DAL SYSTEM
MILITARY REVIEW BOARDROOM

 “And there’s nothing else you wish to add to your report, Colonel?” the Valklear General asked. “Sir, no sir!” Roc Wieler replied, full of military discipline.

His return to the Tribal Liberation Force’s base of operations within Dal was bittersweet. Aside from listening to Sam narrate his adventures to the crew of the Renegade, the journey home had been unremarkable, and Roc found his mind wandering back to thoughts of Evati, to thoughts of the newfound friends he had made there.

“Very well, Colonel Wieler. I see no discrepencies within your report. The DNAC is back in secured storage, awaiting further testing from our top scientists, though the mystery remains of how Mako managed to extricate it in the first place.” The General’s eyebrow raised slightly, and Roc forced himself not to betray any hint of his duplicity. Mako hadn’t been the one to remove the DNAC from storage; it had been Roc, using a forged signature, and a sufficient bribe. The measure of the bribe’s sufficiency was being measured now. 

“We’ve also deployed GIS to Egmar. They will be responsible for that region of space now. I have every confidence they can eliminate the pirate presence there, though let it be said your initiatives in Evati were crucial to this decision being made. The loss of enlisted personnel was minimal, as was incurred costs from the loss of ships. You’ve done a fine duty, Colonel.  We’ve collected data regarding the wormhole from your Aura unit, as well as analysis of several pieces of unknown debris, presumably ejected from the wormhole before its collapse. The preliminary results are staggering in their implications, Colonel. Mako’s Faithful have been disbanded and resassigned across the Republic. Should Mako resurface, he will be held accountable for his treacherous actions.” The General levelled his gaze at Roc before continuing.

“We all owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude.”

The General motioned to an aide, whom walked towards Roc from the side of the room.

“Colonel Roc Wieler, for bravery and loyalty above and beyond the call of duty; for honour and perserverance in adversity; for the glory of the Republic and the defense of its noble people, I hearby award you the Medal of Garmr. May you henceforth be known as the Guardian Protector of the Republic.”

Roc Wieler stood stunned as the aide pinned the medal to his uniform. He had been completely taken by surprise at this act, half expecting court marshall for the way things had gone down, at least in his mind. He wasn’t one to see himself the way others did; if anything he was too self-deprecating. 

He stood to brisk attention, clacking the heels of his freshly polished boots together, throwing a strong and crisp salute. The Valklear General returned his salute, a chiseled smile etched upon his face.

“Keep at it, son. Pretty soon you’ll be on this side of the table. Dismissed!”

Roc Wieler pivoted on his heel, marching proudly from the boardroom towards the hangar bays, towards the Renegade, towards the glorious Republic he called home.

—

WICKED CREEK REGION
VAF HEADQUARTERS 

PyjamaSam and Lady Grey walked hand in hand through the station’s garden. This system’s sun shone brightly through the transparisteel dome, bathing the vegetation surrounding them with its life giving rays. Lady Grey smiled her beautiful smile at PyjamaSam, pulling him closer to her. 

“You are a wonderful man you know.” she cooed. “Your intellect, your dedication. I wish we had met … long ago.” Her voice trailed off as long distant memories that seemed like only yesterday flooded her mind. Everything around her was like new; everything around her was new. Every new sight, new sound, new sensation she experienced she held onto with innocent wonder, savouring all that New Eden had to offer. She smiled at him again, truly thankful for all he had done for her.

“There was no other choice, really.” PyjamaSam said. “Your own brilliance makes mine look infinitesimal. It is my honour and privilege to be walking hand in hand with such greatness.”

They both laughed at his corniness, continuing to walk through the beauty of the garden. Lady Grey stopped to pluck a flower of an origin she had never seen. She breathed in its fragrance deeply, her eyes shining with brilliant enjoyment at the moment. Her thoughts turned to the flower, its short life span, how it would begin to wither and eventually die, and reflected on her own mortality. From what Sam had told her, she had only a few months to enjoy this body before the memories of its original host, a long distant descendant she could never have known, would begin to resurface, her mind reclaiming its rightful body.

PyjamaSam could almost read her thoughts. “Elly,” he said, taking her face gently in his cupped hands. “We’ll figure it out, together. I promise.”

Tears streamed her face, and he wiped them away with his thumb, leaning in to share their first of hopefully many kisses.

—

DAL SYSTEM
FREEFORM INDUSTRIES

 Roc Wieler had returned home. His ship was being repaired by the mechanics he trusted most, and he was taking the opportunity to check his office. His mission had been off the books, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to find that his dereliction of corporate duty in the meantime would’ve had him terminated from Freeform Industries. After getting caught up, he was heading to the Black Hole Pub to catch up on some well deserved rest and relaxation.

As he was sifting through his incoming messages on his office computer, Cytral casually strode in. “Welcome back, Roc.” he said by way of greeting. “Got the pilot duty roster for Roc’s Renegades I need you to sign.” He handed the datapad to Roc. With his eyebrow raised, Roc took the datapad in one hand, looking questioningly at Cytral. 

“You’ve never needed me to do this before, Cy. Can’t you get my XO to do it?”

“Just read it and sign it, knuckle dragger.” Cytral replied, his smile streching across his entire face.

Roc activated the datapad, and begin scanning down the list. He saw some new recuits, fresh meat always being welcomed in the war effort, then his eyes rested on a name he knew, a name he never expected to see. He looked up at Cy, incredulity on his face, only to see Cytral giggling and nodding.

“She arrived earlier today, and was a quick study. She’s already passed the basic training exercises with flying colours, and specifically requested duty with the Renegades. Enjoy.”

With that, Cytral left Roc to his own musings. Roc shook his head again, staring in disbelief at the datapad in his hand. Jedziah had joined Freeform Industries, and with his approval, would now be flying his wing. Roc digitally signed the roster, putting it aside on his desk, exhaling a deep breath.

Just when the universe was starting to make sense, he thought to himself, chuckling. He turned his attention back to his computer, quickly scanning his messages for anything of importance; looked like FFI had gotten by just fine without him.

He was scanning the last page of his messages when he noticed one in particular that demanded his attention. He opened the message, which read only, “We need to talk.” It was from Mynxee.

Gathering his jacket, Roc hurried down to the Black Hole Pub. He really needed a drink. He thumbed his personal computing device to life, to respond to Mynxee’s message. His heart raced at the thought of seeing her again, and his mind reeled trying to figure out what she wanted to talk about. Was it their night together? Was she still trying to “convert” him to the pirate life?

Roc pushed the door open to the Black Hole pub, nearly tripping over two women standing just inside the door. She was tall and beautiful, with red hair and piercing grey eyes. “Well hello handsome.” Mynxee said, smiling broadly. Venom stood beside her, smiling her own giddy smile, while Roc stood like a deer in the headlights in front of the two women, his jaw hanging wide open.

“Aren’t ya gonna greet a lady?” Mynxee said. Venom broke the silence by playfully punching Roc in the arm. “Ow!” he said in mock pain, massaging the assaulted area.

The three of them turned, walking to a corner table, talking and laughing as they went. 

For the first time in a long time, Roc Wieler realized just how good it felt to be home, to be with family.

—

AMARR SPACE
LOCATION UNKNOWN

 She checked her computer again. The ten billion isk was in her account. It simply made no sense. She had been waiting for the signal from General Mako for days; her sign to initiate her betrayal of Roc Wieler. The General had paid the up front half she had demanded, but hadn’t contacted her since. Everything was still in place, and she knew that obviously something must’ve happened to General Mako.

Minara Dawn wondered what her next course of action should be. Should she go ahead as planned regardless? Should she liquidate all of Roc’s assets, leaving him penniless? Or should she wait, count the ten billion as a divine gift, and hope that she would never hear from Mako again?

She had been over the for and against arguments a thousand times already, neither side showing favour. She simply didn’t know what to do.

Inspired, she reached her decision.

Reaching for her computer, she sent a single message. It contained one solitary word, “Go.” She leaned back into her chair, smiling at how fate had shown her good fortune once again.

I-UU15

The Renegade raced towards the dreadnoughts that stood between it and the station. The dreadnoughts unleashed their fury against the small, nimble ship, but their large armaments were better suited for siege assaults against other capital and super-capital ships; the fast frigate was far too agile a target. Weaving amidst the assault, Roc Wieler’s ship drew closer to its objective, the Naglfars unable to even slow its course.

“Ceasefire!” blared the squad commander. “Release the Bouncers.” Sentry drones were often misused in battles; they weren’t as capable as heavy combat drones for search and destroy operations, but were extremely effectual for defensive screening. As each dreadnought released its full accompaniment of drones, five apiece, the squad commander felt assured of success; there was no way a single frigate could elude fifty drones, regardless of how skilled its pilot may be. Their victory was assured.

Roc locked five drones immediately, peppering the first with artillery fire and missiles. The drone didn’t pop immediately, but hastily fell to the powerful volleys as the ship maintained its severe velocity. He knew that slowing to orbit would result in certain death; he knew that if he even hesitated, the dreadnoughts would be able to track and destroy him. Instead, he pushed forward, never veering from his path, ignoring the constant sound of multiple target locks against him. A second drone fell to the weapons of the Renegade, but Roc knew even if his luck were to hold out, his supply of ammunition wouldn’t, nor would his overheated afterburner. That is when this current stalemate would end, and sadly not in his favour; but he could not, would not retreat; not while there was a chance his friend was still alive on the nearby station. Aura had performed a perfunctory scan of the station interior, all that could be managed with the amount of combat data occupying the system, and hadn’t found any life signs. Still, Roc would not be deterred. He hadn’t come all this way to turn back now until he knew for himself what the fate of Sam and VAF was.

A single notion nagged at the back of his mind, pulling at his focus; the station wasn’t firing. If there was anyone left alive on the station, there should’ve been some signs of a self-protective endeavor. There were no wrecks, no corpses. There were no engine trails, no damage to the station. Then there was the wormhole. Roc had no idea what its implication was, but he wagered that was where Mako, and the bulk of his fleet had gone.

Another drone’s hull fell away to his weapons; forty seven more to go, assuming they didn’t have more in their cargo holds.

Roc’s brow sweated copiously at the effort of his exertions. If someone had told him how suicidal assaulting a full squad of dreadnoughts with a frigate was beforehand, he would’ve heartily agreed. Now, in the thick of things, there was no thought to odds, only to moving forward one engagement at a time. When the end came, he would either be contemplating his folly from a fresh clone, or celebrating an unfeasible win amidst his crew and friends.

I-UU15

To General Mako, all existence was but a stage, the players filling their various roles. Sometimes the actors were conscious of their role within the greater schemes of things, but more often than not in his experience, the players were but pawns to be moved to a more grand design; and were he to have his way, a scheme of his design. In his universe, he fancied himself a director.

The stage was set; fifty Naflgars in place, five hundred Hounds in a secured perimeter around their designated target station.

Stage lighting was masterful; a powerful wash of yellow from the system’s sun, white fill lights reflected from the stars, an eerie blue hue from the unknown wormhole casting a somber mood across the entire diorama.

A constant thrumming of fission engines provided a suitable bass staccato, an ominous soundtrack to the events unfolding.

He always envisioned the audience when executing his plans, picturing them gasping when appropriate, sighing when the play’s progression filled with emotion. He could only imagine their reactions at this, his masterpiece, but he was faced with a quandary.

Here he was, in the final act, finding himself unsure of the play’s resolution. The wormhole was indeed an unknown factor in the story, as was the appearance and disappearance of the unidentifiable scout ship. Futhermore, there had been no resistance, even now that the entire fleet had arrived, from the station they surrounded. Would they really give up without a fight? Would they really abandon it? 

No.

“Abort siege operation preparations.” General Mako blared to the entire dreadnought fleet. 

No. 

It was inspired. It was beautiful. It was a worthy climax to the story being told. They hadn’t abandoned the station at all. No corporation would do such a thing by choice, especially in nullsec.  He was on to their plan; keen to their intent. 

They had retreated through the wormhole. He realized he had been overthinking, overanalyzing the entire situation. Sometimes the best moves were the simplest ones. It explained everything: the empty station, the scout, everything. By moving their fleet to the far side of the wormhole, VAF and their allies could wait in complete concealment until his dreadnoughts were locked in seige position. Without a proper support fleet, the dreads were vulnerable to concentrated assault. The lone scout reinforced his assessment; they would need visual data relayed to them when their enemy was at their most vulnerable. Undoubtedly, their station, now set to close range defense, would “miraculously” come alive, pounding the dreadnoughts while able to sustain their bombardment long enough for the VAF fleet to emerge from the wormhole.

General Mako allowed himself a heartfelt smile. Not this time, he thought with malice in his heart. He was the director. He was the one to spin the web of intrigue and deception; nobody else. He was the one who would bring this epic tale of glory and victory to its climatic finale!

“All ships, formation omega-charlie-sixer. Destination … wormhole anomaly.”

His imagined audience gasped, holding its breath.

Without a word, his entire fleet performed their synchronous dance, slowly making their way towards the wormhole. The music crescendoed as the fleet’s engines reached a feverish pitch, and General Mako breathed it all in with great relish.

When they were in position, Mako initiated the command for a fleet jump, but was interrupted. “Sir,” one of his scanning officers said quickly. Mako hated being interrupted when he was enjoying his own musings; it irritated him. “Sir, there’s a Republic Fleet Firetail in system, designation ‘Renegade’.”

Ah, so he had made it afterall. General Mako felt a wave of relief wash over him. He would’ve hated if the antagonist in this play hadn’t arrived for his death scene. What kind of play would that be if the good guy didn’t win in the end? How could his audience appreciate all the sacrifices he had made, how could they truly celebrate him, if there was no cataclysmic demise of the villain?

“Dreadnought squad six, linger, if you would, and welcome that Firetail.” he said with toxic sweetness.

After receiving acknowledgement of his order, and allowing the dreadnoughts of squad six time to break formation, he gave the order to jump. 

As they accelerated through the wormhole, all Mako could think about was how majestic this day would be.

—

You have got to be kidding me, Roc Wieler thought to himself as he processed the data Aura was feeding him. Over five hundred and fifty ships, Hounds and Naglfars were insystem. He knew without a doubt that it must be Mako. So be it.

He checked the status of his Firetail, noting he was close to damaging his propulsion systems if he overheated them much more. 

Giving the command to his ship, he raced into warp, the home stretch in his long journey, the final push to reach his dear friend Sam.

—

Sam looked out the station window. He never deluded himself into thinking he was a great strategist, but he was completely baffled as to why the majority of this hostile fleet was heading into the wormhole. Mind you, he was thankful for the temporary hiatus; living was always a plus. He saw a single squad of dreadnoughts break off, his immediate thought that they were to seige the station. It may take them more time, but they would be successful in pulverizing it to dust. However, they were not heading in this direction. It appeared as if they were on an intercept course, but towards what, PyjamaSam had no idea.

He almost missed a small flash in space, the telltale sign of a ship exiting warp. Station scanners revealed it was a Firetail. There was only one person he knew that flew that model of ship. Roc had gotten his message and PyjamaSam’s time here in I-UU15 was at an abrupt end.

R. Ellen Magenis was born in Gary, Indiana, in 1925. She was a distinguished American pediatrician, medical geneticist and cytogeneticist. As a key contributor to the human genome project, her work was well known and respected worldwide.

She also was the team lead for a government sanctioned, off the books project code named “Afterlife”. The sole pursuit of this project was to unlock the key to human immortality, something many leading experts of the time believed was achievable within the next few decades.

They were right. And they were wrong.

Ellen, or Elly as her friends called her, had created a way in which living DNA from the host could be used as a “hard drive” to map the mendulla oblongata onto a portable biological computer device. The DNAC was the crowning achievement of her life, though due to its beyond top secret clearance level, the world would never know its marvel until the government deigned it appropriate.

The current issue for her and her team was twofold:

1. While the DNA could exist indefinitely within the bio computer they had designed, the process of “uploading” the memory imprint back to the host was temporal at best. Their studies had shown an average imprint lifespan of only four months; so immortality, but at a very high cost. They obviously had to do better.
2. The second issue was compatability. In the pursuit of true human cloning, they were substantially off the mark. The memory imprint could only be uploaded to a person with the same DNA markers, meaning the original host, which defeated the point, or a living relative, which was quite sinister in its undertones.

Elly had initially human tested the DNAC on herself. Being the team lead, she felt it her responsibility to take on such a risk. The experiment had been successful. They had downloaded her memory to the DNAC, allowed two days to pass, then uploaded it back into her mind. Testing showed a complete memory loss of the prior two days, having been “overwritten” by the data contained within the DNAC. At the time, it had been a tremendous success, and they were applauded their efforts. It was only months later the problems began. Strong nightmares of memories that were not hers woke her at night in sweats. 

It was eventually determined that it was her original memories superceding the imprinted data, fortunately only a two day span of unknown and angst inducing data. It was a problem they never found a workaround for.

Scuttlebutt was the higher ups were going to shut down the project if the desired result couldn’t be achieved. Elly worked day and night for weeks, leaving her very large family to fend for themselves. She knew she was close; she knew the key to immmortality was staring her in the face.

It was one random night that fate intervened, changing her life forever. In her research, she had been given complete security access to the computer network. If they were to do the undoable, she had argued that they would need access to everything on the subject ever attempted prior, on the books, and off the books. While delving into a new branch of research, she had inadvertently stumbled upon sealed files on the central government network; a folder entitled “Afterlife phase 2”. She hadn’t been informed of a phase 2, and not being able to resist her scientific curiousity, opened the folder. 

What she found shocked her to the core of her being. Phase 2 was abhorrent and immoral beyond reasoning. The idea was to take the existing DNAC technology, and use it to create disposable soldiers, completely in sync with each other mentally, as they would all share the same thoughts and directives. Entire families would be inducted to the program under false pretense, and be used as small counter terrorist teams by the government. Eventually, as non genetically related hosts were viable, through further research, the entire military could be composed of vacant drones following one mind. It was deplorable and she could not allow it to happen.

Elly deleted all records from her computer, and the network. Undoubtedly there would be copies elsewhere, but she hoped this would at least slow their progress. She disconnected the DNAC, putting it in a duffle bag, and walked out the front door of the government facility.

Within hours she had safely stored the DNAC in the safety deposit box of her grand daughter, leaving a note to never open the box, as it was a most precious heirloom. She then spent most of her life savings acquiring forged identification documents, and disappeared to Europe, never to be seen by the public again. She married and had more children, putting her previous life as far behind her as imaginable.

The US government had eventually caught up with her new identity, and put an end to both “Lady Grey” and Ellen Magenis with a single bullet. The DNAC was never recovered, but the research moved forward.

Perhaps one day cloning technology would be a reality. 

—

I-UU15
MEDICAL CLONE VATS

Lady Grey stood transfixed at the station window. The Hounds had cloaked and were no longer visible, the cyno jammer long since vanished, but she couldn’t pull herself away. PyjamaSam was off mumbling incoherently, and she feared her own sanity was straining.

“Incompatible host… not enough time, no time.” PyjamaSam was mumbling. “p-16 strand, p-15 strand, so rudimentary, there must be an answer.” Lady Grey had no idea what he was talking about, nor did it even matter anymore. The invisible fleet outside sealed their fate; they were both going to die. She fixed her gaze back out the window, reflecting on the life she had left behind in the Gallente Federation, reflecting on all the things she had done, and the things she had not done. She had never married; never had children, never experienced any aspect of life to its fullest.

She sighed with resignation. Too late for regrets; too late for false hopes, she thought to herself. She cleared her mind, and opened her eyes wide to embrace the view before her, to appreciate the nebulae and stars as she never had before. If she were going to die, she wanted her last thoughts to be of peace and beauty.

She inhaled deeply, then swooned. She experienced dizziness, then felt her knees buckling. She began to fall ever so slowly, each moment stretching out as an eternity, and she was looking up at PyjamaSam. He had a needle in one hand, his other arm supporting her as she drifted effortlessly towards the floor.

“I’m so sorry.” he said softly, but his words were so deep, so elongated, that she couldn’t help but smile at how humourous they sounded. 

All the worries from but a moment ago no longer mattered. She felt comfortable. She felt tired. She felt at peace. She slept.

—

The Rapier pilot cursed his Aura unit again. What do you mean you don’t know what type of ship it is? How can you fucking not know? he thought with extreme anger. The unidentified ship was within one hundred and fifty kilometers, just beyond his targeting range, and still moving insanely fast.

“I repeat, break formation to assist. If this end of the bridge goes down, there’s going to be hell to pay for all of us.” He had ordered squad 15, the closest to his position, to break the blockade around the station and come take out whatever the hell this ship was. There had been no acknowledgement from the Squad Commander. He repeated his order twice more before he heard the sound that sent every pod pilot’s heart alight; he was being targetted. 

Seven Hounds materialzed around him. About bloody time, the Rapier pilot thought explosively. The Hounds weren’t moving to intercept the unknown vessel. What the hell were they doing? Then he saw the telltale signs of their intent; they were cycling up their portal generators; offering distractions to the incoming enemy ship. Damn them! He had given them orders to engage, as his ship was locked in place by the cyno he was generating. 

If his bridge collapsed, fifty Naglfars would be lost forever, tens of thousands of military personnel would perish, General Mako’s disappearance would certainly mean the end of all their careers, and all they had to do was follow orders and destroy one single ship! There were five hundred of them for crying out loud!

The enemy ship moved closer, and began open firing on the stationary Rapier. The diversion was too little, too late. 

The Rapier pilot screamed and cursed, profanities spilling out of his lips with experienced ease, as the enemy ship made quick and efficient work of him, sending him to his clone, far, far away.

—

“That’s correct, sir. The unknown vessel has retreated back into the anomaly.” the Hound pilot reported. General Mako mulled this over in his mind. His advanced strike team had encountered no resistance from VAF, and yet a craft of unknown type had just dismantled his scout with ease, not that killing an ill-piloted Rapier was merit for an award. Still, it tugged at his mind; an unknown ship type. What had they been constructing out here? What new ships were they using that didn’t show up on the Aura network? Were they mass producing them? And what about the wormhole? The chances of a wormhole randomly appearing in the exact system they were travelling to was astronomical. Did they somehow materialize and stabilize the wormhole? 

There were too many unanswered questions. Mako hated not having answers; he hated it more than he hated anything else, well, almost anything else.

“The fleet will revert to realspace in 22 seconds, Squad Commander. You will have your orders then.” General Mako ended the transmission.

—

Roc Wieler sped through GME-PQ in Fade Region. He was only two jumps from Sam; he hoped he wasn’t too late.

I-UU15
MEDICAL CLONE BAY

“Stop it! You’re killing her!” Lady Grey screamed at the top of her lungs, tears drenching her face. This was now their seventh unsuccessful attempt at using the DNAC to restore the persona of Elly into a clone. According to PyjamaSam, the first test was successful; Elly had been cloned, for exactly 2.3 nanoseconds before expiration. He was so clinically detached, so scientific and methodical in this, that he seemed to be unaware that it was a human life, a terran life, he was playing with. Her emotions were in turmoil over the repeated murder of this long dead woman.  This latest attempt had lasted seven seconds, and in that seven seconds Lady Grey had thought her heart would burst.

Elly had awoken within the clone tube, absolute terror etched across her face. She then spasmed in pain, the palm of her hand pressed flat against the tube, the duress evident in her eyes. Her readings went haywire, then flatlined; again, but they had seen each other. They had eye contact with each other. And in that moment, Lady Grey knew the look on Elly’s face; it was the look of “why?”, and it nearly destroyed Lady Grey as she honestly didn’t have an answer for either of them.

“We’re close, so close; just a few more adjustments.” PyjamaSam said, tinkering with his makeshift equipment. “The DNA may be degradated. I can’t be sure, and we’re out of time, no time.” PyjamaSam was straying close to that line between sanity and insanity, Lady Grey thought. Maybe he had crossed it already and nobody knew.

“No.” she said resolutely. “No more. I don’t know what this is all about Sam, but I can’t let you keep doing this. It’s just wrong. Don’t you see that?” Her eyes pleaded with him to see the error of his ways, to see the monster he was being through these actions, but his vacant stare told her that the effort was in vain. PyjamaSam had already turned back to his equipment.

Her mind was set. She crossed the distance between them quickly. She gave it no thought; she simply did. Whether it was to yank on wires, or flail at PyjamaSam she did not know. She only knew she had to do something to stop this madness. She grabbed PyjamaSam by the shoulder, and he punched her square in the face, knocking her on her ass. He actually punched me! her mind exclaimed, in shock at his unexpected action. She had no reserves left, and began crying freely. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t revived PyjamaSam, if she hadn’t been fantasizing about some fictitious and foolish romance between them, they wouldn’t be here now. Elly wouldn’t be tortured, Lady Grey wouldn’t have been punched in the face, and this nightmare would never have occured in the first place.

“You’re an asshole.” Lady Grey whimpered to PyjamaSam.

“And you’re a naive idiot who can’t possibly fathom the importance of what is transpiring in this moment. Have you even looked outside?” PyjamaSam spat out at her.

Why would she look outside? She slowly stood to her feet, rubbing her tender rump, and approached one of the station windows. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and what she thought had been a nightmare was only truly beginning.

—

The Rapier pilot reported in to General Mako. “The jammer should be destroyed within two minutes, sir.” he said. “There’s been no resistance whatsoever, and many of the enemy ships have evacuated the system through a jump bridge. Do you wish us to pursue them after our objective here is met, sir?”

“What I wish,” General Mako hissed, “is for my pilots to let me do the thinking, as they do the following. If I desired for you to pursue those insignificant vessels, do you not think I would have ordered it?” His voice spat with disdain and anger. He didn’t like being questioned. He didn’t enjoy his lessers thinking, even for a moment, that he hadn’t accounted for every possible scenario. In less than two minutes his Hound strike team would have the system’s cyno jammer destroyed. In three minutes, Mako’s fifty Naglfar dreadnoughts would be jumping through to I-UU15. In ten minutes, the DNAC would be his, Roc Wieler would be destroyed, and he would be in a grand position for Chief Tribunal on the Minmatar Council. Everything had gone exactly as planned, as it always did.

“Sir, yessir!” the pilot stammered, but Mako had already switched off the comm.

—

Lady Grey stared in shock at the sheer volume of ships. There were hundreds of them, insystem, launching thousands of cruise missiles at the cynosural jammer VAF possessed in I-UU15. The explosions were almost hypnotic, like pretty fireworks at the summer festivals she enjoyed as a child. She tore herself away from the sight. “How long have they been there?” She frantically asked PyjamaSam.

“About forty seven seconds. Station sensors are reading five hundred of them, and given their refire rate and capacity for cruise missiles, and the damage output necessary to destroy the jammer, they’ll be finished their task in approximately one minute, seventeen seconds. In that time, we need to finish our task, or all of this will have been for nothing, as I have no clear indication of what their next objective may be.”

Lady Grey paled. There was no time for her to get to her ship. She realized with deep regret that PyjamaSam’s insult was right; she was a naive fool. She shouldn’t have stayed. She shouldn’t have blamed him. She should have grown up, taken responsibility for herself, and done what any other self respecting capsuleer would do. The problem was, she had no idea what that might be. She hurried back to PyjamaSam. “What do you need me to do?” she asked, alight with a new fire from within.

—

The Rapier pilot smiled as the cyno jammer erupted in a brilliant display of fire and twisted metal. He sent the encrypted signal through subspace to General Mako, letting him know that the path was clear for his dreadnoughts to jump insystem. The Hounds were already moving to surround the VAF station from a safe distance, as the backup line to deal with any ship to ship defence they may be waiting to mount. With the force the General was bringing to bear, the Rapier pilot couldn’t imagine anything in New Eden standing against it.

He raised his arm reflexively to cover his eyes, even though in his pod, Aura automatically dimmed the viewport. At first, he thought it was secondary explosions from the cyno jammer, but it wasn’t emanating from the right direction. His sensors were going bonkers with anomaly readings he had never seen before in his career. He couldn’t even align his ship for a better physical view, as he was forced to remain static while he generated the field needed for the General’s fleet to arrive.

He commed the Hound of one of his squad commanders, ordering a visual relay of what they were seeing. Within seconds, it was in front of him as a three dimensional, full colour hologram. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but he knew it was true. 

An uncharted wormhole had torn open in space before them, with a single unidentifiable ship emerging from it, accelerating towards him at unbelievable speed.