[Barclay's smiling encouragingly at the woman. He doesn't actually think this will work, but he's fairly confident that the sight of them trying to push the aircraft will get others to help. He estimates they need maybe seven more people. It's not too bad, it's just that the sand is slippery. He knows all about it, what with being a pirate. Former pirate.] There are machines in the city that'll get your foot sorted properly, and you won't even remember this happened.

But we might need some sort of lever, [he says, thoughtfully, the moment... before... the entire hull of the ship tilts, crunching gently, the shadow of it saying, moving off the woman's prone form. Barclay blinks sharply. A figurative array of question-marks over his head.

And then he pulls, quick as he can. Yanks her free, a jolt of movement, her foot popping right out from under the machine. It looks discolored. Internal damages, maybe. But she's all right. She's immediately shouting thanks to the sixteen-year-old, as Barclay starts to tuck his arms underneath hre.] You're a rather exceptional young man, [he calls over.] Not human, I take it?