(Navichet sits, her helmet removed, in an enclosure walled by greenish curtains. Tables covered in fragments of machinery and trash stand beside her. There are two electric lights on tripods. Engine ration canisters litter the ground. On one of the tables, surrounded by trash, is her helmet)
XUNDÍTRIGGAR: A new bandage. She was injured by the book. Rrk. And she affects such wisdom, doesn’t she.
