Cookie looked out the shuttle window as it passed by the bow of the
Normandy, his new home. Cookie was not the name his parents had given him at
birth, but it was the one he chose to use now. Ever since he lost his leg in
battle with the Pirates at the Battle of the Belt he felt that his old self
died. The self that was a pilot. Now he was a chef. A chef with a computer
programmer friend who had developed a virus program to alter Cookie's name in
every computer system it encountered. It had worked and now everyone knew his
only as Cookie.
 He leaned back in his padded chair as the shuttle turned hard to line up
with the Normandy's docking bay. He remembered pulling much more difficult
maneuvers in his Exo-Fighter. He felt useless sitting in the passenger
compartment of a shuttle, and only slightly more useful in a kitchen. The
Normandy had a small crew and he had only a few assistants to help him, but
he was in charge. By regulations not even the captian could order him in any
matters concerning the crew's dietary health, only the Chief Medical Officer
had that authority and only if he was doing a poor job in keeping the crew's
diet balanced. Poor diet could affect a troopers performance and it was
Lt. (jg) Cookie Machcia's job to see that it didn't happen on the Normandy.
 The speaker sparked to life, "Sir, we've docked. Welcome to the Normandy."
 The shuttle door opened and a young trooper walked on board. "Welcome
aboard, sir." He snapped a picture perfect salute. "We've been waiting for
you. I'll take you to your quarters and then I'll show you to the mess."
 "I know where the mess is, soldier. I've been aboard before. Just take me to
my quarters so I can get changed and get down to work."
 "We're still eating quick meals, sir. You won't need to begin preparing
meals for the crew for another week.
 Cookie scowled at the young Petty Officer. "Quick meals provide you with
enough nutrients to live, but they sure as hell aren't appetizing. I'll be
damned if I'm going to eat one of them. I might as well test out all of the
equiptment they've given me to feed you. Wouldn't do to get out to space only
to find the reconstituter doesn't work."
 "Yes, sir." The young soldier took the Lieutenant's duffel bag. If you'll
follow me your quarters are midship, deck nine. The primary mess is..."
 "Deck nine, in the middle of the crew quarters. The officer's mess is on
deck six, just below the officer quarters. Are my quarters up to officer
specifications or will I be living like an enlisted man?"
 "Officers, sir. The Normandy is one of the latest designs. Since we are just
large enough to rate an officer as our chief chef we have a small bank of
officer quarters in the middle of the standard crew quarters. One of the
medical officers will be next to you, as well as the officers for the e-frame
squadrons."
 The pair walked to one of the Normandy's many lifts and rode it down two
decks. "Sir, you were a pilot once, weren't you?"
 "Yes, I was. Why?" He glared at the young soldier. He didn't like being
reminded of what he had once been.
 "Your quarters are on the same deck of the primary flight deck. The
jumptroops launch from the lower deck."
 "And this information affects me how?"
 "You might be called on to go in with the jumptroops to cook for them."
 "I know all of that, Swenson. I know all of my duties and responsibilities
and I hate inane chatter from people who don't know how to keep their mouths
shut." They had arrived at his quarters. "Wait outside while I unpack and
change."
 "Yes sir!" Swenson saluted and turned to walk outside quickly.
 As the door hissed shut behind him Cookie opened the duffel bag and removed
the metal case that was on top. He took the lid off revealing it's glass
front and the medals inside. The Purple Heart and the Medal of Honor, both
awarded from the Battle of the Belt. There was room for more medals, but he
doubted he would add any while he was stuck in a kitchen cooking for the 172
people who served aboard the Normandy. He pulled out his neatly packed
clothes and neatly packed them in his dresser and wardrobe. He had no other
personal effects, they would be delivered in the next week before the
Normandy began her maiden voyage. For now, he had to go and meet the CMO and
inspect his kitchen.

 Continued