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"Don't ... don't shoot me, mister!"
It was a kid, maybe eighteen, dressed in coverails and carrying a torque wrench in his shaking hand. He was wretched and scared to the point of passing out.
"Artificeifs mate, third class," Jamil said, indicating the rank on the uniform. "Mechanic. I found him hiding underneath the navigator's platform."
The kid's eyes rolled in his head. "Don't shoot me!" The torque wrench slid from nerveless fingers, fell on the deck.
"He was probably working in here, panicked when he heard our ship land, and froze."
"I don't care if the angels dropped him down from heaven," Xris said. "It's about time something went right for a change. Come here, kid. We're going to take a walk. If everyone keeps calm"--Xris raised his voice for the benefit of the Marines--"no one'll get hurt!"
Jamil shoved the unresisting boy at Xris, who caught hold of the kid by the arm.
Weapon hand raised, his other hand--his good hand-dragging the kid along, Xris edged toward the open door. He walked into the sights of the Marines, could almost see them scowl in disappointment and frustration when the interior lights reflected off Xris's metal body parts.
"Yeah," said Xris loudly, walking as he talked, keeping the hostage near him, "you sharpshooters might hit me and miss the kid, but what good will that do you? Very few parts of me bleed
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