1 SARA FIVE sits down in a small, "Alien"-like mess next to ALEX PROKOV, 
    who is having a minor spat with the chute on one of the coldboxes. It 
    finally sproings open. SARA takes a cannister from another cupboard and 
    fills it with some sort of liquid.

  2 SARA: I was wondering how those worked.  (she snaps the cannister shut 
      and sits down.)
      
  3 ALEX: Uff. this is not what i need right now.  (he sits.)
    
  4 SARA gives an expectant look.
    
  5 ALEX: What?
    
    SARA: Go ahead, tell me.  
    
    ALEX: No, no, it's just ... well, they're such MEATHEADS! (ALEX emotes 
      in exasperation.)
    
  7 SARA: The pilots?
    
    ALEX, frustrated, stammering, indignant, with furrowed brow: YEAH! 
      They're loud, they're snide, and they've got egos the size of the hab 
      ring!
    
  8 SARA, contemptuously thrilled: Ugh, tell me about it. I had to ferry 
      over here with one in his little training boat.

  9 ALEX: You know, they'll just be running kippy little shipments for 
      the Company. I mean, a few of 'em might end up frontier-pushers, or 
      do police work, but most of em'll be rank-and-file KA rocket jocks.

 10 SARA: And they'll be perfectly happy, flying around like the latest 
      issue of "Captain Jim Space Comix." Like they own everything.

    ALEX: Oh, they will.  They're making so much money that one day, they 
      really will.
      
 11 ALEX: Alex Prokov.  Biomechanical design engineer.  You know, robot 
     parts.
 
    SARA: Sara Five.  I'm what you might call an industrial designer.  Kind 
      of like a sculptor with a bent for pragmatism.
      
 12 SARA, smiling wryly: You know, robot parts. 

    ALEX: Yes, but different parts, eh?