The Queen

[Char Aznable]

"Come in!", the Minister's voice sounded from beyond the dark blue door, and when the man stepped in, he was greeted by dim, blue-green lighting. The few light sources in the room were stuffed behind curtains, with the only real, unobstructed light coming from the desk situated directly in front of him, a holographic display currently showing a monochrome version of the Frühlingswache's logo. It was confusing - everyone that paid attention to ship plans would know that the minister did not only live in one of the few two-room quarters, but also was supposed to have a window. None of that was currently visible, though, giving the relatively large room a claustrophobic, cold feel.

Behind the desk sat the Minister herself, clad in her signature black catsuit and mustering Fischer with an icy, deep glare. Her voice had sounded coarse, although much less so than the past few weeks. With the current lighting in the room, the reflection of light in her augmented eyes made it seem like they shimmered slightly, giving her a slightly ghostly appearance. The fact that the room was a full three degrees colder than the rest of the ship didn't help with that, either.

Annika had spent the day working and organizing, quietly guiding the few hundred men aboard the vessel from safe haven to safe haven, always on the move and never actually mooring, with each and every supply brought in via their own, trusted freighter pilots. Not even the hessians, the group whose space they currently inhabited, knew exactly where the ship was. Today, there had been at least three incidents of space sickness, and the rumour mill was worrying her. Well, not exactly worrying. But she needed a report on it, and since Michael Wolf, her right-hand man, was currently on a mission to Bautzen, so she wanted the report directly from the man responsible.
"The rumours are circulating. I want to know what people are talking about aboard my ship, Kommissarkapitän. And also how they found out that we had contact with the Rose. So, Report."
She didn't look up much, her eyes beginning to focus on the datapad in front of her. A clear sign of her limited time - People that got called to her office rarely got her to talk more than five sentences, let alone acknowledge their existence. She intentionally did that, however. That way, the competition between them weeded out the weak, a system that had served her well the past few months. She let the quiet after her request linger, only interrupted by the tapping on her pad, while the door behind Fischer closed. Sure, it wasn't locked, but the claustrophobic feeling had just been perfected.

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#notmyfrankfurt