A Slice of the Multiverse

"I don't think he can do it," Jayne said with an air of finality.

He and Zoe were standing outside the infirmary, looking through the window. Both he and Zoe had decided that the tense atmosphere and the smell were too much for them. Of course, every time Mal made a sound Zoe had run back in, much to Jayne's general displeasure.

"Don't you dare," Zoe countered, but Jayne cut her off.

"Look, it's too far gone. Cap'n told the Doc to save his leg and now lookit. It's gorram near ready to fall off. Doc should just hack it off 'fore the rest of him can't be saved."

Zoe fell quiet at that remark.

Perhaps Jayne was right...

Iroh peered into the drybox containing the ship's supply of rice and sighed. There was plenty of rice; the problem lay with how much of other things there weren't. His skills at disguising plain protein as real meat and vegetables would fall flat, he realized, if there wasn't even protein to be had.

Nevertheless, there was still a little bit of the protein left, and he set upon it with the spice rack, turning the tasteless junk into something akin to a curry, humming to himself as he worked.

He made a mental note to ask Mal to stop at the next planet with a market. Maybe if he was lucky he could find a slab of pork or beef for a real treat. After a few minutes of coating the protein in the spice blend, the Dragon of the West, now no longer a firebreathing adversary but just a simple cook, put it and some rice into a cooker and closed the lid.

The preparations done, he went to his teapot and lit it with a small jet of flame from his fingers (he had found the gas to be relentlessly unreliable) to prepare the delicious drink that would go with lunch.

He looked around the empty galley with a sense of fondness and smiled, sitting at one of the chairs that was settled around the long table.

Iroh awoke with a start.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but something had rumbled and awoken him. He peered over at the other side of the room to see if Vi was still asleep. She looked to be, so he quietly exited the bunk and ventured into the kitchen. It was painted riotous colours, and had the ambience of a friendly meeting place.

There were cooking-pots on shelves. Seeing them, Iroh felt his stomach growl. It had been ages since he'd eaten. He wondered what, if anything, he was allowed to eat.

But then he brightened, realizing that he had a satchel of ginseng tea in his pocket.

Maybe they had a nice teapot.