Either he's not allowed to swear the way that Crichton couldn't imagine him swearing, or his brain just doesn't translate Wayne's words thanks to a language barrier that can only reassert itself in such a space. It's Wayne's home language, a jagged iteration on that warbling speech more familiar to Wayne's homeworld, made unpleasant by the anger that comes with meeting Harvey face to face, even where he can't necessarily hurt it.

Even as Harvey melts down in front of him, Wayne retaliates, swinging his axe through the melting figure and splashing it across the peculiar metallic floor. The blade is bigger than he remembers, and the back end has little streaks of light that follow the path of the blade. It passes through Crichton for all that he's standing close enough to roast a snack, not touching him, but maybe blowing him back an inch with the wind off it.

"How do you know that, huh? How do you know I couldn't just powderize you and make him sneeze you out? What if I stay here and just keep melting you? Dickwad."