Being treated like an adjunct grates on Tarn, even now. He’s a Commander, not some scavenger’s dumpy sidekick. Still, he is out of his element, and Spinister most certainly knows what he’s doing. He can only nod and bear it.

It takes some wrangling to maneuver the cumbersome sheet of metal to where Spinister needed to weld it, but he manages quickly and efficiently enough. Bracing his forearm against the bulk of the metal sheet he keeps it steady, focusing his attention back onto the heli. He looks different somehow, though Tarn can’t quite place what it is.

“Where di- you f-- this?” He clears his throat and tries again. “Find this?"