Having regained control of himself, Caesar surveyed the crew. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, there's shit coming up. Now, I would like to know whether you want to get the 'big battle-shit', or the 'Retrieve the package from hell-shit'." Even before his crew could answer, he raised his hand, starting to talk to himself.
"Yes?"
He answered with a weak attempt at a womenly voice.
"We'll retrieve the package from hell, of course!"
He looked at his crew again, talking normally. "That's right. Now where's the fun in staying here when we can go get something from hell and return alive?! Besides, some sight-seeing'll be good for y'all." He smiled at his crew, hoping that they would survive the next few battles. He was getting.. Used to them. The rest of the fleet though, he didn't quite know. They'd probably hate him. Everybody hated him. It's why he was put in a psychiatric hospital after making suggestions to how to manage the state. Still, he managed to wipe his records and get himself to be hired as ship captain.
"You're dismissed." His crew went back to either their stations, or their bunks. He opened communications, glad that he didn't have those screen things where you get to see the face of who you're speaking to, and, even worse, where they get to see your face.
"Volunteering to go secure those databanks. Tornis out."