There's a look in the direction of John, presently being examined by the other doctor, across the room. But it doesn't hold even the full pass of a microt. She expected this. Everyone she has run into has claimed to be human. From Earth. Or was already speaking the English language that was the gibberish they'd all become accustomed to John spouting.

"Sebacean." Cool. Calm. Collected. Not reflex out of place.

Even when the thing running through her head is the needle coming toward her eye.
Is the last time someone needed a sample from her. What that did. What she couldn't undo.

Aeryn turned, pulling her legs up, and lying down in the bed. Willing herself to continue breathing absolutely normally. Even if her hands may have tightened on the sides of the bed as she was laying down on it, and her focus on the distance between her hand and her pulse pistol was leaned toward a handful of times just as a thought.