“The Day the Biobed Talked Back”
Posted on 2025, Mon Sep 29th, @ 3:37pm by Lieutenant Commander Varen Dexal
1,018 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Episode 2 "Demons of the Past, Friends of the Future" - USS Halo
Location: Starbase 113 – Medical Bay
Timeline: Morning Shift
Lieutenant Commander Varen Dexal strode into Sickbay with the energy of a man who had already consumed two cups of Denobulan root tea and one too many philosophical debates with the replicator about the meaning of “spicy.” His neatly pressed teal uniform shimmered under the lights as he clapped his hands together.
“Good morning, everyone!” he announced cheerfully, earning a few groans from the night shift crew still finishing up reports. “Ah, come now, you can’t heal anyone if you’re half asleep! Smiles are good for immune systems. Proven fact. I ran the study myself. Twice.”
Lieutenant Jaren, a stoic Trill nurse, didn’t look up from her padd. “Doctor, the only thing that study proved is that you like quoting yourself.”
“Excellent memory, Lieutenant. I’ll mark you down for a commendation.” Varen grinned, brushing past her toward Biobed Four, where a patient lay scowling—a Tellarite complaining about what was apparently a “defective” arm.
“What seems to be the problem today, Mister Grok?” Dexal asked, scanning the patient with a medical tricorder.
“It hurts,” the Tellarite grunted.
“Excellent diagnosis,” Varen replied solemnly. “I see you’ve been studying.”
Grok snorted. “I dropped a crate on it.”
“Well, that’ll do it. Next time, try not doing that.”
The Tellarite’s glare could’ve melted a duranium panel. Dexal smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, no breaks. Just a contusion. I’ll regenerate the tissue. You’ll be back to arm wrestling engineers in no time.”
As the regeneration beam hummed, Varen hummed too—something upbeat and Denobulan. The Tellarite groaned again.
“Doctor,” Grok muttered, “you’re more annoying than the pain.”
“That’s how you know you’re healing,” Dexal quipped.
The morning continued with the usual rhythm: patching up scrapes from engineering mishaps, treating a Vulcan ensign for stress headaches (“You’re meditating too efficiently,” Varen had said, “try thinking less perfectly”), and a counseling session he’d forgotten he’d scheduled with himself as the patient—something about “chronic optimism.”
Just before midday, the intercom chirped:
“Medical to Promenade. Possible food poisoning from Andorian stew stand.”
Varen tapped his combadge. “Dexal here. On my way. Tell them to save me a sample.”
The Promenade was bustling, as always—a swirl of civilians, traders, and Starfleet officers, all convinced their problems were the most urgent in the quadrant. Varen found his patient easily: an Orion merchant hunched over a table, clutching his stomach.
“What did you eat?” Varen asked.
The Orion groaned. “Everything.”
Varen blinked. “That’s... ambitious.”
The merchant pointed to a half-finished plate of blue stew still steaming on the table. Varen raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that’s meant for Andorian digestive tracts, not Orion. Or humans. Or frankly, anyone who enjoys their stomach lining.”
“Thought I could handle it,” the Orion moaned.
“Well, now you’ll handle the consequences.” Dexal produced a hypo, pressed it gently to the man’s neck. “There. Anti-nausea, antitoxin, and a mild sedative. You’ll be fine in an hour. Next time, read the menu.”
He paused, looking at the stew. “...Actually, I will take that sample.”
Back in Sickbay, Dexal placed the leftover stew into a bioscanner and frowned as it emitted a faint buzz of disapproval.
“Hmm. Too much t’karan spice. That’ll singe any non-Andorian system. Maybe I can adapt it for Denobulan tolerances…”
Lieutenant Jaren gave him a warning look. “Sir, please don’t start another culinary experiment in the lab.”
“I assure you, this will be far safer than last time.”
“Last time exploded.”
“Only slightly.”
Midday brought the real excitement: an ensign from Operations running in, clutching a PADD like it was a wounded tribble.
“Doctor! Biobed Two is talking!”
Varen blinked. “Talking?”
“Yes, sir. It’s… responding to me.”
Intrigued, Dexal followed the ensign back into the ward. Sure enough, Biobed Two was softly beeping—then, in a calm monotone, said:
“Please stop leaning on my interface.”
Varen froze, then rubbed his chin. “Well. That’s new.”
“Your boots are dusty,” the biobed added.
Jaren sighed. “Sir, you said you were reprogramming the diagnostics AI last night.”
“I was enhancing its bedside manner,” Dexal corrected.
“Your enhancements are… inefficient,” said the bed.
“Excuse me?” Varen replied, affronted. “I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in computational empathy.”
“Your class must have been very small.”
The room fell silent. Varen narrowed his eyes. “All right, that’s it. I’m disabling sarcasm subroutines.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I absolutely would.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“I am not.”
“You’re smiling.”
Varen crossed his arms. “...Touché.”
Jaren leaned over. “Sir, the bed is winning.”
“Only temporarily.” Varen sighed. “Fine, I’ll roll back the patch. But first—log it under ‘experimental AI empathy—phase one.’ Science marches on.”
By late afternoon, Sickbay had calmed again. Varen took a moment to sit in his office, sipping a cup of Denobulan tea and reviewing his daily logs.
Patient count: 27
Severe injuries: 0
Near-mutinies caused by talking furniture: 1
Meals replicated successfully: 3 out of 4
Compliments received: Questionable
Not bad for a Monday.
He leaned back, glancing at the holoimage on his desk—his three spouses and children, smiling across a Denobulan garden. He smiled softly.
“They’d get a kick out of the biobed,” he mused. “Tavren would try to dig up its source code, Leryn would ask it how it feels, and Jelis would try to feed it.”
His combadge chirped again.
“Dexal, Promenade Security. We’ve got a Bolian who swallowed a tribble.”
Varen blinked slowly. “...Intentionally?”
“Unclear.”
He stood, grabbing a medkit. “On my way. And tell Biobed Two to keep the sarcasm to itself this time.”
“I heard that,” the bed muttered.
“Good,” Varen said, stepping out into the corridor with a grin. “Let’s see what fresh absurdity the galaxy has in store today.”
And thus continued another “normal” day aboard Starbase 113—where he, eternal optimist, occasional chaos magnet, and proud Denobulan healer, balanced medical miracles with mild mayhem, one patient—and one talking biobed—at a time.
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