Flynn twitched his nose, wrinkling it back and forth as the new aroma filtered into his nose. It was familiar, but distant. He couldn’t place it. The smell wasn’t unpleasant, by any means. Flynn just couldn’t place it. He took deeper breaths, trying to figure it out, but he couldn’t do more than recognize it as familiar. No, check that. It was pleasant. He associated it with something pleasant from his past.
“Ann, are you using your pherotube up here?”
“Where’s it coming from?” He got up from his chair, and began walking the cockpit, sniffing.
Ann did the same, trying to locate the source of the smell. It didn’t seem likely to be one of the ship’s systems, not since he associated it with something pleasant, but it wouldn’t be the first time his nose incorrectly identified a scent.
“Here, through the ductwork,” Ann pointed at the vent.
“Flaring great,” Flynn swore.
“I am not crawling through the ship to find the source,” Ann said. “That sounds like something an engineer or captain would do.”
“I’ll track it down. You have the conn.”
Flynn started by tracking down Hank in his machine shop, but the man was working at soldering some circuits, which didn’t remotely have the same smell, especially when Hank kept accidentally soldering his sleeve into the circuit.
If I ask what he’s working on, he’ll tell me . . . at great length.
Flynn moved into the common room on his way to the life support rooms, when the aroma assaulted him. There, in the common room, Connor Reese wore an apron and removed a tray from the oven. He used a spatula to remove small discs from the tray and onto a plate, which he put in front of Eltie.
Here, unfiltered by the ship’s ventilation system with its various oils and compounds, Flynn recognized the scent. He sat down next to Eltie, who offered him the plate.
“Chocolate chip cookie? They’re really good,” she said around a mouthful.
“Absolutely,” he took one of the cookies. He pointed an admonishing finger at the two of them. “We say nothing to Ann and Hank.”
Reese and Eltie both grinned with chocolate-stained lips, and Eltie sported a milk moustache.
Flynn took a bite, and was transported back to his great grandmother’s house, where she made him cookies after coming home from school.
“SuppO,” Flynn said.
“Put in an immediate requisition for more cookie supplies. We are always to have enough for an emergency batch.”
“Two batches,” Eltie signified with her fingers.
“Two batches,” Flynn confirmed.