The canteen was located on the second floor, nestled within the communal hub of the NRE complex. From above, the facility's distinctive H-shaped architecture was clearly visible—each wing dedicated to different departments, the central section serving as a shared space for all.
This central unit housed essential amenities: the canteen, conference halls, sleeping pods, lounges, and more. It was the social hub of the institute, where scientists, engineers, and soldiers gathered during breaks.
The canteen itself could accommodate up to a hundred people, its atmosphere always buzzing at lunchtime. The menu rotated daily, offering diverse dishes to satisfy both civilian researchers and visiting military personnel.
Elena led Pierre straight to one of the food counters. Today's menu displayed:
KibbelingCalamari
Pierre's eyes locked onto the second item immediately.
They stopped at their favorite food stand, both scanning the menu with anticipation. This stand was beloved by the pair for its selection of deep-fried dishes.
"Look! They've got kibbeling and calamari today," Elena said, her eyes lighting up.
"You really love kibbeling," Pierre replied with a smile.
"The kibbeling here is made from freshly caught fish. That natural sweetness in the meat—so yummy," Elena said, practically glowing.
Having made up her mind, she stepped forward without hesitation. "One kibbeling and one calamari, please."
The vendor nodded and got to work. The sharp sizzle of fish hitting hot oil filled the air as water instantly turned to steam. The scent—rich, savory, slightly briny—enveloped them, the unmistakable aroma of deep-fried perfection.
Elena closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the sensory memory wash over her. For a brief moment, she looked completely at peace.
Beside her, Pierre inhaled the scent of the calamari—a crisp saltiness mingling with the faint tang of oil, a familiar comfort. His stomach growled in response.
"Totally worth the wait," he muttered, eyes fixed on the fryer.
Soon, their order was ready: calamari and kibbeling, each served with fries and a dipping sauce. Pierre took the tray as Elena led the way.
The canteen was quiet in the early afternoon, with plenty of empty tables, though it wouldn't stay that way for long. Elena headed straight for the counter table facing the sea and beach.
"Same spot as always," Pierre said.
"That's because you always sit here when you're alone," Elena replied.
"And you always join me," he added with a grin.
"Viewing the sea while eating kibbeling boosts the flavor, doesn't it?" Elena said.
Pierre didn't reply, just smiled as they sat down. Elena took her usual place on his left.
Before them were two plates of deep-fried goodness—crisp kibbeling and golden calamari. Pierre started with his calamari, and Elena followed suit. As they ate, they gazed at the view: waves gently crashing against the shore, a few people strolling the beach, chatting, and catching up on work.
"What's next for you?" Elena asked casually. "You know, after the big breakthrough—100 to 20, then 20 to 5?"
"20 to 5 sounds intriguing, but I'm afraid it's impossible," Pierre replied between bites. "Finishing that algorithm took a year. I might take a break or just tinker with some small projects."
Elena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing.
"Don't tell me it's about that locked drawer"
Pierre knew she was referring to the drawer in his office. Pierre didn't respond, neither confirming nor denying. Elena took his silence as a yes. Grinning, she changed the subject.
"Well, since you're free now, how about helping me?"
Pierre paused mid-bite, considering Elena's work. After a moment, he answered calmly, "Sure. Catch me up?"
Elena's eyes lit up. "I can walk you through it tomorrow in my lab."
Pierre smiled at her enthusiasm, and she blushed slightly at his gentle expression.
"If I recall correctly," he said, "you're working on cooling substances to cryogenic temperatures, right?"
"You're close," Elena replied, smiling. "More precisely, my work focuses on preserving living organisms at cryogenic temperatures while maintaining their biological functions."
"So… a frozen mummy, but without the wrappings?" Pierre quipped.
Elena laughed at his metaphor. "I like how you simplify things. Your metaphor reminds me of a burrito."
"For a mummy," she continued, "cloth wraps a dead body, but my process allows us to defrost the subject and restore them to normal—alive and functioning."
Pierre listened intently, offering no interruptions, just a quiet, focused gaze.
"Impressive," he said finally, his single word making Elena's cheeks flush pink.
Mumbling around a bite, she said, "Compared to your work with Freja—reducing human perception delay from 100 milliseconds to 20—mine feels like a kid's science project." She narrowed her eyes slightly, forking a piece of kibbeling.
Pierre noticed her fidgeting with the fork and decided to ease her insecurity.
"That project still faces many challenges before it can be implemented," he began. "The biggest issue is thermal throttling. Processing that many electrical or neural pulses in such a short time is overwhelming, even for cutting-edge chips."
Elena looked up, engaged. "The chips overheat and damage nearby tissue?"
"Exactly," Pierre nodded. "That's one reason Freja suggested using cybernetic limbs. The heat would be isolated from the biological system."
Elena recalled their earlier exchange. "And then there's the biocompatibility problem…"
Pierre glanced at her, mildly surprised. "You were listening closely," he said with a smile.
She grinned softly, a little proud.
"It's an issue," Pierre continued, "but not unsolvable. With current advancements in materials science, creating artificial tissue-like materials that the body won't reject is just a matter of time."
Pierre finished his plate, leaving only a swirl of sauce. Elena, still savoring her last bite, leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Around them, the canteen had grown louder and more crowded. Employees filtered in steadily for their break, joined by a few soldiers from the Granitz Camp, distinguishable in their dark green uniforms—jacket, pants, and patrol cap.
Looking around, Pierre glanced at a passing soldier, idly noting a Hello Kitty tattoo on the man's left arm. He chuckled softly, unable to suppress his amusement. The soldier caught Pierre's expression.
"What's so funny, four-eyes?" the man barked, his voice deep and aggressive. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked like someone who favored fists over words. He stopped beside Pierre and Elena's table, casting a long shadow over them.
"Got a problem?" he growled.
"I was just wondering where you got that tattoo," Pierre said, stifling a laugh.
The canteen grew quiet as employees and soldiers paused to watch. The soldier's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration as he noticed eyes fixed on his left arm.
"You damn bastard," he taunted, stepping closer.
Pierre remained silent, his calm demeanor seeming to provoke the soldier further.
"I remember you now. You're that nerd from this morning. What's your name again?" the man demanded, staring at Pierre as he tried to recall.
"Pierre Therma," he replied, calm and steady, unshaken by the taunting.
The soldier smirked, looming over Pierre, but Pierre paid little attention, turning back to his tray. The man's brow furrowed with irritation, his fist tightening. He raised his arm and slammed it down just inches from Pierre's tray, the loud bang echoing across the canteen.
Elena stood abruptly, her voice cutting through the noise—firm and clear.
"Stop. This is no place for a fight."
The soldier turned his glare toward her. "Go away, lady," he snarled.
She didn't flinch, her eyes locking onto his with sharp defiance. Her resolve only seemed to irritate him more. His stance shifted, and his fist pulled back again—this time aimed at Elena. Pierre narrowed his eyes, tracking the soldier's punch trajectory.
Elena braced herself, but before the blow landed, Pierre acted.
He stepped between them, wrapping his arms protectively around Elena. The soldier's punch slammed into Pierre's back with a sickening thud. Pierre didn't react or flinch, simply holding Elena tighter.
Another blow followed, then another. Three, four strikes landed—each harder than the last. Pierre absorbed them all in silence, though the shockwaves made Elena cough. He clenched his right fist tightly but hesitated to retaliate.
"Enough!" shouted another soldier, rushing over to restrain the attacker. He whispered to the aggressor, "That's Miss Elena. Stop it." Turning to Elena, he apologized, "We're sorry, Miss Elena. He's a new cadet." Two more soldiers joined him, dragging the aggressor away.