AT/D01 - Ready Room

[Tyra Crawford]

== The ready room on Artemis is a two level office in the typical Starfleet gray color scheme. There is a large weapons collection that hangs on the wall behind the desk as well as a bookshelf with antique books on the upper level near the couch. There is almost always a coffee cup or three on the desk. ==

[Tyra Crawford]

== Launch Timeline ==

With launch still a few hours away and the recall message just beginning to filter out through the ranks, Artemis had still been quiet as Tyra had moved through her corridors and the redhead had been infinitely grateful for the peace, no matter how short lived.

It had felt weird walking the corridors of a ship she had been prepared to say good-bye to. Despite having left her ready room as it was -- possibly a spiteful move on her part since her predecessor would have been stuck with a ghost until her things could be packed up --, she had packed up her quarters in a sign of her own uncertainty of her fate. Yes, she had vocally stated her confidence that she would be back but it hadn't been that clear cut. Even now, with her fate allegedly decided and her sentence of what amounted to house arrest underway, it felt like there was still a guillotine hanging over her head and certain developments didn't help at all.

Her duffel bag made a muted thump as she dropped it just inside the rear entrance to the ready room. With the engineers running final checks on the bridge, she hadn't felt like trapezing through in her civilian clothes nor had she felt like donning the heavy mantle of command quite yet.

And yet, that didn't meant the heavy weight of command wasn't still weighting for her, whether she was in a hoodie and leggings or command red.

She sighed as her blue eyes shifted from her weapons collection hung behind the desk to the stack of PADDs that Cera had no doubt deposited on her desk. It was likely last minute personnel requests, maintenance approvals and the likes, none of which she felt particularly delighted to wade through. She'd already had enough of the last minute personnel headaches to last her a life time.

She was just replicating herself a coffee in an internal deal necessary to tackle the mountain of PADDs when the rear door opened without a chime and a whirlwind blew right through.

"Who is this? I thought we were keeping the old man. A little bit of a know it all but ultimately harmless," Cera Morgan asked by way of a greeting, a PADD waving wildly in her hand as the blonde Quartermaster came stalking into her office.

Tyra's free hand shot out as Cera passed her, grasping the half-Betazoid's wrist to steady the PADD long enough for Tyra to get a look at the cause of the outburst. It was the Quartermaster's request related to Artemis' FO Quarters.

"Oh," was all the captain managed to say before her coffee materialized and she picked it up as if it might make the situation somehow better. It didn't and couldn't. She wasn't certain there was anything that could make the dumpster fire that was the current FO debacle any better, short of Damien's return. And based on how Damien had seemed when she'd visited him and her own unofficial digging, she wasn't feeling very hopeful on that front.

"Oh?" Cera asked, eyebrow arched in a perfect imitation of Tyra's normal look of ire. "'Oh' is you forgot to tell me the latest juicy gossip from Love Island aka the lower decks, not that you failed to mention we have another new first officer."

On the tail end of her first mouth full of coffee, Tyra let out a long suffering sigh. "In my defense, they gave me a list of five candidates 4 hours ago and told me I had an hour to choose. Oh, and they said if I made any attempts to circumvent the list, it would counted as insubordination. The list was 2 Vulcans, Admiral Buchannan's worthless youngest son, a Tellarite and," she waved her hand at Cera's PADD, "him."

Cera looked down at the PADD in her hand, tilting her head slightly. "I mean… he doesn't seem terrible."

The redhead hummed slightly, her shoulder rising in a little shrug. "But possibly too obvious of a choice."

The blonde's head bobbed thoughtfully, her lips pressing together for a moment. "You think it was an illusion of choice. They gave four candidates they knew you wouldn't choose and one they wanted you to choose."

"Possibly. I could see them potentially thinking I would pick Ian Buchannan because of our families' close history over the years but he's a ladder climbing rat if I've ever met one. Then again, if I'd chosen him, we probably could've had an airlock malfunction during launch and done the entire fleet a favor…"

The blonde's lips curled into a momentary grin before her expression settled into a more neutral setting, one Tyra knew meant the Quartermaster was considering all aspects of a situation and possibly working out a course of action.

"I could test the waters, if you want," Cera offered after a few moments of silent consideration.

"No," Tyra stated decisively. "I am on very thin ice and by association, that includes you. We will handle all of this by the book. If he's a rat, it'll become apparent soon enough and if he's not, hopefully a heavy dose of malicious compliance doesn't make his life too terribly difficult."

The Quartermaster's dark eyes lit up for a moment in a way that usually spelled trouble for everyone unfortunate enough to be caught in her web and yet, Tyra felt especially lucky to have the younger woman's unending loyalty in that moment.

"That can I do," Cera said with a momentary grin before it slipped away again and she was turning to exit the room. "I'll make sure someone gets your quarters unpacked before you have to deal with that. If you need any assistance, just call," she called over her shoulder.

The blonde stopped in the doorway, hand curling around the frame of the door. "I did get a special delivery from your favorite former boss. He said to give his love and don't drink it all in one night. Or do. I'll make sure it ends up in its rightful place before launch," she said with a wink before she disappeared entirely.

For a few moments, Tyra remained standing by her desk, eyes firmly set on the now closed door. She didn't particularly like the feeling that she was once again stuck in a chess game she couldn't see and she didn't like not knowing if she'd made the right selection. It had seemed like the obvious choice but if that had been the point, she'd played straight into the admiralty's plans. She supposed she wouldn't know either way until she could assess the situation in person, instead of just reading a career bio.

She couldn't help missing the council of Ben or Damien in that moment but that inevitably led to a suffocating feeling that she might be the next led down that particular path, especially if she had been wrong.

Better hope you didn't sign your own warrant on this one, she mused darkly as she moved around the desk and settled in for some work.

[Sovar]

== Launch Timeline ==

The Artemis was what Sovar had expected it to be. It was an adequate explorer, with deep space scientific sensors, an array of probes, and a sizeable Science Complex that nearly filled an entire deck. Of some intrigue to him, it was also a testbed for Star Fleet’s Quantum Slipstream Drive; the shakedown of which led to Artemis being forged in combat with the Borg. By the accounts he had read in preparation to join the Artemis, its many defensive and offensive capabilities were worth the time and resources Star Fleet had poured into the ship.

Hallways, narrower than the Endeavour’s, were filled with crew bustling about due to the announced recall. Sovar noted that the pervasive chatter was filled with scuttlebutt, and the trading of it was like currency; rumours begot rumours. All of that seemed to quiet or even halt whenever the new First Officer neared. It did not require much to deduce that it was not the colour of his uniform, nor the pips on his collar, that caused such reactions. Sovar was an outsider to the vast majority of the crew; only the newest joining would be exempt from such an assessment. It would be more surprising if they were not cautious about him. An eyebrow then arched on Sovar’s face as he considered how long-term crew and senior leadership like department heads might react to his presence.

Time discovers truth.

Around a bend in the hall ahead of him, a blonde haired officer seemed to slip away from the doors of the Ready Room that was Sovar’s destination. He considered it unfortunate that he could not discern the identity of the person; the revelation of which might have served to determine the Captain’s present mood. And that could have helped him to smooth over the suddenness with which Star Fleet had filled the vacant seat of First Officer aboard her ship. While it would be illogical to hold something like that for which he had no control over, against him, Sovar understood there would be emotions tied to the situation.

Pausing before the closed door, Sovar shifted the PADD to his left hand and gathered himself. In the span of a few seconds he focused on his breathing, did a body scan, and made sure he was present in the moment. The short exercise was sufficient to arrange his thoughts as he reached out for the door chime. As soon as he was bade to enter, he did.

A welcomed aroma of coffee filled his olfactory senses, which was more pleasant than the hanging tension that lingered in the room. Captain Crawford appeared nearly exactly as described to him by a liaison officer assigned to his transfer, and so there was no surprise in her appearance. Sovar’s amber brown eyes then flickered about the room, gathering information and spatial awareness. A large collection of weapons had halted his vision, and it reinforced the knowledge he had of his new Captain. A bookshelf had also caught his attention, and Sovar had to force himself to not linger on the titles contained therein, his curiosity piqued.

“Greetings, Captain,” he stepped toward her and proffered his right hand to her, which would give a firm grasp and a shake if accepted.

“I am Commander Sovar.”

Sovar understood that it was customary among many humans to shake hands upon first meeting. To his knowledge Vulcans found the ritual premature if even distasteful, with touch being reserved for those with much closer, even bonded, relationships. The Edo in him, a sliver of which resided in his hair as a streak of wheat blonde, rather enjoyed the custom. Sovar also couldn’t deny that it was strategic.

“Despite the brevity of my presence aboard Artemis, I have prepared a recommendation list based on my timely observations,” he said, handing over the PADD from his left hand.

It was a tactical move that was part of his overarching strategic plan; using levity in order to lighten the mood of a possibly emotionally charged encounter. The PADD did indeed have a list, if one recommendation could be considered such. If Captain Crawford reviewed it, it was simply a request to have a dry sauna installed in the First Officer’s quarters. Sovar had noted when he scouted the living area that there was plenty of room to accommodate it. Thus, he did not misrepresent himself that the recommendation was made by observation. It was also the most simple, benign request he could make, when other Vulcans might actually make a long list of suggested changes.

“Your Ready Room is intriguing, Captain,” his eyebrow jutted upwards.

“I am optimistic that the weapons are decorative, and find little utilization in day-to-day operations,” Sovar’s face remained stoic as he spoke.

[Tyra Crawford]

== Launch Timeline ==

Two minutes of peace and quiet was all Tyra was blessed with before the door was chiming. Her blues eyes flitted down, quickly assessing her current outfit of black leggings, green hoodie and black low tops with a sigh. She then quickly sorted through the possible visitors, feeling no concern about any member of her senior staff except the newest one.

"Computer, who's at the door?"

[Commander Sovar.]

"****," she muttered, her fingers briefing pinching the bridge of her nose.

Under less tenuous circumstances, she wouldn't have even batted an eye. Hell, she was pretty sure she'd met multiple previous members of her senior staff while already a few drinks in. She wasn't exactly known for her formality but some times, playing the game to win required more of her. And she certainly wasn't giving this asshole any ammo at minute 1.

Fortunately, years of responding to middle of the night red alerts made her extremely efficient at donning the uniform and in under 30 seconds, she was sliding her foot into her last boot and tossing the duffel bag back behind her desk. Her coffee mug was in hand by the time she called for the door to open.

Whatever hopes she might have had that her half-Vulcan selection might have possessed only recessive Vulcan traits was crushed before the man was even through the door. If it weren't for the unusual shock of light hair that broke up the typical Vulcan chili bowl hair style, she probably would have assumed he was fully Vulcan if she'd met him with no context.

Well, that gamble backfired...maybe Ian would have been the better choice.

It wasn't that Tyra didn't like Vulcans -- she'd successfully worked closely with numerous over the years -- but she was honest enough to admit that they weren't her cup of tea and she certainly wasn't theirs. And even as her blue eyes swept over Sovar, she suspected he would fall firmly into that pattern on both sides.

However, his proffered hand did cause a slight mental pause, even if there was no outward hesitation as she accepted the handshake. It was firm and confident as expected but told Tyra little beyond his apparent understanding of Human customs.

“Despite the brevity of my presence aboard Artemis, I have prepared a recommendation list based on my timely observations,” Sovar stated, offering her the PADD from his other hand.

Her eyebrow went up in what might have seemed like surprise to the uninitiated but was closer to a challenge for those that knew her, though her eyes didn't sharpen to match. Instead, her eyes dropped almost immediately to the PADD, expecting a laundry list of recommendations but only findig one.

...a dry sauna? Is it too late to file that retirement paperwork and hand this circus off to someone? Hell, it'll probably be his in a mission any way.

She was mentally calculating whether this was a joke or not when the commander commented on her office, particularly the wall of weapons behind her.

Her blue eyes shifted up as she tipped her head slightly to the side so that the wall hit the edge of her peripheral.

"Oh yes, it's purely ornamental. You'll find that the Artemis is practically pacifistic in nature," she answered dryly with no hint that it was anything but the truth.

She set the PADD down on her desk but made no move to sit down. "The Quartermaster should be able to handle this recommendation along with any other last minute needs you might have. I apologize for the last second nature of your assignment; I know it can be inconvenient."

"I'll admit that I was not afforded the opportunity to... " Her head tilted slightly as she searched for a word that was benign.

"...to review your packet like I would have preferred to so why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" It was phrased as a question but the formality of the request hardly made it seem optional, even as she motioned for him to take a seat across from the desk.

== Tag! ==