"Weapon!" yells Miles—not because he can see what's in the pocket, but purely based on an instinctive reading of the stranger's face and posture, the wide-eyed breathless desperation of someone about to do something dangerous and terrifying, intersecting with the relatively concealed placement of the pocket to form a highly suggestive picture. The pod pilot is still entangled in his seat straps, and Miles doesn't have the skeletal resilience for hand-to-hand combat, but maybe Ivan—?