Finally a ship. A ship! So many years of studying diagrams, membranes, viruses and now, here he was. On a ship. Yes, it was a fake ship. Or, well, no. But the point stood. It wasn’t entirely real. Yet still, a simulation always ranked better than a simulation of a simulation. Better to learn here on the Challenger than in lonely holodeck seven, learning there learning here on the Challenger. Oh, he was over the moon. He felt like screaming.

The turbolift doors slowly opened, allowing Il-Gatine entry. With calm precision, he wrapped a clawed hand against the lift’s railing and stood for a pregnant moment.

And then began screaming.

He’d run the simulations. On the simulations of the simulation. The ones that factored turbo-lift response time to a medical emergency. Applying his expertise to a decidedly unprofessional endeavor, he could probably afford to act in a generally undignified manner for the next 3.2 seconds. Well, Il-Gatine wasn’t about to chance it. He allowed himself two seconds and two seconds alone of victory screeching. A compromise between his excitement and the professionalism he was about to embody. One. Tw–

The doors opened early. The screeching CEASED. Il-Gatine’s razor sharp mouth slammed shut just moments too late. A series of uncomfortable, probationary clicks replaced it. Had anyone seen? If they had, it did not matter. He’d make a note to hurl himself out into deep space later. For now, it was time to retire such foolishness. Adjusting his taunt medical uniform and clearing his throat, the Saurian strode the marched distance between the lift and the sickbay and purred his salutation with a convincing illusion of confidence.

“Cadet Nekto reporting for dew-tea, Lew-Ten-Aunt.”

-Cadet Nekto, Medical