Unworthy - Kirsten Beyer [8]
Of course, this had nothing to do with the officer herself. Clarissa Glenn was an intelligent, articulate, and eminently professional officer. She had also completed her medical training and Starfleet’s rigorous command track—a rare accomplishment. Though Glenn held the rank of commander, as the ship’s lead officer she enjoyed the title of captain. Thus far, the Doctor had been impressed by Glenn and the other organics assigned to the Galen. All seemed to respect the significance of the vessel’s undertaking and certainly treated him with the deference and respect due any senior Starfleet officer.
But Barclay had been tongue tied in Glenn’s presence from the moment they were introduced. The Doctor didn’t have to guess why. The captain was young and quite attractive. She was a few inches taller than the Doctor and kept herself in excellent physical condition. Her hair was long and reddish-blonde; she usually kept it neatly braided when on-duty. Her eyes were an unusual shade of light green. In short, Glenn was everything Reg could have wanted in a woman, even without considering her other formidable accomplishments, and this tended to make Reg a nervous wreck.
The Doctor hurried down the short hallway toward the turbolift, which took him up two decks to the bridge. He wondered if Reg would ever grasp the fact that he was a fascinating man, and should feel more than comfortable interacting with Glenn.
Probably not, the Doctor thought, then was cheered by the prospect of beginning a new and challenging project.
Commander Clarissa Glenn sat in the center seat of the Galen, a calm expression on her face. Prior to reporting for duty that morning, she had spent an hour in her quarters practicing dashtenga yoga, a hybrid that combined ancient hatha poses with more rigorous Vulcan breathing and meditation techniques she’d learned years ago during her medical residency on the Tendara Colony. Strengthening her body and clearing her mind were as essential to her as eating and sleeping. Her command duties often made it challenging for her to maintain those rituals. However, the commander understood the benefits far too well, and always made time.
The Galen’s bridge might seem small by some standards, but Glenn decided that the three rear stations arranged behind her single seat—tactical, ops, and science—and the single-man flight control panel in front of her created a cozy, minimalist space from which to direct the ship’s operations.
Fresh-faced, recent Academy graduate Ensign Ben Lawry sat at the conn looking anxious. She couldn’t blame him. Starfleet had just invested countless hours and valuable resources equipping nine vessels, including Galen, to travel to the Delta quadrant. Quantum slipstream drives were a relatively new propulsion system, and the critical phase variance calculations required to sustain a slipstream corridor— though calculated by the main computer—were executed by the flight controller. Even the slightest error could produce disastrous results. It was a challenge for a single vessel. Within a few minutes, Lawry and eight fellow helmsmen would be expected to coordinate their efforts so the entire fleet could journey together through a single corridor. Such a task would have unnerved even an experienced pilot with the sternest constitution. Lawry’s taut mien suggested he’d forgone both a good night’s sleep and breakfast before reporting for this morning’s monumental challenge.
The young man’s nervousness reminded Glenn of her days as a resident, when she’d had the overwhelming sense that she was an imposter who had been assigned a task for which she was not prepared and who would therefore be exposed at any moment.
Glenn rose and went over to him. “Ensign Lawry,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.
“Yes, sir?” Lawry replied. His spine stiffened and his shoulders tensed.
“Do me a favor?” Glenn asked.
He was surprised to hear what sounded like a