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“How was I supposed to know?” Samakro hisses past a mouthful of toasted bread. “Anything in the fridger is supposed to be fair game. That’s how it always been, isn’t it?”
“Usually, yes,” Thalias retorts, “but not if it’s a diplomatic gift. Not if it has” – she waves a piece of expensive-looking stationery at him – “a gold foil envelope on top of it!”
Samakro’s eyes dart between hers and the envelope for a moment.
“I didn’t see that,” he says finally, shoving the last corner of toast and jam into his mouth and chewing moodily.
After several months of working with both, Thalias would have thought there would be no competition between a ten-year-old girl and a warship’s mid captain to see who could test her patience the most thoroughly. Today, standing in this galley, she realizes just how strong a contender the latter actually is.
“I doubt a missing jar of jam is going to start a war,” Samakro says, but something in his voice tells Thalias that he’s only around ninety-eight percent sure.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Thalias replies, snatching the jar from the counter to evaluate the damage. “You know how the Families are about things like this. How much was in here before? Maybe we can level it out and pass it off as full.”
As she eyes up the jar, the galley door slides open across the room, and Thalias looks up to see Che’ri standing expectantly in the doorway.
“Oh – Che’ri,” Thalias says apologetically, setting the jar back down. “I’m sorry, but your lunch is going to be a little late. We have a bit of a…”
“A jam-related diplomatic emergency,” Samakro supplies quickly, clearly relishing in the fact that he’s able to string those words together into a sentence that accurately sums up their predicament.
Che’ri blinks a few times, then seems to accept the bizarre situation instantly. “Okay. Can I help?”
“I – maybe,” Thalias says, caught off guard by the girl’s practical approach. “We have part of a jar of frost plum jam –”
“And you need it to be all of a jar of frost plum jam,” Che’ri says, nodding sagely.
“Pretty much,” Thalias says. “Got any ideas?”
Che’ri’s brows furrow slightly for a moment, in an expression that Thalias finds eerily reminiscent of their senior captain. Then her eyes brighten as her face lights up with a smile.
“Fruit juice,” she says. “Jam is just made from fruit juice, right?”
Samakro opens his mouth to make a pedantic correction, but Thalias shoots him a look and he closes it again.
“Mostly, yes,” Thalias says. “I think I know what you’re getting at. And I think it’s our only option.” She chews her lip for a moment. “If nobody looks too closely at the consistency –”
“And if it’s the right color,” Che’ri adds quickly.
Thalias rubs the bridge of her nose. The plan might be ridiculous, but if they can pull it off, it should work perfectly.
Just like every other plan hatched on board this ship.
“Okay,” she says finally. “We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s go for it.”
Che’ri is already rummaging in the cupboard by the time Thalias has the jar open. Emerging victorious with a fruit juice packet, the girl hands it over and watches as Thalias carefully spears a hole in the top with the sipper and pours some of the contents into the jar. Sure enough, the juice is a very similar color to the jam, and really, what choice do they have?
“Don’t forget to stir it up,” Che’ri adds, and Samakro watches from the sidelines with morbid fascination as Thalias squelches the contents of the jar around until they really do resemble something like jam. Once the lid is on, she has to admit that she can’t really tell the difference. She can only hope the same will hold true for the jar’s intended recipient.
“Well, that’s all we can do,” Thalias says, placing the jar back into the fridger with the envelope resting pointedly on top of it. “We dock in a few hours. I guess we’ll find out then if it worked.”
“Here you are, Ambassador.”
Through the pounding in her ears, Thalias hears Laknym greet the stuffy-looking diplomat as he trots onto the bridge and presses the jar into his hands, straight from the fridger. As long as nobody looks too closely –
“Thank you,” the ambassador says absently, not giving the jar a second glance. “And now I must take my leave. These peace talks have gone on for long enough. It’s time to finish the deal at last.” With a nod to the bridge crew, he makes a quarter turn and strides off down the walkway.
“Must be some good jam,” Dalvu remarks from her station at the sensor board after the bridge doors have slid shut.
Thalias glances up just in time to see a soft indigo flush creep into Samakro’s ears.
“It is, Mid Commander,” he says softly, as if deep in thought. “It really is.”