Harlock sighed, tracing a fingertip along the edge of Tochiro's abandoned desk before sinking into a chair, head bowing. A bright flicker of light startled him and he jumped, turning his head just as another flashed through the windows.

". . .are you creating a storm outside the ship? In space?" Harlock demanded, bewildered.

If you will insist on brooding so dramatically, my friend, Tochiro murmured in his mind, then you must have a stormy night.