At some point this morning I dreamt I had already gone to work.
I knew I would have to move desks, from the 50th floor down to 45. So I got my stuff together on a cart and took the elevator down. I got out of the car and was walking up the walkway to the front door with Tom Paris and Harry Kim when Tom stopped to admire the pastel sunrise on the mountains in the distance across the rust-colored desert. "This is just too nice, don't you think Harry?" he said. "I could get used to it." Harry replied. "Having returned from the Delta quadrant, our Starfleet managers don't want us in the way up on 50!"
The Admiral was, of course, right behind him. He lit into him, ending with a staccato admonition to challenge all sentient beings to backgammon, at every opportunity. Paris drew his phaser and fired. The admiral was some kind of slug and weathered the blasts well. I abandoned the cart and ran inside. One of the new crew, a striking woman who reminded me of Betty Boop was there. She took off her uniform, turned away from me and touched her toes. She spoke to me, her face upside down. Her species was dedicated to having sex with as many other humanoid species as possible. As luck would have it, I was also of her species and so there would be no ICR (which I intuitively understood to mean intercourse ritual).
I was a bit glum sitting on my Dad's coffee table while she did a handstand on the sofa (the one I gave my Dad when I moved to Jersey). Jogen came in and started talking to her while tilting his head in a very unnatural way. Sure, he said, I'd love to help with your project . . .
And the alarm finally broke thru . . .