The doctor nodded. He knew her medical history.

“But, God, do I miss kids.” Erica’s voice cracked a little as she said the last word.

“Skiing,” Buzz offered to lighten the mood.

“Snowball fights,” Erica countered.

“Sunrises…”

“…And sunsets.”

Erica sat quietly for half a minute, looking longingly at the little carving. “What I really miss, more than anything else, is sitting around a campfire telling spooky stories, smelling smoke and enjoying it instead of wondering if we’re all about to die, listening to all the little sounds in the woods, watching the stars, spotting satellites passing by, and preparing the most exquisite delicacy known to mankind.”

Buzz nodded. “Premium grade kosher hotdogs.”

“Huh! Carnivorous cretin!” Erica huffed. “There is nothing, not even the puffiest French pastry, which can compare to the daintily delicate crunch of a perfectly toasted marshmallow. Buzz, you are looking at the world champion marshmallow toaster.”

Kara had just picked up a tray when she spotted Erica Thompson at a corner table, pushing overcooked peas and mashed potatoes around on her plate. Kara studied the physicist, remembering the firebrand who had once made science fun. Erica looked much older now, and so tired.

Kara ladled out an assortment of allegedly nutritious vegetables and a lump of something off-white (rice or grits, hard to tell). She stood at the end of the line for a moment, wondering if she should voice her concerns. Finally, she strode over to Erica’s table.

“Mind if I join you, Dr. Thompson?”

Erica looked up, surprised. “Oh, not at all. Please do, Kara.” She paused for a moment as Kara sat down. “And, Kara, do you mind if I ask why you don’t call me ‘Erica’?”

Kara cocked her head slightly. “Institutional habit, I guess. The unwritten law at the Supercollider. Sign of respect.”

“Humph.” Erica rearranged her peas some more, staring at her plate. “Homage to people with advanced degrees? Kara, do you realize you are smarter than me?”

Kara was startled by the remark. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

Erica looked up from her plate. “Oh, but it is. I just saw your test scores. Your IQ is five points above mine.”

Kara choked on a spoonful of carrots. “You’re kidding,” she managed after swallowing.

“You, and a nearly a third of the crew,” Erica replied, returning her gaze to the potatoes. “This place is a damned Mensa convention. Who do I think I am, anyway, trying to tell a crew as smart and resourceful as this how to do their jobs, anyway?”

“Somebody has to run things,” Kara replied. “They picked you because you had credentials that brought respect.”

Erica poked a tunnel in the cold potato paste and herded the peas into it. “That may all be behind me,” she lamented, bringing down the roof of the cave on the peas. “Just did something we all may regret. Filed a lawsuit against our sponsors. Probably get us all fired.”

Kara blinked, at a loss for words.

“Well?” Erica looked up. “Come on, say something positive, like you usually do.”

“It’s about bloody time,” Kara stated. “How’s that?”

“That’ll do.”

“Welcome back, Dr. Thompson. We’ve missed you for a long time.”

“Erica.” Erica grinned.

“OK, Erica.” Kara took a bite of beans and chewed them thoughtfully. “Um, Dr. Santi was asking about you the other day. Sort of got me wondering about some things.”

Erica picked up a forkful of the trapped peas and shoveled them into her mouth. “Buzz playing mother hen again?”

“Yeah. He was worried that you might be taking this kinda hard, especially after that incident at the Supercollider. Wondered if two failures—I mean problems—in a row were getting you down.