Due to budget cuts in the Borg research
department, we found ourselves a little *short* this week.
The EMH had just settled himself into the chair in his office,
PADD in hand, with the prospect of some uninterrupted leisure
time giving him a decidedly pleasant anticipatory tingle. Lieutenant
Torres might caution that this was an indication his algorithms
were due for another Level 1 diagnostic; the Doctor (however much
he might deplore such behavior in his own patients) had no qualms
about deciding on his own that he was perfectly fine and that
such feelings were entirely normal.
"Cross-Gender Transformation and Pseudo-Chimeric Behavior
in the Reproductive Cycle of the Moldabian Slime Sprog."
He sighed in delight. Dr. Zimmerman had sent him the latest copy
of the Journal of Xenobiology in the most recent data stream.
It was a commentary on how busy he had been that only now, three
days later, did he have the chance to sit down and savor the articles
contained within. The Doctor cast another satisfied glance at
the empty Sickbay and then began to read, his mind's eye seeing
a different title and author name superimposed upon the PADD.
His reading was all too soon interrupted when the door to Sickbay
opened. He didn't move. Maybe whoever it was would just go away
"Doctor." It came out as a moan.
Inwardly the EMH cursed the timing. Just when he was getting to
the good parts! "I'll be with you in just a moment, Mr. Neelix,"
he replied, not taking his eyes off the PADD.
"Doctor!" The Talaxian's voice rose in intensity.
"Oh, all right," the Doctor said testily and tossed
his journal aside. Rising to his feet, he came around the corner
of the office and into the main section of Sickbay. "What
seems to be the--Great Galaxy, Mr. Neelix, what happened to *you*?"
Neelix's face was creased into an expression of profound suffering.
He was hunched over in a posture resembling that of a Klingon
targ, one hand pressed to his lower back. "I seem to have
strained something," he mumbled.
"Well, that's obvious," the Doctor retorted. "Hop
up on a biobed--never mind," he added hastily. "Just
hold still." He ran a diagnostic wand over the patient. "Sprain
of the fourth erector spinae muscle, 0.5 cm tear to the left latisimus
dorsi, severe bruising of the--Mr. Neelix, how did you incur these
injuries?"
"I was on the Holodeck."
"Doing what? And why weren't the safeties on?"
"They were." Neelix gingerly lifted his hand up and
brushed down the sides of his whiskers. "I was preparing
for the Voyager Olympics competition."
"Doing what?" repeated the Doctor. He picked up a hypospray.
"I'm giving you a combination antispasmodic and analgesic.
After the swelling goes down a bit, I'll be able to use the regenerator."
"Weight lifting."
"Weight lifting?"
"Yes."
"How much weight?" asked the Doctor curiously.
"Oh, not too much."
"Really," the Doctor said, an edge in his voice.
"Fifty kilograms." Neelix added, "To start out."
The Doctor stopped what he was doing. "Mr. Neelix, have you
ever lifted weights before?"
"Noexcept for storage cylinders in the cargo bay," he
said. "But based on my 'dense musculature being suited for
heavy lifting', as Seven once put it, I thought it wouldn't be
too difficult."
"Seven was talking about Talaxians assimilated into the Collective.
They had Borg implants, not to mention nanoprobes to repair any
damage incurred," the Doctor scolded. "Did it ever occur
to you to begin with smaller amounts of weights?"
"But Doctor," protested Neelix. "I was looking
through the computer records of the Olympics on Earth. In the
late twentieth century, there was a weight lifter they called
'the pocket Hercules'! He was so small, and yet he was able to
lift---"
What the athlete from 400 years ago had been able to accomplish
would have to continue to remain a mystery, as the door to Sickbay
opened again. In limped Harry Kim, dressed in exercise shorts
and a T shirt, and cradling his right arm. "Doctor--"
"And what happened to you, Mr. Kim?" asked the Doctor,
his medical tricorder at the ready. He frowned when he saw the
readings. "Another sports injury?"
"Parisees Squares," Kim said. "I must have pivoted
too sharply and cracked my elbow against the wall--"
The Doctor waved his words away. "Climb onto a diagnostic
bed--if you're capable--and I'll be with you shortly, as soon
as I'm done attending to Mr. Neelix." The door to Sickbay
opened again. "Ah, Mr. Paris, so good of you to stop by.
As you can see, I'm quite busy here, so if you could take--"
"Doc," interrupted Paris. "I didn't come by to
help."
"Then what--" The Doctor realized that the pilot's face
was also contorted in pain and he was favoring his left leg. "Oh,
no, not you, too?"
Paris nodded, then winced at the sudden movement and smiled weakly.
"You know what they say, Doc, 'no pain, no gain.'"
The Doctor bit back an exasperated sigh. This was not at all how
he had envisioned his afternoon shaping up. "All right, listen
to me, all of you. Athletic competitions are all fine and good,
but certain basic safety precautions must be observed. For starters,
warming up properly and doing adequate stretching. For another,
not pushing the body past its natural limits. Do I make myself
clear?" He went to pick up some more hyposprays. "What's
next?" he muttered to himself. "Perhaps Commander Tuvok
will come in complaining of heat exhaustion, or Lieutenant Torres
will come down with a bad case of swimmer's ear..."
The door to Sickbay opened again. The Doctor froze, almost afraid
to look. Chiding himself for his foolishness, he turned around.
And gaped.
Captain Janeway, dressed in sweats, was leading in an obviously
suffering Commander Chakotay, whose hands were clamped firmly
over his face. "Doctor, could we have some assistance over
here?" she called. It was only then that Janeway noticed
the other occupants of Sickbay. "What happened to all of
you?"
The Doctor attempted to remove the first officer's hands from
his face so he could get a better look. "Commander?"
Chakotay's hands fell away. And the Doctor gaped once more. The
Commander's nose was streaming blood and a large bruise was rapidly
forming around his eye.
"She hit me in by dose."
"The captain hit you?"
Janeway nodded, obviously distraught. "We were trying out
one of the new hand-to-hand combat routines." She added,
defensively, "I thought with the Commander's boxing prowess
that he'd be able to defend against a simple left hook."
"Seems to me like you landed more than one blow, Captain,"
the EMH observed, going to work. "He's got a dislocated jaw
as well."
"I'm so sorry, Chakotay--"
"It's all right. Just stop abologizing already," the
commander mumbled.
The Doctor rapidly finished treating Chakotay, then turned back
and dealt with the rest of his patients. Within fifteen minutes
all of their injuries, large and small, had been healed. As the
officers turned to go, however, the EMH called out, "Not
so fast!"
"Excuse me, Doctor?" asked the captain.
"Due to the severity of the injuries most of you have sustained,
I'm afraid I can't permit you to go back on duty right away."
He held up a hand to forestall their objections. "I'm sorry,
chief medical officer's prerogative."
"You mean--" began Paris.
"That's right," finished the Doctor. "You're all
out of action, till further notice."
Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 will be back next week with an all
new adventure.
Next week: Escalations by Sara
Remember when the name Borg struck fear in the hearts of
everyone around? When the Collective was not to be trifled with?
Up next: Voyager's most formidible foe returns. And this time,
resistance really is futile.