Aeryn gives him the long edge of a look. It's hard and grim, hollow like a plate of glass, without actually wrinkling up any part of her actual face. The kind of look meant to be calculating his threat ratio or taking a part whether she intends to believe him. Has any reason to. Aside from continually disliking how many new people were showing up with weapons.

After another four or five seconds she shifted, lifting her hand and crossing her arms. "Good."

She'd rather not listen to the storm of screaming Crichton would spew out if she shot up this room.