The Hero's New Clothes
Routine is like a coin.
On the one side, it's comforting. It means stability, predictability, order. It allows you to plan things, try them out, refine and optimize. Flip it to the other side though, and it means boredom, stagnation, complacency.
For me, I don't have that problem. My routine is distressingly predictable and lacks any boredom whatsoever: I get up, exercise, shower, eat, check my e-mail, make my morning rounds and go off on another suicidal mission. And if I'm lucky, that'll all be over before lunch.
More specifically, I woke up, dragged my ass out of bed and quickly scanned the room to see if anyone placed any new bugs while I was snoozing. Confirming that the room was clean—aside from the one I had left behind—I started my daily exercises. After that, I hit the showers—in my own cabin, courtesy of Cerberus.
While heading down the elevator for breakfast, I mentally reminded myself of all the various assignments I had on my to-do list. What should I do first? Go straight to the Hourglass Nebula? Make a pit stop at the Phoenix Massing? Decisions, decisions...
The door hissed open. I shelved that train of thought for the time being and walked out onto Deck Three. I wandered around to the mess hall, nodding a hello to Dr. Chakwas in sickbay. She nodded back automatically before jerking her head up and staring at me. Probably assessing my scars and how they're healing.
I said hi to some of the Cerberus personnel. They all gawked at me. Still in awe over my rep, no doubt. Never mind that that was over two years ago. Never mind that the Alliance and the Council think I was now in cahoots with them.
"Morning, Gardner," I say. "What's for breakfast?"
He just looked at me.
"Breakfast?"
...
"Most important meal of the day?"
...
"Commander?"
I turned to Miranda. Senior Cerberus officer. My XO. Strange bedfellows and all that.
"Hi Miranda. What's up?"
"Commander?"
"You said that already," I told her.
"Where are your clothes?"
...
...
...
Aw, crap.
I jerked awake, halfway out of bed before I knew I was moving. A second later, my mind dredged up the dream I had. Or nightmare.
Huh.
That was different.
"Commander, you have new messages at your private terminal."
After a fervent round of exercises, a cold shower, breakfast and my morning rounds, I had finally gotten that really wacky dream out of my head. Or suppressed it, along with all the other delightfully disturbing memories I have filling up my noggin. Anyway, I thanked Kelly for fulfilling what seemed like her only real function here and accessed my inbox. It was another message from Anderson.
Normally I went up to my cabin to read my messages—mostly because I'd gotten into the habit of sweeping my room for bugs and I didn't want Big TIMmy reading over my shoulder, thank you very much. So that's what I did. Slave to routine, that's me.
Of course, I had to scan the room for bugs. A thorough scan this time. So it took about an hour before I could finally sit down and read Anderson's message:
Shepard,
Citadel forces recently dealt a crippling blow to Eclipse supply lines between their operations in the Terminus Systems and those in Citadel space. However, their flow of weapons, equipment and illegal goods is still running unabated. At the same time, pirate attacks on merchant ships have simultaneously increased, with several reports indicating the involvement of Eclipse mercenaries.
We believe that Eclipse has compensated for our attacks by hijacking innocent merchants and using their ships to smuggle their goods back and forth. Unfortunately, neither Alliance nor Citadel ships can enter the Terminus Systems to intercept Eclipse without risking an intergalactic conflict. While I regret the developments that place you in your current circumstances and with your current... associates, there's no denying that you are in a unique position to succeed where we cannot.
If you are able to help us, please let me know. I've taken the liberty of attaching all the relevant intelligence we have managed to gather so far.
Good luck and watch your back,
Anderson
"EDI," I called out.
"Yes, Shepard?"
"Contact Miranda and Garrus," I ordered, downloading the intel onto a datapad. "Tell them I want to meet them in the comm room as soon as possible."
The three of us met an hour later. Miranda was the last to arrive.
"Sorry I'm late," she said. "I was running a check on Cerberus resources near Rolston's family."
"Crewman Rolston?" I asked. "What about him?"
"His family is currently living on one of the colonies in the Terminus Systems," she replied. "He's apparently worried about their safety, particularly since one of the last colonies the Collectors hit was quite close to where they live. I was just determining how feasible it would be to relocate them."
"'Apparently?'" I echoed.
"He didn't actually tell me himself," Miranda said. "Patel was the one who talked to me on his behalf."
That made sense. The two of them were close friends, and were always talking about their families whenever I made my rounds. For Miranda to go to that much effort was a good indicator of the lengths she'd go to keep the crew focused on the mission. And it was a nice gesture, I suppose.
"So why did you call us?" Garrus asked, bringing us to the reason for this impromptu meeting.
I quickly summarized Anderson's e-mail and uploaded his intel to the comm room's holo-projectors. "Seems to me that we should start by tracking the itinerary of each ship," I said.
"Plus highlighting where they were hit," Miranda added.
I nodded. "And what was taken."
"As well as any other attacks with a similar M.O."
"Or similar ship classes, sizes and cargo capacity."
"EDI, you got that?"
"Cross-referencing search criteria. Analysis underway," EDI replied.
Garrus was looking at us with an odd expression on his face. "What?" I demanded.
"Did the two of you realize that you were finishing each other's sentences?" he asked.
"Analysis complete," EDI broke in before Miranda or I could respond. "Based on search parameters, there is a 98.769% probability that the next Eclipse attack will occur in the Nubian Expanse. Specifically, they will intercept the freighter MSV Sandy Mitchell in three hours and fourteen minutes, en route to the Dakka system mass relay."
"There we go," I grinned. "We're off to the Nubian Expanse to chastise Eclipse. Again."
Miranda was frowning as we left the comm room. "This feels like déjà vu, doesn't it? This method of receiving and completing missions," she explained, seeing the questioning look on my face. 'Here's the mission. Go here and do it.'"
"It helps that Anderson's intel was so detailed, but I'll admit it happens all the time for some reason," I shrugged. "Like the dossiers your boss sent me. Go to the Citadel, or Omega, or Korlus, or who knows where, and pick up the newest addition to the crew."
"The same thing occurred during our hunt for Saren," Garrus added. "Admiral Hackett kept sending you assignments, like when he wanted you to disable that rogue VI. Or handle a hostage situation. Or grab the Alliance's probe..."
He paused for a moment. "Is it just me or did that last one sound really, really dirty?"
For some reason, I had the oddest feeling. Not a bad one for once. Just a suspicion that there was an idea germinating somewhere between my little grey cells. I would try and dredge it out, fail, forget about it, then repeat the whole cycle a while later.
It was a bit of a relief when we entered the Nubian Expanse and found the MSV Sandy Mitchell, floating in space and completely intact. Finally something that could occupy my time.
"Report, Joker," I said.
Joker pulled up the relevant information. "Engines are offline. Same with the thrusters. Sensors too... huh."
"Huh?"
"There's an automated distress signal broadcasting on all comm frequencies."
"Patch it through," I ordered, absently noting Miranda approaching the cockpit out of the corner of my eye.
"... Captain Tucker of the MSV Sandy Mitchell. We are under attack from Eclipse mercenaries and require emergency assistance. This is Captain Tucker of the MSV Sandy Mitchell. We are under attack from Eclipse mercenaries and require emergency assistance. This is Captain Tucker of the..."
That idea finally burst to the surface, fully formed and ready for action. "Okay, I think we got the gist," I interrupted. "EDI, is the Sandy Mitchell an independent contractor?"
"Negative," EDI responded. "The MSV Sandy Mitchell is registered as the property of Bright Star Shipping."
"Okay," I said. "Open a comm channel to the Sandy Mitchell. I'm gonna have a little chat with them. While I'm distracting them, why don't you hack into their systems, figure out where everyone is and basically gain complete control?"
"Understood, Shepard," EDI replied. "Comm channel open."
I took a deep breath. Showtime.
"Thank you for calling Bright Star Shipping. If you wish to speak in English, please say 'one.' If you wish to speak in batarian, please say 'two.' If you wish to speak in..."
EDI was helpful enough to generate a list of languages for me to recite as it began employing the various tools and tricks of its cyberwarfare suite. Meanwhile, Joker had a wide grin on his face. Miranda just looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
"Um..."
"I am sorry. I did not recognize your response," I replied pleasantly. "If you wish to speak in English, please say 'one.' If you wish—"
"One!"
"Thank you for calling Bright Star Shipping. For hours of operation, please say 'one.' For contact information, please say 'two.' For the location of the nearest Bright Star Shipping port, please say 'three.' To speak to a representative—"
"Yes! Oh God, please, yes!"
"I am sorry. I did not recognize your response. For hours of operation, please say 'one.' For contact information, please say 'two.' For the location of the nearest Bright Star Shipping port, please say 'three.' To speak to a representative, please say—"
"Four!"
"Please stand by. Someone will be with you shortly."
Right on cue, EDI began piping some really bad music through the speakers. By this point, Joker had clamped one hand over his mouth and was shaking with laughter. Miranda's eyebrow had gone back down.
**ETA: 60 seconds** a message flashed on one of the monitors.
"Thank you for calling Bright Star Shipping," I said. The music died away, much to the relief of the command deck, I'm sure. "My name is Carmichael. How may I help you?"
"Uh, yeah. Hi. Uh, we're on your ship and we can't get it started."
"What is the name of this ship?"
"MSV Sandy Mitchell."
"I see. Well, the first thing you have to do is contact your chief engineer."
"Right. Okay. We'll get on—"
"You idiot!" a second voice cried out. "We can't find the chief engineer, remember?"
"Oh yeah. Right. Um... hello?"
"Yes?" I replied.
"We can't find him."
"Who can you not find at this time?"
"The chief engineer."
"Why do you need to find the chief engineer?"
"Because the engines aren't working."
"Then the first thing you have to do is find the chief engineer."
"But we can't find the chief engineer."
"Then contact the engineering crew."
"We can't find them either," the second voice broke in, apparently exasperated with his colleague. "We can't find any of the crew."
"Would you like to speak to our technical support department?"
"Um...yes?"
**Access acquired**
"All right, just hang in there," I said cheerfully. "We'll have someone help you out in a jiffy. Have a nice day now!"
Joker lunged over to cut the comm, and then started howling in laughter. Miranda had the oddest twitch developing around her lips, but merely said "Well done, Commander."
"I have gained access to the ship's systems," EDI reported. "The crew appear to have taken refuge in a room that is not on any of the schematics for a normal vessel of this type and model, and is monitoring the situation through various surveillance cameras installed throughout the ship."
"A panic room," I realized.
"Precisely. Based on the footage from the surveillance cameras, there appear to be twenty-four Eclipse mercenaries onboard. Three are on the bridge; the remainder are scattered throughout the ship."
"Orders, Shepard?" Miranda asked.
This was it. For once, I had a golden opportunity to avoid getting shot, bludgeoned or blown up—and I'd be damned if I let it slide by. "EDI, shut down life support throughout the ship—except for this panic room—and vent the atmosphere. As soon as the mercs all lose consciousness, restore life support."
"Clever," Miranda nodded.
Joker twisted around and stared at me. "You're kidding, right? There are a bunch of mercs over there and all you're gonna do is knock them out?"
"Well... yeah," I shrugged. "I want to try something different."
"Wow. Can you imagine the reaction of some of the guys if they find out?" Joker asked me. "Zaeed'll be like 'This takes me back. Reminds me of a mission when we had a bunch of scumbags dead to rights, but the boss wanted to play nice. Wound up sipping tea and nipping on biscuits.'"
"Joker—"I started.
"And how 'bout Garrus? You can't deny him the chance to be all 'By day, I am Garrus Vakarian, turian with a stick up his ass. At night, mercs, a cowardly and superstitious lot, call me... Archangel.'"
"I'm sure—"
Joker interrupted me again, clearly on a roll. "Don't forget our new pal. Grunt. Don't wanna disappoint someone with a name like that. 'Grunt smash. Grunt smash mercs. Grunt smash big boss who not let him smash mercs."
He probably would have continued if Miranda hadn't swivelled his chair around and looked him square in the eye. "I believe you've made your point, Mr. Moreau."
If anything was going to tick Joker off, it was the thought that someone would dare to dictate when he could talk back at, well, anyone. "Yeah? Well maybe I don't. What're you gonna do about..."
Miranda just stared at him.
"...that..."
...
An audible gulp echoed throughout the cockpit. "Yes, ma'am," Joker whimpered. "Point made, ma'am. Getting back to work, ma'am."
I had never seen anyone cow Joker, much less cow him that quickly. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was shocked, outraged or impressed. "How did you do that, Miranda?" I asked as we walked away from our uncharacteristically silent and traumatized pilot.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied with a straight face.
We gathered up the rest of the squad, filled them in and suited up while EDI implemented my plan. Once it told us everyone was out, we left the Normandy in the shuttle and flew over.
"Here."
Zaeed had leaned over and was handing me a set of restraints.
"I'm flattered, Zaeed, but I don't swing that way," I replied.
"Screw you."
"What did I just say?"
"They're to tie up the mercs when we get onboard," Zaeed glared.
"Oh." I have to admit, I didn't think of that. "Done this before, have you?"
He snorted. "I've had a lot of jobs where the client paid my 'bring-em-in-alive' rates. Had to keep 'em out of my hair somehow."
I'm sure he would've started telling a story or two, but the shuttle docked with the freighter at that point.
"All right, people," I said cheerfully. "Let's go rustle up some mercs."
The first two mercs were slumped over in the hallway outside the freighter's docking port. We tied them up and moved on. Around the corner, we found another. We tied her up, dragged her around the corner back to her buddies, unceremoniously dumped her on top of them and moved on. Merc number four was sprawling over a console in a room on the upper deck. We tied him up, yanked him off the console, dragged him downstairs, hauled him around the corner, dumped him on top of the female merc who was on top of the first pair of mercs and moved on.
By the time we got to merc number six, we had gotten tired of the whole thing. We just tied him up and left him there with his cereal and his porn.
I had to admit, things were going unbelievably well. Yes, I know I shouldn't complain but let's face it: after you run into a couple situations where everything goes to hell, you start developing a little bit of cynicism. Once a pack of mercs tries to riddle you with holes or a couple husks try really hard to claw you to bits, you start to expect the worst. In fact, if the worst doesn't happen, you tend to become rather disappointed.
So really, it was just as well that we bumped into five Eclipse mercs in the next corridor—fully suited up and thus protected against my life support trick—that promptly opened fire on us. I'd hate to find out that the universe really wasn't conspiring against me. It would jerk the rug out from under my persecution complex
Unfortunately, I was on point, so there was nowhere for me to exercise a tactical withdrawal—more commonly known as running like hell—or hide. My shields disappeared pretty damn quickly, which made things that more tense. I dropped to my knees to make a smaller target—well, not really, but it sounds better than 'catching myself before I fall backwards on my ass.'
Fortunately, being stuck in a corridor meant the mercs were all jammed in one spot with nowhere to go. Which made it easy for Miranda's EMP to zap all five of their shields. It was just as easy for me to set them all on fire, causing them to flail about madly, smack and elbow each other in numerous areas. On my cue, Jacob yanked the gravity out from under them with his biotics while Mordin set them on fire again. Then we just sat back and watched as five bipedal bits of fire bounced off the walls and each other, screaming in utter panic. It was the best thing I'd heard so far this day.
Yes, I may be a bit of a sadistic bastard. Sue me.
Grunt, the latest miscreant to join my motley crew, was having the time of his life firing at the mercs. He seemed to take particular pleasure in the way the impact of his shots sent them flying—and screaming—in the opposite direction. Alas, his joy was short-lived: it wasn't long before Jacob's biotic field gave out and the mercs dropped to the ground. Most of them had succumbed to their injuries by that point. There was only one left alive, and she was really out of it. All I had to do was walk up and give her a quick uppercut and she went down for the count.
And then I had to wince and resist the urge to blow on my hand. I really needed more practise at this uncouth close quarters combat stuff.
Once we cleared the room—and by that I mean make sure the mercs were actually dead and loot any goodies we could find—we resumed our journey down the corridor. We passed a couple rooms that were clearly designated for crew quarters, though I'm pretty sure they weren't intended for Eclipse mercs. Four in total, all of them fast asleep—looked like they were catching a few winks when EDI pulled off that life support trick. We tied them up and moved on. It only took a minute or two to finish searching this deck.
"No one left. EDI detected twenty-four mercs. Ten tied up, five killed. Nine remaining. Probably on upper decks," Mordin summarized.
"Glad you can count," Kasumi smirked. "Too many people rely on their omni-tool's calculators these days."
Unfortunately, Mordin's mental math was bang-on. We ran into three of those nine mercs halfway up the stairs. Once again I was on point, so I took the initial brunt of it before having the presence of mind to activate my cloak.
"Hey, where'd he go?" one of them shouted.
"Come out and stop hiding, you coward," another one added.
"Coward!" Grunt bristled. "You dare to call the commander a coward?"
"Yeah," the last merc spat defiantly. "What're you gonna do about it?"
Grunt didn't so much reply as bellow. And charge. The merc with a mouth dropped his shotgun and ran up the stairs screaming. The rest of the squad ganged up on one of the other mercs while I dropped the last one with a shot from my sniper rifle.
"You know what?" I asked as I shimmered back into view. "Maybe one of you guys should take point."
"But Shepard, you clearly have experience that we lack," Miranda responded. "None of us can attract enemies the way you do."
I glared at Miranda. "Was that your idea of a joke?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied with a straight face.
"Hey," Jacob interrupted. "What's taking Grunt so long?"
We found out when we got to the top of the stairs, which opened up into a large hallway. Glass waist-high partitions divided the room into a circular path, which the merc was using to run around in circles. While screaming in a very high-pitched and effeminate voice. Grunt was hot on his heels, howling enthusiastically and occasionally firing his shotgun. I'm almost certain that he intentionally missed most of his shots, just to prolong the chase.
I let the two of them make another couple rotations before sticking a foot out. The merc tripped over it and flew into the wall. Grunt couldn't stop in time and wound up stomping on my foot. It was all I could do to stop myself from hopping on the spot.
"What the hell?"
In unison, we turned to see two more mercs. Guess that merry little chase had attracted some attention. "Ladies? Gentlemen?" I prompted.
Two EMPs exploded over each merc, followed by a stream of plasma fire and a couple shots. That just left four more mercs. And after a thorough search, it was clear that there was only one place that they could be.
The doors to the bridge were locked. Civvie encryption, so it only took a couple seconds to bypass. I lifted three fingers up, silently counted down and made a chopping motion with my hand. Zaeed slapped the door controls and we charged in.
The mercs were all clustered around another door inside the bridge. Garrus tried to take advantage of that to catch them all with his EMP. Unfortunately, they scattered a bit too quickly for that. Only one of them lost his shields. While I fried his sorry ass, the rest of them found cover. We were quick to follow suit.
Mordin and Zaeed drained the shields from another merc who was trying to move to another area of cover with a better line of fire. Jacob promptly lifted him up into the air. Miranda paused before detonating the biotic field, timing things so the now-dead merc dropped on merc number three. Or twenty-three. You get the idea.
While the merc was trying to wrestle with the unwanted piece of dead weight—no pun intended. Honest—we concentrated on the last merc. He was clearly the boss, judging by his superior shields and robust armour plating. Unfortunately, the odds weren't really in his favour. Three EMPs and several shots took out his shields, while a similar number of plasma bursts from omni-tools and grenades did the same with his armour. Grunt fired a concussive round before ramming him into the wall. We moved to disarm and tie up the remaining merc—who had finally pushed off his dead comrade—before he met the same fate as his commander.
"Guess that's all the fun we'll have today," Kasumi pouted.
A hissing sound punctuated the air as a set of doors opened. We whirled around, fingers on the trigger. Thankfully none of us were that trigger-happy, or we'd have killed the legitimate captain of this freighter.
"Captain Michael Tucker," their leader introduced himself. "And we are damned happy to see you."
"Glad we could help," I replied. "What happened here?"
"These punks got the jump on us just as we entered the Dakka system," he scowled. "Thought they could swipe my baby, just because none of us could fight back. Well I wasn't gonna sit back and let 'em turn my baby into some merc ship. Not on my watch! So I got the crew to hide in a special room I set up for... entertainment purposes with any... friends I might run into."
Ah. So the panic room was originally used for something else entirely. Heh.
"And then you shut the engines down," I guessed.
"My engineer set up some time-delayed virus in the system," Tucker confirmed. "I was wondering whether he installed it correctly—damn mercs managed to fly over to Gamayun, pick up some supplies and head off again. We were halfway to the mass relay when the virus finally kicked in."
Wow. So now, not only had I stopped this band of Eclipse misfits from preying on any more civvies, I'd also found out where the Eclipse was keeping their booty. Some of it anyways. Not bad for a day's work.
"Well, now that the mercs are subdued, you can start getting your ship back to normal," I told him. "We'll get them out of your hair so they won't cause you any more trouble."
"Much appreciated, sir," Tucker grinned. "Thank you."
Before we started retrieving all the mercs, I decided to make a stop by the cargo bay. Presumably that was where they were storing all the goods they retrieved from Gamayun.
My assumption was accurate. We beheld lots of weapons, thermal clips, neat packets of red sand and hardsuits. It was the latter that caught my eye.
Believe it or not, there were still people who didn't automatically recognize me as Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, first Human Spectre and all that jazz. They'd take one look at me and never would've put two and two together if my outfit and gear didn't draw their attention. People used to say that 'clothes make the man.' People may still be onto something. Half the time, I might've slipped by unnoticed if some beady-eyed civvie hadn't noticed the 'N7' crest on my armour. Come to think of it, maybe that was why I kept changing hardsuits so often.
Anyway, my closet was depressingly smaller now. I had the N7 hardsuit, whose logos and general shape were distinctive enough that someone might recognize it or remember that some other guy was wearing something awfully similar a while back and, oh yeah, his name was Shepard. And that was when they weren't screaming 'Alliance military! Special ops! Possible Spectre!' The Kestrel armour was even more distinctive and would surely attract a lot of attention, if only because people might ask themselves why some guy was running around with a plate of metal over his eyes. Mixing and matching with the N7 armour would only go so far. Finally, the Cerberus armour was just as unique, mostly because it was a walking ad for a supposedly secret organization. Plus, it was so heavy, bad guys could probably hear me coming a mile away.
So maybe I wanted something to wear that had a rat's chance of stopping a bullet while not drawing everyone's attention. Or maybe I just wanted to loot hardsuits like the good old days. Or both.
I motioned for Kasumi to come over. "Which one of these hardsuits would fit me?" I asked, gesturing to the rack of armour in front of me.
Kasumi looked up and down the rack, not bothering to ask me why I wanted some new duds. "This one," she said decisively, hauling one out. "It's in your size and, judging from the level of tech installed, it's intended for command-level mercs. This'll have the best shot of matching your current rig."
"Good," I approved. "Let's see if everybody else is done with their shopping. If they are, we can do something about the shoplifters."
After consulting with the captain, we hauled all ten survivors to a spare room near the aft. By then, they had all regained consciousness, as well as their ability to whine and curse nonstop. Oddly enough, we developed a deaf ear to their complaints.
Most of us, I amended, seeing Zaeed deliver his retort in the form of one well-armoured and very heavy boot.
Once the mercs had been unceremoniously deposited in their new home, I selected the apparent leader of this merry band, a well-endowed asari. I dragged her in front of her fellow mercs and forced her to kneel before us.
"Now here's how things are going to work," I said. "You guys are going to obey the crew of this ship and not raise any fuss. Once you're handed over to the authorities, you can fill them in on every Eclipse operation that you know in exchange for a fair trial, some prison time and a chance to consider the error of your ways. That's the best thing for everyone, don't you agree?"
"Go to hell," she snarled, snapping her restraints with a burst of biotics.
"Darn," I sighed.
The asari got to her feet, only to be taken down with a combination of biotics, plasma fire and concussive rounds to the head.
Once her body hit the ground—minus the head—I randomly selected the next Eclipse merc, dragged him in front of his fellow mercs and forced him to kneel before us.
"Now here's how things are going to work—" I began.
"Oh I get it!" he interrupted with a desperate grin. "I'm good. Best thing for everybody. I'm right there with you!"
My evening rounds were a bit shorter than usual, as I was eager to get back to my quarters and start tinkering with my new toy. After several hours, I was starting to make some progress in bringing it up to spec—well, by my standards at least. The next item on my agenda was the installation of some stronger shield capacitors, but I just couldn't make it work. It took me a few minutes, but I eventually realized the problem: I was slotting them in upside down. Every. Single. Time.
Clearly, it was time for a nap.
In the end, my nap extended into a full sleep. I woke up at my usual time, hauled my ass out of bed and began my usual scan for any new bugs. Satisfied that no one tried sneaking in while I was sawing logs; I put away my new hardsuit, did my exercises and took a shower.
I hopped into the elevator and headed down to Deck Three, pondering whether I should go straight to the Hourglass Nebula or make a pit stop at the Phoenix Massing first...
The door hissed open. Miranda just happened to be walking by, and stopped to greet me.
"Commander?"
"Hi Miranda. What's up?"
"Commander?"
"You said that already," I told her.
"Where are your clothes?"
...
...
Oh, I got it. I was having that dream again, wasn't I? I reached over and pinched myself.
...
...
Okay. Maybe I had to pinch harder.
...
...
Or headslap myself.
...
...
Aw, crap.