[Ratchet makes a low sound in his throat, settling back a bit.]

Four million years. Don't need to tell me. [His mouth tilts, wry.] Not that it's a contest, obviously. Damn. And even after it's over, it's back to the same old slag. Getting shot at and patching injuries and trying to keep people I know from dropping dead on a daily basis. It was a hell of an anticlimax.