Moorhouse normally was used to scurrying around the bridge of his spacecraft, basically filling all the empty chairs himself. He sets the interior stabilizers to a thigher setting. The crew will feel themselves just slightly heavier, like they all gained 2 pounds.<br/><br/>Dick sets himself down on the pilots chair slowly hovering the Thunderhawk up through the overhead large hangar doors. He shifts up the throttle and the Thunderhawk powefully punches through the air. The stabilizers inside the ship make the hard accelleration feel like just a slight little bit of turbulance, but nothing too jarring.<br/><br/><strong>"Dara..."</strong>Dick calls out as he yanks up on the piloting stick, pointing the Thunderhawk to the sky. He shifts to full throttle and hits the auto-pilot button.<br/><br/>A very sultry female voice echoes through the bridge speakers, "<strong>Yes, Captain..."</strong><br/><br/><strong>"Set navigation to Raslin. Inform the ship when we're ready for the hyperspace jump"</strong><br/><br/><strong>"Yes, Captain"</strong><br/><br/>Dick stands up from the pilots seat and plops down on the elevated Captain's Chair. A button is hit as he leans back.<br/><br/>The entire ship echoes a<em>DING DONG</em>before...<br/><br/><strong>"Attention newly formed crew of the ThunderHawk, this is NOT your Captain speaking. Just a dirty old man that signs your checks...<br/><br/>I estimate a 7 hour flight from here until our destination. After you claim your bunk, report to the central hub for team and mission briefing...clothing optional"</strong>He prayed to the cosmos the guys on his team took it as a joke.<br/><br/>As for the ladies....well....<br/><br/>