Emergency Medical Cleese, please

[Keith&Co.]

As much as I love Star Trek, I have long believed they made a big mistake in the Voyager series, or at least missed an opportunity. Were it to be done over again, or done in an alternate universe, I'd like to see the Emergency Medical Hologram be patterned after Basil Fawlty, John Cleese's character in Fawlty Towers.

I can see it now: JANEWAY enters Sickbay, followed by Kes and Neelix supporting a limping Torres and a grim Tuvok. Paris follows, with First Aid Pack.

JANEWAY: Computer, Activate EMH program.

EMH: (fades in) Yes, what is it NOW?

JANEWAY: Doctor, Torres and Tuvok were injured on an Away Mission.

EMH: I see, if I could have a tricorder, please?

Neelix eases Tuvok to an examination table, hands a tricorder to EMH. EMH looks at tricorder, then begins scanning Neelix's head.

JANEWAY: Doctor! Neelix wasn't hurt.

EMH: Yes, well, if you're in the Medical compartment, with a Medical emergency, and the Medical officer asks for a tricorder, one would assume he'd receive a Medical tricorder. (Neelix grimaces, and reaches for another tricorder from the central podium) As I have received one that is issued for Sciences, and optimized for scanning through dense rock-like material, I thought I'd try for indications as to where his brains had got to. (Takes medical tricorder from Neelix, with a terribly superior sneer)

JANEWAY: (low) Doctor.

EMH: Yes, well, lets have a look, shall we. (starts scanning Torres) Hmm.

PARIS: I already scanned them, Doc, B'elanna just has a few bruises.

EMH: (Gestures Paris Closer) Mr. Paris, I'm the Doctor, so let me explain. (pokes Paris in both eyes) Forgive him, he's from Earth. Now, you've strained a muscle, and nearly dislocated a shoulder, but nothing a nice, hot bath won't fix. Take two analgesics and return to me tomorrow. Oh, wait, you're Klingon. In that case, rip out two beating hearts on the way to your quarters and eat them there. (turns away as Torres snarls) Now, Mr. Vulcan, any pain? Oh, that's right, 'Pain is irrelevant' isn't it?

TUVOK: There is some discomfort, indicative of loss of function, about my torso.

EMH: Oh, I see! 'Loss of function' is the problem. Nothing so trivial as (scans Tuvok) My Word! LOOK at all those endorphins! That brain is working QUITE hard at dealing with the 'loss of function,' as you put it. Let's see about that, shall we? Does this hurt?

 

[Keith&Co.]

Of course, Basil Fawlty was at his best when he was at his worst, hiding some horrible mistake or crime from his wife, Sybil. So: Here, an alien left in Sickbay has died. The EMH does not know why, but is sure he will be blamed (very unfairly). He is trying to resurrect the alien (or at least animate it), and keep the command from finding out what he's done.

TUVOK: The captain wishes to see Cor-Pa/s on the bridge.

EMH: Well, he left. Walked off. Whistling a happy tune. Don't know where he's got to. I can't very well follow him out, you know.

TUVOK: (with skeptical look, taps Comm badge) Tuvok to Security. Locate the guest alien and escort him to the bridge. (leaves Sickbay, as Kes enters)

EMH: (after doors close) Quick! Give me a hand! 20 cc's of Stimuzor! (picks up a medical device and begins adjusting the settings)

KES: (readies a hypo-spray, then looks at all the empty beds) Doctor? Who is this for?

EMH: (nods towards operating bay) For Corp, the inconsiderate bastard. Honestly, how am I supposed to run an efficient sickbay with all these wounded....

KES: Doctor, there's no patient here?

EMH: What? Oh, yes. Computer! Release the clamping field. (light flashes over the operating table. Limp alien corpse falls, flops HARD onto table, lies slightly askew and VERY lifeless.) Him. (attaches device over the chest of the body. Takes hypospray from Kes, shoots into neck. Begins careful adjusting of chest device) Now, it's just a matter of carefully and precisely matching the inputs to his exact system requirements. Any mistake at this point- (immediately on the sound of doors hissing open, EMH stiff-arms the body off the table and onto the floor. He holds the device in position so it rips off the chest. Without missing a beat or changing posture, begins training Kes, while holding chestplate in air over table) Now, if you were trying to revivify a Klingon, you'd need to key up the power to match his redundant nervous systems (Kes nods vigorously)

JANEWAY: Doctor, where is your patient?

EMH: Well, we don't have one, do we? I was trying to teach something to Kes, and your standing orders forbid killing someone even if it would make a great training session to bring them back...

JANEWAY: No, your last patient? The alien?

EMH: (turns away from table) Well, he left. Walked off. Whistling a happy tune. Don't know where he's got to. I can't very well follow him out, you know. (notices in reflection on podium that a foot sticks out from behind the table. Edges slowly in opposite direction to draw Janeway's attention).

JANEWAY: Whistling? He doesn't have any lips! (Kes, alone and vulnerable, sidles to catch up with migrating doctor)

EMH: Do you with to discuss the mechanics of a bi-labial fricative, or is there something else?

JANEWAY: The RigorMorts are willing to discuss a cease-fire. I need Cor-Pa/s to assure them that he hasn't been mistreated.

EMH: (heartily) Well, Ma'am, if he wanders back within the extremely limited range of my holo-generators, I'll be sure to tell him you are interested. Of course if you had ordered Engineering to spend a little more time (Janeway turns back to the door) on giving me access to the entire ship, I could help search more than this room, my office, and my supply closet...(Doors close behind Janeway, EMH and Kes heave body onto the table. As doctor slaps chest device in place, Kes prepares anther hypospray.)

KES: Doctor, how long can this species remain clinically dead before uncorrectable brain damage sets in?

EMH: Well, he didn't strike me as a warp field scientist when he was alive, you know...

 

[Keith&Co.]

At one point, the man who programmed the EMH was sick and the Doctor had an opportunity to be transmitted to his location to treat him. He begged Janeway for permission to go.
From the original episode:
EMH: He programmed me. Every algorithm, every subroutine. If it weren't for his years of work, I wouldn't be standing here. I owe him something. And frankly, so does this crew. In a way, he's responsible for every life I've saved…. He's the closest thing I've got (to a father). If I don't try to help him now, I may never get the chance.

With Basil as the base, though, this would be superior to anything on Fawlty Towers. The EMH's creator, Doctor Lewis Zimmerman, used his physical form and personality as the basis for the Mark 1 EMH. So the EMH basically met himself. Basil was never face-to-face with Basil.
EMH: Why won't you let me treat you?
ZIMMERMAN: Because you're a Mark 1! An antique! A failure. A primitive. I'd be better off letting a Klingon Field Medic stab at me at random! I won't let you treat me!
EMH: Well, thank GOD!
ZIMMERMAN: God? I'm your creator. That makes me your God.
EMH: Creator? You didn't create me. I'm more of a last-minute cheat on a course practical. You copied your transporter pattern into a suspend file, added fourteen medical dictionaries, then the tech manual for every surgical device more complicated than a tongue depressor and called it good. God? You don't even make a decent saint.
ZIMMERMAN: Now listen here-
EMH: Speaking of saints, you might consider trying to contact Saint Ignatz of Parateen.
ZIMMERMAN: Saint Ignatz? Is he the patron of programmers?
EMH: No, he's the saint you pray to if you have an overabundance of humility.
ZIMMERMAN: Why do you think I should pray to him?
EMH: Well, he's been dead for 1439 years, I imagine he could use a good laugh about now.
ZIMMERMAN: Look, get out. The entire body of Starfleet Medical rejected your program. They're not going to accept you no matter how hard you poke at my current condition.
EMH: Oh, I see! My you ARE overwhelmed with humility. And Starfleet can certainly appreciate that.
ZIMMERMAN: What?
EMH: Well, they're scientists, right? No matter how abrasive they find me, and thus, find you, they'd be forced to accept the results if I cured you.
ZIMMERMAN: Oh, um…
EMH: No, no, no. They've spoken. We are sub par, beneath their notice. I COULD show them how I have extended my program, once a crew was forced to give me a chance, and heal you where NO ONE ELSE CAN. But you'd have to arrogantly live for that to happen. Then you'd be forced to arrogantly point out that they failed where a measly Mark 1 kicked…. Their…. Collective… Ass.
ZIMMERMAN: That's right, isn't it? I'd be…
EMH: Alive?
ZIMMERMAN: Vindicated.
EMH: Ah, yes, that as well. Pity you're so selfless you don't want to rock the boat and make FleetMed second guess themselves.
ZIMMERMAN: Get your medical scanner.
EMH: You're not the boss of me.
ZIMMERMAN: I'm your creator, dammit! Save me!
EMH: (sigh) If I must….