"Apparently he's sick of saving my life," Dylan says, shifting his grip on Rhade's arm because even passed out, a Nietzschean's bone blades aren't something he particularly wants to tangle with. He's had enough of them used to attack him to be complacent about them.

To be fair, Rhade would be far from the first person on his crew to say something like that about him, and Tyr is usually the first to point out when he thinks he's being cavalier with his life. A lot of Nietzscheans have trouble with understanding the importance of sometimes needing to make that gamble in order to win big.

But Dylan's still here. It's working so far for him.

They have to squeeze through the door, and Dylan's going to ask how far it is when Julian stops and leads them into ...

What turns out to be a lift.

"Your ship has lifts."

That is ... really impressive. He's not sure what level they were on to begin with, but ... as reluctant as he is to entertain any criticism of his ship, a lift would make getting around a a hell of a lot easier.

With the lift, it's really not far to the med bay, large, light, and with far more people in it than he's seen in Andromeda's for a very long time. Given that his med deck is run by Trance and Trance alone, that's not hard.

They maneuver Rhade across to one of the beds that Julian indicates, and when they get him there, Dylan bends to let the weight he's carrying down onto the bed.

Heavy worlder or not, that was easier with two than one.

"I guess I should say thanks for my future self."