It had been three months since he had taken up residence at Starfleet Meeical that he felt that his ROI was no longer in the black. Between the therapies presented by the medical staff and the Black Ops conditioning he was putting himself through, he felt that he was at 100% and ready to resume his duties. Of course, it had also been three months since anyone had heard from Manticore. That didn't disturb him, though, as the nature of Manticore's missions would often take them off the grid for months at a time, from the perspective of the regular Fleet. What he needed was to be released from SF Med and get over to Special Ops to get the real story. It took another month in the hospital to finally convince the experts that he was not only cured, not only safe to be among the unprotected, but actually a benefit to his former job. Well, that's what SF Med stated when he was released after 4 months. But Special Ops wasn't as easily convinced and it took yet another month for them to let him resume his former post. Finally, at Intake plus five months, he convened a status review on the Special Ops Wing and found out... that they had no idea where Manticore was, either. They had been sent to resupply the covert based at Rylos-IX and hadn't reported for over 140 days. After A9 ranted and demanded resignations and had private meetings with the Fed Council about this lapse in management, they finally approved a mission to find Manticore, as they couldn't simply contact the Rylos station and ask about a delivery that was a secret from them. So, here he was, six months after stepping off a starship, standing on the Bridge of the Pensacola, trying to stay out of the way of Captain Tahna Bek and his command team, while also pretending to not see the sideways glances from the crew, wondering about "Crazy Admiral Atragon." It's as if no matter what Starfleet Medical's final disposition on you declares, you can't fix crazy. He would move throughout the ship and come across small knots of crew, speaking in low registers, who would stop altogether as he approached. It was always a coin flip, in his mind, between telling them that 'no, really, I'm fine,' or leaning into the center of the group, strumming his lips then shouting 'Booga-booga!' It was so much better when the crew members of the Wing were simply afraid of him, alas. First order of business is to find the Manticore, second would be to restore the respect for Command.