[Long description: The Chief folds her arms, watching the R.A. as she whimpers into the floor.

R.A.: Ooohh God I got you written up.

Chief: It’s fine.

To show the R.A. that she truly means it, the Chief smiles.

Chief: Happens all the time. Ha.

The R.A. quits her quibbling. She stares up at the Chief from her piteous heap on the floor. Something settles into place for her—Maybe it’s the subdued show of comfort, or the sight of the Chief cracking an honest-to-God grin, but she can’t look away. Her face turns beet red.

Before anyone can say anything, she tears her eyes off the woman and inhales sharply. The R.A. points outside the cockpit window, at the ghost-platoon of fallen Imperial soldiers who are apparently still looking for them. The Chief follows her gaze. MarkOS picks his rifle back up. One matter remains to be resolved, it seems, and the R.A. is desperate to contend with that rather than whatever just came over her.

R.A.: Why don’t we, uh! Go take care of that now?]