Erien eyed Gurkan coolly, not reacting with anger, or any strong emotion obviously, beyond the tip of her tail flicking in irritation. Her arms unfolded slowly and she put her hands on her hips and let out a slow breath. 
"Discipline is my wheelhouse," she said slowly and patiently. "Though, I understand your reasoning and appreciate where you're coming from," she added, "even if I don't necessarily appreciate your... [i]zeal[/i]". She frowned at the tools strewn across the floor and then nodded, as if deciding something.
"Once you're done configuring your fighter, then report to Chief Grayson to assist with clearing the squadron's hangar area of anything that can cause FOD*. Once he's satisfied, you can head to the mess hall, and break for crew rest, Lieutenant. Now, get back to work".
She turned away, having dismissed the fellow Isorlai. It was a good enough punishment; scouring the deck-plates for any loose objects that could get sucked into an intake, wedged in a gear well or otherwise impeded the operations within the hangar was tedious and time-consuming job. While it wasn't necessarily hard, it was boring, and would service as an adequate punishment for the lapse in decorum. Not to mention, given his boot to the toolbox, it was in line with the discretion itself.
Satisfied for the moment, the snow-furred Isorlai stepped over to Grayson. The Cetanui was studying a holo-screen attached to his toggle and looked over she stepped up next to him. 
"How are we looking, chief?" she asked with interest, peering at the chart. "All in the green?"
"Most of the way there," the Cetanui rumbled in reply, rubbing his smooth chin in reply and lowered the screen to give her a better look. "Well, Major, everything looks... pretty damn good, if I'm honest. We're catching up, only final checks and closing everything up to do." He lowered his voice and glanced to Nyx, before speaking to the white-furred Isorlai. "And I hafta say; that one? She knows a thing or two. I ain't gonna tell you how ta run your squadron... but she knows her shi- er, stuff, m'am. You don't want her as a pilot? Please, send her to me and I can swear on all the Gods and Goddesses I'd be glad to have 'er. But as fer your fighter, they'll be ready when you need 'em, I can promise you that - my crews know their shi- uh, stuff" he gave a sheepish smile and she rolled her eyes before clapping him on a meaty bicep.
"All right, people!" she called out loud to the squadron. "You're done here; chief Grayson's team can handle the rest. We've given them the leg-up they needed. Fall out; head to the Mess Hall and grab yourselves some chow. Then you're all on crew rest until we come outta the jump. Get moving, folks".
She stepped aside and caught Nyx's attention with a wave and a sharp nod. "Lieutenant Miles, go grab some food, and then come by my office in our suite when you're done," she said with a nod, before adding in a much firmer and sterner voice; "And, that is [i]not[/i] an 'optional' request. If you don't come to my office, I'll have ship security [i]fetch you,[/i] understood?" 

She idly chit-chatted with the Cetanui crew chief for a few minutes longer, shooting the breeeze and catching the scuttlebutt from the hangar-level personnel, before following her squad up to the officers' mess. She was as hungry as the rest, and truth be told, nerves were making it worse. Not knowing what was coming at the other end of the jump, coupled with her own minor anxieties about her first command were leaving her unsettled, and eating was a coping mechanism - especially for a predator like her. 
Thankfully the mess hall was open and serving open rations for all. Not a full menu, but there were 'pick your own' sandwiches and snack-foods available. She piled a plate with cheeses, cold cuts and bread before finishing off with a cupcake. 
Padding along with her plate, she found a table and settled in, glancing around. 
The mess hall was always a barometer of the ship at any point in a deployment cruise. Right now, less than 12 hours out of port and with a crew who hadn't had time to mingle and know one another, the groups were obvious. Racial lines were blurred as ever within the League, but the divisions within personnel were clear - the blue suited pilots were in their groups, grey suited ships' crew in another and the green-bagged Marines within their own cliques, with only a tiny amount of mingling with one another at this stage. A blurring at the edges, almost. 
She'd seen it before; the longer the cruise went on and the more the ship worked together as one unit and group, the more they'd intermingle and get to know one another - it'd take time, of course, but it'd happen. 
Turning her attention away, she was distracted by the holographic screens floating above the crowd of diners. Split into four, they detailed the time until the jump on a countdown timer, along with a reminder that immediately prior to the jump the ship would be switching over to 'destination time' for where they'd be heading. Other panes showed an exterior view of the planet, now dwindled to a point of light behind them, and a series of blurbs about the upcoming social events aboard ship: contests for weight-lifting, dance contests, a karaoke event, themed food nights and movie nights all within the next week aboard ship. It reminded her of earlier cruises and deployments; of friends made and now off on other vessels and in other fleets and squadrons. Nonetheless, it felt like a reminder and something comforting, even if she was in a different place and seeing it from a different side than before. She wondered, idly, if any of her squadron would volunteer or step up to anything. She didn't have a handle on them yet - she'd had them under her gaze for less than two hours, though she'd known them from records and profiles for longer than that, for what that was worth. Learning how they ticked, and what their personalities were like would take much longer than a few short hours. Learning how to make them - or, coax and coddle them - into working together would be an incremental process, half deception and manipulation, half force of personality and confidence. [i]Something,[/i] she thought to herself with a rueful, open-mouthed Isorlai smile, [i]you are lacking in, dearie.[/i] 
Banishing the thought with a decisive CHOMP on a slice of peppered ham, she finished the last of her meal, nodding to the others as she stood.
"Have fun on crew rest," she addressed any of them who were nearby. "I'm both happy and sad to inform you the bar is currently [i]closed,[/i] as we have no idea what's on the other side of the jump, and we might be needed right away. And while it's not mandatory, I'd love to see you all get at least eight hours sleep so we're ready to kick the shit out of whatever might be waiting for us on the other side of this hyperjump if we're called on. See you back at our quarters," she said with a nod and a swish of her long white tail, before padding off. 

***

Sat in her office, Erien leant back in her chair as she flipped between holographic screens floating in the air above her desk. A mug of steaming hot herbal tea flooded her nose with its' relaxing, comforting vapours as her ears were soothed by the [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqGeT4PiJko]classical strings and vocals [/url]she'd selected as she dealt with paperwork and admin, singing along softly in her own mellifluous tones, eyes flicking from screen to screen, reviewing equipment allocations, medical records, and any number of other minutiae that pertained to her role as a commander of men and women in combat. 
All of it was above board so far; she had some concerns about Hel'Kayik; his lack of Academy training and experience could prove to be a problem when the shit hit the fan. Would he know how to react, know the skills, drills, training and manoeuvers that the rest of them had had drilled and practiced into them to be a fluid, working mechanism in combat? As much as she dreaded finding out, she'd have to see if that was the case. And if he fucked up... then he'd learn, quickly enough, that those who dragged the others down didn't last long when lives were on the line.

Especially your own. 

Giving a grumbling growl that was the equivalent to a humans' groan, the Isorlai ran one clawed hand across her face, rubbing her eyes and picking up her tea to take a long sip from the cup. She'd done as much as she could; the squadron were as ready as they could be. Life support were as ready as could be with their flight gear, Graysons' people were taking care of their craft, and everyone's paperwork was a current as she could get it, without going to the departments aboard ship and doing it herself. All she could do now was turn in for sleep and get her own crew rest ahead of the jump. [i]Which,[/i] she thought with a glance to a flickering timer on her desktop, [i]Should be happening any minute.[/i]
As if on cue, the overhead speakers blared a short alert siren, and the voice of the ships' AI spoke up, as netural, but charming and feminine as ever. 
"Attention, all personnel. Please be aware that the ship is now switching over to destination time; shipboard clocks and all networked devices will automatically update to +5 hours time. Any un-linked devices will need to be updated. Timetables and schedules will switch over on the next shift. 12-hour hyperspace jump will be commencing in t-minus five minutes. Countdown will be at one minute intervals until minus one minute, when ten-second countdowns will occur. All crew to secure for jump. All loose cargo and items to be secured, all crew to secure in acceleration stations until green light. Repeat..."
The message repeated once more, and Erien grimaced. Nyx should come by her cabin soon; the couch in her office was rated for acceleration, that would do as the jump would occur during their meeting, or so it seemed. She mused quietly; she was eager to speak with the female human. She wanted to learn more about her, and have a second chance to speak, as she felt she'd got off on the wrong paw with her, coming across as a martinet, rather than the proactive and eager individual she was. Hopefully she'd get a second chance to score her approval. Getting the confidence and understanding of her squadron was vital now. If they didn't support and understand her, then they'd never get far working together. Or at least, it'd be a hard road. 
She took another sip of her tea, watching the countdown timer.
[i]Any moment now...[/i]

She wasn't sure if she was referring to the jump, or the meeting.

[i]*FOD - Foreign Object Damage, a real concern for operational aircraft. Refers to small objects being ingested into engines or otherwise causing damage to aircraft or spacecraft on landing, takeoff, or in other operations. [/i]