A heavy and slightly dusty case came off the shelf only after a significant effort. Maguire grunted involuntarily, remembering how in younger years he had hefted such loads with ease. He nodded in affirmation, though his security man was on the same page as he was. Secure the situation, control approaches, defend the high ground. Blast doors hissed closed over the normal airtight ones, which was reassuring. Those were rated for serious punishment, but the captain was taking no chances. He palmed the security lock on this case, which like every other piece of Martian Congressional Republic Navy equipment was bound in orange-and-black polymer and looked nearly factory-new despite an built-up outer coating of static dust. A hinged, articulated tripod mount unfolded out of the case with such speed that it looked almost like it was stepping out. Atop the tripod was a compact, externally-powered rotary cannon with a belt feed and a top-mounted sensor cluster. It waved its various optics around for a moment. Deciding that there were no threats, it hunched itself away slightly behind armour panels and kept surveillance on the airlock door with a vaguely suspicious air. Maguire sighed and relaxed a little. Small-arms fire was one thing, but this cannon was the same gun that mechs carried. He'd seen this rip up Goliath suits. Surely they were safe now. "There. Ain't nothin' comin' in through the 'lock 'cept body parts."