Anima — Roleplayer Guild

Running a ship was easy. Sophia rolled her eyes as she sat at her desk. Holopads were scattered across her metallic desk while other decor were pushed to the side. Other than a few medals and a small memorial for the 116th, the desk was spartan.

Running a ship was easy. That’s what Captain Johannson, her superior back when was still with the Alliance had said. He was either damn good at managing thousands of things at once or an expert liar. With barely a week under her belt as the ranking officer of a ship, Sophia spent all her time ironing out the kinks. Decisions had to be made, ship maintenance had to be maintained, living space complaints addressed, and so much more. In the past, the engineer always believed the other officers on the bridge were extraneous, there for morale and show. Oh how fast she changed her way of thinking soon after.

The Palamecia was a sixth generation stealth assault vessel. Officially, the sixth generations didn’t exist. The normal militaries — even special forces — still operated on the fifth generation vessels. Taking after the design of the Normandy, the sixth generations carried the hardest metal hull that could be fitted to the ship structure without compromising speed. Stealth systems rivaled that of the Salarians who had ultimate proficiency in espionage. Even the weapons system — though not as heavily focused — could pack a punch. All in all, the Palamecia was a damn fine ship.

Sophia swiped at a hologram of the ship. The Palamecia was split into six compartments. All in all, it resembled that of the Normandy’s layout with a few modifications. The sixth floor was still the Captain’s quarters, fifth was the bridge, fourth the expansive crew quarters, third engineering, second medical bay, and first the cargo hold. The major difference was what was added into each level. The galaxy map was centered within three prongs. Each respectively belonged to the Captain, Navigator, and Tactica. The designers thought it’d streamline communications. Sophia shrugged. To her, it was a vulnerability. One well placed enemy shot would vaporize the commanding officers almost immediately — assuming they could get through the multicore shields and the hull’s metal. She looked into their specs. Even though she was a veteran engineer, it still boggled her mind.

“Good morning Captain.”

Sophia looked up from her files; she stole a glance through the observation window. “Huh,” she said. “How’s the crew? Did the requisition I ordered come in yet?”

“All operatives have been allocated to their quarters. Support teams have voiced no complaints. General crew all seem stable as well. The package has been secured,” said Sira, the ship AI. “I’ve taken the liberty to begin routine system checks. Chief Engineer Addison has agreed to cooperate with me. You have new directives, Captain.”

Sophia stared at the AI, as she held up a holopad. “I’ve read it,” Sophia said. “Have the other cells begun their mission?”

Sira was quiet for a second before her visual blinked red. “I’ve been blocked from answering that inquiry. Unless given Director clearance, anything pertaining to Echelon structure is classified.”

It didn’t surprise her one bit. Black Op groups were all the same. Unlike the normal military where anyone could search the net, nothing existed about the shadow groups. If they died, no one but a very select few would know. It was a sound protocol. To protect any black ops group and what they did, no traces could be left behind.

Flipping through the operative files, Sophia looked sparingly over the details. Weeks before the Palamecia departed from the docks, she had spent her time memorizing the details. Each individual carried with them rich histories. Records were spectacular. Psychological profiles … fair.

Tapping her fingers against the desk, Sophia glanced at her desktop clock. She got to her feet. “Sira. Send out a message to all the operatives. Briefing room in ten minutes. Faster would be preferred.”

“Message sent. Anything else Captain?”

“Pass the coordinates to Navigator Jones,” she said as she adjusted her white and black fatigues. The organization she worked for spared no expense. The material her uniform was made out of, though seemingly normal, was thick enough to stop a bullet from afar. Up close, she’d probably be on the floor bleeding out. “We’ve sat around long enough.”

“Navigator Jones has inputted the coordinates.”

Sophia nodded as she made her way to the door. It was time for proper introductions.

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