[ Bruce — that is to say, Alan Foster, as she knows him — approaches her on silent feet and she has just enough time to be mildly impressed before he moves on to the next thing. Her brows raise and she gestures rather uselessly to the beach beyond, where people are scattered amongst the wreckage of their pods. ]

If you find one out there, I'd be glad to have it. [ Although her gaze does dart to that machete and her voice turns wry. ] Barring that, you could give me ten minutes to scrounge for my own, as you've done. May I ask why, Mr Foster?