NARRATOR: The mighty mercenary warship Post-Dated Check Loan rips countounted terabillions of holes in the fabric of space, smashes itself into packets of singularic gravity, and shoves itself through the holes like over-cooked spaghetti through a collander.
NARRATOR: The process takes just over six seconds, and would sound like a coffee machine passing an aluminum baseball bat if there were any atmosphere to carry the sound.
NARRATOR: This now raises an interesting question: "if a coffee machine passes a baseball bat in the forrest, and the only one to see it happen is a mime, what does he say to the police?"
NARRATOR: Naturally, this has nothing to do with our story, as there are no police here.
TAGON: Well, sergeant, we're here. Where do we find more eyes for you?
SCHLOCK: There's a ridge of cliffs east of a space-port. On the other side of that there's a forest where my people grow fresh eyes.
PETEY: I believe I've found the area you're looking for. It's in a high valley with a crater lake above it?
SCHLOCK: That's the place. Get me down there and I'll have a new pair of eyes in ten minutes.
PETEY: Except that the area seems to be short exactly one forest. I've found a lovely patch of scorched wasteland for you, though... lots of nice ash in the soil.
TAGON: You grow them? What... on trees?