The Delicate Crunch of Marshmallows

“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.”

Erica looked up, a trace of a smile showing at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks. You can say it. I’d have counted it as derisive.”

Buzz grinned. “I’ll play it safe until I find out what the second offense brings.”

Erica plucked a pair of fresh marshmallows from the mold, while thoughtfully considering the issue. “Hmm, I wouldn’t think there’d be too much need for additional punishment. I’ll have to give it some thought. A punishment to fit the crime, and one as ridiculous as GO… whatever. A pillory, perhaps?”

Buzz arched an eyebrow, then nodded. “Both equally effective in keeping us from doing our work, I suppose. Speaking of punishment fitting the crime, Erica, you were awfully rough on yourself in that memo. Do you really think firing yourself was called for?”

Erica laughed. “Oh, God, Buzz, I can’t tell you what a relief it was to have an excuse to quit! Once we got past the design stage and down to the nuts and bolts, I was absolutely miserable. I belong in a lab, dreaming up stuff the mundanes think is impossible. I was working on something on the Supercollider so wild it would knock your socks off. Time to get back to it.”

“OK,” Buzz conceded, “but you took the blame for everything that went wrong. That’s not fair.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m to blame for enough of it, and I don’t mind shouldering the rest, especially when I only have to carry it to the nearest airlock and dump it. Poof, its gone! The only aftereffect is that hopefully I will never be asked to take such a job again.”

“Yeah, but those bastards—”

“Are at least as much to blame as me. Yeah, I know. But what I’m trying to do is put this mess behind us by ignoring them. I don’t want to encourage the crew to grouse about dirtside management. I want them to take charge of their own destinies. Which, by the way, they failed to do, making the fault a little bit theirs, too. All in all, I’d rather everyone just nod, agree that I’ve done the right thing, and pick up where we were in our innocent glory days.”

Buzz thought about it for a moment, then nodded agreement. “While we’re on the general subject of the memo, I was sort of wondering about some of those rules. One, two, and the last five are easy enough to understand. Forced vacation, sure, to prevent burnout. But can we get the ship built on time with just forty hour work-weeks?”