Well aware his bulky force chair would only get in the way of others, Mirage waited with boarding their rickety ship until all the others had preceded him. There were many; other turians, humans, a krogan, a quarian, a batarian -- hell, he'd even spotted a vorcha. Mirage had also seen a drell, much to his carefully contained disgust, but he supposed that couldn't be helped. 

The fact that their captain was dead amused Mirage to no end, but he admired the way the crew had agreed that nobody should be elected replacement captain just yet. During the short negotiations Mirage had remained silent, hovering at the edge of the group, his face hidden in the shade of his cowl. He'd noticed the looks the others gave him, of course -- what use could a mercenary group possibly have for a cripple in a force chair? None of them had said anything out loud about it, however, which was a relief. At least they tolerated his presence so far. 

Once inside the ship, Mirage had a little difficulty moving around the ship's small corridors. He often had to pause to adjust his chair in order to round particularly tight corners and getting out of people's way was easier said than done. Longing for space, he hovered his way to the bridge, where he saw two other turians -- one behind the navigation console and the other being the pilot. 

"[code]You're the navigator?[/code]" Mirage asked the turian behind the console while setting his force chair down, using mag-clamps to attach himself to the floor with a satisfying [i]thunk[/i]. He opened one of his Omni-tools to the comms chatter flying around the system and started filtering out the useless noise, trying to pinpoint useful channels. "[code]Name's Mirage. Nice to meet you.[/code]" Mirage's voice was raspy and rough, like sandpaper, and further distorted by the rebreather grafted into his face. He sounded more like a robot from an old science-fiction film than a real person.