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One minute Jack was chatting with his ship's computer, sipping a HyperMartini and contemplating what it would feel like to be blown to smithereens-the next, he was sitting in what appeared to be a hotel lounge, empty glass in his hand. He considered himself lucky that his death had been quick and painless, but he wasn't quite sure why the afterlife entailed mid-21st Century furniture in neutral colors and tastefully subdued wood paneling. "Could be worse," he told himself, looking around. But something was tickling at the back of his skull, that same subtle feeling he's learned to listen to in order to stay out of danger's way. It told him something was amiss, and he wasn't one to ignore his gut feeling when it spoke. Pulling himself to his feet, he straightened his uniform jacket and put on his most charming smile when he heard footsteps coming toward the entry.