Still, he managed to keep all of that hidden, except from the ship, which noted his heightened vitals and marked the information down as part of his medical profile without understanding what it was that made the Sessile’s heart race so quickly.

The Thing constructed a dining hall for the occasion, adorning the walls with its wasplike emblem, shifting membranes and other internal structures around to create a chamber ideally sized for its number of occupants, not too echoey, not too cozy, as Milly declared it.

A thin clear membrane formed another viewing bubble, letting them look out at the curdled light of Q-space, which glowed without illumination, as though swallowing and regurgitating light in an endless loop. Faint yellow stripes ran at a diagonal across the pale brown walls interspersed with the emblems and gold tracery in some alien script that none of them knew. Underfoot the golden flesh of the floor was faintly knobby, letting the toes grip it without tripping.

The immense table grew up out of the floor, and was an oval in shape. In the very middle of it, a mushroom structure extruded food and dishes, colored like the walls. It might have been impressive, had it been created with an eye for design, but instead it resembled nothing so much as an odd and somewhat disreputable cafeteria.

“Is this what Arpat Takraven likes?” Niko inquired, looking around the room.

The truth was that Arpat usually just had a sandwich, taken from one of its silver and gold wrappers, in his quarters, and had never actually entertained anyone inside the ship. This was somewhat frustrating to this ship, which had spent a good deal of time and some of Takraven’s credits researching how to entertain but had never had a chance to test any of the multiple conflicting theories it had found. While it had been instilled with the basics as a young ship, it knew that it was supposed to create its own flair with such things, have its own inimitable style that marked it unique.

It had been hard to develop such a style, however, while passing through a succession of hands, each of which did not particularly care about entertaining or else did it elsewhere, citing the ship’s inexperience.

“Is something not to your liking?” the ship asked.

Niko waved a hand. “No, no, just curious. Carry on.”

Place settings appeared on the table, shaped of some white, bonelike substance, bubbling up through the surface. Niko made an odd sound.

“Is something not to your liking?” the ship said, adding pointedly, “Captain Larsen?”

“Here is the thing,” Niko told the ship. “Perhaps you are unaware of the former employment of most of the people in this room?”

“I request this data that I lack,” You Sexy Thing said.