"Alien and mad. Total science, I think, even looked up the math myself. It's logical, even if it doesn't entirely make sense. But there are things here that don't make sense, even by science. Think the universe runs on a bit of both, myself."

Rory laughed, a short sharp bark of amusement. "I am. I'd do the same if I caught a coworker smoking." The laughter faded, expression serious. "We're short handed, understaffed, and overworked, and there's no relief on the horizon. This ship needs a human interface for patient care. If you do something that could potentially put your health at risk and the worst does happen, then we're short two people, yourself and the person who stays back to look after you. We're in a crisis situation and we can't afford the risk, we have a duty to this ship and everyone on it. You knew that when you signed up for medical, or I hope you did."

The smile returned, a short quirk of his lips that lacked humor. "I look after the people that need it. It's sorta my job. I'm not just here to roboticly dispense band-aids, the mental health of a patient is nearly as important to their recovery as the physical condition of their body. And these are kids, sick, scared, confused kids who haven't got anyone around that they know and some don't have anyone that could look after them. I know it's not your cuppa, but I enjoy it."