The EMH was inflating a punctured lung for his patient. Which was a reasonable side effect to getting stabbed with what appeared to be a piece of panel siding torn from the wall or ceiling of some part of the ship and then utilized as a sword. It was a creative tool, really. And quite effective, the Doctor thought grimly, sparing what would have been a frightening glance towards his patient's attacker, had he been awake to see it. He wasn't. Getting kicked in the head will do that to you.
The Doctor finished the task, stepping away from the bio-bed to examine the next patient. He looked around and realized there were, finally, no more patients.
He didn't bother stepping over the ones laid out on the floor on account of all the bio-beds were occupied; he stepped right through them.
One of the joys of being a hologram.
Other joys included being impermeable to the phaser blasts sent his direction by some of the very same people who'd injured his patients in the first place, and were either returning to finish what they started, or to begin something new with the uninjured people who had brought their injured comrades to Sickbay for treatment.
The use of Sickbay as a battlefield was ceased nearly immediately after he flooded it with the gaseous form of a very powerful sedative.
He purposefully chose a sedative that not only would instantly weaken a humanoid once inhaled; it would also make the victim rather giddy in their last few remaining moments of consciousness.
That way, even if they still had the strength and mental coherency to continue firing or fighting, they were too happy to want use their capacities too hurt someone else.
He wished there were some way to make that effect permanent.
He, of course, was unaffected by the quality of air and kept it at that level to ensure that the unconscious crew stayed that way, injured or not, and that any new visitors to Sickbay were rendered unconscious upon arrival.
Feeling helpless, the Doctor stood in the center of Sickbay and looked around.
His programming did not cover what to do in case of a mutiny.
Because mutinies aren't supposed to happen on Federation ships.
He didn't know what to do besides treat every injury and try to keep anyone who might want to deactivate him from succeeding.
So far, unconsciousness was too large an obstacle for anyone to come close.
Ensign Powell had managed to say, "Computer, deact-" before dissolving into a fit of giggles as the sedative entered her system and destroyed her intentions of shooting the Maquis he had been about to begin operating on.
His eyes fell on the one person in Sickbay who was supposed to have a plan in this situation.
That person was still unconscious, not from any action on his part, but from receiving a high-energy blast to the chest. Whoever had done that had intended for Captain Janeway to either be killed or to be injured badly enough that she wouldn't be in any condition to retaliate for a long while.
They did a good job.
He walked closer, musing that having hurriedly run the regenerator over her face after treating her more critical injury appeared have had limited effect because the bruising and swelling was still visible.
Or maybe he just really wanted a diversion.
Being a hologram didn't mean impassivity to the situation, by any means.
He picked up the regenerator, beginning to run it down her face.
A few more passes and her chin would retain the sharpness it had when she'd come to warn him of this. At the time, while she'd made it clear that although she knew he could not violate the ethics of his programming and allow someone to suffer when he could easily alleviate it, she'd still managed to insinuate that he treat Star Fleet crewmembers over Maquis, not worse injuries over minor ones. She'd known he wouldn't do that either.
Although, it did happen that it was predominantly Star Fleet crew who sustained the worst and actually, most creative injuries.
And from the brief time any Maquis spent conscious in Sickbay, he knew why.
He brought the regenerator around again.
He was disturbed more by the inactivity in Sickbay than he had been by the violence. He was tempted to call the Bridge under pretense of reporting the Captain's condition and find out why the corridors around Sickbay had grown so quiet. He could guess that the mutiny hadn't ended, just moved to a different part of the ship where access to Sickbay wasn't as convenient.
But that didn't tell him anything.
He was reaching for his comm badge when a familiar voice cut through.
"Paris to Sickbay."
And then there was frantic scream and what sounded like a snarl.
The Doctor didn't even think; he beamed Paris to a clear area on the floor as quickly as he could.
Paris materialized, but he wasn't alone.
B'Elanna Torres was on top of him, one boot pinning one of his feet down and an elbow in his chest. His face was bloody, her shoulder wounded. They were both quite surprised to have been interrupted by a transporter beam.
Torres stopped her attack, trying to identify their new location. She tried to push off of Paris, digging her elbow harder into his chest in the process.
That was when the sedative began to take affect.
It hit Paris first. The groan coming from his throat as she drove her elbow down turned into a wailing giggle. Torres, probably due to being half-Klingon, was not immediately affected. If she didn't show signs of the emotional response, she was experiencing the physical side effects. She stumbled off Paris on to her feet. An unsteady glance at The Doctor confirmed that he was not an ally, and Torres lunged for the door, well aware of what was beginning to happen. The Doctor brandished a hypospray, ready to appear beside her and speed up the sedation process.
Torres tripped over one of the patients on the floor. She was sent sprawling, screaming when she landed as her hands went out to break her fall. She tried to scramble to her feet, but the dizziness was beginning to set in. She settled for crawling at an incredible rate, right through the door.
Paris just giggled.
The Doctor leaned over him, tricorder in hand.
"Doc," Paris managed to wheeze out in between chuckles. He raised one hand, pointer finger extended.
The Doctor ignored the behavior, looking at the tricorder readings.
The tricorder said he'd been bitten.
"Most Klingon women don't crawl away from potential mates, Mr. Paris. Consider yourself rejected."
Paris laughed louder, although it couldn't be told whether it was from the words or from his own hand, which Paris was now staring at, fascinated.
The Doctor was still holding the regenerator and began to heal the wound on his face.
Paris' hand dropped, eyes following the path of the regenerator. Finally, his eyes rolled backward and his lids slid shut.
In the corridor, B'Elanna pried herself forcefully off the floor. Incredibly thankful for the desertion of the corridor, she leaned against the wall with her good hand. She walked as fast as she could down the corridor, supporting herself against the wall the entire time. She wished the walls and floor would stop tilting. She halted, trying to clear the confusion now clouding her mind.
Plan C.
Complete Plan C.
She started walking again, faster.