NARRATOR: Bristlecone, Captain's Quarters...
GEN. TAGON: Wake up, Boy. It's time to be useless on your feet instead of on your back.
TAGON: And I thought we were getting along so well...
GEN. TAGON: Sure we are... if by "getting along" you mean "locking ourselves and our friends in an ancient death-trap."
TAGON: Dad... what happened to your ears?
PETEY: I warned you. I made you take a hard look at your previous record so you could see your many, many failings.
TAGON: Petey? How'd you get in here? I thought teraports were jammed.
PETEY: They are. Hypernode transmissions too. I can't spare the power to punch through and rescue you, and even if I could, I have no way of knowing where you are.
TAGON: Then how...? Oh. I'm just dreaming.
PETEY: "Just" dreaming. Aren't you paying attention?
Your subconscious knows that you are incapable of wreaking any sort of positive change, and is desperate to explain this to your waking mind!
PETEY: If I were really here, I'd only bail you out so I could lock you up and keep the galaxy safe from you.
TAGON: I thought you were my friend.
PETEY: I am. Your subconscious really hates your guts, though.