A man in a gray suit walks into the lounge. The same fringed shoulder boards exist on his suit that were on Greenwall’s suit.
QUENTIN
Uh-oh; Derek, check the entrance; we’ve got a Halloween reject incoming.
DEREK
(Turning to face the door)
Son of a bitch! I thought these pricks were dealt with 200 years ago!
(Draws his pistol)
Hey buddy! This lounge is for Galactic Command officers only; not for Graysuit sideshow freaks!
Quentin draws his gun.
BYRON
I am Lord Byron; and I am now the ruler of this base. I have new orders for the both of you. Stone, you are to launch immediately for the sector known as Tre’Boluus.
DEREK
I don’t take orders from Graysuit slime like you.
QUENTIN
You tell him, Derek.
BYRON
Don’t play the good little soldier with me; you haven’t the right to do anything but follow my orders. Move out, Captain Stone.
DEREK
(Angrily)
FUCK YOU!
(Rises and kicks his chair away)
You are nothing but a god damn scoundrel, and you’re going down like one.
BYRON
(Angrily)
Do as you’re told, or be executed.
DEREK
(Firing a shot at Byron’s ankle. Byron collapses to the deck, and pulls back up to stare down the barrel of Derek’s gun)
Shut the fuck up...
(Derek fires a disruptor shot, Byron screams in agony)
...And die.
Byron continues screaming in agony as the beam disintegrates his body from the inside out.
QUENTIN
You fuck with the best, you die with the rest.