Ratchet hears the guards' shouts and raises his gloved hands lacing them behind his head as he approaches, his coat open and his expression mild. The amount of effort involved in busting out of the Cetagandan base after everyone else had already done so would be wasted shamefully were he to be shot on sight trying to haul the pack of medical supplies he managed to run out with into camp. He sees one unarmed figure scrambling up, moving faster, and he squints through the snow, feeling something lurch in the vicinity of his belly as he draws close enough for his vision to start to clear.

"York?" he calls, but he doesn't move his hands from his head yet, hesitating. "York, is that you?"