9UY4-H SYSTEM
PROVIDENCE REGION

There was certainly not a lack of activity for the Ushra’Khan.

In the week since I had arrived, my inbox was flooded with training ops, roams, declarations of war, market updates, requisition requests, inventory deliveries and more. Every waking minute was filled with the hustle and bustle of life in nullsec.

I found it exhilarating.

I possessed only two fully fit ships at the time, the Hound I had arrived in, and the Hasimu, a Cynabal class cruiser I had jump cloned back to Rens to pick up. Once I got the hang of jump bridges (always leaving some liquid ozone behind to replenish the fuel used), and had committed our bridge network to memory, I quickly had discovered that Rens was only nine jumps away from our nearest bridge point; a lot more convenient than I thought living in nullsec would be.

While I still wouldn’t be making any large runs to Rens, as I wasn’t an industrialist, it meant I could bring out a lone ship with necessary supplies when I needed them.

The higher echelon of the Ushra’Khan quickly took notice of my natural problem solving abilities when it came to tactical and strategic planning, and I found myself overworked for six days straight, logging 98 hours of planning sessions with various fleets and key personnel. It was simply exhausting.

During one such marathon planning session, I mentioned that we should order ourselves some dinner, my treat. I was always one to lift morale when I could, and I had noticed every long stint out of my pod left me with a ravenous appetite. As it turned out, one of my favourite pizza places happened to be in station; a further testament to the Ushra’Khan and their ability to treat their people right.

I contacted the establishment, which had apparently just opened this location.

“Hello.” said a gruff and thickly accented voice on the other end of the comm.

“I’d like to place an order please.” I said, not sure I had the correct comm connection. I was used to businesses being overly friendly when answering, so such a curt response had caught me off guard.

“Ok.”

This was quickly becoming disconcerting.

“I’m looking to order a few pizzas please. I need beef with no olives. Do you have anything like that?” I already knew the answer was yes, as I had called up their digital menu only moments before contacting them.

“No. You make custom pizza.”

“Ooooo …. kkkk.” I replied, trying to keep my temper. Never get angry with those preparing your food, Roc’s Rule #280. “How about chicken with no olives?” Again, I knew the answer, but was really starting to question the ability of this worker to take a food order.

“No. You make custom pizza.”

I snapped my fingers to gain the attention of someone nearby, silently communicating with them to bring up the menu again.

“Let me make this easy.” I said, finding my annoyance levels quickly rising, “I’d like a large Capri and a large Milano. You’ll notice one is beef with no olives, the other chicken with no olives. Sound good?”

“Ok.” was the reply on the other, before hanging up.

I was very confused. Sure, they knew the address from the comm link, but I hadn’t given them my payment information.

I called back.

“Hello.”

“Yes, I just placed the order for the Capri and the Milano.” I said, throttling my anger back.

“Ok.”

“I’d like to pay via my credit account.”

“No. Our remote machine is not working for credit yet. You come here, pay by credit, then we deliver.”

I could feel the vein in my forehead and the one in my neck pulsating.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to walk down there, pay by credit account, then you’ll deliver the pizza back up here to me and probably charge me the delivery fee anyway?”

“Ok.”

I snapped.

“No it’s not ok! What kind of shoddy operation are you running? You don’t know you’re own menu, you don’t know how to properly answer a phone, you don’t even have your equipment up and running and you want your customer to come to you for delivery? Seriously, if I wasn’t so damned hungry I’d cancel the order right now!” I screamed.

One of my colleagues got my attention, holding up cash chits in his hand.

“Do you take cash?” I asked.

“Ok.” the pizza guy said before hanging up.

I was stunned, not sure if the order was cancelled, if it was coming, or what the hell was going on.

The next 44 minutes were a write off. I was unable to concentrate at all.

My colleagues wouldn’t let me answer the door when the pizza guy arrived for fear I might literally rip him a new one. Then the laughter started.

I walked into the kitchen to see what the fuss was about, my eyes settling on the pizza boxes that had been delivered. Hand-written, in permanent marker, on the top of the boxes, was their marketing message… “Hi, Eat more Amato’s” … yeah, like I would ever be doing that again.

After a few slices I was feeling better, and was eager to get back to work. The others wanted to call it a night, some feeling the need for a nap now that they had eaten, and out of good conscience, we wrapped up our session.

I was tired as well, but my anger kept me awake. I decided to walk along the promenade of the station, get myself familiar with my new home.

That is when I saw they had an Eve Online Poker station here …

I lost the next eight hours of my life to it, but I was up 16 million ISK…

It was going to be a long night.