"Only matters if you start shooting at me."
The ARC Captain slowly raises both arms in surrender as the gunship brings its weapons to bear. There's little else he himself can do in this instance; his WESTAR-M5 might be able to pierce that windscreen at point-blank range, but it's slung across his back — he'd be dead before his finger even touched the trigger. If he wanted to survive, his only option was to try and reason with the ship.
"I'll lay my cards on the table: the rest of my squad isn't far behind. They're packing enough firepower to wipe out a vanguard. You gun me down, you're never making it out of here alive. If we don't kill you, the Vulture droids outside will pick apart whatever's left. But that doesn't have to happen—"
And he truly prayed it didn't. He could practically feel the knife's edge he was standing on digging into his sole. Cornered animals, the both of them. If one lashes out, this cave will be their shared tomb.
"—because if you're not with the CIS, then I have no quarrel with you. And as far as I'm concerned, what my masters don't know won't hurt them."
Slowly, slowly, he lowers his arms and begins to turn around.
"So don't shoot me in the back, please."