“I know, I know, I know! Shut ’em off!” Dr Kras shouted over the medi-alert klaxons pinging him from every direction. The AI obliged after a pause that could only be construed as grudging disobedience. Everyone swore AI’s didn’t have personality, but the doc could have sworn the med bay was out to get him.

“37% chance of cerebral edema outside of para…”

“I know,” the doc barked as he wiped the smear of blood from under his nose, “Now tell me something useful, piece of grunge-mother-farking…”

The opening door’s phssish interrupted his diatribe, much to everyone’s amazement, everyone consisting of the doctor, a half-blind tech, the AI, and possibly the patient in pod 3 who may or may not have been unconscious.

An ensign with a greasy rag held to his face rasped, “You’re…needed on…the bridge.”

“Kinda needed here, sport.”

“Kinda needed everywhere, doc,” came the weak reply, young body slumping to the floor, “but the bridge…code 48, priority status lima-7.”

“Lima-7? No smeg?”

“Not a bit.”