Roc’s Rule #34

If you’re leaving scorchmarks, you need bigger guns.


Tribal Glory

“Alright, then we’re agreed. That’ll work.”

I slide myself out from under the engine fuselage, wiping the grease from my brow with an even greasier rag. We’ve been at this for a few hours now, but I think we’ve reached the end. My chief technician harumphs his agreement. “Aye Colonel, she be a fine ship and we’ll be gettin’ more outta ‘er than I e’er seen elsewhere.” My computer techician agrees. “It’s really quite unbelievable actually. These modifications you’ve come up with, Colonel, are nothing short of sheer brilliance. To stabilize the capacitor indefinitely, while maximizing throughput of the systems is remarkable. You are a continual amazement and inspiration, sir.”

There she sits, our new Command Class Claymore, dubbed “Tribal Glory”. It’s a fitting name really; inspiring both our allies while threatening our enemies. Milita command rewarded me with it recently “for service above and beyond the call of duty.” Whatever. I do what needs to be done; nothing more, nothing less.

“Yeah,” I begin. “What were the final numbers again?” There have been so many different setup scenarios, I honestly can’t keep track of what we finally decided to go with. My technician happily refreshes my memory. “91,000 effective hitpoints, sir, with a stable capacitor, and power enough to last you for 32 minutes in the most intense conflict scenario. It’s … awesome.”

I smile at that. For all his brains and wordiness, he’s still a geeky kid at heart, but he knows his stuff. Between their extensive expertise and my own, we’ve worked out a configuration that is simply awe inspiring.

“How long to make the modifications?” I am anxious already to take her out, to let her fulfill her destiny, yet I also understand you can’t just say “do” and it’s done. “It’s going to take approximately …” he punches a few buttons on his keyboard, “Six days, six hours, and 29 minutes, sir.” I smirk at him. “That’s approximate, eh?”

“Let’s get to ‘er then” my chief mechanic declares. “She ain’t be building ‘erself.” I nod my consent. They both scamper away, gathering their teams. It’s going to be a busy week.

Six days.

Only six days and then the Amarr will truly understand what they face. They can bring their battleships, they can open they cyno fields; six days and I will be able to bring more to the fight than just this machine. I will be able to bring hope to our troops, inspiration with tangible results.

It’s going to be fun.