Crichton: Aeryn, we have to get ready.
(Hands Aeryn a knife. Aeryn grabs the knife and aims it towards her stomach)
Aeryn: Great! I'll cut it out! (Crichton grabs her wrist)
Crichton: No! It's for your clothes, ... and the cord.
(Lets go of Aeryn's wrist)
Aeryn: Oh, right.