You wave to the familiar mess service specialists as you enter with your new lieutenants in tow. One detaches herself form the group by the greeting stand and intercepts you.

“Good afternoon Captain Warde.”

“Hi Kria. Is the usual table available?”

“Of course! Commander Mac Tire has already arrived. I see you have new guests with you...?”

“Just the two. Table will be for five with food for six. Quartermaster Easom is probably running late, as is his usual.”

“Of course Sir. Right this way.”

You lead the two bemused lieutenants after the mess service specialist towards the officially unofficial Surveyor's Corps section of the dining area and your usual booth within it. To call it a mess hall would be a disservice. The seating arrangements and food service is restaurant style though the menu is shorter then in a civilian establishment. The surroundings are slightly upscale broken up only by the required hazard and emergency markings and the anti-surveillance screens around the private booths.

You walk through the anti-surveillance screen and drop into your usual chair at the round table. XO Mac Tire already has his pitcher of water set aside in addition to the one for the table at large. He engages the lieutenants in the usual social ritual of meet and greet. Quartermaster Easom, a mousy sort with cybernetic eyes and the usual trio of tablets about his uniformed self, trots in as you finish your first glass of water and tap your selection on the order computer - bibimbap w/ fried egg in a hot stone bowl.

“Captain, good to see you.”

“And you Quartermaster. Sometimes I doubt if you'd ever leave your office if not for our usual gatherings.”

“Hardly Sir! I also have to dicker and barter with the supply chain officers. It helps some that I used to be one of them, and thus I am wise to their tricks, but a face-to-face is often helpful. With an email or memo to follow, of course, so that the paperwork can be just so.”

“Good to hear that you aren't keeping yourself sequestered. How do things look for the transfer aboard ship?”

“Well enough sir. Most of the crew present has their paperwork and baggage squared away. The few who don't have it ready to go have it marked pending, waiting on the inclusion of the last details.”

“And have there been any special requests that I need to know about?”

“The obligate fire team of Royal Marines have been griping about not having a shooting range, but it's a tad late to get the yards to put one in. They've requested portable units that can be set up and taken down as needed.”

“Reasonable enough. Perhaps Engineering, Repair, or both together could set up a semi-permanent place for such practice?”

“We have heads for those two departments now?”

You tilt your head at the lieutenants in answer.

“Gods below, it will be nice to work with and through department heads instead of chasing each individual around.”

“Go ahead and introduce yourself. They will need you to catch them up to speed on what we have and what we need.”

“I think I will.”

You lean back and let Kira do her job. The bowl is steaming hot and you drink in the smells before pouring in the sauce and siring it all up. Your Lieutenants and Quartermaster are deep in conversation, a total of six tablets spread out around their beers, burgers, and a bowl of lo mein. You aren't sure who is eating what at a glance with the way their half of the table is scattered with things. Mac Tire has his usual egg foo young with pork and gravy, pulled BBQ chicken, and a pitcher of some protein rich drink. You squint at the pitcher, really looking at it for the first time.

“XO, Is that just nutrient slurry?”

“More or less Sir. A body this large doesn't come for free.”

“I never really looked into the documentation on Volance. I know the Army likes recruiting from there, among other death worlds and hell worlds, but not so much the Navy or Surveyor's Corps. Is everyone as...?”

“Not really. I'd go as far as to say 'no' but it's not too uncommon. Perhaps one in every ten thousand is above average in strength for those born on a heavy grav world. Perhaps one in a million clears the bar for average height. Those of us blessed or cursed with both tend towards excesses in both... and a voracious metabolism to match.”

“Still, straight up nutrient slurry...?”

“Bland as chicken without any flavor. I think the chef has something of a standing challenge to see what flavor's I don't like, but the joke's on him. Army procurement only has 'chicken', 'tofu', and 'hot sauce' for flavors, so I'll drink just about anything.”

“That why you swapped the Army for the Surveyor's Corps?”

“No, though that is little secret. Death worlds raise a certain kind of person, and the Army knows and respect this. Some of the Army's officers on the other hand have their lordly heads so far up their asses that they can't make day from night nor left from right. That, and the Surveyor's Corps put out one hell of an offer when their recruiter came around. Independent command within three tours? The Army wanted another Six, by which time I'd be a desk officer or tested out.”

“This being tour number two I take it?”

“Aye. Two ships within two tours yourself is no small feat. And a Lordship to match.”

“Just a life title, not a landed one, and too many damn interviews. All I did was use common sense on top of procedure.”

“Common sense isn't common enough.”

“Doubly so when the nearest Star Empire ship is two warp jumps and gods below how long away.”

“It's been good working with you so far Sir. Let's pray that it continues.”