A few meager drops of rain, sibilantly soaking into the eager soil of Epsilon-Terra.
Whoever first mouthed that bit about cursing being the audible manifestation of a mediocre mind completely missed the point.
There's something infinitely comforting in the crackle and sweep and roll of heartfelt invective.
I left the site of the common grave and made it back to the hillside and shuttler IV as fast as discretion and terrain and my game leg would allow.
"I am thinking," Moya grumbled over the comm. "If these details are so important, why—?"
"Don't blame Interstel," I said. "The tapes were put together by GS headquarters."
"Well, whoever. They should have included more information."
"Thompson," I prodded.
"Sure, sure, I remember him. Big, awkward, slow-moving—always babbling about plants."