Narrator:The mercenary company Tagon's Toughs has lost its oversized Superfortress warship. It's now time to review existing assets.
Kevyn:Please don't get me wrong, Captain. This is an excellent troop ship
Kevyn:It just needs to be re-tooled a bit to meet our needs. The problem is that there are no fabbers on board. Anything we need we'll have to purchase, and with the number of wars on right now, it's a seller's market.
Tagon:Can't we just buy a fabber?
Kevyn:From who? The current galactic-political landscape is not especially friendly.
Tagon:It's not like we started these teraport wars.
Tagon:Well, okay, so it is like we started them, but it's not like we meant to.
Tagon:That excuse isn't going to get us a price break on a mil-spec fabber. I can tell by the flat glare on your glasses.
Narrator:Meanwhile, in the first-aid station...
Caption:Wiggle Wiggle
Bunni:That's the best I can do, Lieutenant Commander.
Der Trihs:But the sleeve on my uniform is attached with tape.
Bunni:I'm a Doctor, not a Tailor.
Der Trihs:This is armored fabric! If I get caught in a fire fight or a blast, I'll just lose my arm again!
Bunni:I used duct tape. That's sturdy stuff.
Der Trihs:But it's unsightly! It spoils the line of the sleeve, and my hover-epaulet won't..
Bunni:Fine. Hold real still, please.
Der Trihs:What are you going to do?
Bunni:I'm going to cut your arm back off so you'll have something worthwhile to complain about.
Der Trihs:Ummm. . . How about I go gripe about the food in the galley instead?
