"What the fuck is wrong with you!" you bark at the Captain. This idiot just wasted over an hour just to bring back something that will kill the whole fucking crew. How the fuck was he assigned Captain? The IPA must be in worse condition than you previously thought. Either way, rules are rules. He's the Captain. You're the medic. He brings you the sick, you make them un-sick. Even if the sick is a potential war machine that could go haywire at a moments notice.

While you don't particularly enjoy working with machines, you know the ins and outs of them better than most. You are, after all, an Android yourself. Programmed with an immense medical knowledge for all "living" beings and a hand so steady it could split atoms without causing a nuclear explosion, the IPA made certain that some of their best surgeons were Androids. But, in true bureaucratic fashion, they made sure not to provide you with too much knowledge on other subjects, or even weapons. Can't have another crisis like that again. 

Staring down at the soft face of the Android, you begin to run your diagnostics. The Captain said it *should* be safe, which to someone like you means absolutely nothing. 

>