Habers led him towards a portable chart table that had been set up in the centre of the habitent. A chem lamp hung from a hook overhead, illuminating three figures poring over the charts. ‘You could use a shave, soldier,’ Habers said amiably to Varco. Varco rubbed his bristly chin. ‘I could, sir,’ he replied, ‘along with a shower, a square meal, twelve hours’ sleep, a large amasec, and a bout of restorative, uninhibited congress with an athletic girl. I’m guessing you’re not going to be able to help me with any of the above.’ Habers snorted. ‘Sorry, captain,’ he said.
