It had been a year since I had started conditioning myself with a personal trainer. He was young, fresh skinned, attractive and in great shape; I am sure he had no trouble with the ladies.

Moreso, he possessed a deep joy about him, a sincerely uplifting personality and a passion for his clients. He was very likeable. 

Many Capsuleers I know still find it odd that I workout. With current technologies why not just have your next clone pre-buffed? I’ve had this rant before, about pre-made clones, whether it’s having them with tattoos already inked, muscles already developed, scars or wrinkles removed, etc, and for me, it only propogates laziness.

For all any of us knows, our next clone could be our last. If it ever came to that, how would you take care of yourself then? Would you even remember what to do?

I hate being reliant on things beyond my control. This trainer was an exception. In the year I had been training with him, my body fat percentage had been reduced to 15%, yet I had maintained my current weight of 220 lbs. That meant in twelve months I had converted 35 lbs of fat into 35 lbs of muscle. That felt good, and not out of pride or vanity, but out of a well earned sense of accomplishment.

“So, let’s say another 2% bodyfat reduction in the next three months?” Seo, my trainer, asked. I nodded in agreement.

“Sounds good. Guess that means core and cardio training, my favourites.” I said with blatant sarcasm. We both laughed.

“We’re also going to have to shake up your diet, keep your body guessing. No more eating the same food every day of every week.” Seo said. 

I had always been one to enjoy a good meal, but I guess being a military man I was accustomed to eating as a routine to fuel the body. I pretty much did eat the same food, six meals per day, and was satisfied with that. Food was food after all.

“Yeah, alright. Whatever it takes.” I said.

“And I’m impressed you haven’t cheated on any of your clones. You didn’t have to give me access to your medical bay, I trust you, but it’s appreciated.” Seo smiled.

“Trust is an overrated commodity.” I replied, a slight smirk on my face.

We had met that evening at our regular time, in our regular recreational facility, and I recognized many of the faces in the gym. My eyes came to rest on a large man, easily a foot taller than me, and about 50 lbs of muscle heavier. He had an air of arrogance and menace around him, and it made me pause momentarily, wondering at him. Seo picked up on this.

“Yeah,” Seo began, shaking his head. “I was looking at him the other day, obviously he’s taking illegal metabolic enhancers, which is against club policy. He caught me glancing his way and threatened me, told me if he caught me looking his way again that it wouldn’t end well for me.”

My eyebrow raised at Seo, then I returned my attention to the behemoth of a man. His sheer size and definition rang true of illegal enhancements. It could also explain the short fuse he had exhibited. I noticed he couldn’t straighten his arms either. Combined with the negative effects of muscle injectors, he would have weak joints and weak ligaments. 

I always scoffed at these “monkeys”, as I liked to call them; you know the “spray-on” tanned, knuckle dragging gorillas over at the heavy free weights? They usually had poor form, took shortcuts, cheated where they could, were the loudest people in the gym, and made sure everyone appreciated their appearance. They were often arrogant, would look down on everyone else, and yet all of it was compensation for low self-esteem, or perhaps just narcissim. Personally, I just liked to assumed they had abnormally small penises.

Seo was still talking. “The situation doesn’t really make me afraid, but it does leave me a little concerned’ I’m not really a fighter.” 

“Why not just have him banned from the club?” I asked.

“He’s served jail time in all four Empires. I think he’s the kind of guy that might cause trouble regardless.” Seo retorted.

“All that tells me is that he was stupid enough to get caught repeatedly.” I said, both of us laughing again. “Seriously though, you want that I should have a talk with him?” I offered.

Seo shook his head in the negative. “Thanks, but no. I figure it’ll blow over eventually. In the meantime, I just avoid him as much as possible.” I nodded my understanding. “So, what do you want to work on today?” Seo asked, suddenly quite chipper.

I looked over at the monkey again. He was near the pull up bar. “Maybe warm up with some pull-ups?” I suggested. Seo wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what I was up to, yet there was a small twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah, alright.” he agreed.

We headed over towards the pull up bars, Seo looking at the floor mostly, me staring straight at the monkey. I bore my gaze into the man, willing him to notice me. He was far too busy admiring his own phyique to pay heed to me in the slightest.

I approached him in a friendly manner. “Mind if I work in with you?” I asked in my most friendly voice. It was a common practice during peak hours to share equipment amongst members, otherwise you could spend a long while waiting for machines to free up, your heart rate lowering during the interim. Part of working out was keeping your heart rate elevated, and most people were good enough to simply let you work inbetween sets with them.

“Yeah, I do.” the monkey snarled. “I’ll be using the bars for a while.” he said, then adding in a way that almost seemed to spit on me, “Sorry.” He threw a look at Seo, probably hoping to entice him into a scene, and others, hearing the monkey’s bellowing hostility, had paused their exercising to turn and see what the commotion was. In the meantime, a Gallente techno beat continued to play at 140 bpm through the facility’s speaker system.

“I could just work inbetween your sets.” I offered, trying to maintain my friendliness. 

“You deaf? I said piss off.” the monkey said. What he said really didn’t matter to me. Often times, the words people used were lost on me. I was a practitioner of what we called in the military, Spatial Awareness. It was a coined phrase that basically encapsulated the practice of observing body language, vocal volume, scents, surroundings, everything going on beyond the obvious in any given situation. It had saved my life many times, given me advantages where there seemed to be none, and was one of the things I was most thankful for from my military training.

In this instance, I had just been told to piss off. Like I said, words didn’t bother me much. What did raise red flags in my subconscious, however, was what the monkey was saying behind the words. 

His rear foot was pivoting, the weight moving towards his toes; his hips were rotating, centering to face me; and I could see his chest and shoulder muscles beginning to flex, a clear indication of what was coming next even though I was no longer looking the man in the face. Within the next 1 – 2 seconds, he was going to either shove me or punch me. I wouldn’t take kindly to either so reacted as I had been trained to:

The best defence is a good offence.

It’s hard to explain in some ways, this concept of spatial awareness. In many situations, it can help you to diffuse potentially hostile situations before they become such. In this scenario, it helped me to defend myself by attacking; a concept many have a strong disagreement with.

I bent my knees, dropping my weight to my center of gravity, and lunged forward in a shoulder first dive. My shoulders connected just above the monkey’s kneecaps, as intended, and with increasing forward momentum, I grabbed behind his ankles with both of my hands.

The impact of my upper body, driven by the mass and power of my body, combined with my hands neutralizing any back stepping mobility, caused his knees to snap backwards, his body toppling in an accelerated manner.

The strict control my shoulders and hands gave me over his lower body also dictated that he wouldn’t be twisting or turning during his fall.

The back of his head cracked loudly against the carpet covered cement floor, but I was already moving forward, using my continued inertia to my advantage, and dropped my knee on his groin.

He was fortunate this was a standard 1G station. If gravity had been set any higher, he wouldn’t be a man any longer. As it was, the monkey had one hand cupped around his balls, the other covering his bleeding skull. He didn’t swear, he didn’t retaliate; he simply cried and whimpered like the little bitch I had suspected him to be.

Seo grabbed me by my elbow, quickly escorting me away. Once back in his office, I was fully prepared for his reprimand and possibly a club suspension.

“Shit dude! That was awesome! Fuck!” he screamed in excitement, pacing back and forth. He was shaking, sympathetic adrenaline rushing through his system at what he had just witnessed.

I shrugged it off. “He’s an asshat.” I said flatly.

Seo continued pacing. “Ok, you weren’t here today, and you need to go. I don’t want to lose a client. Someone’s bound to have called the local authorities by now, and I don’t want to see you get in any trouble.”

I was a little miffed that I was going to miss my workout, but Seo was right; more trouble was the last thing I needed in my life right then.

I stood. “Same time next week then?” I asked. We both laughed.

As I left his office, I could still hear him muttering to himself. “That was crazy! Fuck!” I smirked to myself.

I gathered my bags from the change room, and left the club, heading back towards Freeform’s Dal Office.

Trust.

It is perhaps one of the most complex and fragile flaws of the human condition. We all seek this intangible quantity, we all wish to possess it to offer to others, but is it something truly measurable that can be relied upon?

Quite simply, no.

We are societal creatures. From our earliest tribal beginnings in mud huts on Earth back in the mythical Milky Way galaxy, to the current empires spanning New Eden, with populations of trillions belonging to each, we crave interaction; it’s hard wired into us. 

We are not meant to live solitary lives. We are not meant to endure this existence alone. Granted, some of us contentedly make that choice; namely Capsuleers.

As I’ve reflected on before, the life of the Capsuleer can be an existance of self-inflicted isolation, a way to prevent one’s self from suffering the inevitable fate of repeatedly watching our loved ones die. That isn’t what I am referring to today.

Even as immortals we live amongst other gods in this galaxy, fellow pod pilots whom we can hopefully assume will live forever with us, or against us. That brings up a whole other quandary best saved for another entry, How to kill an enemy that cannot die.

But back on topic, if we may.

All relationships are based on trust. Where trust exists, relationships are perceived as healthy. Where trust is absent, often times our emotions wither and die. These can be filial relationships, romantic relationships, business relationships, or even relationships with pets or inanimate objects.

We are creatures of habit. We are lazy. We expend the least amount of energy possible to obtain the desired result. It’s always been that way; it always will be that way.

We are slow to change our way of thinking. We are slow to give our trust, yet we are quick to seek it from others.

How many times in your own life have you spent years gaining trust only to have it broken in an instant? 

How many times have you given your trust to someone only to have it broken?

How many times have you vowed to never place faith in trust again only to make yourself a hypocrite days later?

That is the flaw. That is our nature. We need to trust; and to be trusted.

As a fleet commander, I need my pilots to trust in my decisions without hesitation; lives hang in the balance. There can be no second guessing, no questioning of orders; trust is implicit.

As a Colonel I demand the same trust. Those serving under me need to react and do when given commands. Military heirarchy relies on this, as do many other models of authority.

As an employee I need to be able to trust the direction and leadership of my corporate directors. To not do so means I either find another job, or stick with the one I have discontentedly, which a great many people do.

As a pilot, I place trust in my deck crews every day, trusting them to have my ships in pristine working order; my life depends on it. There is trust in the ship manufacturer, trust in the docking bay personnel, trust in everyone involved in making my ships function.

I trust in Aura. Without her, my life of immortality wouldn’t exist. I trust in the engineers that designed and implemented her. I trust in the scientists that researched and perfected her. I trust in the programmers of her AI as she is wired directly into my brain, tapping into my higher cognizant capacities. 

As a civilian, I place my trust in Concord. If laws are broken, I trust there will be justice. Because of this, we place our trust in countless strangers we interact with each day. We trust they will abide by the law.

Yet even with pirates, we place certain trusts. We trust they will be untrustworthy. We trust they will try to scam us. We trust they will not play by the rules. Even in this, we are trusting distrust, if that makes sense.

As a voting citizen, I choose in whom to place my political trust, whom I believe will bring us closer to the utopian future we all dream of living in.

As a lover, I place my trust in my partner unconditionally, knowing in her I can confide everything I am, everything I am not, and everything I hope to be without fear of condemnation or rejection.

As a philosopher, I trust my religious views work for me, benefitting and enriching my own life view.

As a human, I place my trust in myself to do the right thing, no matter what others may think.

But what happens when trust fails? What consequence is there when communication breaks down and we become suspicious of one another? 

Truth is based on our perception of trust. When trust fails, do truths become false?

And what becomes of a man who suffers a complete breakdown of trust within every aspect of his life? What does that do to the human psyche? How does one continue, not able to believe in anything or anyone? Is that even a life worth living?

What events unfold when you cannot even trust yourself?

I trust you will have some insights to share.

My left hand held firm on the lower end of the shaft, my right hand loose against it. My shoulder ached as I spun the Kandjal in a horizontal slice, the full length of the weapon extending parallel along my arm.

“Attacks against the mountain retreat of the Salvation Crusade continue, the death toll reaching 18, as rioters fueled by the recent military speech denouncing piracy within Republic borders seek to ‘clean up their own backyard’ of any and every threat perceived against the people. Cleric Abel Jarek had this to say regarding the unprovoked attacks:

‘ We are Matari at heart. Simply because our religious view differs from that of what many Matari believe does not make us a threat to our people. Enlightenment and education of all Matari is our only goal. It saddens my soul that the very freedoms we cry out for as a society are now being forcefully taken from us through ignorance and hate.’

Sanmatar Shakor’s office was unavailable for comment. This has been a Scope News update.”

Sweat poured from my brow. My heart pulsed in my ears. I closed my eyes, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth, willing myself to focus, finding my relaxed center physically. 

I spun viciously, one end of the Kandjal tucking underneath my armpit, using my rotation speed, momentum, and muscle force to drive a strong vertical slice through the air. I followed that up by pivoting on my right ankle, my knees bent low, my legs aching from effort, as I slashed in the opposite direction, a grand sweeping motion meant to disable multiple opponents. It left me vulnerable momentarily, the weapon leaning awkwardly away from my body. I turned my torso to offer the least visible target while I finished the strike, not slowing my motion, using momentum and bio mechanics as my ally.

“It’s confirmed, sir.” the Spike Commander reported. “One of our intelligence agents in Evati verified the actions of GIS less than an hour ago. Seems they employed a ‘less than scrupulous’ contractor to acquire defensive data to be used against the Bastards pirate operation there. The contractor was found dead. Ship emission trails and local intel from the area would indicate it was Hallan Turrek that was abducted.”

“Thank you, Commander. That will be all.” I said, dismissing him. Why did it have to be the Bastards first? Why did Hallan have to get his damned fool self caught so easily? I wasn’t surprised Hallan had escaped, or that his kidnapper was dead. In fact, I would’ve been disappointed if the outcome had been any different. GIS had no authority to act in such a manner. Their director apologized profusely to the Sanmatar; there was a chain of command to be followed after all. 

But hell, with Hallan safely back with the Bastards, I knew Mynxee would’ve heard about the whole thing by now. Cripes.

I dove forward, tucking myself into a roll, while keeping the Kandjal away from body. I rose to one knee, the weapon striking out behind me as a spear, for any who had followed me. I stood to my feet quickly, reversing my grip on the shaft, jabbing the bladed end downwards into the victim I had just impaled, then pulling the weapon free. 

I performed a two handed sweep rotation with the weapon above my head to put some distance between myself and my attackers, also allowing to re-establish a strong offensive grip on the weapon. I forced my breath out, feeling the coolness of deep new air enter my lungs autonomously.

Mynxee wasn’t returning my calls. I gave up leaving messages for her after the third attempt in ten minutes. I knew it seemed desperate, but I needed her to understand what was going on, needed her to know how I was “standing in the gap” so to speak, taking a dismal situation and trying to mold it into something good. I just simply needed her.

I jabbed forward again, stomping my foot slightly forward each time, closing distance between myself and the enemy directly in front of me. The stomp was also meant to amplify my presence, to inflict fear into those whom would attack me. I reversed direction suddenly, forcing out a blood curdling roar from my diaphragm, striking high twice, and then low at the enemy to my rear. A quick series of rapid jabs and defensive blocks, then I swept the Kandjal low again, driving back my attackers, using the reach of the bladed staff to my advantage.

A million isk had been added to my bounty; no doubt from a pirate trying to make a point. I was sure it would only get worse before it got better. If I wasn’t already an infamous target in lowsec, I surely would be now.

I dodged to the side, then reversed my stance, flipping the Kandjal upwards to disarm my opponent, then stabbing at the chest with full body extension. The weapon still felt incredibly uncomfortable in my hands; I would much rather rely on my pistols and my fists. I was a good close combat fighter, but I needed to learn this, wanted to learn this; it was part of our ancient heritage and I wanted to feel like the mighty Matari warriors of old.

“It’s quite the invitation, Roc.” Cytral said. “Seriously, if you want to leave the corp for a couple of months and go experience life as a nullsec capital fleet commander, I get it. It’s not like you can’t come back.”

The offer was tempting. I really did desire to experience the feel of commanding Dreadnoughts, Motherships and Titans in battle, and leaving Freeform would make it that much easier for me to join the nullsec alliance that had originally extended the offer, if they were still willing.

Leaving Freeform…

It is my regret to inform you that as of the time of this letter, I will be resigning from my position as Industrial Director of Freeform Industries.

Sincerely, Wordsworth Fireheart

The corp was getting smaller by the hour at this rate. Maybe it was time for me to leave, to dedicate myself fully to the task Maleautu Shakor had given me, to embrace my destiny so to speak. I hated that kind of talk. To me, it was the same type of bunk that Cleric Jarek preached. I forged my own destiny, thank you very much, or at least that is what I thought at the time.

I spun the Kandjal end over end vertically, using both the blunted end and the bladed end in a flurry of assaults. The bladed tip hit the floor during one rotation, a loud clang resounding throughout the training room.

“Shit!” I screamed to nobody, and stopped my exercises.

I examined the weapon closely; there seemed to be no damage or scuff mark to the blade. I laid the weapon against a nearby wall, then headed for the showers. It was a different type of workout to be sure, and I felt like a child taking his first unsteady steps into a bigger world. Doing weights was one thing, good for building muscle mass, but this type of exercise would work muscles I didn’t know I had, though I was sure they would make me painfully aware of their existence the following day.

After my shower and change into fresh clothes, I sat with the Kandjal, and spent the next hour carefully tending to it. I had been practicing my oiling of the leather, the sharpening of the blade, gently sanding the wood where needed to maintain perfect balance. It was a mental and spiritual exercise honestly, as intense and consuming as any physical work like using the best random orbital sander, you feel it in your body, only it take a much longer period to manifest.

Once I had mastered everything I could learn on my own, I would seek out a mentor if there still existed anyone that practiced this ancient martial art form.

I recalled Gigaer, the one whom had given me this gift initially mentioning some organization he belonged to that embraced and celebrated the ancient ways, their name on the tip of my tongue. No matter, it would come to me eventually.

I wrapped the Kandjal in protective cloth, grabbed my gym bag, then headed back to an empty office. I felt refreshed, possibly the best I had felt in months, and knew I would need that positive energy to finish the military paperwork that awaited me.

“It is imperative that we remain vigilant on our own borders.” the speaker had started, his voice full of fire and passion. “That we clean up on our backyard. It is time to send a message to those that would feed upon us, like a lecherous parasite unwilling to let go of a fat meal. It is time to shake the dust from our feet, and walk forward freely. It is time to make our internal spacelanes safe for all, free from piracy, that we may focus our military efforts against our enemy instead of having to deal with the immorality that some opportunistic cowards take advantage of. It is time … to stand united as a people; to make our voices heard as one, to shout loudly and with great pride, ‘We are Matari! And we’ve had enough!” 

The crowd on the vidscreen cheered uproariously, making anything the speaker said next impossible to hear. He waited until the crowd quieted before starting again.

“And I have words for those who fashion themselves ‘pirates’. ‘Be warned, with sincere gravity, your days are numbered. You are no longer welcome here.'”

The crowd went wild again, applauding the speaker as he left the stage, Sanmatar Shakor taking his place at the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Shakor began, his voice in a fevered pitch. “Show your appreciation once again for Colonel Roc Wieler!” 

Roc waved as he continued making his way from the stage, the crowd screaming his name. 

“This has been a Scope News exclusive.”

The bartender turned the vidscreen back to the sports feed and muted the volume. Many of the patrons went back to their meals and conversation, the impact of the most recent announcement from our government lost on them.

I took another sip of my drink, peering cautiously around to see if there were any undue reactions to the news. Standing as casually as possible, to not betray my suddenly heightened sense of alertness, I paid my bill and left the bar, heading back to HQ.

It seemed to me that lines were being drawn in the sand, and it had been made very clear on which side Roc chose to stand. Why was everything always so black and white with that man?

I sighed, entering my access code to the Hellcats office, passing a few of my girls as I walked towards my office.

“Hey Mynx,” said Venom in passing. I returned the greeting out of rote, my mind more focused on what would soon be coming for us. 

Roc knew me. He knew my views. He knew our location. He had even flown with us. Why was he doing this?

He must’ve known I would never give this life up; that I would fight with every last breath I had to be free. Didn’t he see the hypocrisy in it? By the Republic dictating how others should live, how was it any better than the Amarr telling us how all Matari should live? 

And where did that leave us? I mean, was there an us? We hadn’t formalized a ‘relationship’ per se, and I would hope he had been enjoying the company of other women as I certainly had been enjoying the company of other men. So why do I feel so damn guilty? I thought to myself.

I shook my head clear of that line of thinking. Roc had made it clear where his priorities lay, and it obviously wasn’t with me.

“Well my dear.” I said out loud. “I guess that’s that.”