“That is…disappointingly predictable,” says Palamedes, regarding the matter of their rooms. He looks at the key the receptionist gave him, slips it in his pocket, and nods. “At the very least, a meal will tide us over in case they do serve sand for breakfast. Or nutrient paste, for that matter.” And because he has managed to remember social niceties—or, at least, has remembered them about as well as he ever did in the past—he offers his new companion a hand. “I’m called Palamedes Sextus, by the way. I wish I could tell you something more about myself than that, but…” He shrugs ruefully. “I get the impression we’re all a bit handicapped in that regard.”