fzzt-klik!
Off-key whistling
"Iiii’m a-whistlin’ on the Booooo-gey, aaallll the live-long daaaayyy… Iiii’m about to drop a preeee-sent, just to blow yo ass awaaaaaay…" 
“What’s that? Oh, this? Uh… not much. Science experiment. Yeah, I’m a scion… a sciensoround… a scientologist, yep, that’s me. See, check it out, I have a Floor-O-Meter and ever’thing. Means I’m doing science is what that means.”
Zzapp-krakk!!
“Oww! Hey, you can’t do that! Us scientological types are whatcha call yer basic non-combatters! Okay, fine, I’ll go. What? Leave this? But it’s my experiment! It cost me… I dunno, but more cloaca-jobs than I wanna remember. Really? Can’t I just… Oh fine, fine, don’t shoot. Just tell me where… No, that’s silly, it wouldn’t be remotely valuable to you guys, it’s mostly stuff I scraped out of the mammals’ biorecycling chamber, some molted carapaces, my ma’s favorite combustion accelerant recipe, and a 9-volt battery… No, I’m pretty sure there’s no ketchup in there. Really. No, I would have remembered. Whaddaya mean, you can smell it? We’re standing in hard vacuum, how can you… Awright, awright, I’m goin’. But just wait until my Dean hears about this! He’ll prolly kick me outta the whole scientological program, but then I’ll tell my cousin, he’s a mean ol’ lizard who’s a real bastard on the colored pencils, and you guys won’t come outta this looking so smart, you just wait and see.”
“Oh, and don’t open it outside unless you want the ketchup to freeze-dry. Meanies.”
Klik-fzzt
“Jones, did I leave the detonator with you?”
“Nope, not that I can… hold on a sec, gimme that, sweetheart. No, that’s… No! That is not for you! I know he was rude to you, baby, he’s that way to everyone, but he’s tryin’ to save the crew…”
“Jonesy, is Gigan in the pod with you?”
“Uh… that’s affirmative. I guess.”
“Does she have my detonator?”
“Looks like it.”
“Can you get it from her?”
Muffled hissing sounds
“That’s a negatory, Boss. Buzzsaw blade, sharp beak, you know how it is.”
Sigh.
“Yeah. Okay. Tell her… tell her…”
“She’s listening.”
“Gigan. Sugar-spikes. Baby-nails. Dream-blade. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’ve been an utter skink, and I’ll make it up to you. Just press that li’l red button, save the crew, and I’ll… I’ll… take you back. I’ll bring you to visit my folks back on Herpeton IV, we’ll start over, come on, Gigan, I’ve been dreaming of your ovipositor every night on this voyage, please push the button and let’s get back together…”
Snufflesnufflesnerk! Kheeheeheehee…!
“Gigan… are you… is that crying…?”
Bad falsetto voice
“Oh, Tex, you irresistible Ass!”
“…”
Heeheeheeheeheesnort!!
“Jones. Is that… you?”
“Ahem. Jones here, Boss. (Snigger)”
“Where… Where’s Gigan?”
“That floozy? God knows. She grabbed your Arcturan Cone of Silence and half your juice boxes and bailed in the first lifepod. She’s halfway to Ella’s by now. Oh, and thanks for the shipboard entertainment. The crew hasn’t laughed this hard in weeks!”
“But the button…!”
“Pressed it two minutes ago, Boss. The fight’s over. They’re all dead. You beat 'em. Congrats.”
“You… you flea-bitten sonofabitch.”
“Hey now, I’m pure felinoid. C’mon, Tex. Don’t scientologists have any sense of humor?”
