S’fan made his way to the medical bay, lost in thought and abuzz with the newness of it all. His father would be disappointed in him. It was no way for a Vulcan to react to a new post, and no way to make an impression. The only reason he knew where he was going was because the ship’s blueprints were firmly entrenched in his memory after studying them relentlessly beforehand. Which, now that he thought about it, must logically have become a common learning technique for the very purpose of allowing for lapses like this one. S’fan yanked his head out of the proverbial clouds in time to present himself to a medical officer, and spent the duration of his examination determinedly focused, asking all the kinds of questions he’d been commended for by his teachers. Within the hour, he was the official recipient of a clean bill of health. As expected. He knew when something was wrong with his body, and it was, at the moment, perfectly fine.