It was the almost idealism that Lucien had which won them over. They’d been abandoned by their squadron, alone, and the VIth had found them. But they had intelligence, and unfortunately - the cohort’s position.
“We offered them service,” the kir said low, one of the few times he seemed willing to address or speak up against what they had been doing.
“They have none to give,” was the reply finally, the tone affronted that the kir had questioned. Then a slight smile, turning to the engineer. “But it shouldn’t be a cold death, no?” The pistol was turned, offered with the implicit message that the man smiled to see Lucien got. “It’s better when you see a friendly face, first.”
The gun wasn’t hidden - what engineer worth their salt didn’t have a weapon on hand when they were in dangerous, hostile territory? Lucien’s smile was stiffer, a little bit, enough that the miqo’te seemed just a little bit worried, a little curious. The miqo’te started to look surprised when Lucien drew the pistol but there wasn’t much time for it, because Luc was close enough that the shot was almost point-blank.
The miqo’te crumpled, and Luc turned back, walking as easily to hand the pistol back as he’d done to fire the shot, stopping at the almost polite hand on his shoulder.
“They’d refused, though, kir Korbinius. We agreed for release but the area is too dangerous and their affiliates wouldn’t have allowed them back after so long, not without making them give up us.”
It was surcease, apologetic - and probably honest. It didn’t help much.