The smell of hot grain drew Yan to the night kitchen. Cook Fen had stretched the last spoonful of oil across a wide pan. The workers teased her about serving boiled roots again.
“I’m saving the oil for the hottest shifts,” Fen said. “If you want more, bring me a barrel.”
Yan asked where he could buy some. Fen shook her head when he offered to cover the station’s food bill.
“Not a gift. A fair purchase. Write down what you pay so no one can say the crew owes you.”
Bai went to ask the local oil seller. The seller remembered a Registry requisition that had taken several barrels without payment. He would sell a smaller delivery at the old rate if Bai gave him a receipt and did not take more than the kitchen could store.
Bai agreed. “Two barrels. Public receipt. We’ll come back when Fen says she needs more.”
Yan lifted the barrels from the cart. One was heavier than it looked, but he set it on the kitchen floor without a sound. Fen checked the seals and wrote the amount in the kitchen book. She gave Yan a bowl of stew with enough oil shining on top.
