Neville stared at the modest pile of potatoes on his kitchen counter, his mind already three steps ahead. He pulled out a cutting board from his inventory, the metal surface cool against his palms. The knife felt foreign in his grip as he began slicing the potatoes into thin, even rounds.
Back on Earth, Neville had been going around working from place to place. He rarely encountered a place where he was invited to a gathering, much less to a welcome party.
What do they even do at a welcome party? There's no proper food in the interstellar era. Are they going to drown themselves in high-quality nutrient solutions? How was that different from what they were doing at work?
The question rattled around his brain as he arranged the potato slices on a baking tray. He drizzled oil over the potatoes with what he hoped was the right amount.
Too much and they would be too greasy. Too little and they would burn.
