NARRATOR: Client briefing, Mnei-Oa, aboard Mialhoua-Ua...
TAGON: Your home system is colorful.
HIOEFUA: Not home. Oafa home is more ancient, long dark, ever lost. This starcloud is young, fifty-two of centuries.
But yes... starclouds are of fleeting beauty, like the bloomings of Spring on greenworlds.
No... imperfect parallel... correcting...
Fleeting like Autumn, colored brightly, but swift-fading into Winter everlasting. The star goes out.
TAGON: Well, yeah. Everything dies eventually. Especially in my line of work.
TAGON: And back to the subject of work... mine is a small, tactical force, and that station is big.
HIOEFUA: Big, but open. Wide spaces, wide as worlds. For straightening the linings-up of your fire.
TAGON: Linings-up... line of fire?
That planet-sized interior is all one interior space?
A centrifugal paradise of ranging, but late infested with heavy-flyers, sharp swarming. Vermin. Death-dealing to Oafans.
TAGON: The whole interior surface is high ground. It will be a nightmare if we're facing an intelligent force with good ranged weapons.
HIOEFUA: No. Only vermin. Swarming, flying. Aggressors, but senselessly.
TAGON: High ground overlooking a target-rich environment.
HIOEFUA: Concisely.
TAGON: General! It's time to go to work. Get your team out of orbit.
SCHLOCK: I'm a satellite!