"That is unfortunate..." He says, and while the words themselves seem like an understatement the tragedy in the tone he uses is undeniable. "Perhaps then it is that there are universes that will be poisonous to us that you are needed for. It is unfair to take you somewhere to such discomfort, no? What makes it such poison for you?"

He shakes his head, the movement exaggerated by that massive crested helmet of his. He carries a load of the 'acceptable' items to place elsewhere, the ones approved for salvage. Such better ways to use this technology than just for resale.

"But you are well met. I am Saint-14, camrade."