Rhys shoved the ancient, elegant walnut doors open with his shoulder, his hands and arms filled to overflowing with his papers and charts. He hurried down the inclined ramp, the rich, plush carpeting muffling his hurried steps. The chattering of the his esteemed colleagues grated on his sensitivities and the sight of old Turnbell masticating a tew-nut and drooling on his naboboline attire set his teeth on edge.
Rhys reached the podium and dropped his armload on the desk behind it.
“Gentle Ones!,” Rhys shouted. “The terranauts have reached the Dadosphere and it’s just as we feared! It is Cracked!”