09-03-2024, 11:19 PM
== Morning of the launch ==
Historically, Mara was very much not a morning person. Her natural rhythm ran much later than others and she was normally still active long after dark. But after all of yesterday’s drama, she just flat hadn’t been able to sleep. Having snatched a couple of hours in amongst constant tossing and turning, she’d given up. That was why, as the ship chronometer ticked past 0600, she was hard at work dealing with her department’s admin having already powered through her morning workout and showered. Her tunic hung from the back of her chair as she cooled off a little in the black tank top she normally wore underneath.
There had been a few changes to the way Security ran under Calleja’s nascent leadership. She’d stepped up the drills dramatically. Pretty much everyone was going through 2 sims daily, 1 on the offensive on a variety of enemy vessels and hostile planets, and 1 on the defensive holding Artemis against attackers. It had caused a lot of grumbling but the COS had been relentless in her attempts to increase tactical awareness, physical fitness and the ability to work in teams. She had put herself through the same simulations both as a leader for the Artemis crew and taking charge of the efforts to test them, earning respect for her sharp tactical mind just as much as her prodigious physical fitness.
It wouldn’t have surprised anyone to know that Mara was also trying to build a culture of openness. Questions were encouraged, new ideas welcomed and honest feedback given. Her department were still getting used to this. Freedom to speak was not freedom from consequences for point-scoring or trying to grandstand. There had been a couple of incidents where officers had tried to change a plan at the last minute and torpedoed a drill, earning themselves Mara’s wrath. And whilst she had been happy to discuss most things, so far nobody had had the courage to bring up ‘fight night’. Her hostile views on martial arts, boxing and sparring were very well known and there hadn’t yet been anyone willing to try and champion the ship’s boxing tradition.
Mara had also put her own stamp on the Chief of Security's office. Most noticeable was the jacked up desk, set to be comfortable for her 6’2” height, and high-end coffee machine set up on a table just outside that she had procured and provisioned with Support’s help and paid for out of her own pocket.
One of the office’s walls was given over to lauding the department. Every time one of her crew earned a promotion, medal, citation or anything else, a copy went up on the office wall. There were also scoreboards showing the best scores and times in drills, and team photos of the best performers. It was becoming a badge of honour to have your name up there in lights.
The wall opposite was given over to reminders of what Mara and the others fought for. There were pictures of Bandar City back home, showing both its dirty underbelly and the brutalist magnificence of the governmental Spire building at night. Her parents featured in others, along with a collage of the sparse few images she had of her sister from before her untimely death. She’d let the shift leaders add their own images, places they found special and beautiful, some with loved ones in. It was an eclectic collection but the COS found the effect inspiring.
Sending off her feedback on the recent round of performance reviews, Calleja levered herself to her feet and moved to the coffee machine, a used mug in her hand. She loaded in a particularly strong Colombian blend that she had started to enjoy and set the fire engine red device going. There were some faint cracks and pops as she stretched out her back and shoulders, and then she leant against the office door frame as her cup was filled.
I’m still not used to my name bein’ over that door she thought with a faint smile. Never thought I’d ever actually make it. An’ I probably came really really close to losin’ it yesterday. But here I am. Bandaran street trash to Chief of Security, USS Artemis. Kuik was right. I need to let myself enjoy that more than I do.
A faint chime indicated that her coffee was ready, and Mara wandered back to her desk cradling the freshly brewed drink like it was an elixir of life. She settled back down in the chair and leant back, boots on the desktop as she took a sip.
== As for whom the bell will toll… ==
Historically, Mara was very much not a morning person. Her natural rhythm ran much later than others and she was normally still active long after dark. But after all of yesterday’s drama, she just flat hadn’t been able to sleep. Having snatched a couple of hours in amongst constant tossing and turning, she’d given up. That was why, as the ship chronometer ticked past 0600, she was hard at work dealing with her department’s admin having already powered through her morning workout and showered. Her tunic hung from the back of her chair as she cooled off a little in the black tank top she normally wore underneath.
There had been a few changes to the way Security ran under Calleja’s nascent leadership. She’d stepped up the drills dramatically. Pretty much everyone was going through 2 sims daily, 1 on the offensive on a variety of enemy vessels and hostile planets, and 1 on the defensive holding Artemis against attackers. It had caused a lot of grumbling but the COS had been relentless in her attempts to increase tactical awareness, physical fitness and the ability to work in teams. She had put herself through the same simulations both as a leader for the Artemis crew and taking charge of the efforts to test them, earning respect for her sharp tactical mind just as much as her prodigious physical fitness.
It wouldn’t have surprised anyone to know that Mara was also trying to build a culture of openness. Questions were encouraged, new ideas welcomed and honest feedback given. Her department were still getting used to this. Freedom to speak was not freedom from consequences for point-scoring or trying to grandstand. There had been a couple of incidents where officers had tried to change a plan at the last minute and torpedoed a drill, earning themselves Mara’s wrath. And whilst she had been happy to discuss most things, so far nobody had had the courage to bring up ‘fight night’. Her hostile views on martial arts, boxing and sparring were very well known and there hadn’t yet been anyone willing to try and champion the ship’s boxing tradition.
Mara had also put her own stamp on the Chief of Security's office. Most noticeable was the jacked up desk, set to be comfortable for her 6’2” height, and high-end coffee machine set up on a table just outside that she had procured and provisioned with Support’s help and paid for out of her own pocket.
One of the office’s walls was given over to lauding the department. Every time one of her crew earned a promotion, medal, citation or anything else, a copy went up on the office wall. There were also scoreboards showing the best scores and times in drills, and team photos of the best performers. It was becoming a badge of honour to have your name up there in lights.
The wall opposite was given over to reminders of what Mara and the others fought for. There were pictures of Bandar City back home, showing both its dirty underbelly and the brutalist magnificence of the governmental Spire building at night. Her parents featured in others, along with a collage of the sparse few images she had of her sister from before her untimely death. She’d let the shift leaders add their own images, places they found special and beautiful, some with loved ones in. It was an eclectic collection but the COS found the effect inspiring.
Sending off her feedback on the recent round of performance reviews, Calleja levered herself to her feet and moved to the coffee machine, a used mug in her hand. She loaded in a particularly strong Colombian blend that she had started to enjoy and set the fire engine red device going. There were some faint cracks and pops as she stretched out her back and shoulders, and then she leant against the office door frame as her cup was filled.
I’m still not used to my name bein’ over that door she thought with a faint smile. Never thought I’d ever actually make it. An’ I probably came really really close to losin’ it yesterday. But here I am. Bandaran street trash to Chief of Security, USS Artemis. Kuik was right. I need to let myself enjoy that more than I do.
A faint chime indicated that her coffee was ready, and Mara wandered back to her desk cradling the freshly brewed drink like it was an elixir of life. She settled back down in the chair and leant back, boots on the desktop as she took a sip.
== As for whom the bell will toll… ==