Sabatine fidgeted in her dress uniform trying to get it to sit right. The uniform was brilliant white with gold at the seams and a saucer hat. As was traditional they wore decorations, which in Sabatine's case amounted to little more than a couple of colored ribbions for her previous postings and a pair of rifles crossed over a star, no larger than her thumbnail, that symbolized she had been on the academy rifle team. Not that Lieutenant Micha could boast much more the the way of fruit salad which, given the fact, he was a decade her senior in the service, must have been particularly galling. Though he bore the bars of his many posting, there were no citations for bravery or courage under fire, merely citations for good behavior and long and faithful service to the Republic. Sabatine had read his service history when she had been assigned to him, and the man had almost uncanny luck for avoiding action. It must have chafed him to have been denied the one thing that could trump any amount of interest, success in battle. She felt sympathy for him, but she dearly hoped that his unlucky streak would end so she would have a chance to prove herself.

They sat at dinner in the large open hall known as the Armory. The Armory had once been just that, a magazine in which anti ship missles had once been stored back in the days when Herculaneum had been a minor regional power. After the world 'accepted' the Friendship of the Republic and the base had been built, RCN planners had determined that the ammunition lockers needed to be situated below ground to prevent accident and attack. The resulting empty building had been converted into a function hall for the purposes of the RCN. Largely this was formal dinners like tonight, occasionally balls to which the local aristocracy, such as it was, were invited, and of course pay parades when ships came in from patrols. Large banners hung from the wall at regular intervals, stretching from the polished wood floor to the timbered ceiling in rippling walls of silk. Whether they represented actual battle honors, wog or RCN, Sabatine had no idea, but they did provide a convenient screen for the spacers who had been pressed into service as cooks and wait staff to operate behind without spoiling the tableau.

The table was set with white cloth and expensive looking, although probably fairly cheap silverware and laid out with laurel in proper RCN tradition. Unfortunately tradition also dictated that the officers were seated in strict and alternating order of rank, with the commodore at the head of the table, surrounded by the captains of the various ships, all the way down to the midshipmen at the foot of the table who were officers by courtesy and were expected to improve their social graces in silence.  This meant that Sabatine was seated across from Kaiden, and thus required, by courtesy to interact with him. Cinnabar social etiquette required that business, in this case naval matters, not be discussed until after the main course had been served which robbed Sabatine of any topic in which she had any interest. Discussion of politics was faux pax as the RCN was required to remain above the partisan bickering of the Senate and she knew nothing of sports or current affairs back in Xenos that might fill up the idle minutes. The awkwardness began to grow acute as they were the only silent pair at the long table. There was a momentary relief as the waiters bought out the ox tail soup which formed the first course but eventually common courtesy and the notice of her neighbors compelled Sabatine to speak. Fortunately, she knew enough about Kaiden to pick an uncomfortable topic.

"Your father is in good health I trust Sir?" she asked sweetly.