Phil stared at the screen in disgust. His brand new 500 gig hard drive apparently had bitten the dust after only a week. Hard.

 Reformatting obviously wasn't going to work. He glared at the screen again. He guessed maybe the operating system was determined to repeat the fact endlessly. He decided to stop its endless stream of "bad format" blather by switching the unit off.

He tapped the com button on his console and reported the failure to his supervisor. Fortunately, the controller computer had a back up. He waited for the go ahead from Bob. Nothing. He tapped the button again. Nothing. Not even a satisfying "snick" to indicate the button worked.

"Great. Is everything on this ship falling apart? Maybe the oxygen seperator will go and we can all suffocate."

He decided to walk by sick bay on his way to the electronics lab. Maybe the Doc had been able to synthesize some anti-depressants.

No one was in sick bay, which was strange, because Charlie's leg was fractured and he should still be in traction. Phil managed to keep that panicky feeling at bay long enough to run to the bar next door. If anti-depressants weren't available, then at least a good stiff drink was.

Except no one was there either.

Phil decided at this point that screaming would be a suitable action.

"HELLO?!"

No Answer.

"HELLLLOOOOOO?!"

No Answer.

He ran to the bridge, to the electronics lab and to Engineering. Each step brought him closer to becoming a gibbering, drooling jelly mass.

Finally, he fell to his knees, screaming and wrenching his hair. Just before he passed out, he thought he heard a loud clanking sound from behind the engineering wall.