I'm just an exceptional man trying to make his ordinary way through a dreary universe. I mean, let's face it, the majority of space is just that - void. The big zippo. Bupkis de nada.

Beka: That guy in school, the one you're not sure about, who changes, or seems to, from moment to moment - well, this is him, kinda grown up. If he had your back, you never really knew how - or how far.

Trance: I normally get a pretty good sense of who people are, you know, inside, but this guy totally jammed my radar. I hope that doesn't mean ...

Dylan: Anyone who steps onto my ship and then expects to be waited on hand and foot - well, I haven't often had a need to feel sorry for Beka.

Harper: This guy - well, if ever I needed proof how far a little brains and a galaxy's worth of watchamacallit . . . chutzpah, that's it, could take you, here's the poster boy.

Tyr: Captain Hunt's lamentable tolerance has rarely been more ill-placed, and Beka Valentine cannot see straight for a noxious haze of wrath and nostalgia commingled. Utterly, flagrantly untrustworthy - and not a piece of reverse psychologically I intend to fall or.

Rev Bem: Beka has regaled me with tales, and the man has a certain, indisputable charisma. Such meanderings as his are, to me, proof that the Way is in no degree monodirectional.

I mean - Sam Profit, same first initial and number of syllables. It can hardly be considered an 'alter' since, let's face it, I'm all ego.

Beka: He did so much for me, Rafe too, and it's sickening in my gut that I don't know, for sure, why. I guess something in me will always believe that some part of him truly, deeply - cared.

Rafe: Dad wasn't on this plane much, even when he was stuck in the Maru, so Uncle Sid was the glue that really held our little family together. Question and answer - crazy family, crazy glue. Still ...

Rommie: That rare individual who cannot be adequately expressed in quantifiables, even for a machine. That is to say, rare in my experience, and I trust at least proportionately so in reality as a whole. I sometimes think I should ask Harper for a re-calibration. No - there's no telling what else he might take it upon himself to do.

There is manifest greatness - and then there is the appreciation thereof. Sad, how rarely the two coincide. Why in space can't a man be a full-tilt diva, and get the applause that should be coming to him? Is it truly so much to ask, that the joy one brings into this unquestionably cold universe be acknowledged, garlanded even? Not all the time, of course - once a week would be acceptable, if necessary.