Narrator: Aboard an ore freighter, in orbit above Qlaviql. . .
Lupo: Triplets of saint Nog! Did you see that, sir?
Lupo: That Frigate just torched the Capitol! Where's Sky Command?
Freighter Captain: Late to the party, Lupo, it's up to us.
Freighter Captain: Compy! Match orbits, then charge straight in.
Freighter Captain: Lupo! Man the rock-slinger and lay some chaff.
Lupo: Chaff? We're a rock-hauler. Where are we going to get chaff?
Freighter Captain: Our shields can't hold up under that lance. I want you to take our nickel-iron cargo and create a moving field of rubble. The Frigate will have to burn through that to get to us, and by then we'll be right on top of him. Chaff.
Lupo: Sir, this is a job for the military. We're just -
Freighter Captain: In the right place at the right time. Now start throwing rocks, Lupo.
Freighter Captain: You told me you wanted to see how much of a mess you could make with all six feeders running at once. Show me your dream mess.
Compy: Captain, the Frigate is attempting to paint us.
Freighter Captain: Keep us behind Lupo's flock of rocks, Compy.
Compy: It appears to be working, Captain. I detect plasma hits in the rubble.
Freighter Captain: Lupo, if you see holes in that rubble pile, fill 'em.
Lupo: Sir, Our rocks aren't going to breach their shields. What's the plan?
Freighter Captain: Ramp up our shields to breach his, and then ram him. Why do you ask?
Lupo: Oh, I just wanted to make sure we're not going to do anything. . . you know. . . stupid.