[ And, late, deep in the evening, a little silver-furred monkey swings in through the ajar window to his office. Clutched in one arm is a bottle of whiskey of some vintage and quality - pilfered from the Imperial Stores. Altogether without preamble, completely cheerful, she starts in - ]

God, this place is bloody hard to navigate. Half the windows in this place have got some sort of magic barrier over 'em.

[ Force-shields. She means force-shields. ]