As the turbolift doors hissed open on deck one of the Challenger, Garth’s heavy breathing filled the otherwise relatively quiet bridge at the end of the standard day shift. With a couple intermittent grunts, the stout tellarite man hobbled over to the door of the captain’s ready room, not making any effort to interact with the other miscellaneous bridge crew.

Garth reached out for the door chime, then retracted his hand as he squinted down at the gloves covering them. Eventually determining that they were the latex variety he typically reserved for his lab, Garth pulled them off with some difficulty, stuffed them in his black lab coat’s inside pocket, then procured a set of more formal, sturdier black gloves from the other side of the coat and yanked them down around his wide fingers.

Satisfied that he looked his best (despite his ill-kept hair still being frazzled in all directions), Garth proceeded to press the door chime three times in quick succession. He waited expectantly for the door to open, but immediately pulled out a PaDD to thumb through within the first couple of seconds.

(Lt. J.g. Garth, CSO)