Ratchet blows out a breath and eases back a little, looking disgusted, though not with York.

"I've had a few friends in your position," he says, rubbing absently at the thick scars around one wrist with the opposite hand and trying not to think about Ambulon too hard. "But yeah, I take your meaning. I don't think they're keeping us out of any strong desire to retain a moral high ground, let alone out of the goodness of their sp--their hearts." He bites down hard on his tongue. Screw medical data, if he doesn't pay attention to using human idioms he'll out himself as some kind of alien, no matter what the Cetagandans do or don't find in his medical file. "Anyway, there's no way to know for sure just now, and not a lot we can do about it against heavily armed and armored guards, lucky or not."