The flying mounts touched down on the broken ground outside the ruined gate. Ethan and the others swung off and hit the rubble in a line.
A crowd surged in immediately, weapons up, forming a rough circle around them.
The man in front barked something in Yamato.
Ethan flicked a glance at Skinny Pete. "What'd he say?"
"He's asking who we are."
Ethan shrugged. "Tell him we're the guys about to ruin his morning. And he can hand over the cores."
Pete just stared back at him.
"…I can understand them," he said, deadpan. "Doesn't mean I can speak it."
Before Ethan could respond, the leader snapped again—then, abruptly, switched languages.
"You're from the Atlas Federation, aren't you?" he said in fluent Federation Standard.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you do speak Federation Standard. Then what the hell was that earlier?"
The guy's face went a nasty shade of green, like he'd swallowed something rotten. He forced his anger down and spoke through clenched teeth.
