Matsiyan strides in purposefully, jacket unfastened. He walks around into the wide space behind the bar, more of an island really. Skaraans need a lot of space to turn around. He starts rummaging through the supplies, sniffing, scanning, translating labels on his datapad.
We looked at some of this stuff when we arrived, but we never looked in detail because we were busy.
He turns thoughtfully and yanks open the heavy door to the supply room and the rear access to the replicator units.
Aha! This will ensure sweet sleep: Torgoth Gukhna.
He pulls out a shallow indented tray with a dozen taught, fist-sized spheres of a shiny, purplish material. Sliding it onto the bar, he lifts one, bites into it and, clamping his lips around the incision, sucks hard. He holds his breath a moment and then exhales brightly, before starting to chew the shell.
When they are baked they create a bubble of almost pure oxygen in the middle. Very refreshing. Smells like fennel. The crust though, tastes like tandoori pizza.
What a waste. So little time to explore the whole station. The chief had to concentrate on the denabite refining equipment and then the Slingshot systems.