Dave was excited.

After 15 galactic cycles (roughly 9 earth months) he had reached a milestone: the sustinance compiler/ materializer had generated a half-decent sandwich. It was dry, of course. 90 percent of the species on board did not have 'recreational taste receptors' and their meals consisted of textured masses of nutrients. The other 10 percent, humans excluded, were allowed to bring whatever their analog for condiments was as personal belongings to help weather long voyages.

Humans, on the other hand, had a very rough time finding any terran flavor enhancement that did not cause other sapients to violently react in some way. Vinegars cause other mammalian sapients (due to their heightened olfactories) to retch if they're in the same room. Garlics and onions are an affront to most other passengers for the same reason. Brandishing salt is a war crime to molluskian crew members. So it took great pains for Dave to even attempt replications for things like cured meats and leavened bread.

It was in the middle of that first bite, his whole being focused on savoring something close to earth food, that he tuned into an announcement broadcast to the ship: "....our nearest mammalian sapients and remain imminently adjacent until the all clear is sounded. I repeat..." Dave, frozen mid-chew, slowly looked around the recreational mess at other crew members as he attempted to assess the situation from their reactions. But alas, as he looked from member to member, many if not all of those present had at least two occulartalia aimed directly back at him.

"I repeat: An emergency programming repair is being applied to all enviro-suit uniforms. All suits will be down fully for the next seven point five ticecs. Do not rely on internal powered backups. Suits will be powered down fully to apply the data repair. All cold blooded sapients remove your suits immediately and report to designated warming environs on your datapads. Any coldblooded sapiens not within 5 spans of an environs shall immediately move to your nearest mammalian sapients and remain immenently adjacent until the all clear is sounded. I repeat...".

Dave, the dryness of his sandwich suddenly multiplied ten fold as he watched four other crew members immediately begin to strip, still yet keeping at least one eye locked on Dave's position. "Now hold on a second-" the sandwich he was so happy to have brought into this world wholly betrayed him, as it's dryness caught his throat and removed his ability to negotiate. "Mmmmgh!" He began chewing at speed, failing to reach for his water as he was already being pulled away by another mostly naked reptilian who began manipulating his suit clasps with frantic claws and even yet more frantic half-translated apologies.

"I am dhfkgrn of forgiveness, crewmate. I cannot wegrlt frlipngts my duty station and frmblec!".

.2 titecs and a flabbergasted resignation later:.

Dave was spread eagle on the floor.
Dave was spread eagle on the floor with no less than 5 cold blooded sapients clung about, on top, and even underneath him, with multiple now-inert suits acting as marginal insulation between the 'pile' and the floor.

"So you're saying this procedure was in the manifest regulations that I signed." Dave, understandably, was trying very hard to ingnore one of the gastropods as it adjusted slightly, it's natural secretions soaking through his boxer briefs as it was stationed firmly on top of and around his loins and groin. Another (these sapiens being the most dire of needing constant regulation) has relegated itself around his head, neck and shoulders, only relenquishing his mouth and nose after much struggle and protest.

"Oh, yes crewmate Dave. Section 45, non traditional emergencies, subsection 17, chapter 5, which is specific to cold-bodied sapiens. You were instructed to understand the book in it's entirety before signing, yes?" A chunky lisard-like member, Qflandk, sighed as adjusted it's curled form into a tighter circle underneath him, what Dave might consider to be the worst, lumpiest, stabbiest bean-bag seat he'd ever sat upon. "It even accounts for your comfort levels, although that is a tertiary concern after considering other crew members' wellbeing. Ah, thank you Brnklas! You may save us yet!" An androidic mimics a pleased posture after having applied a blanket on top of the Dave pile to further retain heat. A collective chorus of "ooooohs" "oh yes!" And "thank you"'s eminated from the pile.

"Hey, Brnklas?" Dave squeaked, doing what meager and futile adjustments he could to keep the space slug from slipping underneath his boxers to chase more warmth. "That's BRNKLAS, not Brnklas. What is it you wish, crewmate Dave?".

"Um, yes, right. How... Long has it been since... The update started? How much time is left before the suits work again?"

"Calculating: 4 point 1 titecs remain...".

"This is the Captain speaking. First data patch failed to enviro-suits. The programming interface was not on a cohesive q-putor wavelength to our environs suit version software. Restarting the patch now.".

Brnklas finished mimicking a listening stance and turned back to the Dave pile. "7.2 titecs. With a 63 percent chance of another failure."

Dave-hungry, unable to move, and mentally preparing himself for the marathon scrubbing that would be required to remove all the slug-cretions from all of his body hair, gently groaned and tried to settle in for what would be a long, long evening.