My heavier gear arrived ahead of me. Most of what I was assigned was in fact already on-board my new command. The Quartermaster was a descendant of our old ironmonger, from the old unit, from back on Mars. He insisted on providing me with a few special items. I was't going to tell him no. It would have been disrespectful. There aren't enough of us left from our world to go around killing one another in pointless duels. Not any more. The Podders take their stations and I find myself being offered a window seat. It feels good to leave this tired old world with its washed-out skies. We rise smoothly. Some kind of non-reactive drive. New stuff. I need to catch up on such things. Sure enough. The Quartermaster included a couple of practical overview ampules. None of the regurgitated pablum that passes for strategy--that's obviously not working. Instead there are technical specs for a whole range of technologies we never even imagined when last I was awake. I inject the golden nectar of knowledge into one of my cloaca-armored injection ports and for a while I almost dream again. Almost.
