Rory laid still on the floor of the cockpit as her grandson hunched over her, grateful that her brain hadn't crapped-out on her when she decided to act. The tiny Cajun put a hand on the large first-degree burn that was on her abdomen as she replayed her moment of glory in her mind. She was in shock and didn't feel any pain from her wound, but she knew that du morte would soon come for her.
When the battle calmed, the hologram straightened his tall and wiry form into a sitting position beside his grandmother. When he looked at her to see that she was still conscious he managed a frightened smile. "In a few minutes, Kryten can fix you up, Grand-mere," he told her, not wanting to face facts.
Rory smiled as she calmly shook her head. "Qui-non, Chéri," she whispered as she took her grandson's hand. "It is my time for absolution. De only t'ing I can do now is hope dat God has forgiven me, de way dat I have forgiven him."
Rimmer squeezed his grandmother's hand as he shook his head. He didn't want to hear these words, but he also knew that it was pointless to argue. The only thing he could do was wait until Kryten could have a look at her.
When the last simulant's lifeless body stopped jerking around, Kryten, Lister and the Cat looked around the dimly-lit room. "Is everyone alright?" Lister asked out of concern.
Rimmer looked at his grandmother and then to his crewmates. "Grand-mère is hurt," he declared. "She's been hit in the abdomen, but she's still conscious."
The mechanoid quickly grabbed the med-kit by the entrance and then kneeled on the floor next to his patient. Opening the box he dawned a portable medi-scan and began running it over the tiny Cajun to take a closer look at her injury.
"Her large and small intestines have been baked," Kryten announced dismally. "There isn't much hope, if any at all, Sirs."
"Is there nothing you can do for her then?" the space bum asked in disbelief.
The android shrugged and then shook his head. "If we were still on Red Dwarf we'd have a better chance of prolonging her life, but we are on a ship with a severely limited medical facility. The best we can do for her is make her comfortable, perhaps give her something for the pain."
"Non calmant!" Aurora weakly said in dismay. "I need t'face du morte sober."
The mechanoid gave his patient an unsettled look as he patted her shoulder. "As you wish, Madame," he told her mournfully before standing up to go find some ironing or wash to do as a means for distraction from the tragedy ahead.
Rimmer squeezed his grandmother's hand. He didn't know if he should just admire her bravery or to just yell at the unfairness of the situation. He had known her for only twenty-eight hours. That was twenty-eight hours longer than the time he had with her as a boy, but it was still not long enough. All he could do was wish for the power to make things right.