Liz Jasper knew intellectually that she was safe and sound aboard the confines of the USS Merrimack, and had already participated in a training cruise aboard another training vessel, the USS Turing, but it was difficult sometimes to combat the encroaching feeling of nausea as the engines thrummed beneath the decks. She had been tempted to take a hypo for the motion sickness, but decided that mind over matter was the best way to cope, at least for the time being.

“Can I get you anything, doctor? I’m heading to the galley for my break,” said one of her nurses, disrupting her reverie.

“No, I’m good. Enjoy your break, Greg.” Greg was a generally nice guy, and certainly competent, but also was annoyingly eager to please. As Liz had gotten older, she was less and less patient with youth, but was learning to temper that impatience. At the age of 51, she was finally getting her own space legs and learning an entirely new skill set, so she was just as dependent at this point on the patience of others with her as her subordinates were dependent on her own leadership skills.

She pushed her rolling chair back from her desk and stood and stretched, feeling the beginnings of a cramp forming in her lower lumbar. It was hour six of her sickbay shift, and she needed to get some blood flowing again before she permanently melded with her padded chair.

Liz tapped a button on her console to contact the bridge for a status report.

=/\=Dr. Jasper to the bridge. Is medical assistance needed on Alstair at this time?=/\=