All that glitters...

Lester slumped in his extremely comfy leather executive chair and pondered the two objects in his hands. One was a letter from the Admiralty Office, the other was a small plastic packet with a couple of faux-gold decorations inside.
 
"Dear Mr. Seventeen-Dot-Phelps," Lester read out loud to SNIDE, "It is my pleasure to inform you that on the recommendation of Commander Jay Chrysler you have been promoted to the rank of Technician First Class. Your record has been updated to include the distinction of service in the line of duty. Please find enclosed your insignia of rank. Congratulations, Squiggly Dipple Blob, Admiral."
 
"What on earth did we do?" Lester wondered out loud. As far as he could remember they'd basically broken things, fallen out of one helpless situation and into another and somehow survived in the face of certain death. He didn't remember distinguishing himself at all.
 
Lester put the letter down and fiddled with the packaging on his insignia. It was awkward with his clumsy metal hand and eventually SNIDE stepped up and helped him tear apart the plastic. Lester stared at the tiny item.
 
"Where do I pin it?"
 
In answer SNIDE crossed to the data terminal and accessed Google. He typed in "Where can I stick Space Corps insignia?" The first response was: "Do you mean endoscopic rectal examinations?" Lester blinked, then remembered that the new coding AI at Google had been reportedly making certain attitudes known across the internet. He scrolled through the links and found one, indicating the point on the breast that the technician's name badge should go and the place where the rank insignia sit on the uniform.
 
Lester sat back again and frowned. "I suppose I'll need a uniform then," he decided.
 
Some time later, he stood, itching, in front of a mirror in the quarter-master's shop and fiddled with  his collar petulantly. He couldn't get comfortable at all, the jacket was clearly made for someone not actually human shaped. He liked the boots though, they were big, clomping and looked like they'd survive years with minimal attention. The hat, though, with its peak and aerials looked ridiculous and anyway wouldn't fit over his cranial implants. The quartermaster came forward with the insignia pin to put on Lester's collar.
 
At the sight of something sharp and pointy aimed at him, Lester flinched backwards, upsetting a box of Space Corps issue underpants which clattered noisily on the floor. Eventually, the confusion resolved, Lester emerged from the quartermasters in his new technician's outfit, feeling absurdly as if he was in someone else's body. SNIDE rode proudly on his left epaulette making suggestive beeps at passing ladies.
 
Lester began to feel something warm rise within him. He realised it was a sense of belonging: he was part of the crew. He started to straighten out of his habitual stoop and even began a sort of gangly stride towards the metro station. He felt fantastic, better than he had in ages. Then he tripped over his own boots at the top of the escalator and tumbled in an ungainly heap to the bottom where he lay, bruised, slightly concussed and thoroughly back in his place.
 
SNIDE sighed and then whizzed down the handrail to land on Lester's head.
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