Various costumed conventioneers arrive in ambulances. Midline tenderness blah triage blah scalp lac blah dislocated shoulder blah blah blah sci-fishcakes. Pam gives Elizabeth the bullet on the patient I think we're supposed to care about: "Twenty-three-year-old man, crushed pelvis. Fell at least twenty feet." Crushed Pelvis starts moaning feebly for "Danny"; Elizabeth asks who Danny is, and he says he's CP's brother, and was standing next to him. Pam says she thinks Morales has Danny. CP makes the moment more poignant (what would the verb form of that be? "poigns"?) by adding that poor Danny didn't even want to go to the sci-fi convention: "I made him." Boy, between things on his pelvis and things on his conscience, this really isn't Danny's brother's day. Dr. Dave appears alongside Danny's bed, quietly telling Elizabeth that Danny's suffered "a bad tib fib." "Please don't let him die," CP begs. Elizabeth tries to hook me up by asking CP's name, but he crashes before he can answer. Crushed Pelvis he was when we met, and Crushed Pelvis shall he remain. Pam bags him.

Inside, Luka directs traffic. A beleaguered Weaver yells at Mark (who's "manning" the radio), "I said we could handle one major!" Mark snaps, "They've got thirty critical patients on scene, Kerry; I said we could take three major and ten minor." Weaver demands, "How can we handle critical patients if we don't have any surgeons?" Don't have...what? They don't have any surgeons? Since when? And why? What is there, like, some kind of conference taking all the surgeons out of the hospital, all at once? Well, they might have mentioned that. What am I, supposed to read up on this at Dr. Dave's Desktop? (Hee -- and what else would one find there? His email? "Randi, you lookd hot in that haltar top last wek. Why don't you comit some agravated mayhem on me sometime? Also, can you chek the scedule and tel me agan when I' m supposed to be working this week? I wrote it on a napkin and put it in my pcket byt then I slipped on some water and soked my pants." And in his browser, bookmarks like DrKoop.com and those famous New Orleans Beadsluts?) Mark says they can stabilize the critical cases and triage them to surgery one at a time. "I hope that we can, Mark," replies Weaver testily, before calling Frank over and asking him to page the surgeons. He tells her they're all at the conference. Hey! I guessed right! Go, me. Carter appears and offers to help; Mark shuts him down. Carter hopefully observes, "Looks like you're getting slammed," and Weaver tells him that's all the more reason for Carter to take the minor medical: "No trauma." Carter pouts. I mean, he actually sticks out his lower lip and pouts. Well, really, it's your first day back in the hospital, Larry Fortensky. What did you expect? Paramedics wheel in someone who might be Danny; he's accompanied by Morales, who tells Mark that maybe-Danny is thirty-two, was felled by a walkway, and had his foot crushed under a girder.