Micah blanches a little at the sight of the gun and, with a slightly embarrassed, nervous smile, shakes their head, holding their hands up. "Better in your hands than mine," they say quietly. "I think I'm more likely to be a danger than a help with one of those."

Sorry, Eames, Micah is a huge weenie and doesn't do guns. They could steal the ship and fly out of here no problem, sure, but they're not going to. Having a guy who can do guns around is extremely helpful right now.

They keep close to him as the two of them turn toward the left. Distant sounds make the hairs stand on the back of their neck -- pursuers, alerted security? Or just other people on the ship going about their business. "Where to now?"