– by Manic Velocity

I was only a boy, fifteen, when my parents sold me away to these bastards. The Gallente claim to be the pioneers of democracy in this god forsaken universe. Those damn militants didn’t seem too concerned about my rights as they dragged me away from my weeping mother. All they wanted was their big payday, and they agreed to cut my father a nice percentage. Take one goddamn guess if I ever saw a cent.

That was only a month after CONCORD lifted the blockade on planetary harvesting. For centuries the business of so-called “Capsuleers” was relegated only to what could be found in the stars. Then suddenly, for whatever reason, our homes had become fair game. I still remember the scream of the shuttles, loaded to the teeth with refinery equipment, sailing down and landing wherever they could find an open field. Drop in, set up shop, and completely destroy any semblance of established civilization. How patriotic.

I made friends over the years, for what it’s worth. Most of us were indentured. Others signed up willingly, thinking one day they could become famedcapsuleers themselves. Naive fools. Janek was like me. His father needed to make ends meet. We saw at once that we were both scared out of our minds, but we had plenty in common nonetheless. We became fast friends. On our breaks we’d talk about our families, our interests, and we’d share a cigarette or two. Most of the time we’d simply find ways to keep ourselves sane. I remember one day, I swear to you this guy had balls, Janek made a pass at one of the lady soldiers. Maybe he was trying to get himself thrown out. But she jammed the butt of a rifle into his belly right then and there. As the poor guy was lying on the ground, clutching his stomach, he started laughing. He was laughing all the way back to our dorm. In this place you have to make your fun where you can find it. And your sense of humor tends to get a little twisted. It’s really the only way to cope. Three months after that incident Janek’s father received a letter of apology from theGallente federation, and stopped receiving a monthly check. Janek was repairing a faulty release valve on a top platform of the refinery, when he tripped on a loose chain and fell into the business end of a mineral processor.

That’s what the official report says, anyway. What it doesn’t mention is that Janek’s friends were tasked with fishing his body out of a molten stew, knowing full well what really happened.

It was twenty-five years ago that I was signed over to this hell hole, and after twenty-five years I have seen enough. I’ve lived my whole life in this refinery. I’m 40 years old, and I can’t remember what grass smells like. I have so many scars and burns that I can’t remember where most of them came from. I don’t know if my parents are still alive, and I’m not sure I even care.

You pilots sit so comfortably in your pods, miles above ground, raking in profit without a care in your head. Protected from death, you’ve forgotten how to appreciate life. As immortals, you’ve forgotten what it means to be human. Enduring eternity only to watch your bank accounts grow. For all I have been through, I sleep better at night knowing that I will never be like you.

I write these words as if they will be my last. By this time tomorrow I will no longer be here. Whether that means I’m flying a stolen shuttle to the farthest system I can find, or lying lifeless, riddled with bullet holes just outside these walls, I know I will not be spending another day in this place.

Whoever you are, I pray these words find you well. I have experienced the consequences of the capsuleers’ greed. They have no misgivings of what they do. And their reach knows no bounds. My one remaining hope in all of this is that they might some day reclaim their compassion for others. To feel the pain of loss, and marvel at the beauty of impermanence. To connect with people based on who they are, rather than the purpose they can serve.

Until that day comes we have no reason, none at all, to trust them.

Sincerely,
Tannen Burke