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“Otamots are soft vegetables, so you don’t need to push hard to slice them,” Gurathin said to the class of six as he chopped the blue vegetable slowly so his students could follow.
Most folks on Preservation learned cooking from their families. As such, Gurathin’s classes were usually small and composed mostly of Corporation Rim immigrants who’d only known food from nutrition printers. He could identify his fellow CR-immigrants by how they frequently scanned their surroundings, kept their personal items close, and especially how they’d ask questions like:
How much does this class really cost? I don’t have many credits, but I can pay it off by coding stuff. I’m really good at that. He could hear the desperation over the feed.
Gurathin looked towards the source of the message: Kole, who had a feed augment across his forehead. As soon as their eyes met, Kole looked down and shakily resumed slicing.
This class is completely free. Education’s listed under the Bill of Rights as something you can’t be charged for. I’ll highlight it for you. Gurathin responded along with a direct link to the relevant section in the public archive of Preservation’s Constitution. Preservation legal documents weren’t deliberately confusing like CR ones, but many were still lengthy, so he kept links to some key texts in his own archive for these situations.
The tension in Kole’s shoulders eased, though he still trembled as he sliced the otamot. Gurathin knew from experience it would take time for Kole to fully accept Preservation’s kindness wasn’t a ploy.
Gurathin was suspicious when he’d been granted refugee status the day after arriving at Preservation Station. After a year gathering supplies, hopping between stations, and covering his tracks to not become collateral damage in TeleFinity Inc’s collapse, it felt too good to be true when he was immediately given a private suite plus all necessities for the low price of just requesting them.
Once settled, Gurathin worked as a cook on-station. It’d been his dream job and occasional hobby back in the CR, but he’d quickly learned that making a living crafting unique recipes by hand was unlikely, so he’d chosen a more stable technician job, even gotten a feed augment for it. Despite the many patents for nutrition printers, Preservation had yet to acquire any, even after many talks with corporate governments. He’d figured he’d lose this job once they got printers, that one day he wouldn’t be considered productive enough to support.
That day never came. When he got a terrible migraine at work, he was rushed to the on-station clinic and given top quality care. His request for a holiday break was accepted without question. Every morning his lights turned on, water ran, feed remained clear, and cabinets were fully stocked. He was free to rest, formally learn cooking, share his knowledge, and follow his passion. He'd even been hired by PreservationAux as one of their survey chefs.
“Now onto the hardest part,” Gurathin smiled, pulling out a pot, “Boiling water.”