Depressed, he ate it all, and was just wondering if the fuzzy green stuff arranged to fill up all the empty space on the plate was edible too, when the cabin buzzer blatted again.

This time, it was a Dendarii non-com and a float pallet with three big crates on it.

“Ah,” he blinked. “My kit. Just set it there in the middle of the floor, for now.”

“Yes, sir. Don’t you want to assign a batman?” The non-com’s inviting expression left no doubt about who was first in line to volunteer.

“Not … this mission. We’re going to be cramped for space, later. Just leave it.”

“I’d be happy to unpack it for you, sir. I packed it all up.”

“Quite all right.”

“If I’ve missed anything, just let me know, and I’ll run it right over.”

“Thank you, corporal.” His exasperation leaked into his voice; fortunately, it acted as a brake upon the corporal’s enthusiasm. The Dendarii heaved the crates from the float pallet and exited with a sheepish grin, as if to say, Hey, you can’t blame me for trying.

He smiled back through set teeth, and turned his attention to the crates as soon as the door sealed. He flipped up the latches and hesitated, bemused at his own eagerness. It must be rather like getting a birthday present. He’d never had a birthday present in his life. So, let’s make up for some lost time.

The first lid folded back to reveal clothes, more clothes than he’d ever owned before. Tech coveralls, undress kit, a dress uniform—he held up the grey velvet tunic, and raised his brows at the shimmer and the silver buttons—boots, shoes, slippers, pajamas, all regulation, all cut down to perfect fit.