Work Text:
Frank writes programs for emergency grade replicators.
Replicator programming is... well, it’s complicated. But it’s also extremely rewarding.
Of course, there’s a sliding scale of drive capacity for any given unit. At the high end, there’s transporter-based models that use the near-infinite data storage of a looped pattern buffer to reproduce foods exactly as they were created from real farmed foods. With that caliber, the food tastes exactly the same as the real thing. If it tastes different, it’s probably you. You’ve gone through a transporter too, after all, right? Maybe it’s your tongue that’s been scrambled.
But those units are very high-maintenance, inefficient, and hardly ever worthwhile. A hydroponic farm and a good chef will get you the same food with less trouble.
And then there’s replicator units with more traditional data storage. High-end units can store complex recipes for thousands of dishes. Those are usually found in public buildings where a lot of people spend a lot of time. Personal units tend to be smaller, and their owners tend to maintain them with a few favorite recipes, rotated every once in a while with something new off the ’net.
Emergency units are something else, because they often have to be manufactured in large numbers, with an eye to durability and a variety of foods catering both to complete nutrition and individual needs. It’s its own science.
It could be considered an art.
(Frank doesn’t really consider himself an artist, though, most days. It’s all about efficiency. Building recipes that can be great even with simple structures.)
A beverage, or a sauce, or a broth, those are always going to be the easiest to get right. As long as all the molecules get in in the right proportions and evenly distributed, it tastes just like the real thing. Tea, clear soup, gravy, they’re all standards on emergency replicators for a reason. And they’re easy to interweave and customize, given a base tea or coffee profile, introducing other chemicals or adjusting proportions to mimic different blends, and of course to account for all the ways people like to customize those beverages. And being able to get a beverage just the way they like it seems to give humanoids a great deal of comfort, in a wide range of circumstances.
(Frank always programs in a separate base for Raktajino; despite being derived from the same plant as Earth coffee, there are subtle differences that really benefit from a dedicated recipe.)
Colloidal and other homogenized structures are also fairly simple to program, repeating a small part of a structure over and over again. So dairy like yogurt, whipped cream, cheese, and things like a passable scrambled egg, tofu in a variety of textures and preparations, nut butters and spreads, also standard options. And often, the texture of those things being more uniform and controlled than the real thing, in some ways, makes them better.
Then there are slightly more complex structures like noodles.
Noodles are actually deceptively complex.
They’re usually composed of starch granules trapped in a protein matrix. But the protein structure, the starch size, and especially the water content vary so much, depending on how the noodles are produced and cooked.
Frank’s lab partner, Tuvar, helped come up with the protocol that fits different starch granules into different protein structures, instead of storing a full map for each type of structure.
It’s very cool working with Tuvar. He’s got a handle on math and programming that goes over Frank’s head, despite how many years Frank’s been doing this.
Tuvar helped a lot with the fractal math that Frank uses to make the structure of breads and cakes. But it took a lot of testing, a lot of back and forth, to get the density variations exactly right.
It was a lot of work, but so worthwhile. Toast is important. Especially in emergency situations, a perfect piece of toast can be so comforting.
Frank really gets the value of his work, and he kind of isn’t sure how he ended up here at the top of his field, but also, he gets it. Replicator programming has always fasinated him, but it’s not exactly what most kids dream of doing when they grow up. Most people who want to be chefs want to make “real” food. Most high-end replicator technicians want to make food that is indistinguishable from “real” food.
In Frank’s mind, there isn’t anything less real about the food that his replicators make. It feeds people. It tastes good. It’s comforting.
A lot of people have more complicated feelings about it.
Replicators are a fairly new technology — and then again, they’re not. They’re an outgrowth of transporter technology, and people have been philosophically a little wary of the ability to use a transporter to change and duplicate things; that’s probably a hangover from the Eugenics Wars. Frank thinks the whole fear that goes along with the versatility of the technology can be a little tiring.
That’s one of the reasons it’s so refreshing to work with Tuvar.
There’s no cooler customer when it comes to doing science, or debating the merits of the science, than a Vulcan.
A large percentage of Starfleet personnel are human, and of course Frank is human, so Frank spends a lot of time working on Earth foods.
Tuvar has very pragmatically used every scrap of code Frank has developed that he can use to make foods that will suit a Vulcan palate and nutritional needs.
Frank has, in turn, taken the fractal math that Tuvar composed for their bread project and tweaked it in order to make more realistic structures for basic replicated meats.
Tuvar doesn’t seem to have any strong feelings about this one way or another.
“Although I am by principle vegetarian,” Tuvar says, “those principles do not apply to replicated food, and are hardly relevant in an emergency situation, regardless.”
Frank nods along. That makes sense to him. People having feelings about what type of life form their food originates from in the post-replicator era is usually a little lost on Frank.
Especially considering the relationships humanity has built with various sentient plants.
But Tuvar’s job is not just to help Frank with math and program the Vulcan foods (although Vulcans are the second most common species in the fleet). He also coordinates with all the other species in the Federation to make sure there is something in the database that can provide adequate nutrition for each member species.
Tuvar does this job with an even-handed placidity that Frank can’t imagine having. But occasionally a member species will have problems with Tuvar’s work, and that’s when Frank gets to try his hand.
Some species get weird about food, and Frank is perfectly happy to admit that humans are among them. So he has a little extra insight, sometimes.
Frank once had a quite interesting conversation with a Tellarite taste-tester. Tuvar’s even-handed tone is often better for the delicate and diplomatic conversation required for the job, but Tellarites don’t usually react well to being handled.
Borlin came into Frank’s lab angry, brandishing two samples of a classic Tellarite dish.
“This doesn’t taste right,” she said to Frank, pointing at the sample that had come out of the replicator formula.
Frank brought up the specifications they’d been given, and the formula they’d ended up with. It was pretty damn close.
“This is exactly what you asked us for,” Frank countered.
“What a crock!” Borlin said. She thunked the second sample container down on the bench. “This is a proper shink egg sauce. Do better!”
“Let’s see what’s in here, shall we?” Frank said, taking the container and putting it in his scanner.
It was very educational. There were traces of soot and other products of combustion.
It reminded Frank of the charred marshmallows that he’d put in his s’mores as a kid. As an adult, you spend a lot of time trying not to burn your food when you’re cooking it, but so much of the nostalgia and familiarity of s’mores is the right amount of char.
“That’s burned,” Frank said, pointing at the sample.
“No!” Borlin said. “It’s perfect.”
“If you’re sure you like it better this way,” Frank told her, “I can make sure it tastes burned.”
“You can’t possibly understand the nuances of Tellarite cooking,” Borlin said, taking both samples back and stomping out of the room.
But she didn’t come back to complain again.
Frank is quite proud of that faintly smoky shink egg sauce.
It’s a complicated job, and it’s not just about flavor. Balancing nutrition for multiple species is a tricky part too, especially when a chemical is an essential nutrient for one species and quite poisonous to another. The warning notifications get more robust with every new species the federation studies.
It’s always interesting. It’s always challenging.
The project is ongoing — every emergency replicator that Starfleet distributes can have its programming updated in a matter of seconds, to reflect the latest innovations and the conditions the replicators are expected to operate under. So their skills are always in demand.
Demand is the best word for it.
Efficient emergency replicator programming is an art, like any other method of preparing food, but it isn’t often appreciated as one. Especially with the compact emergency units that Frank and Tuvar work on.
So it’s a very special occasion when someone does track them down to express their appreciation.
Very, very occasionally, someone will find them, and thank them for their work. Because it was there when they needed it — a sorely needed raktajino, a bowl of plomeek soup, a piece of toast.
Those are the days Frank likes his work best of all.