"Honestly, it's not a big deal. I'm fine," Sasha spoke to her father through a video commlink. "I'll talk to you soon, OK? Love you, bye," she snapped her phone shut and chucked it on to the couch of her two bedroom apartment. She absently flipped the holovision onto the news and stepped into her tiny kitchen to reheat some leftovers from a stir fry place.

It was a nice enough apartment, though she had never bothered to decorate it. Everything was shiny and cold. It was easier to clean that way. She lived on the 200th floor of a high rise on planet Kerwan. She took a liking to the planet after her brief stint as a politician. After she had reached her term limit as mayor of Metropolis, she decided to pursue a career in architecture. The planning, detail, and coordination it took to create the breathtaking skylines of her favorite cities was both soothing and challenging for her. At first. She still put in 12 or 14 hour days, but it was becoming unbearably predictable.

Her father called that day because a large scale printer had jammed at her work. In response, she had pulled her concealed combuster and shot the thing. President Phyronix may have heard about it from one or 14 of the witnesses in the office. Or the viral video of it. The incident was out of character for her. So much so that her supervisor didn't seem to know how or if she should be punished.

She took the cardboard container half full of hot noodles and protein out of the microwave. Now they'll have to order a new printer, Sasha thought with a mix of embarrassment, guilt, and pride. She grabbed a cup of coffee out of her single serve machine. Maybe I do need a little outlet these days, like a roller derby or something. Sasha perched on a stool at the back of her little kitchen island. She ignored the weather report on the holo as she alternately sipped her caffeine and slurped her noodles. Her ear twitched as she heard the unusual cadence of a terachnoid's voice on the holo angled behind her. The species was uncommon in the Solana galaxy.

"In stranger news, former Dreadzone contestant Ratchet was accidentally sucked into another dimension today when-"

Sasha choked on her coffee, sputtering a bit and missing the next couple sentences. She turned in her chair so she could actually watch the holovision. Qwark was on screen now. The interview was coming from some kind of terraformed space station in the Polaris galaxy.

"I'd just like to say that we have the situation completely under control. After all, where would that fluffy yellow ball of inexperience be today without these gloriously toned biceps? These astoundingly…"

Idiot. She peered past Qwark into the background of the interview. A young Markazian with a jet pack was on one knee, her hand on the back of a small robot, green eyes staring dejectedly at the ground. Oh, God. Clank's not with him. A quick burst of panic flashed through her chest, an emotion she hadn't felt since her days on the Q Force. She mentally slapped herself for referring to her old crew with that insipid name.

The Q Force. Not the Starborn 138. Not Captain Phyronix's crew. Not the heroes of the Starship Phoenix. Old rage towards Qwark crept into the pit of her stomach. Idiot. MORON. She straightened in her chair as she took a calming breath, regaining her composure even though there was nobody around to judge her. Maybe Qwark isn't as stupid as he seems. He had to have gotten this far somehow. I was just a young commander on my first active duty mission. I was just jealous.

"…and what, specifically, are you planning to do to recover the lombax?" the diminutive pink reporter pushed his microphone closer to the big green oaf.

"We are hard at work, crowdsourcing a solution."

"Crowdsourcing?" Sasha spoke in sync with the reporter.

Qwark dramatically snatched up the microphone with the reporter's hand still attached. The poor news guy dangled helplessly a few centimeters off the ground before slipping out of Qwark's hand and crumpling to the dirt.

"So if anyone happens to have a spare dimensionator we can borrow, hit me up on Twitter therealqwarktastic with the hashtag 'sharemywormhole'."

Idiot.

Sasha shook her head, cleared her half eaten dinner off the counter, and went on with her evening routine.

Answering emails…

Clank isn't with him. The duo had been completely inseparable during their time on the Phoenix. The few times she had tried to separate them for one mission or another, Ratchet's decisions consistently resulted in close calls and the need for emergency air support.

Running on the elliptical….

Clank isn't with him. Ratchet had always been the optimist. The one to push through despite precisely calculated terrible odds. The one who could and would physically crash through any obstacle. Without Ratchet, Clank was as good as paralyzed.

Taking a shower…

Clank isn't with him. Clank had always been the level headed one. The one to explain all the "nerdy" stuff that was necessary to survive space exploration. The one to aim Ratchet's energy in a productive direction. Without Clank, Ratchet was as good as dead.

Flopping into bed…

I have to go to Polaris.