Mess is kicking her heels idly and spinning in her chair, scanning the universe like one might surf the Internet, when she stops.
Leans over the console and types rapidly, pulling up a few screens and activating a few more sensors. She’s barely breathing, her face gone pale in the glow from the panels.
When the information is confirmed, she leans back with a hand over her mouth. Of course she knows what this physical reaction is, she knows what to expect, but—well—the nanite body hurts.
It takes a while before her eyes go dry and scratchy, and she’s able to take a steady breath again.