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“What mood lights?” he asked, raising the pack to his head. “And what is that roll of gauze for?”
“To hold your cold pack in place.”
Stephen twisted away from her. “I am not going to look like I just escaped from the wars,” he said. More to distract his assistant than anything else he asked again, “what mood lights?”
“The mood lights, sir - the colored lights that outline the doors and such? You didn’t see them flash purple?”
“And what might that mean?”
“Rig for jump to hyperspace, sir. Or for the jump back to cartesian space.”
“Indeed. And are there any other colors that I should be aware of?”
“Flashing purple is rig for jump, and they turn steady just before the jump is made. Red is quarters, sir - battle stations. And green indicates that the engines are firing, but only in cartesian space. There are others, but those are the key ones. Cyan, for instance, means rig for silent running. Yellow is quarantine.” She looked at the instruments scattered over the floor and sighed. “All those will have to be resterilized, I suppose.”
“Oh,” said Stephen, “oh, I am so sorry. Let me,” and before Katya could stop him he had started to one-handedly load the fallen hemostats, retractors, and forceps into the bottom of the autoclave, his other hand still holding his cold pack to his head.
“Please, sir,” said Katya, inwardly cringing as the delicate instruments were tossed into a disorderly heap. “Please let me.” She grew increasingly agitated as the pile grew, finally elbowing him aside as he tried to swing the door shut. “Please, sir,” she stammered, “why don’t you go lie down. I’ll call you in your quarters if something comes up. You can come back in an hour.”
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