“There is no way on this side of the eleven circles of afterlife I am eating that,”
Tanker scrunched his nose up at the proffered sandwich.
“Oh come on,” Flanks said next to him, her voice crackling over the comms unit, “why the hell not.”
“I ain’t got any idea of what’s in it,” Tanker said, “could have eggs. Or mice.”
“It’s cheese,” Ironedge said, waiving the sandwich in Tanker’s face, “you ain’t got cheese where you’re from?”
“We’ve got proper food,” Tanker said, “like beans, insects, sauces. Not some bread and cheese nonsense.”
The disgust on Tanker’s face was made even more comical by the way he recoiled as Ironedge shoved the sandwich closer. Only Ironedge could get away with teasing Tanker like that, anyone else would have been sworn at bad enough for Flanks to call order.
Prerogative of Ironedge being his big sister, perhaps, Unale thought.
“Look we’ll ask Captain,” Ironedge said, kicking Unale in the boot, “hey Cap what’s your view on sandwiches?”
Unale glared at Ironedge for bringing her into the conversation.
“No strong feelings,” Unale said, “they’re a useful Earth food, granted.”
“But do you like them?”
Unale shrugged.
“We didn’t have wheat in Rathe-IV, so no bread. We did have those leaf wraps, those were good-“
“So it’s a no to sandwiches?” Tanker said.
Unale was grateful for the siren that flashed into life about their heads. Almost at the drop off point.
“A conversation for another day,” Unale said, “Ironedge, eat that quick and then get your helmet’s on. We’ll be dropping in 5.”
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