“C’mon, Colonel, time for you to go sleep it off.” The bartender gently positioned himself under my heavy frame, putting my arm around his neck, helping me to my feet.

It had been another good drinking binge. It was late, my mind felt disconnected from my body; I might’ve even be able to sleep. It wasn’t that I was feeling any undo stress of late and felt the need to drink; quite the opposite in fact. My life was in a very good place at that point in time and I merely was celebrating my enjoyment. 

The bartender patiently aided me until my legs recognized what was brain was saying, and graciously helped me out the front door. I put my hand against the wall, steadying myself as I staggered down the station’s promenade, ignoring the stern look of the occasional club going passerby. 

I was about forty feet from the Black Hole Pub when I heard the sound.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

I swayed my head around, everything going dizzy for a moment until my eyes focused on the front door to the pub. Just outside of the locked facility was a coffin. It made no sense to me, yet there it was.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin began moving towards me.

I wasn’t one to panic in almost any situation; and I certainly had no fear of death. Strangely, whether due to the booze, my fatigue, or some other nonsensical reason, I felt a surge of fear rise up within me. It was almost as if I knew that coffin was for me.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

I turned around, a spike of adrenaline coursing through me, and began running drunkenly down the promenade towards the turbo lifts to the military levels. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin was gaining on me. I stumbled a couple of times looking back over my shoulder, but mostly managed to keep at a full run. My breathing was heavy and laboured. I could feel sweat profusely on my brow. 

I made it to the turbo lift and began jamming the ‘Call’ button with my index finger, all the while my eyes wide, looking back at the quickly approaching coffin.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

It was less than fifteen feet away when the lift finally arrived. I let the air out of my lungs with a sudden woosh, feeling lightheaded from unconsciously holding my breath, and ran into the lift, struggling to find my security card. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

I dared not peer out of the lift, knowing from the increase in sound that the coffin was near. I managed to get my security card out and working, and leaned heavily against the glass doors of the lift once it had recognized my credentials and allowed me to input my desired level, the doors closing.

A pleasant melody played over the lift speakers, a soothing blend of lounge jazz and cheap keyboards. It’s funny the things you recall sometimes.

I felt myself nearly have a heart attack as the lift chimed its arrival at the military level I had requested, and only then realized that I had been nodding off. The booze in my system was doing its best to assist the coffin in its morbid task. 

I shook it off and exited the lift, turning down the corridor towards my quarters. My heartrate began normalizing as I walked, my fear subsiding. I chuckled to myself, convinced I had manufactured the vision of the coffin in my drunken stupor. I wasn’t as young as I used to be; maybe it was time to start taking it a bit easier on my body.

The lift chimed behind me. My mouth fell open and I stared in disbelief from twenty five feet away.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin came out of the lift, sounding even more menacing than before, if such a thing were possible. Naked terror washed over me and I sprinted for all I was worth away from the coffin down the corridor towards the military barracks. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin was in hot pursuit.

My mind betrayed me then, drifting towards philosophical musings on my just and imminent fate, debating within itself the rightness and wrongness of my impending doom. I tried to shut the thoughts out, and focused every ounce of my willpower on making it to the safety of my quarters. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin was relentless, closing the distance between us at an alarming pace.

I arrived at the main lobby of the barracks, and tried to stand still long enough for the retinal scanner to register me. Sweat poured into my eyes, causing the scanner to fail on its first two attempts. I slammed my open palm against the wall in frustration and dread.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin was nearly on top of me. 

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, and opened them wide, praying for a miracle. The scanner pinged its confirmation of my identification and I hurredly made my way into the military barracks lobby, not pausing once enroute to my quarters.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin was in the lobby. I didn’t know how it was possible, but I had given up trying to reason any of this logically. I made it to my quarters, and pulled out my keys, dropping them onto the cold floor.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

I picked up my keys, fumbling with them until I finally managed to unlock the door before me. I entered my quarters, slamming the door behind, locking it securely before slowly backing up, wide eyed in shock, trembling my exertion and horror.

I could hear and feel my breathing. My clothes were saturated with sweat. I simply stood, knowing there was nowhere else to run. I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down; forcing myself to believe it had only been a hallucination. 

Several minutes passed, and I took off my jacket, throwing it over a nearby chair. I held my hands to my head, massaging my temples, cursing aloud for allowing myself to be so out of control. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The coffin was right outside my door! I back peddled, tripping over a side table, landing hard on my ass. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The door to my quarters burst open, tearing from its hinges, the coffin not pausing as it lunged into the room like a starved predator.

I scurried backwards from it, knocking over a vase of flowers, kicking up a floor rug, finally getting my footing back and running towards my kitchen.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

I pulled open drawers, knocking their contents to the floor, doing anything and everything I could think of to slow the reaper hunting me.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

I kept running, past my bedroom, into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I wedged myself between the toilet and shower, arming myself with a plunger.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The bathroom door exploded into hundreds of  wood slivers. There was nowhere left to run. The coffin stood menacingly before me. I threw the plunger at it. I threw toilet paper at it. I threw my toothbrush at it. I grabbed everything within reach, bombarding the coffin with lavatory accruement. I threw shampoo at it. I threw my louffa at it. I threw painkiller medicine at it. I threw cough syrup at it.

The coffin stopped.

We all held our glasses high, encouraging our guest of honour to speak. Finally, he rose, beer in hand, and spoke. “I don’t even know where to begin.” Ombey said. “Roc, you’re a sunuvabitch for doing this, but thanks, really.” His comments elicited a few giggles. I simply nodded my head. 

I had booked the Black Hole Pub only hours earlier for a part of twenty, but as word had spread amongst the invitees, hundreds of fellow capsuleers had swarmed to Dal to be part of what was, for all intents and purposes, the last hurrah of Ombey. The pub had overfilled its capacity, having to shut the doors and call in additional staff. It had cost me some extra isk, but honestly, it was worth it. 

I had marines stationed at the doors to prevent any unwelcome guests (That means you, Amarr), and we had enjoyed a nice dinner and many rounds of drinks.

Ombey continued. “I’d like to thank you all for coming. I really didn’t know I had so many friends.” He spoke from his heart, with true humility. That was one of the most attractive things about this man. He was an accomplished pod pilot, an astro-cartographer, a Brutor and all around good guy. It was a shame to see him leaving this life.

“Some of you I know, some of you I don’t.” Ombey said. Looking around the room at the gathered crowd, I could understand his sentiment. I recognized some of the Hellcats and Bastards, some of Freeform Industries, and a few other military pilots I had flown with regularly like Yarly, but for the most part, the pilots here were unfamiliar. It was a further testament to how far reaching Ombey’s legacy was.

“How does one end the tale of immortality?” Ombey was an elegant speaker. He made it seem effortless. I found myself holding the man in even higher admiration. I wasn’t the only one hanging on his every word. All of us were silent, which for some more than others, was quite the accomplishment. 

“I’m simply tired of living, really.” He said. A few gasps went up at his bold statement, spoken with lack of emotion. Every being in the galaxy craved life; it was hard wired into us, even capsuleers. That pure instinct of suvival that drove us to do things otherwise not possible, all in the vain attempt to preserve ourselves.

“No, no.” Ombey continued. “I love life to its fullest. It’s just that I’m tired of this life, of this eternal cycle we’re tethered to. I’ve fought the fights, I’ve been victorious, I’ve ended up in the cloner. I’m starting to see my friends and family grow old, and honestly, I just want to grow old with them, enjoy the simpler things New Eden has to offer. Maybe I’ll have a family of my own one day.”

His last comment struck a chord within all of us. While cloning technology was a magnificent accomplishment, we were told up front that one of its limitations was reproduction. The process had been known to render some sterile, even though each clone was a perfect genetic match of the original host. It was one of the many costs of immortality; you could live forever, but you would more than likely do so alone. It made you wonder if there really was a god; and if there was, had he abandoned us long ago due to our blasphemies?

We had all dreamed of living one single life. We had all envisioned what we do if we weren’t who we were. There had been some in the past whom had retired from this lifestyle in pursuit of simple peace. Many couldn’t cope with the mundane life of normality, killing themselves rather than suffer their cruel fate any longer. Being disconnected could be unbearable. Some had simply returned to the life they knew, inserting themselves into pods once again. Others were never heard from. At the time, I remember being curious as to which Ombey would be, but rest assured that evening wasn’t the end of his adventures in New Eden.

Ombey continued. “I want to go fishing. I want to have a small cabin in the hills, somewhere quiet where I can relax and live out my days in harmony. I’ve given this life everything I have, every last ounce of my focus. I’ve simply come to the point where my heart wants to focus on something else, and it’s something I cannot ignore.”

I could respect the man that. I was a firm believer in following your heart. After all, if your heart wasn’t in your pursuits, how successful could you really be in the end? Sure, you could amass power and wealth, but if you couldn’t sleep contentedly each night what good was it?

“I’d like to toast each of you, to the work you do, whether it’s pirating, fighting in the war, running a corporation, or simply hanging out at the local pub with friends…” A hearty ‘yarrr!’ went up from Venom. We all chuckled at her. “You are what makes New Eden the advanced civilization it is. You are what brings hope to the Empires. You are what will see us all living in the future we collectively dream of; an era of peace and prosperity. I salute you!”

With that, he rose his glass, as did we all. After finishing a long guzzle of my beer, I stood. Many stood with me as I saluted Ombey. Pirates, rogues, and others all offered their salute at the table that night until finally, Ombey, overwhelmed by the appreciation of all of us, returned our salute smiling, small tears visibly streaming from under his shades.

“Fly safe, Ombey.” I said.

“Fly safe.” Everyone repeated in unison.

The rest of the evening was one of celebration; tales were told, laughter shared, and by the time people started heading back to their home systems, I knew it had all been worthwhile.

I wished Ombey the very best. I encouraged him in his dreams of a simple life. “No, you can’t have my stuff”, he had said to me, and we both laughed. I gave him a full embrace, and thanked him for the honour of having known him. 

Mynxee sidled up beside me as I ordered another beer from the bar. “You’re a good man, Roc.” She said with that look in her eye. You know the one I’m talking about. Part seduction, part aggression. It confuses any man really. You want her, but you’re terrified of her. 

“Thanks Mynx.” I replied, taking the first sip of my new drink. “But I didn’t do it for me.”

“I know.” She smiled that heart melting smile, and walked away back to the other Hellcats. I couldn’t help but stare as she moved, enjoying the view of her ass in those tight shiny red pants. There was a certain look about the way she walked, a certain enticement. 

Mynxee was definitely forbidden fruit if ever there was such a thing. She looked back over her shoulder, and caught me staring. I turned away quickly, but not fast enough to avoid the crimson flush of embarassment to my face. Damn that woman.

I caught Ombey’s eye, and we exchanged glances. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head towards Mynxee, encouraging me to make my move.

I raised my glass to him, and he returned the gesture, a wide smile across his face.

Fly safe, Ombey. Fly safe. I thought to myself.

And as I headed towards Mynxee and the other Hellcats, I somehow knew Ombey was wishing me the very same.

Welcome to the fifth installment of the EVE Blog Banter, the monthly EVE Online blogging extravaganza created by CrazyKinux. The EVE Blog Banter involves an enthusiastic group of gaming bloggers, a common topic within the realm of EVE Online, and a week to post articles pertaining to the said topic. The resulting articles can either be short or quite extensive, either funny or dead serious, but are always a great fun to read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed here. 

This month’s topic comes to us from Mynxee of Life in Low Sec. She asks “Alts and Metagaming: Is playing two accounts who are logged in at the same time and work together (hauler/miner, explorer/combat associate, trade alts in trade hubs) a form of metagaming that is “ruining the game”?“

Roc stumbled into his bunk, his head pounding from the amount of booze he had drank. He promptly fell asleep, snoring himself into a deep and restful slumber.

—

“Hey Roc, you almost finished cleaning up that pirate nest?” Roc asked over the comm.

“Yeah Roc, we’re good here. How about you? Everything profitable in the market today?” Roc replied.

“Always. We’re gonna make a good profit this quarter. Roc’s been seriously busy mining, and Roc has been working nonstop on producing ships for sale. All in all, we’re doing well.” Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

He wasn’t sure how it had all occured, but there it was. He had been podded one day, awakening in a new clone. As he left the chamber, he heard the hiss of another pod opening, and saw an exact replica of himself exiting from its womb. Then another hiss, and another perfect copy. And another, and another, until there was an army of Roc Wielers standing in the cloning bay, each maintaining an exact imprint of all their memories.

Quickly, they had divided up tasks amongst themselves, focusing on various areas of expertise. One group would be responsible for mining, another for industry, another for scientific research, another for corporation management, another for missioning, another for PVP, another for fighting in the war against the Amarr.

It was like a fantasy, a dream come true; an entire legion of Roc Wielers, all driven to one single purpose, all controlled as if with one mind.

—

Roc awoke with a start and a belch. What the hell was that all about? He wondered. He chuckled to himself, and rolled over to go back to sleep. There was barely room enough in this galaxy for one Roc Wieler, let alone an army of them. He snorted, drifting back into unconsciousness, reminding himself once again why he should exercise more self control when drinking.

—

CALDARI SPACE

“Hey John, you almost finished cleaning up that pirate nest?” John asked over the comm.

“Yeah John, we’re good here. How about you? Everything profitable in the market today?” John replied.

“Always. We’re gonna make a good profit this quarter. John’s been seriously busy mining, and John has been working nonstop on producing ships for sale. All in all, we’re doing well.” 

John Doe smiled.

It was indeed a strange universe.

Participants:

• Epic Misadventures, This is my Alt – There are many like it but this one is mine.
• Inner Sanctum of the Ninveah, I Missed This Month’s Blog Banter!
• A Mule in EvE, Meta what? Is it hurting EvE?
• Morphisat’s EVE Online Blog, Me, Myself and I
• One Man And His Spaceship, Me and My Shadow
• Ombeve, Blog Banter edition 5
• Diving into PsycheDiver’s Psyche, CK’s Blog Banter #5: Everybody Needs Somebody
• Dense Veldspar, Blog Banter
• Ecliptic Rift, OOC: Blog Banter #5 Metagaming
• The Ralpha Dogs, Me, Myself and I
• Mad Rant, “Blog Banter – It’s my party, and I’ll alt if I want to….”
• EVE Chick, The Handicapper General
• The Wandering Druid of Tranquility, “…you see mate, it’s a matter of leverage, savvy?…”
• New Eden Diaries, It’s only a game
• Oz’s House of the Evil Dead, If You Can’t Ride Two Horses At Once, You Shouldn’t Be In The Circus
• Diving into PsycheDiver’s Psyche, Everybody Needs Somebody
• more to come over the next few days!…

I hadn’t expected to hear from Stoogie in this regard. I hadn’t expected him to pursue it further once I had deflected my answer to that of our CEO, Cytral. Yet he had, and here we three sat, discussing the offer Stoogie had made.

“I completely understand your position, sir.” I began. “They are not unfamiliar words.” I had flown previous skirmishes under Stoogie’s command during the war. And though I outranked him, I still addressed him as ‘sir’. There was a time when rank mattered; there were more often times when ability commanded respect. Stoogie had my full respect, even though at this moment I couldn’t agree with his opinion.

Cytral spoke up. “While I think there is credibility to these wormhole rumours, I’m not entirely convinced it’s worth moving our operations into nullsec at this point in time. A lot of our pilots are still rookies, getting their wings so to speak, and I think our movement might be more than most of them can handle. Then again, I may be surprised at how well they adapt. After all, that is what existence is in the end. And the lure of profit is great.”

“Exactly.” Stoogie seemed excited by Cytral’s response. Neither of them had the military access I did. Neither of them knew for fact that the rumours were indeed true, and moreso, that the enemy waiting beyond the wormholes was of a like never seen before in New Eden. And while the rewards were potentially great, the risk was equally great. I could foresee a lot of pilots dying pointlessly in pursuit of this new ‘T3’ technology, as it had been dubbed by the upper brass.

Stoogie continued on. “The war is exhausting our Republic pilots out of their own pocket. The government isn’t subsidizing us, or offering us incentives to continue the fight. Our losses are ours alone to cover, and frankly, it’s draining everyone’s isk reserves. We’re not making headway against the Amarr, nor are they making any real progress against Republic space. In the end, to me, it all seems to be a political game, and I no longer willing to be a pawn.”

I grunted to myself in disdain. As I said, his words weren’t new. I had heard them dozens of times from other pilots I had flown with, briefly. I had a tendency of only flying with like minded individuals; those dedicated to the cause of freedom. I never held someone’s point of view against them, though occasionally I would present logic to twist their own words on them, but inevitably it accomplished nothing, so why bother? 

I was more than a little dismayed that Stoogie felt this way. He had been an inspirational role model to me early on in the war. In fact, if he hadn’t been popped in one of our early endeavours, forcing me to step up to command the remainder of the fleet, I don’t think I would even have begun the journey I had found myself on since that fateful day.

“Roc, I value your thoughts.” Cytral said, both of their attentions turning towards me. I took a moment to collect myself, prolonging the silence, though not for any desired effect. 

“You know my position.” I said to neither of them directly. “I serve the Republic. I am a soldier. I am told to go, I go.” That was it in a nutshell really. I let what was unspoken remain so. Should Freeform Industries choose to go to nullsec, I would resign what was left of my corporate life to continue fighting the good fight. I would always be available for contract should they need me in nullsec, but my higher duty was to my people, all of them. I could tell by Cytral’s eyes that he understood my implication. At the same time it seemed my words had excited Stoogie, for knowing I would go if the corp decided to go was a bonus in his eyes. I knew he held me in high regard as well, or this conversation would never have happened in the first place.

“Then discuss it some more at length amongst your people.” Stoogie said. “But please don’t take too long. It will be a bit of a logistical nightmare getting this all together in the short window of opportunity we have.” With that, he rose to his feet. We followed his lead, and after a round of handshakes, sat back down, just the two of us.

“Our pilots aren’t ready.” Cytral said. “We both know it. Still, there is the potential for a large influx of income from this venture.” He was very contemplative. A part of me felt I was betraying him, not able to speak on the military secrets I had witnessed first hand. I hoped that should these memoirs ever get published, that he would understand my position that day, and know that my leaving Freeform Industries was an attack against him personally.

I grumbled some more. Those few whom were close to me knew that my inner struggles often were expressed in primal sounds. “Speak your mind, Roc. That’s what I value you for.” Cytral said.

“I won’t go with you.” I replied bluntly.

“I know.” Cytral said without anger or hurt. It was at these moments that my respect for this man grew. He would joke with the best of them, and was lighthearted with the corp, but Cytral was a brilliant, caring man, who only wanted the best for each of his employees.

“Roc,” He began, waiting until he had my full attention. “You are a valuable asset to Freeform, there is no denying it. But I have to tell you, you’re destined for so much more. You possess such potential and haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of it. Your talents, your steadfastness, your honour to duty, you are what this war needs. You are a natural leader, an inspiration. You are the type of man that will be at the very front when the Republic is victorious, with a vast sea of supporters beside and behind you. Do what is right for you, and I will always support that, as your friend.”

I wasn’t very good at receiving praise. For all my arrogant bravado, I was a man filled with insecurity. There were some things about myself I was confident in, and that is what I let the universe see, but worry and irrational doubts plagued my every thought. I was constantly second guessing myself. It was something I was working on.

“And I will always honour you, Director Cytral.” I stood then, showing him the highest form of respect I knew. I saluted him, crisply and strongly, and did not break that salute until Cytral finally stood, returned the salute, then extended it into a firm handshake, and a warm embrace.

“You’re a good man, Roc Wieler. I have a feeling we’ll be flying together for a very long time still.”

DAL SYSTEM
REPUBLIC FLEET STATION

Our corporation didn’t have a private gym. Many businesses on the large station didn’t. Station management did offer a corporate facility to the many companies that rented office space within it. It wasn’t publically available so it did offer some security, though the gymnasium itself was surrounded with glass, and anyone walking by could see who was inside. Still, it was better than nothing, and I had been going there regularly for about eighteen months at that point in time.

I was a very a focused man, dedicated to the task before me, and to me working out was no different. I wasn’t there to socialize. I wasn’t there for any other reason than to sculpt my mind and body. Occasionally there were some which bothered me, but for the most part I was left alone.

As with any gym, you slowly come to recognize the regulars. There was one guy I had been working out with regularly for over a year now whenever I was in Dal, a very likeable fellow. He was slightly shorter than I, weighed about eighty pounds less, but was strong as an ox. On some exercises he could push more weight than I could. On others, not so much. He was very thin around the waist, but proportionately broad across the shoulders. He was covered in so many tattoos that many Brutor would’ve felt shame in his presence. I can’t recall this guy’s name; not sure we had ever exchanged them.

He was a civilian, and managed a small import/export business. His staff consisted of himself and two others, and they mostly worked government contracts, but were making a good profit from it. On the side, he frequented the top Aussie casinos, and unlike many whom watched their life savings disappear, he was up seventeen thousand so far this year. He was very proud of that fact.

He had only come to Dal with his partner about a year ago, and hired on their one employee four months prior. They rented a small office that couldn’t fit more than the three of them. If things kept going like they were, he said, they would need to rent out a bigger space. One of the tenants across the way, a smaller, older woman, was in the process of moving her operation elsewhere, and had been dumping all her excess equipment to them. Apparently it was almost impossible to even navigate their workspace.

That was how our workouts went. He typically talked. I typically listened. He never pried about my affairs, never acted as a fanboi. That left me content to exercise with him.

Earlier last week, as I had entered the change room on my way in to workout, I was intently focused on some idea in my head. I don’t remember what it was, and it’s not important to the story, but I was so focused that when this same fellow spoke to me, I responded in a very distracted manner.

Days later, he had asked me during our routine if he had done something to piss me off. After getting some more details, and his reference to the aforementioned incident, I waved him off as overly sensitive, and reaffirmed that no offence had been intended.

I hadn’t seen him since that day.

Today, I walked into the change room, and heard the spray of the shower going. I saw familiar clothing hanging on a hook nearby. It was my regular gym partner. “Oh, I see how it is.” I began in dramatic sarcasm. “You slight a guy one day and he avoids you forever.” I waved my hands in a grand flourish, though the change room was empty save for him and I.

“Not at all my friend.” He yelled back from the shower. “Just been a busy week.” I could hear the showerhead turn off, and the glass door open. I was busy taking my shirt off, getting changed into my workout gear.

We began our usual small talk, me tying my shoe laces, him towelling off. I was just about ready to leave when he interrupted.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you alone for a while, but there’s always someone else around.” He said, his tone not changing in the slightest. It was true; it was a crowded gym. Apparently the station managers were cheap bastards, and figured a single workout facility on the station was more than enough for the many corporations leasing from them. Currently, that one gym had two broken cardio machines and a snapped cable on a back machine. Hey, it wasn’t my fault it broke, but that’s a tale for another time.

“What’s up?” I replied evenly, curious as to whether this would be the moment when he finally called on the favour of Colonel Roc Wieler.

“Well,” He began. “I think I’ve developed a bit of a crush on you.”

His words hit me like a shockwave.

I realize in this day in age there are a great many differing lifestyles across New Eden. Homosexuality is probably one of the least perverse indulgences out there. Just the same, I was not, I am not, I never will be of that persuasion.

I am also one that defends my own beliefs strongly. I was opinionated. I was brash. One thing I had never done though, was to force my opinions and beliefs on others. It just wasn’t my way. If you wanted to discuss philosophy with me, sure, I would venture forth my credo. Otherwise, what I believed was none of your damned business just as surely as your beliefs were none of mine.

All of that was to say I held no homophobia, nor a sudden ignorant hatred or fear of the man. I had won many a bet regarding “personal space” with other men. It’s just that this man’s apparent lifestyle held no interest to me, and frankly, neither did his friendship. I didn’t even know his name for crap’s sake. And it wasn’t like we had ever hung out outside of the gym. He simply was a good guy to workout with. My mind cringed as that phrase took on entirely new implications.

Anyway, it wasn’t about preferences; it was about appropriateness. I mean, there we were in a change room, him with his doodle in his towel, and he pops this on me? Seriously, do you think I would’ve reacted any differently at all were it a naked woman in front of me? Damn straight I would’ve, but that’s not my point.

Sigh. I don’t think I can articulate my point succinctly.

A compliment was a compliment. Fine. But there’s a time and a place for everything, and this sure as hell wasn’t it. I was very uncomfortable with the given situation, and honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to it.

The hostile side of me thought about paying off a shipping clerk, slipping some Vitoc into one of their shipments, then reporting them to the station authority. That would solve the situation quickly. It was also devious and underhanded, and really wasn’t the best solution to the problem before me.

“You’re gay.” I stated dumbly. Well done, Captain Obvious. “Well, suddenly our conversations make a whole lot more sense.” I rubbed the back of my head with one hand. I had no idea what kind of man he was. Was he a bitch that would start crying if I were to reject him? Was he some alpha male queer that would try to force me to… I shuddered. Whatever, it was what it was. I didn’t really care.

“I was wondering if maybe we could grab a drink sometime?” He said, a slight hint of fear in his voice. Nobody liked being rejected.

“Sure.” I said, giving him PsycheDiver’s number.

Yesterday was a day chalk full of pleasant suprises. The first being I received a paid day off. Like any well trained soldier, I awoke early at the crack of noon to a rumbling stomach, and promptly made my way to the mess hall.

After devouring quite the satisfying breakfast, I headed for the gym, keeping mental note to not overwork this new body. My routine was brief, but satifsying, given the limits of my new shell.

After a long, steaming shower, I headed for my regular tattoo salon. There was a trendy fad amongst capsuleers to pay a little extra and have their clones “pre-inked” as it were, and though I could afford it, there was a certain spiritual satisfaction to ritual. My forebearers had endured the needle; thus would I. I walked through the station promenade towards my regular tattoo salon.

I had grown accustomed to the paparazzi by now, and the civilians that recognized me, hounding me for even the briefest of attention, to sign this or that, or to simply acknowledge them with a salutory wave of my hand. Originally, it had bothered me greatly to be in the limelight, to have no privacy whatsoever, and the realization that it no longer did, that I no longer viewed it as an intrusion or interruption, was another welcome surprise.

A quaint set of chimes sounded as I entered the salon, and immediately I was recognized as a regular by the shop owner. “Ah, Colonel Wieler. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” He had a smile on his face, and was just finishing up with another client, wiping his own hands with a clean towel as he came to greet me.

“Good for me. Bad for you.” I smiled back, my hand extended, and gave him a stong-gripped, thorough handshake. He had my tattoo patterns on file, and within two hours I had familiar markings back on my face. He always tried to sell me on body ink as well, and I always told him the same thing; “Maybe next time, friend.” I tipped him well, and made my way to my personal hangar bay.

Sometimes I just enjoyed the sweet smell of labour. My teams were working diligently, though with me having some downtime, they weren’t nearly as busy as I usually kept them. Still, the entire bay was spotless, and I only saw one team on duty, working on my Claymore. The command ship had become a hobby project since my original overestimation of how I could equip it, and I honestly hadn’t devoted myself to putting together an optimal fit for the vessel.

I glanced through my datapad, checking my messages, and noticed I had won an auction for a Firetail. I simply couldn’t help myself; I thoroughly enjoyed that ship. To be fair though, I had recently stumbled across an interesting guide to Rifter class frigate combat, authored by a fellow Minmatar, Wensley, and had to admit his guide inclined me to try out his suggestions at least once. 

After shadowing and pestering my work team on their various tasks, I finally decided to hook into my pod. As I was jacked into the Aura network, my military grade credentials were sent into the system via electronic pulse. Within moments, I was following along the day’s activities in the Minmatar militia channel. 

That was when yet another surprise occured.

“Greetings, Colonel.” One pilot shouted out into the channel.

Another showed their live video hookup, and was saluting me. “Roc” was all she added to the salute. 

Within a few minutes of channel hopping, I noticed another small squad of pilots had secured Tararan. “Well done pilots.” I spoke into the channel. It wasn’t that any of us needed recognition, but it was certainly nice to know our efforts didn’t go unnoticed. I didn’t expect a response back of course.

“Sir! Thank you, Colonel. And I must say, welcome back.” That brought a smile to my face.

All in all, it was truly just a pleasant day off. A day of relaxation; a day of pleasant surprises and recognition.

Little did I know that in only a short while the next surprise to happen to me that day would not be pleasant in the least.

It felt good to be back in the Renegade. My repair teams had done an excellent job restoring her to pristine condition. She glimmered; she reflected and absorbed the surrounding light. I could’ve sworn when I launched her from the docking bay in Dal she gave a little extra thrust, her appreciative gesture of freedom enjoyed. 

I had one of the new recruits to Roc’s Renegades flying with me in his Rifter, nervous and twitchy. He hadn’t experienced any flight time in the war yet; today that would change. We had scoured a few contested systems already, our onboard engineers quickly capturing bunkers; there had been no direct ship engagements as of yet. It was comfortable for me, falling back into routine; I’d scout ahead, give the rookie the all clear, then he’d join me insystem and we’d start scanning down the area. He didn’t complain of boredom, he didn’t speak of fear; he simply followed orders and did his job. 

We had been at it a few hours, and I had been keeping an ear out on the militia comms, doing my best to keep us away from the hotter areas. As always, the Amarr were out in organized force, systematically crushing our resistance. We had managed to retake a system since my return from Evati, but it was at great cost. Still, it was a nice way of letting those bastards know Colonel Roc Wieler had returned.

I had decided we would go to Lantorn, Amarr contested space. The rookie seemed to be handling himself well thus far, so I figured a small jaunt into enemy space might be the next logical step in his training.

I slowed at the Amamake gate in Dal, my senses fully alert. Amamake was a hornet’s nest of hostility, continual back and forth throughout every day of the war. It was also the quickest route to our destination. I weighed the options and decided it would be good to show the rookie how hard it is to actually catch someone whom is even the least bit aware.

I pushed through the gate.

Dozens of wartargets were tracked in local scan; none on visual. I signalled the rookie to join me in Amamake and began warming up the warp drive for the next leg of our trip.

An enemy Crusader and Punisher decelerated out of warp. Simultaneously, the jumpgate lit up,  letting me know it was too late to warn the rookie to stay in Dal. The Crusader and Punisher accelerated towards us. The rookie didn’t move. 

I pushed the Firetail forward to intercept the two enemy ships, locking them from range, taking half the shields from the Punisher on my first volley. I scrambled the Crusader and both turned their attention to me. Good. I could easily take these ships down. The two ships began to accelerate away from me, and without a webbifier to slow them down, there wasn’t much I could do about it. They warped away. Not a victory of blood, but I kept my wingmate alive.

“xxx Amamake, dozens of wt, engaged Crusader and Punisher. Assistance required.” I sent the message into our intel channel, quickly receiving a trusted response.

“That you Colonel? Goddamn it’s good to hear your voice.” Voshud Major Ira stated. He went as ‘Lord’ Ira, and did possess minor nobility ,though between his tongue and his temperment, you wouldn’t know it.

“I’m two jumps out and on the way, Colonel!” Ira was a good soldier. No questions, no hesitation. He went where needed, and moreso, he made a difference once he got there. I was pleased to see was a Major now. It looked good on him.

“Roger that.” I replied.

Turning my attention back to the gate, I saw the rookie beginning to move. The Crusader and Punisher warped back in on top of me, taking away my range advantage. I quickly hit my shield booster, nullifying any initial damage they had done. I put distance between myself and the two ships, and continued assaulting them, bringing the Punisher into structure. I commed the rookiee to get out of here, and he quickly complied, entering warp.

During the engagement I hadn’t noticed I had strayed far from the Dal gate. I hadn’t noticed the two nimble enemy ships pulling me away, deeper into space. My focus had been on my rookie. It was a costly mistake I would never repeat.

A Sabre warped directly in front of me, locking me near instantaneously. It tore me a new one.

I awoke seconds later back in Dal, smashing my fists against the clone tube containing me. I quickly exited the tube, running to the nearest military comm unit, ignoring the stiff response from my new body. I hurredly entered in my security code phrase, and listened to the chatter.

“You get that, Colonel?” I heard Ira’s voice say.

“Negative, please repeat. I was podded, Major.” I replied, my new voice sounding gritty from lack of use.

“Ah hell no.” Ira replied. “Sorry about that, Colonel. Got here as fast as I could. We’ve routed the Amarr near the gate in Amamake. Which wreck is yours? Got a few Republic transponders here.”

“Renegade, Firetail class. She salvageable?” I quickly asked. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, though only a few seconds had passed. A medical drone had brought me a robe, and was poking at me in various places, performing standard ‘new clone’ testing procedures. I wrapped the robe around me, trying to brush the drone away to no avail, the entire time my focus riveted on the comm unit. The Renegade had been such a good ship. I truly hoped she was within repair. Sure, I could get another Firetail, could even name it the same, but there had been something very special about this ship, something more than steel and paint.

“Negative, Colonel.” Ira’s voice sounded despondent. He was a man that understood the bond between man and ship. “Looks like they didn’t get the chance to loot her though, I’ll get what I can for you, ok?”

“Much appreciated, Ira. I’m in Dal.” With that, I turned the comm unit off. I made my way to my room to put on a set of fresh clothes, then radioed my hangar bay chief to inform him I was enroute and would need a ship prepped. He had asked me which ship I wanted made ready. To me, the answer was clear. Tribal Vengeance, my Republic Fleet Stabber. Amamake was still afire, as was my soul. 

I checked in with Freeform Industries and found that the rookie had made it back to Dal safely. I was glad at least one more death was averted. I looked on my datapad at the list of names of the marines and engineers I had just lost on the Renegade. I would have to inform their families.

Within minutes, I was heading back to Amamake, for a small taste of revenge. The Tribal Vengeance surged forward, her weapons bristling. Even the scream of her engines was one of anger. I entered Amamake. 

The Dal gate in Amamake was camped. Aura confirmed the Crusader, Punisher and Sabre were the same IDs of the ships that had wrecked and podded me. Additionally, two Retributions, an Arbitrator, an Omen and a Prophecy were all showing up on immediate scan. I began to align my ship back to the Dal gate, knowing I was clearly outnumbered, when Aura picked up my secured comm frequency. It was my emergency crew channel. My skin shivered.

“Repeat. Mayday. We’ve gone down in Amamake, running out of air. We have wounded, require assistance.” I knew the voice of my men when I heard it.

I was sure they wouldn’t broadcast on all channels in a hot zone, and it was only my outrage at the loss of those men that had brought me back to Amamake so quickly. Aura triangulated the source of the comm; it was from what was left of the Renegade. How had Ira missed surviving lifeforms? Did he even bother to scan for them? My own sudden indignation would have to be dealt with later. Right now, I had to figure out a way to save my crew.

I angled the nose of the Stabber towards my wreck, drawing the full attention of the Amarr gatecampers. I warmed up the Afterburner, preparing to fully overheat it. I had Aura open the local comms channel, the public broadcast channel for Amamake system.

“Fuck.” I said, engaging Tribal Vengeance to full velocity. “You.” It might not have seemed like much of a threat, but it was spoken with every fiber of my being. 

I was back in the frontlines; and this dog was hungry for fresh meat.

My Stabber pushed forward as hard as it could, it’s artillery cannons spitting out hot death to those that were able to pursue and engage. The enemy battlecruiser salvoed me from afar, its weapons damaging my smaller ship considerably. Thankfully, not all of the enemy were in range yet. 

“This is Colonel Roc Wieler. I’m coming for you, men. System is hot. I am engaged. Prepare for emergency evac on my mark.” I received a double click of static, and knew they had heard me. Tribal Vengeance roared as she continued to streak through space, her engines close to their threshold.

I managed to put a bit of distance between me and the ships that mattered. The smaller ships flitting about me kept dancing in and out of my range, well past their own. They were no immediate threat. I opened my comm again as I slowed the ship at my wreck.

“Blow the hatch in three… two… one… NOW!” I saw an airlock hatch blow from the Renegade’s wreckage, and watched as my crew was immediately jettisoned into space. I deflty moved Tribal Vengeance to them, my own rescue teams standing by. Within moments, I got the all clear from below deck, and aligned my ship to the nearest moon. We achieved warp, and were away.

That evening, I treated my crew to some dinner and drinks at the Black Hole Pub. Not a one had perished, and we were all in the mood to celebrate that fact. 

I raised my glass in a somber toast. “To the Renegade and her crew!” I saluted. The return chorus was deafening. “To the Renegade!” they all cheered.

To the Renegade, I thought to myself.

What’s long and hard on a Brutor? I thought to myself. Third shift. It was the current joke making its way through the ranks; an attempt at levity to lighten the mood we were all experiencing. Military life wasn’t easy; it wasn’t meant to be, but it was tiring. I had just finished pulling another sixty hours straight, and was sorely feeling it. After a quick bite of dinner, I had returned to my quarters and was enjoying a long, hot shower before collapsing onto my bunk. 

Sleep came quickly, as did the dreams.

I was younger, in my mid thirties, sitting at a desk, typing at a screen. The technology looked archaic, but I was fascinated as I watched the words appear on the screen; they were the very thoughts I was thinking being transcribed as they entered my mind. 

I was sitting at work, that much I knew, and it was a Friday. I was exhausted and frustrated by a great many things. There was a coworker sitting beside me that disgusted me, and not just his appearance, though that would be enough to make anyone want to lose their lunch. He was obesely fat, probably around 300 – 320 lbs, and about six feet tall. His weight was all in his distended stomach; it just hung from his body. His shirts didn’t hide it; it was always there. He was quite unattractive as well, eyes set too close together, poorly shaved head, and he stank. From his arrival in the morning until the time he left at night, he wheezed. I’m sure the three flights of stairs it took to get to our office didn’t help, but even just sitting there, his stomach dripping over the edge of his desk, he wheezed like a man who had run one hundred miles. I swore any minute he’d just up and die, and a part of me felt guilty at the joy that thought gave. There was a small fan on his desk, pointed my way, blowing the overpowering scent of his body odour at me. It literally made me gag. And when he spoke at me, he was condescending in everything he said, as if speaking to an ignorant child, and I knew that it was what he thought of me. I did my best to simply ignore him, to go on about my work day as if he didn’t exist, yet the fact of his existence alone filled my mind with venomous fury. He was a programmer, albeit a piss poor one, with no advanced abilities and no eye for detail. To talk to him though, once you got by his stuttering and fear of people, you would think he was the greatest thing to ever happen to programming. If only he could meet my friend Sam, I thought to myself, that would put his fat ass in its place.

Yet there I sat, typing away. I didn’t understand it. If this behemoth slob irritated me so damn much, why didn’t I do something about it? Then I remembered I had tried. I had spoken with my manager first, then with him and Human Resources about it, only to be left disheartened. The company I worked for seemed more interested in covering its own ass than doing anything about its employees happiness. Fine, why didn’t I take care of it myself? It would be simple to just drive the heel of my foot through his knee. I had seen him walking enough times to know that his knees were incredibly weak from sustaining the bulk of his gut. I mean, his arms flapped like a toy soldier when he walked. It was almost comical if it wasn’t so revolting. Of course, I couldn’t shatter his knee. I would get fired. I would get arrested.

My thoughts were so very conflicting. In my dream I wasn’t who I am, a capsuleer, one of the universe’s elite. I was simply a man, a frustrated man who had decided to simply be nice to the fat fuck I worked with, to just be the bigger man… you know what I mean.

I could hear Sam laughing at me. 

I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. I stood up from my bunk, leaning my hands on either side of my mirror. I took a good look at myself, contemplating what the dream could’ve meant, and why it left me feeling so impotent and disturbed.

One interpretation of the dream was clear; no more pizza for me before going to sleep.

The warning siren woke me from a deep sleep. I staggered up from my bunk, grabbing my boots from beside it, and pulled my jacket from where it was hanging in the corner of my corp quarters. I thumbed my comms unit, patching through to ops to see what was going on. Wordsworth answered the call.

“We’ve been war decced; hostiles inbound. Get Roc’s Renegades in the black.” he said with a fast staccato. It had finally happened; someone had a grudge big enough with Freeform Industries to declare Concord sanctioned war against us. 

I finished tying the laces to my boots, and walked out of my room. Personnel were running down the hallway, each to their own duties. Support crews, logistics staff, pilots, and the like, all scrambling to their stations. You could smell the fear in the air, the anticipation. While it was true we were all actively involved in the war against the Amarr, this was the first time any of us had conflict brought to our own backyard, metaphorically speaking of course.

I hurried down the hallway, falling into step with FullMetal Basilisk, one of our more loud-mouthed members. The man had talent, but to hear him speak you would think he had achieved every capsuleer kill everywhere in the entire history of New Eden. Still, likeable guy.

“You up for SC Metal?” I asked as we jogged down the corridor.

“Sure Roc, gimme a squad. We’ll nail these bastards.” he replied with his usual vigor. He was younger than me by at least a decade, taller, and far better tanned. 

“Any idea who we’re up against?” I asked between breaths, suddenly feeling far older and out of shape than I should. I needed to spend some more time working cardio apparently.

“Yeah, Turanic Raiders.” he said, already savouring the deaths he was envisioning. 

I had never heard of the Turanic Raiders before, and wondered what we had done to get on their bad side. It didn’t matter much in the end; they were a self-declared enemy, so we would defend ourselves viciously.

Within ten minutes our fleet launched; an assortment of cruisers, frigates and battlecruisers. I had opted for Tribal Vengeance, my Republic Fleet Stabber, as the Renegade was still under repair.  Eighteen ships, flying in tight formation, to engage a new enemy.

Intel reports came in from ops, but it was Cytral delivering them, the Director of Freeform Industries, our corporation. “Attention pilots. Turanic Raiders has declared war on us for no reason whatsoever. We’ve never dealt with them, we’ve never encountered them. It is a totally unprovoked initiative on their end. Fly weapons free, kill on sight. No ransoms, no mercy. Cy out.”

And just like that, we had our kill orders.

I’d like to write an indepth combat report of our engagements. I’d like to go on about our combat prowess, spinning the tale of glory that would be Roc’s Renegades.

Sadly, the initial skirmish was over so quickly some of us didn’t even get the chance to fire. They fielded less than a squad of assault frigates and frigates against us, and we steamrolled them, following their few survivors to the local stations they retreated to.

Then we ordered take out. Not really, but we could have. We camped those stations for fifteen hours straight, cycling in new ships to relieve tired pilots and crews when necessary.

I was just starting my second rotation when the news came in from ops. It was Cytral. “Fleet disengage. I repeat, fleet disengage. The Turanic Raiders have withdrawn their declaration of war. I guess they bit off more than they could chew. Well done, team.”

I was relieved, yet disappointed. To be honest, I longed for more experience in ship combat. Any chance we had for real engagements was invaluable. Drills and simulations were good, but they were never the same as the adrenaline pumping rush of a live enemy. Still, we suffered no losses, and there were no careless mistakes made; that was always a good thing. 

Ah well. Maybe next time things would be more interesting.

HEIMATAR REGION
PATOR IV – MATAR

I had seen him there only a few hours earlier, looking around furtively, making sure nobody saw him enter the massage parlour. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to come to this place; “Tip & Top” was famous for its hot rock massages. I had followed his adventures through the holovids for months, and couldn’t believe I was in the same place at the same time as Colonel Roc Wieler. I called all my friends immediately, telling them what was going down, telling them to meet me at the massage parlour right away. We all knew we were too young to get into the parlour, but they would be as thrilled as I was when they saw the surprise I had waiting. If we were lucky, we might even get his autograph.

Almost an hour later, there were over thirty of us. Some of my friends had called their friends; some of their friends had called theirs; and so on. I guessed all my secrecy had really built up the hype. I felt a little shy about it really; I had read how much the Colonel valued his privacy. I hoped he would be in a good mood still when he saw all of us waiting for him outside the parlour.

Churney turned to me from our lookout less than a block away. “So what’s going on Reyft? What’s with all the shush?” Churney had been my best friend since I was four; that was almost seven years now. He could see the excitement in my eyes, and knew it must be something big for me to be so secretive. I liked surprising him; he was such a good friend to me.

I pointed to the massage parlour. “Any minute now, you’ll see. C’mon, let’s get closer.” The Colonel’s massage appointment should’ve been finishing soon. We scampered across traffic, making our way to the building the massage parlour was in. I looked around me and smiled; we almost looked like a thug gang. They weren’t seen much around here, this area of the city was too nice and too well patrolled.

We waited outside the massage parlour anxiously for my hero. Not everyone thought soldiers were celebrities, but we did. We knew how amazing they were. I had read all about Capsuleer technology, and knew that was what I wanted to be when I grew up. To be able to serve the Republic in such a way was the highest honour any of us could ever hope for, and we were about to meet a living legend. It gave my skin gooseflesh.

The Colonel exited the building, no more than ten feet from me. We all started cheering, chanting his name, screaming for his autograph, suddenly very much the children we were. He stopped midstride, taken aback, but an awkward smile crossed his face, and I knew we had gotten lucky.

I pushed forward amongst my friends, a portrait of him I had downloaded from the interweb in hand. “Colonel Wieler! Roc! Please may I have your autograph sir?” I yelled towards him. I couldn’t believe I was so close to him. He was much shorter than I expected.

He patted himself down, looking for a pen. I handed him mine. He took it with a grin. “Sure kid,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“My name, my name is Reyft, sir.” I stammered out nervously. He chuckled at my awkwardness, but not in an insulting way. I actually found his laugh soothing. He scribbled on the picture and handed it back to me. I snatched it from his hand, holding it close, reading what he had signed. To Reyft, Fly safe. Roc. I smiled from ear to ear; I had the signature of my hero. I was oblivious to my other friends as they closed in around him, each of them begging for his autograph, straining to touch him.

“And the one true God shall free all the ignorances and prejudices of our people. Only by surrending ourselves to His will shall we ever achieve lasting peace between all His children.”

I looked up to see what was going on. There was a man standing about fifteen feet away from us, dressed in a robe. He was yelling about God or something. I had read about these guys in the newsvids. They were some sort of cult that came from Amarr. I hissed. I hated the Amarr even though I had never met one. They were the bad guys. They were evil slavers. I ran over to the man, screaming at him with all my strength.

“Shut up old man! The Amarr suck! They make slaves of us! They don’t know the gods!” I was so angry at him. How could a Matari like the Amarr after all they had done to us? Every child knew the stories of the Amarr. Every child was afraid at night that the Amarr would come to get them in their sleep.

The commotion near the Colonel had died down, as they all turned to watch this preachy guy. The smile the Colonel had on his face only moments before had been replaced with a scowl.

“From the mouth of babes comes forth the blasphemies of our ignorance and shame! Be warned, a great purge is coming! Those who stand against the one true God will surely fall!”

I don’t remember what happened next exactly. I remember I was going to yell at him some more. I wanted the Colonel to see I was brave. I looked at him for approval, but I saw his face grow afraid. Why would he be afraid of this man? He was Roc Wieler! He was afraid of nothing and nobody.

He started yelling at my friends, telling them to run. I didn’t understand why. I turned back to the preachy guy, to yell at him some more. I was even going to use some swear words I had learned.

His robe had opened. He had stuff on his body. It was blinking.

Everything went white at that moment. I felt a loud ringing in my ears. My body felt numb. Even over the ringing I could hear screams. I could see the building beside us falling apart. Not falling apart really; falling outwards. There were pieces shooting from the building like little meteors, small hot rocks in the sky. There was dust everywhere.

That was three hours ago.

I’m telling you this story because I just woke up. I can’t move. I’m buried beneath a lot of stones. My body isn’t numb anymore; it’s in so much pain I can’t even scream. One of my eyes isn’t working. I can see Churney. I can see parts of Churney. He’s dead. Many of my friends, and many strangers around me are dead. I think I might be dying. My hand is still holding my picture of Roc Wieler. It’s burned at the edges. I can’t see him anywhere.

Everything is getting dark.

Please, can you tell me what kind of God wants his people killing others? What kind of God would make a man want to blow himself up, killing innocent people around him simply because they don’t believe what he believes? That doesn’t sound like any god I’ve ever been taught about. The gods I learned about are loving. Sure, the god of war kills people, but only the enemies of the Republic. He is loving too. All the gods love us.

I miss my mom and dad. I miss my friends. I want to cry, but I can’t.

Everything is getting darker.

I feel something moving by my legs and look to see what it is. It’s the Colonel! He’s moving rocks away. I can barely see him. He looks sad. He looks scared. He looks like a normal man. He’s talking to me but I can’t hear what he’s saying. He stops moving rocks and comes very close to my face, holding my head in his hands. His glasses are gone. He is crying.

“Hold on, kid. Medvacs are on the way.” He sounds so gentle, so caring. I try to tell him it’s ok, but my mouth isn’t working properly. He makes a shushing gesture, a nice one, and just holds my head close to him. He’s still crying.

“I…” I begin, focusing very hard on my words. “I want to be a capsuleer, just like you. I…” I can’t make any more words, everything is getting too dark.

I can hear him scream. It’s loud and sounds like he’s in pain, but it’s not scary. I open my eyes to look at him again. He’s looking at me like my father would. “You are a capsuleer, kid. You are braver than any pilot I’ve ever known.”

I try to smile, but can’t. Everything hurts so much. Everything stops hurting altogether. I breathe out a long breath, everything going dark for the last time.

Before I fall asleep I hear him say “Fly safe pilot.”

It’s ok now. I can sleep.