The cafeteria on board was by no means five-star. If Marshal Hobbs had any say about the ranking, she would have given it a generous two and a half. The synthetic lighting, designed to mimic a perpetual noon, cast a sterile glow over the utilitarian tables and chairs. The air, recycled and filtered, carried the faint, indistinguishable scent of processed nutrients, a far cry from the rich aromas of a proper Earth-side kitchen.
"Early space explorers probably had it better," she mused, poking at the congealed mass on her plate with a spork. Half an hour into her first meal aboard the Artemis, and she was already getting tired of the long journey, and especially of the subpar menu on this transport. The "bacon" she was attempting to cut her teeth on was a leathery, protein-replicated strip that bore only a passing resemblance to its porcine ancestor. Yet, despite her culinary disappointment, Diana maintained her professional demeanor, using the opportunity to discreetly scope out the other passengers.