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Captain fidgeted around her office like a caffeine-drunk squirrel on a spaceship when Alathea breezed in. “You asked to see me,” Alathea stated matter-of-factly. “Yes,” the Captain replied, gesturing towards the sleek sectional in her office. “Sit.” Alathea sensed a cosmic conspiracy brewing as she settled onto the sectional, folding her arms neatly in her lap. This was undoubtedly about her relentless pursuit to hitch a ride on the upcoming mission. She waited for the captain to spill the space beans. The captain leaned against her desk, adopting a stance that screamed, “I’m in charge, but I might also break into an interpretative dance at any moment.” “We’re planning to infiltrate a Borg cube,” she declared, her eyes locking onto Alathea’s. A spark of recognition danced in Alathea’s eyes. This mission resonated with her, like a familiar tune in an alien jazz club. Freeing people from the clutches of the machine—this was her kind of gig. They practically designed her for this. Captain