The Vorcha had been settling into the ship rather nicely. The Engines were of a familiar make to other ships that Iryk had inhabited before and he had come to make it look like his previous habitations very quickly from the scattered papers to the bits of scrap he was slowly adding to his suit to the food to all the bits of his armament. He saw that some of the crew looked at him with pure disdain of course, but he didn't bother reacting to it. Long ago he had learned it was counter-productive to taunt or jeer at those expressing hatred of him and his kind; employers tended to take the side of the other party regardless of who had instigated the conflict.

But Iryk was happy here. The cramped spaces of the Engines and their erratic shifts in temperature reminded him very much of the mines of his youth. It was rather ironic how he was nostalgic about a time he had fought so hard to end he supposed. After a few checks on the tools of his trade the Vorcha very quickly got back to his ultimate goal of the liberation and enlightenment of his race. Coal-black fingers moved with practiced speed to make line upon line of his document with a dedicated pause in every five minute increment to proofread what he had written in the elapsed time and make necessary changes. 

Truth be told he didn't care a single bit what happened outside of his little home. He had little desire to socialize with the others and he knew he'd go out to find food when all others would be sleeping or working on their other matters; the meal times would be how he would keep track of time outside of his little domain. The only thing that otherwise would bring him out of his corner would be the summons for him to do what he was paid to be on the ship for, and now it seemed that he was called forth to do just that. 

Saving what he had finished writing he gathered and donned his tools of trade, before lurching over to see the Captain. He wasn't the only one present it seemed, in fact it seemed that more or less the entirety of the crew had assembled to hear Naryxa's words. Iryk clacked his teeth silently as he looked between the Captain and "Lauren", sizing her up with his bulbous black eyes. His eyes turned ever so slightly at the human pilot who seemed to think he was funny. Another human spoke up saying she would join in the little venture, and seeing nobody else speak Iryk decided to be next.

"This is not part of job." the Vorcha chittered, mimicking the half-rasp and half-grunt voice most expected of his people. "Iryk will kill all mercenary and take their heads for trophy! If there is pay or reward for this." the alien announced quite simply. From the description he had a slight measure of sympathy for this girl, but at the same time if she didn't want to get into trouble then perhaps she shouldn't have been involved with drugs. He was a mercenary and he wasn't going to offer charity that his kind had never received; thus he made it abundantly clear he would not fight for free, but if paid he would indeed turn the enemy to mincemeat.