Ankara, Brekinar Family Home

  The house had begun to smell absolutely divine, with fragrant clouds of smoke drifting steadily from the kitchen and into the dining hall, their tendrils swirling around the tired soldiers as the men set the table. The smoke enthralled them with the tale of spiced meats, fried vegetables, and even a few sweet confections, the Pioneers’ mouths watering in anticipation as they put the finishing touches on the preparation. Right as their suspense was reaching its peak, a husky voice croaked out from the kitchen, “All right, yeh bums, the first course is ready. Come and get it.”

  At O’Riley’s prompting, the soldiers stampeded into the kitchen with the energy of a herd of buffalo. They grabbed platters of food, each labeled with a name and curated for their individual needs. Markus had possessed the foresight to make food for the men recently released from the hospital as well, meaning that there was enough for every non-cook to grab a platter and sit down. The cooks continued their work, ensuring that even more of the empowering food was yet to come.

  Pioneers required much more food than the ordinary person to stay healthy. They could survive on unenhanced food, yet it would always be mildly unsatisfying. However, even Zeta class Xenos flesh was too expensive for many of them to eat regularly, so they typically just had to suck it up and eat large quantities of the normal stuff. Many of the vets only ate Xenos on special occasions, while Jordan and the others hadn’t touched actual, cooked Xenos meat since the end of their second mission abroad. They’d absorbed some Morphic stones from the defeated Marcovi criminals, but that was it.

  That said, Pioneers could also consume prodigious amounts of Psionically Enhanced meat in one sitting. The Codex guided their bodies’ natural processes to absorb the food at a far faster rate than standard biology would allow. While they didn’t strictly need to eat Psionically enhanced food to sustain themselves, the Pioneers could very easily sit down and consume massive amounts of it at once, allowing them to grow their stats considerably. So, that was precisely what they did.

  Jordan inhaled three different bird legs in the blink of an eye, their spiciness causing his eyes to water but doing nothing to slow him down. He chomped down on the fried greens of a Xenos from an exotic world where plants came to life, some massive steaks from a gargantuan bull that could control the weather, and even some stir-fried liver from a humanoid goat warrior who’d learned to teleport. It was all sublime, and Jordan could feel their energies circulating throughout his body like a powerful stimulant. It repaired sore muscles, strengthened tendons, and healed him from the ground up. Before he knew it, his platter was empty, with Jordan having demolished enough food to feed a small family. Yet somehow, he found himself hungrier than ever, the sudden feast a reminder of how long he’d gone without such incredible food. Thus, O’Riley’s smoker’s voice was like the crier of heaven itself when it called out, “We’ve got seconds, you gluttons. Come-“

  This time, the Pioneers didn’t even allow the man to finish his sentence before they galloped into the kitchen again and grabbed new platters. The second course was just as good as the first, with succulent Mirage Lobster, rich Psych Oyster soup, and the tangy tail of a Bayawak Lizard as the main parts of Jordan’s course. It was all just as delicious as the first, eliciting cries of celebration from everyone as they dug in. The Pioneers eventually engaged in lively conversation when they finally came up for air.

  “I can’t believe the Colonel can cook like this.”, Peralta mused, staring down at his steak in fascination, “Last I remember, he couldn’t do much more than roast meat over a campfire like the rest of us.”

  “Elena taught him.” Scalia interjected, referring to Jordan’s mother, “The Colonel always raves about her cooking at the anniversary meetups. He probably got bored in his retirement and asked her to show him a few tricks.”

  Jordan nodded emphatically as he stuffed more lizard tail into his mouth, “’s true. Da neba’ cooke’ ‘en I ‘as ‘oung.”

  He swallowed, “I mean, Da never cooked when I was young. But he learned after I got older, especially when Ma got busier with the younger girls.”

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  The older men stroked their chins contemplatively, apparently attempting to imagine Jordan’s father donning an apron and cooking for his family. Endeavoring to spare his father some possibly embarrassing mental images, Jordan queried, “What about Zufall or Plincaron? There’s no way Da made all this without another experienced helper, and I know for a fact that O’Riley is an ex-factory worker. I doubt he’s much of a cook.”

  “Don’t underestimate factory workers, my boy.” Old Man Hernandez commented, voice heavy with wisdom, “They follow instructions well, and they’re usually good at making sure even the most minor bits are in the right place. But yes, you are mostly right. Zufall comes from a family of chefs, and he’d been trained to take over the family business before circumstances called him to join the Federation. Plincaron and O’Riley are probably just extra sets of hands for those two.”

  They continued chatting as they finished their second course. By the time the third course was ready, the cooks had come out to eat as well, enjoying a round of applause and some congratulatory slaps on the back. Now that everyone was finally sitting together, they all took the time to learn more about one another. Surprisingly, Hernandez was an ex-con, just like Stan. He’d found religion and become a Pioneer to try and earn an honest living and fund the orphanage he’d grown up in. He and Stan swapped stories of their more crooked days, though neither man had been anything worse than thieves and fraudsters.

  Plincaron, as Jordan had suspected, had grown up the scion of a wealthy military family. His father was a general in the regular army, while his mother was a successful lawyer, but the man himself was shockingly down to earth. O’Riley bombarded him with questions about different military tactics and battles, and he patiently answered all of them, no matter how basic. Meanwhile, Ramirez was talking in a low voice with Jordan’s father and Zufall about learning how to cook. Apparently, he wanted to surprise his family with a home-cooked meal when the war was finally over. That left Gon and Jordan to talk with Scalia, Lao, and Peralta about old war stories. Well, Peralta didn’t want to talk about his family, and Scalia and Lao had both grown up in simple, working-class households. So, after Jordan finished talking about his upbringing with “The Colonel”, they’d defaulted to war stories:

  “So there I was, surrounded by an army of enemy mercenaries-“

  “There were a dozen of them at worst. And they were all E class.”

  “E class fighters can still bury D class if there’s enough of them.”

  “Maybe if the D class is alone. But you had Lieutenants Whitman and Shaw with you.”

  “With those two idiots, I’d have been better off alone-“

  Well, the war stories mostly devolved into Peralta exaggerating the details while Scalia combatively corrected him. Lao mostly just sat there, occasionally shaking his head in exasperation. But the trio seemed to be having fun, so Jordan and Gon merely listened and made appreciative noises at the appropriate bits. The meal continued with many more courses, with Markus and Zufall occasionally leaving to put things in the oven or take them out, and the Pioneers spent several hours eating whatever they could. Some might’ve been tempted to criticize them as gluttons, but this was a matter of life and death. Even though the mood was jovial, the Pioneers knew that they would soon take the field once again, and they wanted to be as strong as possible when that finally happened.

  When they could eat no more, the Pioneers cleaned up their mess and retired to the house’s many bedrooms. Though they’d already recovered much of their mental energy, some sleep would ensure that they were topped off and fully energized. It would also help complete their digestion and physical recovery.

  Jordan passed out the moment his head hit the pillow.

  …

  Daniel examined the Beta class stone with the utmost caution, turning it over and scrutinizing it for any problems. Nuntius had scanned it several times, looking for anomalies but finding nothing. It was, by all accounts, a regular Beta class Morphic stone from a Kharnidd Greater Ravager. There was no universe in which it should make him overdose at Gamma class. It would doubtless be excruciating to absorb, but Daniel was no stranger to pain by now. After several deep breaths, he put a leather strap in his mouth to bite down on and held it up to his Codex.

  As he’d expected, the pain was all-consuming, and it took everything that Daniel had not to scream. He bit right through his leather strap in an instant and distantly registered his mouth filling with blood, but he still didn’t want to cry out. He didn’t want to unnecessarily worry or distract the others, especially since they were wrapped up in their own projects, but it was rapidly getting to the point that he’d have no other choice. This was more painful than the time he’d absorbed the Goliath stone as an E class or when he’d absorbed the Hunter stone as a Z class. His whole body felt like it had been jettisoned into the void of space then hurled into the nearest sun, the power running a deep cold then an agonizing hot.

  All of his calculations suggested that this shouldn’t be an overdose. His body was absorbing the energy. It was simply too painful. Darkness closed in around the edges of his perspective, no matter how hard he fought against it, his mind being lulled into a void of its own creation:

  “I really need to stop passing out. If he were here, Jordan would probably make fun of me. I wonder what he’s up to?”

  That was Daniel’s last thought before his head fell forward and he passed out.