The third pirate goes down like a sucker-punched goon with a glass jaw, sprawling across the floor with neither dignity nor consciousness remaining.  Hauling the technician to safety is kitten's play, but getting the man to release you afterwards takes a moment as frightened as he is. It certainly isn't lecherous intent that causes him to cling to your arm because as soon as he comes back to himself he releases you and starts babbling apologies.<br/><br/>The nametag on his coveralls reads A. Dent, by the by, and his accent has that particular quality that you've learned to associate with an old Terran subgroup called the Anglish (or sometimes the Brutish, which is confusing). He has a generally hangdog look about his features, as if life has been one small disappointment after another and so being dangled over heavy machinery and threatened by death is (now that he has been rescued) just another one of those things.<br/><br/><strong>"Let me guess,"</strong>he says after his stream of apologies dries up,<strong>"looking for a ship? Out to murder half the pirates and arrest the other half? Or are you going to decouple the primary grav generators and let this place drift straight into the black hole? Only you're not the first person to try that last one this year so I'd have to warn you about the failsafe."</strong><br/><br/>In any case, he vaguely gestures at a hatch in the south wall.<br/><br/><strong>"There's an airlock over there, and this one's got guards around it so something important must be docked there. I think this is where I say 'good luck' and then find a nice safe storage locker to get myself accidentally trapped in, yes?"</strong><br/><br/>