There is no paucity of everyday workwear aboard Angel Fish. Aside from the one space suit per employee, the algorithmic procurement system that acquired the employee uniforms had been bamboozled by a superior AI and been tricked into buying in vast, vast bulk. It’s mostly eye-burningly bright orange high-viz branded pants and t-shirts, but there are also boxer shorts, hoodies, and all kinds of other things, stacked high in one of many otherwise-unused rooms aboard the ship. It’s probably for the best, really, as the quality is generally so poor that Thom has had to throw out more workwear than he’s ever put through the laundry.

One thing there is not much of is footwear. Plenty of surprisingly comfortable and warm (if unfashionable) socks, but no practical work boots (aboard Angel Fish, anyway). There are some pseudo-canvas sneakers (orange, and painfully ill-fitting for Thom’s quite wide feet). There are also the boots that integrate with his space suit, but they are not easy to wear on their own–they’re designed to merge with the legs of the EVASleev (a feature of the Mutable Smart Fabric) and won’t really stay on very well.

The choice of clothes Thom makes when he’s not wearing his space suit goes beyond this, though: tending towards the soft, the pyjama-like, the soft, even when it goes against the obvious sensible decision to wear things that offer at least superficial protection from the harsh, unfriendly surroundings of the ship. Given that the nature and execution of his job has utterly collapsed the distinction between work and personal life, this type of blurring is almost inevitable. Sometimes, I suppose, you just want to feel comfortable; you don’t want to feel on-guard; you don’t want to feel like your whole life is at work; you want to feel, briefly, in some small way, like you are home.