“How did you find the day today?” I asked Anne. “Pretty good,” she nodded. “You getting a medal was a nice surprise. You deserve it, though.” “I don’t think I’ve really earned it.” “Oh, please. Lots of ultrahumans have much stronger powers than you, and I’ve rarely heard of them going around healing people for free. Besides, you even heal cats and dogs.” She frowned. “That reminds me - why are you still going to the animal shelter?” “I like it,” I said defensively. “Plus we almost got all the pets placed.” “Do you want to get one?” Anne asked cautiously. “Not likely. Can you imagine a dog running around the house with Paul still in bed half the time? Or accompanying us on a mission?” “That makes sense.” Anne paused. “Wait - did you get another skill from the animal shelter? You did, didn’t you?” “Okay, maybe I did,” I replied defensively. “It’s called Tame Beast and it’s currently at Level 3.” “I knew it.” “Don’t look at me like that. It could be useful somewhere.” “Maybe you'll run into a really angry kitten." "Or I could tame one of those Ourapagos Shrews. See what all the fuss is about." "If you're going beast-hunting on an alien world I'm definitely coming along. How much longer do you plan to volunteer? Or will you be keeping this up long-term?" “Another couple of days. We just need to place the last few kittens.” “That Youtube campaign of yours certainly helped.” “Yeah, which is why I want to see it through,” I said as we walked through the door. “Dad, we’re home!” yelled Anne. “I’m in the kitchen,” called Paul. "He's up?" whispered Anne. "He shouldn't be up yet..." "A man should have the right to putter around in his own kitchen," I defended. "Besides, it's a good thing if he's feeling recovered enough to cook." "Maybe not as good as you think," muttered Anne. We strolled in, to find Paul trying to cook some stew on the stove. Well. Maybe it was meant to be stew. Right now it smelled like boiled vinegar. “Dad, what’re you doing?” admonished Anne. “You shouldn’t be up!” “I was trying to make stew,” grumbled Paul. “In my own kitchen and everything.” I snapped off a quick Observe. RUINED CHICKEN STEW NORMALLY A FINE DISH, THIS SPECIMEN HAS BEEN BADLY EXECUTED BY A STILL-RECOVERING COOK WHO WAS NEVER THAT GOOD TO BEGIN WITH. CONVERT IT TO SOMETHING EDIBLE FOR A +1 TO COOKING SKILL. “I’ve got it,” I said. “We might have swapped the salt jar and the asafoetida container some time back.” “Figures. I swear the kitchen arrangements are completely different from what I remember. How many different types of spices do we have anyway?” “Sixty-eight,” I replied automatically. “Indian, Chinese, Italian and Mexican spices are on separate shelves.” Paul gave me a look. “I don’t remember there being sixty-eight different types of spices.” “There are more than fifty different spices used in Indian cuisine alone.” “And Andrew tends to use a little too much of them,” added Anne cheekily. I frowned. “You like it.” “Now I do. The first few weeks, my tongue was on fire.” “You never said anything!” “Well, you might have asked me to cook instead.” I shuddered at the thought. “Anyway, I’ll whip up something for us.” “I wish I could remember my kitchen better,” grumbled Paul. “You could tell us what you remember about the night you got injured instead,” I replied. “We haven’t heard that story yet.” Paul winced. “Well. I’ve been avoiding that, haven’t I?” “I’d like to hear the story too, Dad,” said Anne. “The last I saw you, you were supposed to go to the Mayor’s office to talk about the housing program.” “I did,” replied Paul. “There were two of us there - Franklin Pierce and me. We were waiting for our meeting when the sirens sounded.” “What happened?” I asked, adding a dash of rock salt to the concoction. “The Mayor and another guy in a suit came running out,” Paul said. “Franklin asked him what was happening. Aldiss said aliens were attacking the city, and we needed to get to a shelter. Then he took off down the fire stairs, and Franklin and I followed. We’d gone down about three flights when something hit me from behind and I blacked out.” “You were hit from behind?” I asked. “By what?” “No idea. The next thing I remember is waking up here.” I frowned, watching the stew bubble. “If the alien attack had just started, how could they be in the building already?” “And how come they didn’t get Mayor Aldiss?” asked Anne. “Wouldn’t he have been hit by the same weapon?” “Those are good questions. Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers.” “Maybe Mr. Pierce might?” asked Anne. A pained look crossed Paul’s face. “I tried Franklin’s number. His wife said he died in the attack.” “Oh,” murmured Anne. “Sorry, dad. I know you and he were good friends.” “We were. I have to go meet Mrs. Pierce and his kids one day.” “Not until you get your strength back, Dad.” “Soon, though. I told Mildred that I was in a coma, but I’m better now. After that I’ve got to go down to the Association and try to get my old job back.” “What about Mr. Lumney and Mr. Boseman?” asked Anne. “Who’re they?” I asked. “They were my co-workers,” replied Paul. “All four of us were to go for the Mayor’s meeting. Lumney and Boseman had gone out for a smoking break when the attack happened. We think they were found by some aliens and shot dead.” I placed the modified stew on the table. “Here, try this.” The others sipped from small bowlfuls. For a few seconds, there was silence; then Paul said, “This is really good.” COOKING SKILL INCREASES TO LEVEL 7. "Maybe we should leave the cooking to Andrew, Dad," Anne smirked. "Fine," muttered Paul. "I'm feeling well enough to go out now, though. I'll meet Mildred Pierce this weekend, and then... maybe I'll go to the Association next Monday."