OOC Today

It’s a holiday here in Canada, so no post. Sorry.

But I did come across PsycheDiver’s Review of my Bio CD, and really enjoyed the post. Please check it out:

REVIEW OF BIO CD

Feel free to comment there, here, or anywhere you wish to spread the word.

And if you might be interested in the CD, click on the Store o Roc link on the right, or click HERE

Also, I’m working on getting a digital version of Bio made available from iTunes.

Have a great day.

I saluted crisply as I approached the restricted access militia hangar bay. Valkear General Stone returned my salute sharply.

“Thank you for coming, Colonel. I figured you’d want to know about this, so I pulled some strings to get you the necessary authorization.” He turned to the ID scanner, allowing the system to authenticate him. The heavy metal door slid open, and he motioned me inside, following closely on my heels, taking a conspiratorial glance around before the door slid securely shut.

I followed him through a few corridors, the deafening sounds of machine work threatening to drown out his voice. He yelled overtop of the noise as we walked. “We reported our findings to Concord regarding that wormhole you stumbled across, as well as submitting our findings from the debris it expelled. Turns out Concord was already aware, and that your anomaly wasn’t unique; there’s been hundreds of sightings across New Eden of such astral events.”

We turned a corner and abruptly stopped at a closed set of berthing doors. They were mammoth, easily able to hold a battleship. General Stone turned towards me, his stern expression urging me to listen even more intently. “What’s more is Concord has managed to ‘acquire’ an intact cruiser from the wormhole, and members of its crew. The pilot ejected in his pod and managed to escape, and yes, you heard correctly, his pod. We’re dealing with capsuleers from beyond the holes. Concord ‘interviewed’ the surviving crew of the vessel, and barely learned a thing about these ‘Sleepers’, as they like to call themselves. Concord also conducted extensive studies on the ship, and made their discoveries available to the Empires. What they’ve uncovered is, well, let me show you.”

He entered a sequence on a nearby keypad, and the massive doors groaned and creaked, splitting from the middle, slowly opening to reveal perhaps the most gorgeous vessel I had ever laid eyes upon. I walked forward into the berth, my eyes wide with wonder, my mind filled with intent, as the General continued speaking.

“They’re calling the ship class ‘Strategic Cruiser’, and we’ve dubbed the project ‘Loki’. She’s of an advanced technology we’ve never really seen before, completely modular in design. It surpasses ‘T2’ tech in everyway; you could even think of it as ‘T3’.” He smirked at his own humour before continuing.

“The ship is made up of five components and highly configurable. We’ve already tested hundreds of configurations through Aura, all with resounding success. She’s really a piece of work.”

I looked closely at her lines, her curves, feeling my palms grow sweaty and my heart race. I had never been so excited by a ship before. I had to have her.

“She can be stripped and reconfigured within a matter of hours, making this class very versatile on the warfront. Though there are some imperfections that neither we, nor Concord, has been able to work through as of yet.”

That got my attention. There was always something; some fatal flaw. My expression must’ve shown my skepticism.

“There’s a lot to learn to fly one of these, Colonel, and our current level of pod transfer technology doesn’t allow for a complete download of a pilot’s neural map. Empire scientists haven’t been able to produce a solution anywhere in New Eden. Basically, if you get blown up in this craft, you’re going to lose some of your memory.”

And there it was, the achilles heel, and a helluva vulnerability it was. A beautiful, magnificent ship, that would exceed my every expectation, but at a very high cost. Like any good mistress she took more from you than you thought you could give, but was always worth the ride.

General Stone continued. “A temporary bypass has been managed in that should you eject from the ship, your mind mapping remains intact. I would hate to see these ships fall into the hands of our enemies, but I prefer that over brain damaged pilots.”

He clasped his hands behind his back while still I was held under her spell. I simply couldn’t take my gaze from her. He smiled knowingly at me, nodding once, waiting for me to take in my fill.

After a few minutes I could finally look away, if only for a moment, satisfied that I had appreciated her fully. I went to speak, but the General raised a palm to me, cutting me off.

“She’s gonna need a name, son.” His slight smile broadened, his expression one of quiet patience, waiting for me to understand the deeper meaning behind what he had just said.

She’s gonna need a name. Realization flashed across my eyes, and General Stone laughed heartily upon seeing my comprehension. “I want you to start training immediately, and prep your crew. She’s yours.”

With that General Stone saluted, and I returned his salute out of rote. He turned stiffly, walking out of the berth, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and with my new ship. My ship, the thought echoed inside my mind.

I found a work sled hovering nearby, and slowly approached her. I ran my hand across her smooth skin, shivers running down my spine at the sensation. She was more than everything a pilot could want, and she was mine.

“Kandjal.” I whispered, not knowing where the words came from, but feeling them to be right. I glided my hand over her hull again, content.

She would become a symbol of Minmatar purity I had been learning about. She would harken back to a time where our people were far more unified and held close to an identity we had yet to regain. And like the ceremonial weapon I had named her after, she would strike fear into the hearts of the Amarr.

It had been too long since I’d stood in this dank, dimly lit room, shoulder to shoulder with some of the men and women I trusted most in this war. The briefing had been called by General Angry Fist, one of the most well known men on the battlefield. I looked around at other faces I knew like family: Stoogie, Sasawong, Megan Maynard, and many more.

We were the Fleet Commanders of the Tribal Liberation Force. We were the ones laying out the plans for those pilots that would live and die by our word. We had our directives from Fleet Command, yes, but under the direction of General Fist and General Sasawong, we were given much freedom in how we went about our business.

As it turned out, business had been dire whilst I was away.

• Tararan, lost.
• Arzad, lost.
• Ezzara, lost.
• Kourmonen, lost.
• Lantorn, lost.

The Amarr had advanced their aggressive push much harder during my absence in Evati. Enlistment numbers had declined also, and we were still as of yet unable to capture any enemy systems.

Morale was down. Something needed to be done.

The increase in pirate and mercenary activities within our warzone systems had also been increasing, and with our dwindling discipline, fewer pilots were willing to do anything about that, or much of anything else.

I was updated on the list of known spies within the militia, and was outraged that they were being allowed to continue on, disrupting our initiatives daily. Fleet Command believed the feeding of misinformation was the key to neutralizing their effectiveness. To that, I threw the list of captured systems at General Fist, and asked him with great hostility if he really believed that strategy was effective.

There was also an updated list of trusted allies, just over two hundred names of pilots that could be counted on 100%.

I was starting to feel like I had been gone away too long. So much had changed in only four weeks: systems lost, spies permitted within our ranks, only two hundred trustworthy pilots to fight a war; what the hell had happened to the Republic?

I had left the meeting in a rage, my mind reeling at the latest developments on the Rupublic warfront. The apathy that was present in that room sickened me. It wasn’t that they didn’t want things to change for the better; they had simply given up hoping, accepted that things were what they were.

I would never give up hope.

As I returned to my quarters and sunk heavily into my bunk, I stubbed my toe on that damned stick the strange little man had given me only days before in Evati. I recalled the name of the weapon, a Kandjal, supposedly a traditional weapon from ancient tribal times. I hadn’t had much time since receiving the bizarre gift to really give it any thought, but as I looked at it then and there, it suddenly held a fascination to me. I wish I could’ve explained it, but I felt compelled to hold it, to appreciate its workmanship and heritage. I wanted to know more about it.

I looked around my room for the tutorial vids that had accompanied the gift, and spent the next several hours learning the basics of the Kandjal; its history, how to care for it, what it symbolized, how to use it as a weapon.

I was hungry for more. I felt like a man born in the wrong era. Back then, the Matari knew what the lines were, what was black and white, and if anything crossed those lines, they were dealt with harshly, and severely. This generation needed more people like that. This generation needed to define their lines and not let them be crossed at any price.

This generation needed hope.

I looked down again at the Kandjal, noticing my knuckles had turned white, my grip so intense on the shaft of it. I relaxed my hands, putting the weapon away with care.

Sometimes, to embrace our future, we must embrace our past.

“I just finished reading an interesting article about you.” She said as I finished sitting down in a comfortable leather chair. Amazing how intimidating this office was the first time I came to it, I thought to myself, and now I found myself completely comfortable here.

“Oh?” I asked with genuine curiousity, “And which article might that be?” There had been various interviews, articles, rumours, and stories about me over time, and that’s not a statement of vanity. It seemed the war effort liked showcasing its better known soldiers as a form of morale for the general population; a way of showing them that the Republic was indeed strong and prevailing in the conflict against the Amarr.

“The Evati Chronicles.” She said, the tone of her voice difficult to read.

“Oh, that.” I said dismissively. My time in Evati felt so long ago, like an early memory of childhood. At the time, it may have been the most intense emotional experience you had ever felt, but in retrospect, you can hardly even remember the details. 

“Yes, that.” She said with appropriate sarcasm. “It shed some light on the events of that time. In all honesty, it was very informative. It filled a lot of the gaps from the time period for me. You might say I am student of history. I have always found it fascinating.”

“Well, I’m not a relic yet, doc.” I replied with mirth. Our sessions together had been quite beneficial to me, allowing me to understand not only myself, but the universe around me more completely. It aided me in achieving new perspectives on things, gave me new tools with which to further my life. I was sincerely thankful for having first stepped through this office door when I had. Who knows what direction my life would’ve gone had I not? Perhaps I would’ve continued to spiral downwards, out of control, eventually to self-destruct, hurting only myself and those around me.

“I never meant to imply you were, Roc.” She said with a smile.

“Have you kept your medals? I imagine it would be quite the collection to admire.” She said quickly, moving the conversation along.

I had kept my numerous medals, awarded to me throughout my career. They were preserved in a small glass display case in my apartment, a reminder of all that I had gone through, that all of us had sacrificed during the war.

“Yeah, I keep ’em. I should probably dust them off more often though.”

She nodded and continued on.

“Whatever happened with your musical pursuit? What was the first one called, ‘Bio’ I believe?”

“Yeah.” I replied with a bit of sorrow in my voice. “It didn’t really do so well, though it did end up being played on Eve Radio at one point.” I chuckled at that. The thought of my music being played on New Eden’s #1 radio station always amused me. I supposed that if I was honest with myself, I knew I had admirers, fans even, and drew strength from knowing that I wasn’t alone, that were those who believed in me. At the same time I would cast aside such notions, as there was no place for celebrity on the fields of war. I was a soldier, and duty alone should be enough to suffice.

“I must confess to you, I still listen to ‘Christmas Roc’ during the holidays. You’ve quite the talent.” 

I had never thought much about personal hobbies or interests; never saw any value in them. Life was too short, too unpredictable to waste time on pursuits that didn’t further your ability to survive. Yet all of the hobbies I enjoyed filled my life in ways I never knew were possible. They enriched me, balanced me as a person.

“And did you ever finish your calendar? I seem to recall there was quite a demand for that, at least from the female populace of the Republic anyway.” 

I blushed. At the time, it had seemed like a fantastic idea. Once Sam and I sobered up and gave it more thought, I simply could not bring myself to do it; it just wasn’t me. Of course, that shy inhibition faded with time as well. Thanks for that, Mynxee, I thought bemusedly.

“Well, I never did publish the first year one, though I had every intention of. I just couldn’t get over myself really. I did put out others in subsequent years though.”

“I’m glad to hear it honestly, and not for the obvious reasons.” She smiled coyly at me, but I knew better than to think she was flirting. She was an extremely intelligent woman, armed with a deeper understanding of me than I perhaps had of myself. Everything she did was with a calculated purpose, though she had no ill intentions whatsoever.

“I bet.” I replied, throwing my most charming grin her way, just for the hell of it. “So what did you want to talk about today?” I asked, surprisingly anxious to begin the session.

“Alright, enough small talk then. Public appreciation is the topic of the day. Seems that while your ‘fanbase’ has always been expressive in their appreciation of you and your pursuits, you don’t really seem to acknowledge it. Why?”

I should’ve stuck with the small talk. The woman had a way of cutting right to my heart. I was all for being blunt and to the point, but when she chose to be direct, it stripped me raw, leaving me emotionally exposed without defense. You would think I’d have been used it.

“Hey, I did that ‘Heroes of the Republic’ public motivation speech for Shakur when he was in power. And I was out there every day killing Amarr. What more do they need in the way of thanks?” I was shocked at my own defensiveness. She picked up on it immediately.

“It wasn’t an attack at you, Roc, merely an observation. I’ve been through the interweb; I’ve seen the sites about you, the comments people post in response to information written about you. I am merely suggesting that perhaps a personal ‘thank you’ might go a long way, not for them, but for you.”

I didn’t understand. I was ready to jump down her throat and tell her I wasn’t going to form some ‘Roc Wieler Fanboi Club’, or the ‘Cult o Roc’. I never asked for fame. If anything, it was her fault that I came to the public eye at all. She had motivated me to start writing my memoirs, my ‘Roc’s Ramblings’ as I came to call them. 

But it wasn’t her fault; that much I had learned from her. People were who they were, and regardless of what they thought they controlled, life had a way of putting us where it wanted us. For me, that had been in the limelight, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened in my life. It seemed that no matter how much I strived for a private life, an existence of obscurity, it was never what the universe had intended for me. I accepted that long ago. 

It wasn’t her fault that my apartment had been broken into long ago. It wasn’t her fault that my journal had been stolen, only to show up on the interweb under a site called ‘Eve Ramblings’. They could’ve at least done a better job of it. What a crappy site it had been before I had it taken down by order of Concord.

I sighed to myself, allowing myself to calm down. You couldn’t change the past. 

“I apologize.” I said through gritted teeth. I was sincere, but it was still an effort to this day for me to apologize. “How would you propose I thank the people who have enjoyed reading about Roc Wieler over the years? Do I send them a card?”

“No.” She said sternly. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about appealing to your own vanity. It needs to be a sincere gesture on your part, and you can do it right here, in this room. Just express your words with your heart. What would you say to them if each and every one of them was here?”

I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I did enjoy the spotlight. If I hadn’t, why did I stay in it for so long? I could’ve easily walked away from it all, leaving people to wonder whatever happened to that Roc Wieler guy? My fifteen minutes of fame would subside, and people would get on with their lives. I guess I was arrogant afterall. 

I took a deep breath and just spoke.

“Thank you, really. The feedback I’ve received, the comments I’ve read, the emails, the fan mail (though I find it creepy that people found my mailing address), the instant messages, the private comm requests (please, I don’t mind having 80 requests at once by the time I finish syncing my pod to my ship), the personal meetings in public stations, I appreciate it. It weirds me out sometimes, but I appreciate the gestures for what they are. 

It’s been a challenge for me to grow, to allow myself to be more personable; it’s not the Brutor way. But I do appreciate each and every one of you, sincerely. Sometimes my only motivation to continue is because of you. Originally, I started this journey for myself, but that has changed. I live for more than just me; I live for the Republic.

You are part of that Republic, and therefore, a part of me. We may not always get along, but we’re in this ride together. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you.”

I exhaled after my rant, and felt good about it. Every word of it was truth.