Buliwyf looks down from his machine, wrench in hand. "I sure hope you've got a replacement arm in your locker, whoever you are. Cuz if you touch my squadmate again I'm gonna feed you the one you lay on her." The grizzled old man hits his harness release and drops to the deck with a solid thud of work boots on steel. "Your call. I'd just as soon get back to work, but I can spare a minute to kick your ass out the nearest airlock if you feel froggy."