Noy Lewan had quickly become bored in his quarters. Galorians like him were raised to life an active life, not necessarily a hard one, but staying put in a rich environment like on the Enterprise certainly annoyed him. He had started to read a magazine, some dry scientific articles about transporter safety measures, and resisted the temptation to read into the discussion about Lo Zhan, his and other Galorian's special cell type. After all, the lab rat should not succumb to its captors ideas completely. Crushers overbearing attitude, forcing a two-day-leave upon him, still made him angry. The Einstein cells might be a new discovery, but like he said to Zhan, who was safely back on the surface by now: Nothing had changed about them, or the effects of interstellar travel upon them. Their aging process used to be sped up by temporal abnormalities, but Zhan had the least to worry about: On their home planet, his species lived a full life span of their ninety years, give or take a few.
Lewan decided to tire himself, and had the computer replicated a treadmill. Crusher sure would not have agreed, but he figured that exercise put him to an infallible test about his condition. He was not going to run a marathon, anyway.
Perhaps he had judged Lo Zhan unfairly, he mused after half an hour of straightforward training. After all, he had not been effected by the presence of Worf, shoved in from another universe, making the Einstein cell's reacting so hard that they could not be ignored. Just spending a session of combat training, as it was mandatory for all security officers once a week, had turned out enough to push her into psychosis, and not a pleasant one. Whilst with humans, whose cells were indiscriminate to quantum signatures, the Galorians processed fluctuations on this subatomic level, and a solid and steady signature, synchronous with their surroundings, turned out a major factor to their health. The fluctuation perceived by Lo Zhan had caused her cells to think that she had ended up in a universe her body believed she did not belong to, and struck down all ability to function normally. We know strokes among our people, too, he had heard her summarize her condition afterwards, when she could speak again, but slower with me, and a lot harder to notice at first. It's like your body got so fed up with byproducts of Shakorozin, it just hasn't enough energy left to do its job and run your mind.
Lewan spent another forty-five minutes on the mill, then decided to call it a night and went to shower. Computer had dissolved the apparatus by the time he came out. He felt adequately tired, reasonably hungry and otherwise fine. Way too much fuzz about my condition, he told himself once more, and helped himself to a lavish dinner.
Soon the couch seemed unusually appealing to him, and since he would have the entire day tomorrow to tidy up his quarters, he decided to leave the dishes. Planning a task for leisure time always provided a good start for a day's structure, he told himself, and eluded to consuming some episodes of Revenge in the Realms of Risa.
He must have fallen asleep, he later concluded, and forgotten about undressing half-consciously in the progress. The training must have make him feel unusually bold and outgoing, so his dreams quickly took him away from the intrigues and scheming in the movie, to the more pleasant parts of Risa. Before long he found himself in a state of half-conscious wakeness, with the incredibly attractive protagonist on the couch, enjoying himself in another workout. Their moans and slapping strangely did not wake him up. When they were done, she dressed up again and left, with his mind putting together a believable scenario of her movements, shadows, and the computer opening the automatic doors for her.
Lewan pulled himself together, got up for another shower – for even in this semi-conscious state he did not feel too comfortable, having sweat so much – then threw himself back on the couch and, this time, slipped into a dreamless sleep.