Because space opera needs less action and more reverie:
Captain Arkady was a truthful man in his relation with himself. He was, in fact, incapable of deceiving himself and persuading himself that he was going to return from his current mission. He could not at this date delude himself, that he, a washed-up former military man turned mercenary commander stuck on a tub of a ship with a crew of misfits and castoffs was not on anything less than a suicide mission. All he repented of was the fact that he had not succeeded better in negotiating hazard pay in the slim chance there were any survivors. Death benefits would have been a good idea too. But he felt all the difficulty of his position and was sorry for his XO, his crew and himself. Possibly he might have managed to conceal the nature of this mission from his XO if he had anticipated that the knowledge of it would have had such an effect on him. He had never clearly thought out the subject, but he had vaguely conceived that his XO must long ago have suspected what the true mission orders were. He had even supposed that he, a worn-out man no longer young nor spry, and in no way remarkable or interesting, merely a good second in command, ought from a sense of fairness to take a pragmatic view of the situation. It had turned out quite the other way.