"Well, now, we—"
"Then don't blame us primitive souls for slugging a guy that's caught off base!" snapped Dusty. "Now, what are we going to do about Scyth?"
"Regardless of his depredations against propriety, he must be given medical attention."
"This I will go along with. How shall we start? I can always take him to one of our hospitals."
"No. No! You must not."
"Why not? We're quite competent on gunshot wounds. We're probably more used to them than you are, as primitives with impulse and hot blood."
"Please. Let's not be facetious over any man's misfortune."
"In blunt words, the life of a character caught in an awkward situation is more important than someone else losing their familiar stellar scenery and a couple of thousand years of climb up from the swamp of ignorance?"
"That is another question which I'm sure we can solve. Now—"
"Look," said Dusty firmly, "you agree to take measures for our safety and we'll agree to take measures for Scyth's. Do you understand exactly what I mean or shall I explain in very blunt words?"