The Trouble With (non) Tribbles

It continued, waiting, to sit silently in Keto's lost ointments
cupboard.
It had heard some rattling earlier, presumably Keto, collecting
ointments. It had thought about following him to see what he was
doing, but had decided against it. There had been much to follwing of
the medical units lately. It was getting bored of following. It
wanted to reveal itself, to see his old friend. And the new fellow,
he looked like quite a nutter, not 'The Nutter' but someone Major
Harris would be proud of.
It thought about twhat it had last seen the other docotr doing.
'Hiding Mercutio' came the thoughts into it's ample mind. An idea hit
it squarely in the head.
It was going to find Mercutio. That would keep him busy for a bit.
Plus, it would generate even more fun for Keto and Shakespeare. Let
them have laughs looking for their bot. But where would he hide it?
The answer would come to him, he knew, but first, to find the bot.
The doors to the lost ointment cupboard sprang open and it jumped
from its hiding place and rushed through the almost empty medibay. A
redshirt ensign was sitting on the bed, sitting, dripping, and being
dowsed by a special 'ointmentation conglomeration devicular
sprayatorer' or 'Hose.'
It rushed past the ensign, said a warm greeting, and ran out of the
medibay in search of Mercutio.
The ensign sat still on the bed, unsure as to what she had just
seen. Gibbering, she said in a low and timid voice:
"But he's supposed to be dead, we all saw it. We all saw it."
She sat still before shaking her head and waiting whilst the hose
continued to soak her.
"Must tell someone," she said, before blacking out, the ointment
mixture very nearly drowning her.