Hermione dodged another punch, apparated behind the Namekian, and swiftly performed the movements for the knockback jinx with her wand.

"Flippendo!" she recited, and the spell propelled Piccolo into the wall of his training room.

"Okay," he grunted, peeling himself off of the hard tiled surface. "You make progress quick, kid. You can take a break if you'd like."

"I'll take a break," said Hermione, floating back down to the ground. It was odd, learning to fight entirely while airborne. Levitating with a charm was one thing, levitating with ki energy was another. It was more fluid, more intuitive- which meant it made throwing punches and energy beams easier to do at the same time. "But I'm taking you with me. I have an errand to run."

"No way. I'll get another glass of water later. Leave me alo-"

Piccolo was unable to finish his sentence, as his atoms were simultaneously deconstructed and then reconstructed in the ship's mess hall, with a flourish of bluish sparks. Hermione stood in front of him.

"I'm not here for your water. You can get that yourself. But you're coming with me to get my new Scouter. And to meet people."

Hermione hadn't visited the mess hall much- she had only stopped there once, just before she had her… operation. But she knew the person she needed to find would be there. The room was well-lit, and vast; the numbers of the Illuminati had grown significantly, and feeding them was no easy task. A buffet-line at the room's far end supplied a variety of vegetarian meals; to get any real meat you had to have a doctor's excuse. From the little food she had tried, Hermione had discovered that their imitation meats were as good as the real thing, if not better, so she had no reason to complain. She waved Piccolo on, and the green man reluctantly followed her down the aisles of tables. Seated around them were mostly Rei clones, who were dead silent- they either stared blankly at one another or were reading thick-looking books. Where there was noise other than forks and knives skipping across plates, there was discussion. Where there was discussion, there were people other than Rei. And where there were people other than Rei, Hermione found her quarry.

She indicated a table filled with a colorful assortment of characters, and encouraged Piccolo to sit. He did, pushing a girl with long, green ponytails aside to make room for his broad shoulders. Hermione slipped into a seat next to him, apologizing.

"Sorry. He's not so great with people."

"Apology accepted," replied the girl with her pleasant computerized voice. "Initiating reciprocation protocols."

The girl lifted an elbow and precisely nudged Piccolo back. He stared back down at her, dumbfounded. He noticed that she was wearing a Scouter as well.

"What the shell happened to you, Granger?" called a voice from across the table. It was a large, mostly humanoid terrapin, with a purple cloth mask draped across his eyes. Instead of eating his pizza, he was tinkering with a busted AEGIS, delicately twisting a tiny screwdriver with his meaty hands.

"It's a long story, Donatello," said Hermione. "But I'm a kid now and there isn't anything I can do about it. This big lug here" she indicated Piccolo- "broke my Scouter. I'll need you to requisition a new one."

"Sure thing," he said, snapping a panel on the device shut. "I'm Chief of Requisition now, so I can get you just about anything. How's the invisibility cloak holding up?"

"Fine," she replied. "But I think I'll need a smaller one now."

"Please forgive me," lilted the girl next to Piccolo. "May I inquire further into your current physical state?"

"Fine," sighed Hermione, "If you guys really want to know." The table nodded in agreement, encouraging the now-young witch to share.

"Artemis dosed me up with extra Time Vortex energy. He says he's testing it to see if it's a viable way to improve performance."

"It seems reasonable, provided that he doesn't turn us all into children," said Elsa. She was another of the Trans-Dimensional Analysts, armed with her scouter. She idly stirred a mug of coffee, occasionally dipping her finger into it- freezing it instantly. She was generally a well-rounded sort, but perhaps a little obsessive. Her latest craze was "Chinese Ninjitsu", and her custom, Regulations-approved uniform was a little ridiculous looking. "How has it gone for you?"

"Fine, I guess. He sent me to train with Piccolo" again waving to her companion, "And I've been doing things I certainly couldn't before. My spells all seem stronger, and I can fly-"

"How wonderful," said the green-haired girl. "I have always wanted to fly."

Donatello gave her a glare. "Miku, you can fly. You're an android. You've got all sorts of gadgets."

Suddenly, the girl was distant. Her eyes widened, and she stood up.

"I Believe I Can Fly. Artist: R. Kelly. Year: 1996. Genre: Rhythm and Blues."

"Oh, great," said a stoic-looking blond man seated next to Donatello. "Here she goes again."

"I used to think that I could not go onnnnn," sang Miku. "And life was nothing but an awful soonnnnnng."

She danced away, singing her R. Kelly, and flailing her arms.

"Vocaloids," muttered the blond man. "Not my kind of robot."

Donatello leaned in closer to Hermione, cupping a hand next to his mouth.

"My bet is that Artemis is nervous. He needs people strong enough to keep others under control."

"Under control? What do you mean?"

"Ugh! Oh! Ew! That's disgusting!" yelped Piccolo, passing Elsa's un-frozen mug of coffee back to her.

"I mean," whispered Donatello, "Not everyone on this ship are what you would call 'good guys'."

"Now, let's not be hasty," said the blond man, delivering a piece of simulated steak to his mouth. "Everybody has a reason for the things they did."

"You're one to talk, Char," accused the teenaged turtle. "You tried to drop an asteroid on Earth to kill everyone."

"They weren't going to change otherwise," he explained, shrugging.

"Think about what you just said! For just one second!" Donatello took an angry bite out of his pizza.

"Nobody's perfect," muttered Elsa, staring intently at her reclaimed mug of coffee. Piccolo was wiping his tongue off with his hands. "The Illuminati organization is bigger than 'good' and 'bad'. If people are here, it's because we need their talents to save the metaverse. Not because they did good enough to earn a spot."

"Thank you, Elsa," replied Char. "You know, your sense of duty is admirable. I wish we could all be so devoted."

"Oh! Um, thank you, Commander Aznable."

Hermione reeled in her seat. "Commander Aznable?"

The man made the universal 'calm-down' gesture. "Don't think I've gone stealing Artemis' rank. It's just a title. I'm Chief of Mobile Defense."

"Mobile Defense?" asked Piccolo, evidently recovered from the coffee incident. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm glad you asked," he smiled, punching a few digits into his AEGIS. The table members disappeared, re-materializing in a massive hangar, filled to the brim with all shapes and sizes of gigantic combat robots.

"This is Mobile Defense. While the ship's guns can do a lot, we're here to go the extra mile."

"What… are all of these things?" questioned a shocked Hermione.

"Mobile Suits, mostly. We've got quite a few other varieties of mecha as well. Knightmare Frames, Gunmen, Mobile Fighters, Getter Machines, Buster Machines, Battlemechs, Arm Slaves, Tactical Surface Fighters, Valkyries and Veritechs, a stray Megadeus or two, a few Armored Cores, a wing of Evangelions, a squad of Jaegers… no Deus Machinas, though. Those are no-goes."

"What language was that supposed to be?" asked Elsa.

"Nerd-speak," replied Donatello.

"This is really nice and all," said Hermione, "and I know this is your baby, or whatever, but I don't see any way that this can help me, so-"

"Oh, but it can!" cried Char, dialing something into his AEGIS. A gigantic rack of huge, humanoid machines, all identical, swung off of the wall a few hundred meters above them. It slowly floated down to the floor that they stood on. The machines were all about sixteen meters tall, each one a bulky-looking mountain of well-polished metal. Their faces were huge visors wedged into thick armor plate, and across the bodies were several large, circular panels with raised surfaces.

"These are our latest production model," explained Char. "The Illuminati Brotherhood Defense Forty-Two 'Gatsby'. Named for a major donor to the program, of course."

A tiny blue speck floated around one machine's head, and began to rapidly descend to the group. As it approached, it became apparent that it wasn't a speck at all, but a small, winged horse.

"Hey, what's the big idea, moving the platform?" it crowed. "I was working on that unit!"

The horse gave a second look at the person who had called the platform down, and she began to apologize profusely. "Oh! Commander Aznable! I didn't mean-"

"Don't sweat it," said Char, ruffling the small Pegasus' multi-colored mane. "This is my little ace pilot- and my protégé- Rainbow Dash."

"Pleased to meet'cha," giggled the Pegasus, shaking hooves with the crowd. "I guess you're giving them the tour?"

"Only a little one. I was about to explain our Mobile Support program."

"No need," chuckled Donatello. "I just can't quit pizza, no matter how hard I try."

There was a feeble laugh among the assembled group.

"We're talking about fire support," corrected Rainbow Dash, pointing a hoof toward the phalanx of mecha behind her. "Essentially, you just dial our number while you're in the field, and we can send you Trans-Dimensional Analysts a battalion of Gatsbys, free-of-charge."

"Wouldn't that be… a little excessive?" asked Hermione.

"When you're dealing with giant robots, nothing is excessive," replied Char. "Just give us a call whenever you need to fight someone even the slightest bit bigger than you."

"That should be pretty often for you, right, Hermione?" jabbed Elsa.

"Can it, snowflake," Hermione hissed in response.

"And that hostility is the sign that we should remove ourselves from the giant weapons," interrupted Char. He tapped a few buttons and returned the group to their table in the mess hall- but something was amiss.

Donatello asked the question that everyone was thinking: "Why is there some guy passed out on our table?"

The man was not entirely passed out, but he might as well have been. He lay over the trays and cups they had left behind, their various vegetables clinging to his ratty green shirt. He was moaning softly, until Elsa chilled her mug of coffee again and poured it over his face, shocking him into more verbal clarity.

"Like, zoinks, man," he whined. "No need to be harshing my mellow."

"There's plenty of reason to 'harsh your mellow' when you ruin our meal," snapped Char. "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, man. I'm… I'm Shaggy… from the kitchen. But I'm at one with the stars, right now. I'm, like, Star Shaggy," he mumbled.

Donatello grabbed the man's unshaven face, pulling his eyelids back and tilting his gaze upward. "Look at this," said the turtle, pointing at Shaggy's eyeballs. The irises were clouded over with an unnaturally bright blue. "It's… I think that's Melange."

"Melange? Dude, I don't care what it is. I can see, like, everything… all the stars and planets, and the black holes… I can see to the other side, man."

"Should we… call a doctor, or something?" asked Elsa.

Char shook his head. "Melange is a controlled substance. He'll have to be taken care of by-"

A sharp, metallic click of high-heel against tile echoed throughout the mess hall, silencing even the most muffled of Reis. A thin, stern shadow crawled across the floor, surrounded by the vibrant corona of its owner.

"…Regulations," whispered Donatello, as the group turned to face the members of the dreaded program. The amount of people that had assembled behind them so quietly was truly staggering; there were at least twenty officers all of identical uniform, and identical build- to be expected, since they were all Rei clones as well. They carried compact stun-guns and collapsible nightsticks, and that same determined, blank stare that was simply awkward on the other Reis, and terrifying on them.

Ahead of the troops stood four officers that were clearly not clones- two average-height boys; one muscular, the other scrawny and wearing glasses; a truly behemoth young man with bleached-blond hair and well-pierced earlobes; and a short girl with conspicuously pink hair, who was twirling her nightstick innocently, though her facial expression destroyed any possibility of innocent intent. They did not look friendly, but then again, neither did their leader. She stood ahead of all the rest, peering down her nose from underneath the most severe eyebrows in the mess hall. She stood at attention, hands folded over the hilt of a sheathed sword, apparently unaware of the soft yellow light that projected from no place in particular behind her. Her long black hair sat neatly over her crisp uniform, which was definitely not the one any of her other officers wore, nor was it of the Trans-Dimensional Analyst type. It was some halfway point between a sailor fuku and a general's dress uniform, complete with gold epaulettes at the shoulders. Hermione could have sworn she saw the red-and-yellow patches on the scarf move like eyes scanning the room, but perhaps it was her imagination.

"May I have your attention, please," stated the young woman. She didn't bother asking for it, she was certain to get it whether her audience wanted to give it to her or not. She paused, letting the words sink in, just in case anyone did not understand what was going on. Someone did not.

"Would the real Slim Shady please stand up?" called a giggling voice from a far edge of the hall. With nothing more than a shallow nod, a dozen of her clone officers apprehended the culprit- a suddenly surprised looking Miku- and escorted her out of the room, still rapping.

"That kind of discourse will not be tolerated while Regulations is carrying out their duties," said the Chief of Regulations, carefully suppressing her annoyance. "We have arrived to take one Shaggy Rogers into custody, on the grounds that he has… misappropriated a kilogram of the Spice Melange from the Navigation department. The Spice Melange is a controlled substance, and its use is regulated strictly to authorized members of the Navigation department. According to the Illuminati Brotherhood Code, Article 10, section B3, subsection ν, theft or abuse of such substances is a criminal offense."

With another barely-detectable nod, a brace of Regulations officers marched to the table, picked up the dazed Shaggy, brushed a few slices of pizza off of his chest, and carried him to the feet of their superior.

"Anything to say in your defense, you miserable pig?"

"Of course he doesn't," said a familiar voice rushing in from the other side of the mess hall. Rubber boots squealed as the captain herself slid to a stop behind the disoriented Shaggy. "But I do."

"Captain Littner?" cried the group- in perfect unison, excepting Piccolo- that had once occupied the table for a meal, and now clung to it as if to brace themselves from the drama.

The Chief of Regulations looked a little confused for a moment, but once her eyes had assessed the situation, she returned to her smug confidence.

"Captain Littner, what an unusual surprise," breathed the Chief of Regulations, not sounding surprised in the slightest. "However, I must question your stance on this criminal. He has clearly violated regulations."

"He didn't violate anything," barked Yoko, unusually stern. "I did."

"Well, of course you did," smiled the young woman, drawing her sword and pointing its jet-black blade at Yoko's mostly-exposed chest. "That bikini is not to dress code. Unless there is something else you'd like to share."

"There is," huffed Yoko. "I gave Shaggy Rogers the Melange."

That was enough to elicit a few quiet murmurs from the Reis, but an angry glare from the Regulations chief was enough to silence them.

"And just what exactly inspired this felony, pray tell?" She slowly returned her sword to its sheath, keeping her gaze focused on the captain.

"As captain of this ship, I'm a leader. And a leader is obligated to listen to the concerns of their followers. When I'm not on the bridge, I let the crew come talk to me. I was getting my meal here earlier today, and Shaggy was serving. He looked a little depressed, so I asked him why- he said he missed his friend Scooby, who's working in Navigation- he's the dog that talks," Yoko made the shape of a dog's head with her fingers, opening and closing her hand to indicate speech. The Chief of Regulations did not look particularly impressed.

"I know who he is," she spat.

"I told Shaggy here that I could get him into Navigation- we've got enough automation on our line here in the kitchen that we don't really need so many chefs- but he would need to actually be useful to Navigation before I could reassign him, so I snagged a vial of the stuff during one of my inspections and handed it off to him. It was a large enough dose that he should eventually develop psychic powers that would be useful in star-mapping."

The woman with the sword seemed to begin to speak, then stopped, then tried to begin again, and stopped again. She sighed, held up her hand, and her four non-clone officers instantly surrounded Yoko, locking arms underneath her elbows to keep her still.

"You have no idea how stupid that was," said the Regulations chief, almost smiling.

"You can't talk to me like that, Kiryuin. I outrank you," growled Yoko, struggling against the officers detaining her. Chief of Regulations Kiryuin stepped forward, unsheathing her sword again. She pressed the tip against Yoko's throat.

"No one outranks the law," she hissed.

"It's my ship," grunted Yoko.

"And my rules. And Artemis' organization. And he told me to enforce those rules, on your ship. Laws are enforced through punishment. Punishment encourages obedience. Obedience ensures productivity. And if we are not productive, we are all dead. Do I make myself clear, Captain?"

Yoko sighed. "As ice, Kiryuin."

"Good," said the young woman, removing the sword from her captain's throat. "I'm going to file a report and make sure Artemis knows about this."

"Artemis already knows," whispered the telltale monotone of a Rei, stepping through the blue sparks of an AEGIS device. A small, brass pin had been affixed to her uniform, two capital 'I' letters, just below her collar. "Mr. Shaggy Rogers had been deemed unfit for Navigation."

Chief of Regulations Kiryuin cracked a victorious smile.

"Miss Suzumiya is preparing transfer paperwork for one Scooby Doo to move to the kitchen," continued Rei Two. "Neither Mr. Shaggy Rogers nor Captain Yoko Littner will be reprimanded. You are dismissed, Chief of Regulations Satsuki Kiryuin."

Satsuki, retaining her dignity, turned and led her troops out of the mess hall, her officers letting Yoko go with a distasteful backwards glance. A disheveled and mostly-unconscious Shaggy, Rei Two, Captain Littner, and those who had been sitting at the table were all that remained- except the other Reis, who returned to eating silently as they had before.

"Artemis apologizes for the unruliness of Chief of Regulations Kiryuin," whispered the second Rei Ayanami. "He regrets to inform you that their strategies and autonomy must be preserved for the well-being of the ship."

"It's… no big deal," said Yoko, dusting herself off- though there wasn't really any dust. "I may be captain, but I still make mistakes. I overstepped my bounds, and all that."

"You're not just going to let her… do that, are you?" cried Hermione.

"Oh! Hermione! Were you there for all that? Gosh, you look… youthful."

"Answer the question," snarled the witch.

"Unfortunately, I am," sighed Yoko. "In another time or place, maybe not. But Kiryuin and her goons have that kind of power for a reason. There are worse things that could happen on this ship than a kilo of stolen Melange… which I need to make a note of. Shaggy here's going to need a steady dosage of Melange supplements from here on out. Withdrawal's a real… it gets ugly. Rei, can you send a memo to Suzumiya 'bout that?"

"Affirmative," said the girl, teleporting away.

"… Worse things?" asked Elsa quietly.

"Much worse," confirmed Yoko. "We've got thousands of the brightest minds in the meta-verse on this ship, and not all of them like to tread the straight-and-narrow. Keep that between just us, okay?" she said, motioning to the little group. Many heads bobbed in response.

"I need to get back to the bridge. You all take care, now," she smiled, tapping the coordinates of the bridge into her AEGIS and disappearing.

"Looks like you were right, Donatello," said Hermione, turning to the turtle.

"Yeah. But I can't say I'm too glad about it."

"Hey, can you also requisition a new outfit for me? I need something a little looser. It's just a little hard to move around in the normal uniform while I'm training."

"Sure thing. I've got friends in Outfitting. What did you have in mind?"

Hermione pointed at Piccolo, who was sipping something greedily out of a mug.

"Like what he's got. I think I can work an invisibility cloak into the whole cape-shoulder-pad thing he's wearing. Little kung-fu slip-ons like that might not be bad, either. And what are you drinking?" she asked of the Namekian.

"Coffee," grunted Piccolo. "It tastes awful… but I need more. It's got this buzz."

The group got a hearty laugh out of the response, almost forgetting the tension they had faced mere minutes before. They said their goodbyes and left to their posts, and the second they were gone, a Rei seated at a corner table got up and slipped through the sliding door. A man standing against a wall on the other side grabbed her arm.

"What did you find out?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"It sounds like they know. This cannot be good," replied the Rei.

"No. It is not. But we have ways of rectifying a setback like this. We can work faster."

"Shall I tell the others?"

"Of course. Just be careful, One."

"I will. Goodbye, Commander Ikari."

The man slunk back into the shadows, hunching his shoulders over and keeping his head down.

Soon. It will happen soon.