Picking his way slowly along that body's shores, taking care not to disturb the fallen where they lay, an ancient Ni-Kunni claps his large, calloused hands repeatedly. More drones hum and zip to their proper places, assembling a finely nuanced image of the pitted cavern's acoustical characteristics.
In a tent high above, fresh-faced young meteorologists divine the atmospheric future of that inhospitable world.]
[Higher yet floats FEDERATION CUSTOMS TESTING FACILITIES, LUMINAIRE VII, MOON 1. The footsteps of a crone and her cylindrical kameira echo off the distant walls of a restricted pressurized hangar bay. Above, the sleek, unmarked hull of a Redeemer carves a silhouette from the station's illuminated shaft.]
Oh! How could I not love - adore! - a station built like this. These Gallente - such marvelous neurosis! Where have they been all my life? I suppose right here.... But can there be any doubt, I mean really, that they were influenced by depraved sadistic sodomites fleeing the collapse of ancient Araz?
[A lift descends from unpressurized regions. Moments pass, its doors slide back. An enormous, sealed black palanquin glides forward on floating coils, each side burned with the golden mon of Her Highness, the Dowager of Hilaban. The palanquin and dour cybernetic escort reach the crone and pause.]
The main event! The headline act! Three little birds with the Voice of God. Did you enjoy your trip, boys!
"We did!" cry the Amarrati in harmonious unison, eager footsteps falling here and there within their ominous artifact like boosted squirrels - barely more than twenty of the creatures in known space.
Ready for tubs and tubs of ice cream?
"We are!"
Excellent, sweeties!
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