"Agreed," Ratchet sighs, the rush of air up his throat and past his lips still strange. At least he's spent enough time around humans that he can fake the sort of mannerisms he remembers. He tips his head toward Wash.

"Ratchet," he says by way of introduction. "And what do you do, Washington?" His eyes linger on Wash's face, thoughtful, before he hazards a guess. "Military?"