It felt good to be back in the Renegade. My repair teams had done an excellent job restoring her to pristine condition. She glimmered; she reflected and absorbed the surrounding light. I could’ve sworn when I launched her from the docking bay in Dal she gave a little extra thrust, her appreciative gesture of freedom enjoyed. 

I had one of the new recruits to Roc’s Renegades flying with me in his Rifter, nervous and twitchy. He hadn’t experienced any flight time in the war yet; today that would change. We had scoured a few contested systems already, our onboard engineers quickly capturing bunkers; there had been no direct ship engagements as of yet. It was comfortable for me, falling back into routine; I’d scout ahead, give the rookie the all clear, then he’d join me insystem and we’d start scanning down the area. He didn’t complain of boredom, he didn’t speak of fear; he simply followed orders and did his job. 

We had been at it a few hours, and I had been keeping an ear out on the militia comms, doing my best to keep us away from the hotter areas. As always, the Amarr were out in organized force, systematically crushing our resistance. We had managed to retake a system since my return from Evati, but it was at great cost. Still, it was a nice way of letting those bastards know Colonel Roc Wieler had returned.

I had decided we would go to Lantorn, Amarr contested space. The rookie seemed to be handling himself well thus far, so I figured a small jaunt into enemy space might be the next logical step in his training.

I slowed at the Amamake gate in Dal, my senses fully alert. Amamake was a hornet’s nest of hostility, continual back and forth throughout every day of the war. It was also the quickest route to our destination. I weighed the options and decided it would be good to show the rookie how hard it is to actually catch someone whom is even the least bit aware.

I pushed through the gate.

Dozens of wartargets were tracked in local scan; none on visual. I signalled the rookie to join me in Amamake and began warming up the warp drive for the next leg of our trip.

An enemy Crusader and Punisher decelerated out of warp. Simultaneously, the jumpgate lit up,  letting me know it was too late to warn the rookie to stay in Dal. The Crusader and Punisher accelerated towards us. The rookie didn’t move. 

I pushed the Firetail forward to intercept the two enemy ships, locking them from range, taking half the shields from the Punisher on my first volley. I scrambled the Crusader and both turned their attention to me. Good. I could easily take these ships down. The two ships began to accelerate away from me, and without a webbifier to slow them down, there wasn’t much I could do about it. They warped away. Not a victory of blood, but I kept my wingmate alive.

“xxx Amamake, dozens of wt, engaged Crusader and Punisher. Assistance required.” I sent the message into our intel channel, quickly receiving a trusted response.

“That you Colonel? Goddamn it’s good to hear your voice.” Voshud Major Ira stated. He went as ‘Lord’ Ira, and did possess minor nobility ,though between his tongue and his temperment, you wouldn’t know it.

“I’m two jumps out and on the way, Colonel!” Ira was a good soldier. No questions, no hesitation. He went where needed, and moreso, he made a difference once he got there. I was pleased to see was a Major now. It looked good on him.

“Roger that.” I replied.

Turning my attention back to the gate, I saw the rookie beginning to move. The Crusader and Punisher warped back in on top of me, taking away my range advantage. I quickly hit my shield booster, nullifying any initial damage they had done. I put distance between myself and the two ships, and continued assaulting them, bringing the Punisher into structure. I commed the rookiee to get out of here, and he quickly complied, entering warp.

During the engagement I hadn’t noticed I had strayed far from the Dal gate. I hadn’t noticed the two nimble enemy ships pulling me away, deeper into space. My focus had been on my rookie. It was a costly mistake I would never repeat.

A Sabre warped directly in front of me, locking me near instantaneously. It tore me a new one.

I awoke seconds later back in Dal, smashing my fists against the clone tube containing me. I quickly exited the tube, running to the nearest military comm unit, ignoring the stiff response from my new body. I hurredly entered in my security code phrase, and listened to the chatter.

“You get that, Colonel?” I heard Ira’s voice say.

“Negative, please repeat. I was podded, Major.” I replied, my new voice sounding gritty from lack of use.

“Ah hell no.” Ira replied. “Sorry about that, Colonel. Got here as fast as I could. We’ve routed the Amarr near the gate in Amamake. Which wreck is yours? Got a few Republic transponders here.”

“Renegade, Firetail class. She salvageable?” I quickly asked. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, though only a few seconds had passed. A medical drone had brought me a robe, and was poking at me in various places, performing standard ‘new clone’ testing procedures. I wrapped the robe around me, trying to brush the drone away to no avail, the entire time my focus riveted on the comm unit. The Renegade had been such a good ship. I truly hoped she was within repair. Sure, I could get another Firetail, could even name it the same, but there had been something very special about this ship, something more than steel and paint.

“Negative, Colonel.” Ira’s voice sounded despondent. He was a man that understood the bond between man and ship. “Looks like they didn’t get the chance to loot her though, I’ll get what I can for you, ok?”

“Much appreciated, Ira. I’m in Dal.” With that, I turned the comm unit off. I made my way to my room to put on a set of fresh clothes, then radioed my hangar bay chief to inform him I was enroute and would need a ship prepped. He had asked me which ship I wanted made ready. To me, the answer was clear. Tribal Vengeance, my Republic Fleet Stabber. Amamake was still afire, as was my soul. 

I checked in with Freeform Industries and found that the rookie had made it back to Dal safely. I was glad at least one more death was averted. I looked on my datapad at the list of names of the marines and engineers I had just lost on the Renegade. I would have to inform their families.

Within minutes, I was heading back to Amamake, for a small taste of revenge. The Tribal Vengeance surged forward, her weapons bristling. Even the scream of her engines was one of anger. I entered Amamake. 

The Dal gate in Amamake was camped. Aura confirmed the Crusader, Punisher and Sabre were the same IDs of the ships that had wrecked and podded me. Additionally, two Retributions, an Arbitrator, an Omen and a Prophecy were all showing up on immediate scan. I began to align my ship back to the Dal gate, knowing I was clearly outnumbered, when Aura picked up my secured comm frequency. It was my emergency crew channel. My skin shivered.

“Repeat. Mayday. We’ve gone down in Amamake, running out of air. We have wounded, require assistance.” I knew the voice of my men when I heard it.

I was sure they wouldn’t broadcast on all channels in a hot zone, and it was only my outrage at the loss of those men that had brought me back to Amamake so quickly. Aura triangulated the source of the comm; it was from what was left of the Renegade. How had Ira missed surviving lifeforms? Did he even bother to scan for them? My own sudden indignation would have to be dealt with later. Right now, I had to figure out a way to save my crew.

I angled the nose of the Stabber towards my wreck, drawing the full attention of the Amarr gatecampers. I warmed up the Afterburner, preparing to fully overheat it. I had Aura open the local comms channel, the public broadcast channel for Amamake system.

“Fuck.” I said, engaging Tribal Vengeance to full velocity. “You.” It might not have seemed like much of a threat, but it was spoken with every fiber of my being. 

I was back in the frontlines; and this dog was hungry for fresh meat.

My Stabber pushed forward as hard as it could, it’s artillery cannons spitting out hot death to those that were able to pursue and engage. The enemy battlecruiser salvoed me from afar, its weapons damaging my smaller ship considerably. Thankfully, not all of the enemy were in range yet. 

“This is Colonel Roc Wieler. I’m coming for you, men. System is hot. I am engaged. Prepare for emergency evac on my mark.” I received a double click of static, and knew they had heard me. Tribal Vengeance roared as she continued to streak through space, her engines close to their threshold.

I managed to put a bit of distance between me and the ships that mattered. The smaller ships flitting about me kept dancing in and out of my range, well past their own. They were no immediate threat. I opened my comm again as I slowed the ship at my wreck.

“Blow the hatch in three… two… one… NOW!” I saw an airlock hatch blow from the Renegade’s wreckage, and watched as my crew was immediately jettisoned into space. I deflty moved Tribal Vengeance to them, my own rescue teams standing by. Within moments, I got the all clear from below deck, and aligned my ship to the nearest moon. We achieved warp, and were away.

That evening, I treated my crew to some dinner and drinks at the Black Hole Pub. Not a one had perished, and we were all in the mood to celebrate that fact. 

I raised my glass in a somber toast. “To the Renegade and her crew!” I saluted. The return chorus was deafening. “To the Renegade!” they all cheered.

To the Renegade, I thought to myself.

What’s long and hard on a Brutor? I thought to myself. Third shift. It was the current joke making its way through the ranks; an attempt at levity to lighten the mood we were all experiencing. Military life wasn’t easy; it wasn’t meant to be, but it was tiring. I had just finished pulling another sixty hours straight, and was sorely feeling it. After a quick bite of dinner, I had returned to my quarters and was enjoying a long, hot shower before collapsing onto my bunk. 

Sleep came quickly, as did the dreams.

I was younger, in my mid thirties, sitting at a desk, typing at a screen. The technology looked archaic, but I was fascinated as I watched the words appear on the screen; they were the very thoughts I was thinking being transcribed as they entered my mind. 

I was sitting at work, that much I knew, and it was a Friday. I was exhausted and frustrated by a great many things. There was a coworker sitting beside me that disgusted me, and not just his appearance, though that would be enough to make anyone want to lose their lunch. He was obesely fat, probably around 300 – 320 lbs, and about six feet tall. His weight was all in his distended stomach; it just hung from his body. His shirts didn’t hide it; it was always there. He was quite unattractive as well, eyes set too close together, poorly shaved head, and he stank. From his arrival in the morning until the time he left at night, he wheezed. I’m sure the three flights of stairs it took to get to our office didn’t help, but even just sitting there, his stomach dripping over the edge of his desk, he wheezed like a man who had run one hundred miles. I swore any minute he’d just up and die, and a part of me felt guilty at the joy that thought gave. There was a small fan on his desk, pointed my way, blowing the overpowering scent of his body odour at me. It literally made me gag. And when he spoke at me, he was condescending in everything he said, as if speaking to an ignorant child, and I knew that it was what he thought of me. I did my best to simply ignore him, to go on about my work day as if he didn’t exist, yet the fact of his existence alone filled my mind with venomous fury. He was a programmer, albeit a piss poor one, with no advanced abilities and no eye for detail. To talk to him though, once you got by his stuttering and fear of people, you would think he was the greatest thing to ever happen to programming. If only he could meet my friend Sam, I thought to myself, that would put his fat ass in its place.

Yet there I sat, typing away. I didn’t understand it. If this behemoth slob irritated me so damn much, why didn’t I do something about it? Then I remembered I had tried. I had spoken with my manager first, then with him and Human Resources about it, only to be left disheartened. The company I worked for seemed more interested in covering its own ass than doing anything about its employees happiness. Fine, why didn’t I take care of it myself? It would be simple to just drive the heel of my foot through his knee. I had seen him walking enough times to know that his knees were incredibly weak from sustaining the bulk of his gut. I mean, his arms flapped like a toy soldier when he walked. It was almost comical if it wasn’t so revolting. Of course, I couldn’t shatter his knee. I would get fired. I would get arrested.

My thoughts were so very conflicting. In my dream I wasn’t who I am, a capsuleer, one of the universe’s elite. I was simply a man, a frustrated man who had decided to simply be nice to the fat fuck I worked with, to just be the bigger man… you know what I mean.

I could hear Sam laughing at me. 

I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. I stood up from my bunk, leaning my hands on either side of my mirror. I took a good look at myself, contemplating what the dream could’ve meant, and why it left me feeling so impotent and disturbed.

One interpretation of the dream was clear; no more pizza for me before going to sleep.

The warning siren woke me from a deep sleep. I staggered up from my bunk, grabbing my boots from beside it, and pulled my jacket from where it was hanging in the corner of my corp quarters. I thumbed my comms unit, patching through to ops to see what was going on. Wordsworth answered the call.

“We’ve been war decced; hostiles inbound. Get Roc’s Renegades in the black.” he said with a fast staccato. It had finally happened; someone had a grudge big enough with Freeform Industries to declare Concord sanctioned war against us. 

I finished tying the laces to my boots, and walked out of my room. Personnel were running down the hallway, each to their own duties. Support crews, logistics staff, pilots, and the like, all scrambling to their stations. You could smell the fear in the air, the anticipation. While it was true we were all actively involved in the war against the Amarr, this was the first time any of us had conflict brought to our own backyard, metaphorically speaking of course.

I hurried down the hallway, falling into step with FullMetal Basilisk, one of our more loud-mouthed members. The man had talent, but to hear him speak you would think he had achieved every capsuleer kill everywhere in the entire history of New Eden. Still, likeable guy.

“You up for SC Metal?” I asked as we jogged down the corridor.

“Sure Roc, gimme a squad. We’ll nail these bastards.” he replied with his usual vigor. He was younger than me by at least a decade, taller, and far better tanned. 

“Any idea who we’re up against?” I asked between breaths, suddenly feeling far older and out of shape than I should. I needed to spend some more time working cardio apparently.

“Yeah, Turanic Raiders.” he said, already savouring the deaths he was envisioning. 

I had never heard of the Turanic Raiders before, and wondered what we had done to get on their bad side. It didn’t matter much in the end; they were a self-declared enemy, so we would defend ourselves viciously.

Within ten minutes our fleet launched; an assortment of cruisers, frigates and battlecruisers. I had opted for Tribal Vengeance, my Republic Fleet Stabber, as the Renegade was still under repair.  Eighteen ships, flying in tight formation, to engage a new enemy.

Intel reports came in from ops, but it was Cytral delivering them, the Director of Freeform Industries, our corporation. “Attention pilots. Turanic Raiders has declared war on us for no reason whatsoever. We’ve never dealt with them, we’ve never encountered them. It is a totally unprovoked initiative on their end. Fly weapons free, kill on sight. No ransoms, no mercy. Cy out.”

And just like that, we had our kill orders.

I’d like to write an indepth combat report of our engagements. I’d like to go on about our combat prowess, spinning the tale of glory that would be Roc’s Renegades.

Sadly, the initial skirmish was over so quickly some of us didn’t even get the chance to fire. They fielded less than a squad of assault frigates and frigates against us, and we steamrolled them, following their few survivors to the local stations they retreated to.

Then we ordered take out. Not really, but we could have. We camped those stations for fifteen hours straight, cycling in new ships to relieve tired pilots and crews when necessary.

I was just starting my second rotation when the news came in from ops. It was Cytral. “Fleet disengage. I repeat, fleet disengage. The Turanic Raiders have withdrawn their declaration of war. I guess they bit off more than they could chew. Well done, team.”

I was relieved, yet disappointed. To be honest, I longed for more experience in ship combat. Any chance we had for real engagements was invaluable. Drills and simulations were good, but they were never the same as the adrenaline pumping rush of a live enemy. Still, we suffered no losses, and there were no careless mistakes made; that was always a good thing. 

Ah well. Maybe next time things would be more interesting.

HEIMATAR REGION
PATOR IV – MATAR

I had seen him there only a few hours earlier, looking around furtively, making sure nobody saw him enter the massage parlour. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to come to this place; “Tip & Top” was famous for its hot rock massages. I had followed his adventures through the holovids for months, and couldn’t believe I was in the same place at the same time as Colonel Roc Wieler. I called all my friends immediately, telling them what was going down, telling them to meet me at the massage parlour right away. We all knew we were too young to get into the parlour, but they would be as thrilled as I was when they saw the surprise I had waiting. If we were lucky, we might even get his autograph.

Almost an hour later, there were over thirty of us. Some of my friends had called their friends; some of their friends had called theirs; and so on. I guessed all my secrecy had really built up the hype. I felt a little shy about it really; I had read how much the Colonel valued his privacy. I hoped he would be in a good mood still when he saw all of us waiting for him outside the parlour.

Churney turned to me from our lookout less than a block away. “So what’s going on Reyft? What’s with all the shush?” Churney had been my best friend since I was four; that was almost seven years now. He could see the excitement in my eyes, and knew it must be something big for me to be so secretive. I liked surprising him; he was such a good friend to me.

I pointed to the massage parlour. “Any minute now, you’ll see. C’mon, let’s get closer.” The Colonel’s massage appointment should’ve been finishing soon. We scampered across traffic, making our way to the building the massage parlour was in. I looked around me and smiled; we almost looked like a thug gang. They weren’t seen much around here, this area of the city was too nice and too well patrolled.

We waited outside the massage parlour anxiously for my hero. Not everyone thought soldiers were celebrities, but we did. We knew how amazing they were. I had read all about Capsuleer technology, and knew that was what I wanted to be when I grew up. To be able to serve the Republic in such a way was the highest honour any of us could ever hope for, and we were about to meet a living legend. It gave my skin gooseflesh.

The Colonel exited the building, no more than ten feet from me. We all started cheering, chanting his name, screaming for his autograph, suddenly very much the children we were. He stopped midstride, taken aback, but an awkward smile crossed his face, and I knew we had gotten lucky.

I pushed forward amongst my friends, a portrait of him I had downloaded from the interweb in hand. “Colonel Wieler! Roc! Please may I have your autograph sir?” I yelled towards him. I couldn’t believe I was so close to him. He was much shorter than I expected.

He patted himself down, looking for a pen. I handed him mine. He took it with a grin. “Sure kid,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“My name, my name is Reyft, sir.” I stammered out nervously. He chuckled at my awkwardness, but not in an insulting way. I actually found his laugh soothing. He scribbled on the picture and handed it back to me. I snatched it from his hand, holding it close, reading what he had signed. To Reyft, Fly safe. Roc. I smiled from ear to ear; I had the signature of my hero. I was oblivious to my other friends as they closed in around him, each of them begging for his autograph, straining to touch him.

“And the one true God shall free all the ignorances and prejudices of our people. Only by surrending ourselves to His will shall we ever achieve lasting peace between all His children.”

I looked up to see what was going on. There was a man standing about fifteen feet away from us, dressed in a robe. He was yelling about God or something. I had read about these guys in the newsvids. They were some sort of cult that came from Amarr. I hissed. I hated the Amarr even though I had never met one. They were the bad guys. They were evil slavers. I ran over to the man, screaming at him with all my strength.

“Shut up old man! The Amarr suck! They make slaves of us! They don’t know the gods!” I was so angry at him. How could a Matari like the Amarr after all they had done to us? Every child knew the stories of the Amarr. Every child was afraid at night that the Amarr would come to get them in their sleep.

The commotion near the Colonel had died down, as they all turned to watch this preachy guy. The smile the Colonel had on his face only moments before had been replaced with a scowl.

“From the mouth of babes comes forth the blasphemies of our ignorance and shame! Be warned, a great purge is coming! Those who stand against the one true God will surely fall!”

I don’t remember what happened next exactly. I remember I was going to yell at him some more. I wanted the Colonel to see I was brave. I looked at him for approval, but I saw his face grow afraid. Why would he be afraid of this man? He was Roc Wieler! He was afraid of nothing and nobody.

He started yelling at my friends, telling them to run. I didn’t understand why. I turned back to the preachy guy, to yell at him some more. I was even going to use some swear words I had learned.

His robe had opened. He had stuff on his body. It was blinking.

Everything went white at that moment. I felt a loud ringing in my ears. My body felt numb. Even over the ringing I could hear screams. I could see the building beside us falling apart. Not falling apart really; falling outwards. There were pieces shooting from the building like little meteors, small hot rocks in the sky. There was dust everywhere.

That was three hours ago.

I’m telling you this story because I just woke up. I can’t move. I’m buried beneath a lot of stones. My body isn’t numb anymore; it’s in so much pain I can’t even scream. One of my eyes isn’t working. I can see Churney. I can see parts of Churney. He’s dead. Many of my friends, and many strangers around me are dead. I think I might be dying. My hand is still holding my picture of Roc Wieler. It’s burned at the edges. I can’t see him anywhere.

Everything is getting dark.

Please, can you tell me what kind of God wants his people killing others? What kind of God would make a man want to blow himself up, killing innocent people around him simply because they don’t believe what he believes? That doesn’t sound like any god I’ve ever been taught about. The gods I learned about are loving. Sure, the god of war kills people, but only the enemies of the Republic. He is loving too. All the gods love us.

I miss my mom and dad. I miss my friends. I want to cry, but I can’t.

Everything is getting darker.

I feel something moving by my legs and look to see what it is. It’s the Colonel! He’s moving rocks away. I can barely see him. He looks sad. He looks scared. He looks like a normal man. He’s talking to me but I can’t hear what he’s saying. He stops moving rocks and comes very close to my face, holding my head in his hands. His glasses are gone. He is crying.

“Hold on, kid. Medvacs are on the way.” He sounds so gentle, so caring. I try to tell him it’s ok, but my mouth isn’t working properly. He makes a shushing gesture, a nice one, and just holds my head close to him. He’s still crying.

“I…” I begin, focusing very hard on my words. “I want to be a capsuleer, just like you. I…” I can’t make any more words, everything is getting too dark.

I can hear him scream. It’s loud and sounds like he’s in pain, but it’s not scary. I open my eyes to look at him again. He’s looking at me like my father would. “You are a capsuleer, kid. You are braver than any pilot I’ve ever known.”

I try to smile, but can’t. Everything hurts so much. Everything stops hurting altogether. I breathe out a long breath, everything going dark for the last time.

Before I fall asleep I hear him say “Fly safe pilot.”

It’s ok now. I can sleep.