“Hurl.”

“Throw something.”

“Heave.”

“Lift a heavy object.”

“Barf.”

“A small carnivore found on the Outer Forkund colonies.”

“Blow chunks.”

“Each one translates.  Together they do not describe a physical act I recall ever performing.”

“Ralph.”

“I believe that is a man’s name on Earth.”

“You really don’t have a word for this.”

“We’ve discussed this before, John.”

“Peacekeeper inoculations.  You never get sick.”

“Correct.”  

John moaned and curled into a ball.  “How much longer?”

Aeryn rubbed his back for several microts.  “Moya’s databanks indicate that the virus should run
its course in another twelve arns.”

“I want to die.”  


                                                      
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