Narrator: Meanwhile, aboard the Serial Peacemaker. . .
Reverend: Captain, I just heard that Sergeant Schlock made contact with intelligent natives!
Tagon: Unh-uh, no way. Don't go there, Reverend.
Reverend: Go where, exactly?
Tagon: Down that zealot's path. I can see the missionary spirit burning in your eyes already, Reverend, and the answer is no.
Reverend: I think I need to get new sunglasses.
Tagon: It's been centuries since any human church had the opportunity to brainwash a primitive race, and although I'm not a history buff, I don't recall it ever coming off very well.
Tagon: Frankly, I have a hard time believing in any god who would damn folks just because they're living the way they've lived for thousands of years, and I won't allow you to go spreading that brand of cult among stone-age people who'll probably just end up re-enacting every major religious crime of the last four thousand years as a result.
Reverend: Well-spoken, sir. Are you done?
Tagon: I think that sums it up, yeah.
Reverend: Good. I may be zealous, but I'm not about to try and teach these people the principles of faith, repentance, or baptism.
Tagon: You're not?
Reverend: I was thinking more along the lines of fire, the wheel, and hygiene.
Reverend: After all, you have to have a wheel before hymns like "Put your shoulder to the wheel." make any sense.
Reverend: That was a joke, sir.
Tagon: It needs more funny, and less make-me-angry.