– by DeSaros Umekawa

I can remember the day well that the ‘confidential’ message came to my neocom. It was an unusually stormy day on Kirras II, complete with wind, rain, and lightning. Someone notified me that we may even experience a tornado, but I found it very unlikely. I designed the planetary Critical Weather Control and knew, without uncertainty, that it would dissipate any tornado if one started to form. I took the moment to remind that employee of the fact, but she still seemed concern. People skills have never really been my strong suit.

This message, as fate would have it, came to me encoded. I heard the familiar tone that my neocom had a new message, and walked briskly to the desk to read it. I decoded it as per the normal procedure and read it, end to end. I walked to the clear, rain-pelted window facing from my office and considered early retirement. I smiled, looked at the letter again on my neocom, and realized that this dream could easily become a reality, and soon. Sooner than anticipated, by several years. I wasn’t due to retire for at least another fifteen.

The letter was simple. Pack for a five day trip, have only two bags, and ensure your affairs will be in order for the duration of the stay. Report promptly to the spaceport and await instructions. The worst part was that it was issued by the Caldari State itself, not one of the nine leading corporations at the help of the State. It was becoming apparent that this was going to be a conglomerate affair. I had heard, in rumors, that the State only issues directives like this one when three or more of the leading corporations manage to agree to something, and that in itself was enough to pique my curiosity.

Complying with the letter I packed my requisite two bags with clothing and my neocom, spoke with my secretary to ensure everything was in order for the next five days, and to clear my review schedule. I was tiring of reviewing undergraduate papers anyhow, a by-product of being the foremost project engineer on Kirras II. Of course, so would this trip, but the rewards were a lot better than a lousy 700 ISK a month. As I mentioned before, people skills were not something I had much of, and students who did not meet my expectations were reminded of the critical need of sound engineers. Regardless, I didn’t have the time to deal with them this week.

As I left the office to my residence I found myself thinking about the project, which at this point was still a total enigma. The paper copy I held in my hand, bearing the official letterhead of the Caldari State, was enough to bring the gravity of the situation right back into view. Despite the gravity, there was a weight of uncertainty about it. Regardless, a patriot such as myself would never turn down a request from the State itself. It was just not heard of, regardless of what it might pay. It was an opportunity to make great things happen, I am certainly a man of great things.

Unlike the indigenous locals I had interplanetary travel experience. I never understood why it cost so much to fly between planets until I met my first capsuleer. He was something of a cowboy, always talking about his last combat mission, especially the ones where he ‘died’ as a result. I laughed a bit at that, but as far as capsule pilots go, I guess dying every day is the ‘new thing’ and dying costs money. Arrogant bastards, I say. No legal residence, no loyalties to the State. Just mercenaries that ‘play’ for money while the rest of existence simply revolves around them.

Of course, I took the flight without question despite the 35,000 ISK bill the State ended up paying.

The travel arrangements were about what I would expect, too. Temperature-controlled spacecraft, just large enough to transport us but not enough to be comfortable doing it. This particular craft, the smallest craft I’d ever flown in, appeared to be a military drop craft. I usually had the privilege to travel by way of an InterBus heron, but today they seemed to be in a hurry.

I managed to meet the pilot, by intercom, and he kept me quite entertained on the way, telling me stories about running blockades in unsecured space and how he died on a few, confirming that all podjocks were the same, and I would never want to be one. Living life without the fear of death might seem prosperous at first, but in the end you become something else. Someone who doesn’t fear death has the ability to do anything, without fear of conscience or consequence.

The trip, fortunately, took only ten minutes so I only had to endure three of those stories. As we docked up the pilot thanked me for the company despite me having only spoke about ten words. As the pressure outside equalized the door opened and I left the shuttle. I looked back and realized how large the craft was, and knowing this craft was piloted by a single human, although he was essentially wired into this thing. So much potential left to a man with so little felt like a waste, but that’s how the system works. Good men are trampled underfoot by those who have power and no concept of controlling it.

At the end of the ramp a pair of Tribunal men stood, and they were real company men, from the high and tight haircuts, to the tailor-made black suits to the polished leather shoes on their feet. They both screamed professional, which made me feel much better, considering the podjock I just left behind. We introduced ourselves in proper fashion, not revealing our first names. We shook hands, nodded, and they pointed their hands down the walkway.

One led me into the core of the orbital station and showed me directly to the conference room while the other took my bags from me. I insisted on carrying my neocom personally, and after a brief inspection they did not argue. I walked into the conference room where another fourteen company men and women stood, all wearing very Caldari business attire as well.

The next thing they told me was mind-blowing. They showed me the directorate order from CONCORD allowing the development of planets within New Eden. After fifteen years of terrestrial project planning and CONCORD’s reluctance to allow this they finally caved. I had been writing message after message insisting on the safety of this development, and now they had plans. My plans, displayed in perfectly-enhanced three-dimensional holograms hovering over the conference table. In a zoomed-in cross-section showed a small section of the map which was shaded in red instead of the normal blue.

I was called because I had developed an entire process in order to mine and manufacture planetary assets without damaging the planetary ecosystem. I worked for years for this, and now it was happening, and best of all the Caldari State wanted me to front-run the project. I could see the error in the plan, a small transposition error from the original plans which were on the neocom sitting in front of my chair. I knew the solution, but I wanted to know more.

After sitting with them, quite excitedly despite my normal calm professional demeanor, I discovered that they had already put my plans into action at a test facility. I was being called in because of an oversight they had made in the reading of my designs, one a less-experienced, less costly engineer would have. And since a lesser mind was the one that transposed the drawings I filed with the State Archives I felt a sense of authority when I started to point out the simple error.

I looked across the table after helping them solve the small problem, and as they looked back I asked a simple question of compensation. They were hesitant, perhaps insulted, but the plans were mine, the solution was mine, and the time was mine. I intended no offense, though these corporate men were very direct. After deliberating for only a few minutes, the chairman stood and said three words that changed my life forever.

“One-hundredth percent.”

I smiled, nodded, and walked away. The projections on the first month alone would make me rich beyond anything I could have thought. Now it’s time to implement it, and considering what it cost me, it was worth it all.