Aeryn watched, still as a wall, eyes hard with darkness and a complete, unwavering, emotionless, tactical shrewdness most could not be taught except in the earliest of years before anything else might have been formed in that space by a different kind of upbringing. The materialization of the orb makes her spine stiffen slightly.

A quantity that is not known and automatically in her knowledge of how to fight.

But it forms a gun, and guns she does know. The reflex to catch as much as deflect in her response. She kept it, rolled back, in a more defensive stance, one knee up, as thought the half-second away from springing to attack. The gun does not explode and she turns it over in her hands, eyebrows narrowing, eyes harder as she finds the defect. "It doesn't look right."

And only a moment later, a little disdainful. "Or is this what guns look like where you come from?"

It wasn't as thought the Starfleet phasers looked right either. But they still worked.