Yesterday, 08:14 PM
== 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.
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.