“The Caldari Militia have taken the last remaining system controlled by their Gallentean foes. Mercomesier fell last Sunday following a coordinated attack on the system’s control bunker…” I turned off the vidscreen.

We both sat in silence, contemplating the Caldari victory. Any of the possible scenarios running through my mind had dire consequences.

If we needed to aid our Gallentean allies, we would be spreading ourselves even thinner, something the Amarr would certainly seize upon. Any number of the pirate factions would take advantage of the opportunity regardless. Then there were the Thukkers, the Starkmanir, and the Nefantar tribes to consider. How would they react to our dispersion of forces so close to the assembly summit the Sanmatar had recently called for? Would it be seen as another sign of weakness from a leader they didn’t possess confidence in?

And what if we didn’t lend ourselves to the Gallente? Surely with interplanetary defenses down, the Caldari would push forward with an invasion force, claiming sovereignty over Gallente space. With their war ended, they would only be in a position of greater strength to further assist the Amarr in dealing with us. It could mean the end of the Republic.

I gazed down into my glass at the fine cognac I had been unconsciously swirling about within it. The sweet aroma of my burning cigar filled my nostrils, and I looked to the ceramic ashtray I had laid it across before disengaging the vidscreen. It was the first time I had smoked, and I had to admit, it was enjoyable.

The days ahead would be perilous for all of New Eden, I decided; nothing was going to remain the same. It was frightening, change; who really welcomed it if they were honest with themselves? We were all creatures of habit and safe routine; none of us really pushed beyond our comfort bubbles by choice. What did that say about us as people? What did that say about me?

To some, I knew I came across as self-centered, arrogant, narcissistic. To others it was seen as bravado to overcompensate for obvious insecurities. Yet to others still I was just some socially awkward Brutor who thought a bit too highly of himself, but really was a threat to nobody save myself. I was curious to know which perceptions were the accurate ones.

Had I lost myself somewhere along the way? Had I been so consumed by the journey that I had forgotten why I started it in the first place? Was the task at hand so pressing that my own needs and wants were cast aside without second thought?

Who was I anymore?

Sure, I could justify myself by saying my past experiences forged me into who I was, but again, if we’re open and raw with ourselves we have to admit that our histories are no excuse; we alone have the power to define who we are and who we shall be. Don’t we? 

Or did the Amarr have it right? Was it all divine providence? Was there some God that had pre-planned our lives and we were really just along for the ride? I supposed for some that could be a worry free way to live, but not for me. For me, it just expunged guilt, justified wrong choices, assuaged hypocritical people that lived what they believed in word only, but not with the heart of their actions.

I looked down at my uniform; I was wearing my formals. Across my chest were my military decorations.

The Medal of Garmr

Awarded for actions above and beyond the call of duty defending the Minmatar Republic. Historically worn by the Protector Guardians of the Republic, a defunct order created around the mythos of Garmr, the demon dog that guarded the gates of Hel, devouring any whom crossed its path.

The Sanmatar awarded me this medal personally, and it gave me great pride to wear it emblazoned across my breast. It was the first time in a hundred years this citation had been awarded in the Republic.

Eternal FreeForm Ranger

This medal was created by elite scientists hired from unknown territory. Some speculate that these advanced beings come from Jove territory.

This medal is awarded for true loyalty and service given to the corporation. It is believed to have other functions as well, though only the future will see what lies in store.

 

Cytral pinned that to my chest just the other day, a final token of appreciation for every effort I had made with respect to the corporation.

Matar Colonel

Matar Colonel is a senior commissioned rank in the Tribal Liberation Force. It ranks above Voshud Major and immediately below Valklear General.

“War is within our hearts. It is a raging beast which we must harness lest it consume us.”

– teaching of Valla.

For me, it had never been about the number of awards, nor the recognition of achievement from peers. Yet still I appreciated the gestures, understanding their symbolic significance to others, respecting the tradition behind them. 

I hadn’t thought of the teachings of Valla in a long while, but it still rang true to me. Maybe that is who I was, a raging beast that unleashed his fears and aggression outwardly lest it consume me inwardly. Seemed rather weak and cowardly.

I returned my focus to the greater news at hand. Really, who I was, or who I wasn’t didn’t matter at the end of the day. Whether a Capsuleer, a Colonel, or nothing at all, my life was as valuable and as worthless as anyone else’s if we didn’t all work together in the coming months. 

“Tell me your thoughts, my friend.” Maleatu said from the chair beside me, pulling me from my own heavy self-instrospection.

We had been sitting together discussing the upcoming Republic Tribal Assembly, him mostly running ideas off of me. Apparently my blunt honesty made for a good sounding board, and I enjoyed the Sanmatar’s company. He had quickly become as a mentor to me, but also something more, perhaps a role model? Or a hero?

His tales of his past adventures always invigorated me to do better, always pushing me back to tweaking more precise ship configurations, always referencing territorial maps, enemy strengths, forming new strategies for our militia to use against them.

The man was a living legend, and quite simply, I was humbled around him. He didn’t treat me any differently than he treated anyone else, and I think that was the key. I was just another man to him, and he was as respectful to me as he would be to a homeless vagrant on the streets of Matar. That was made the Sanmatar so attractive to the Republic. He was the epitomy of the “Every man”. 

I shared my thoughts with him, my own inner struggles with identity and direction, my hesitation towards embracing a future I was unsure of. We discussed the offers I had received from General Fist to join Tribal Core, from the Ushra’Khan to stand with fellow Minmatar Loyalists, and from ex-militia Fleet Commander Stoogie, whom himself was working towards a tribal unification strategy. 

Maleatu shared his insights with me about these things, as well as his interpretations of the events at Mercomesier, all over cigars and cognac.

The hours passed effortlessly, both of us lost in the companionship of the other. As some merry laughter subsided, he leaned in his chair towards me and said, “You will have to decide your path soon, Colonel, and it may not be one you had ever previously considered. You still have much to learn about this universe, and I encourage you to embrace as much of it as possible, it will only be an asset to you later on your path. Utilize your full potential.”

I chewed on his words, as I often did, slowly drawing on my cigar, letting the savoury flavour linger in my mouth. Finally, I nodded, relaxing further into the chair.

As a joke, I said out loud, “Who knows Maleatu? Perhaps even one day I’ll want your job.” 

The laughter on the edge of my lips was held at bay by his quick and decisive response.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Colonel.”