"Crackin' now," comes Shephard's voice, and the hatch doors swing open.

Shephard does not normally take his eyes off the space in front of him when he flies this monstrosity, but for an occasion like today he is willing to make an exception. Just a tiny one.

Sir in the yellow suit, there is a Marine twisted around in the pilot's seat to face you, smiling the sunniest of publicist-friendly smiles and waving at you.

Oh, and his hand just dipped out of sight for long enough to retrieve his knife and use it to toss off a moment's salute in your general direction.

... he'll go back to the hovering now.