"Come in." The answer is immediate.
Captain Alon's quarters are almost a caricature in British Naval Motif, down to the sepia-hued globe and the antique sextant. Everything in a dark blue with brass trim, everything neat and a little crowded. Books, tea set, velour throw draped over a wing-backed, leather chair, in which she is currently seated. She had obviously taken time to decorate the cabin beforehand, but it's not clear if she did so for comfort's sake, or a sense of propriety toward Queen and Country.
"Doyle...Marshal...ah, doesn't matter which, we need to talk." Taking a steadying breath, she matches her fingertips. "I won't pretend this crew is straight-headed. I think we may have been chosen specifically because we're not. I don't particularly care about that, any more than I care if it's just the two of you in there, or an entire circus. What I do care about is function and dependability. I need an engineer I can converse with, free from insensible raving, and one with whom I can trust this ship and her inner workings.
"If you tell me that's not possible, for either of you, I won't harangue. I'll understand. And I'll contact Isely, tell them I need a new engineer, and drop you off wherever you'd like. If, however, you guarantee me function and dependability, I'll trust you for both, and we'll see where this mission takes us, together. If I sound cold, I apologize. Before my own fall from grace, I was RAF -..." She pauses, stiffens, looks away, and amends - "...GAF, through and through. The military has rigid expectations of their ships' crews."
Righting her gaze back to him, she takes his measure unsmiling. "What I want to know is - can you do this? Without being a risk, a burden, or too unpredictable to trust?"