OOC Today
It’s a holiday here in Canada, so no post. Sorry.
But I did come across PsycheDiver’s Review of my Bio CD, and really enjoyed the post. Please check it out:
Feel free to comment there, here, or anywhere you wish to spread the word.
And if you might be interested in the CD, click on the Store o Roc link on the right, or click HERE
Also, I’m working on getting a digital version of Bio made available from iTunes.
Have a great day.
I saluted crisply as I approached the restricted access militia hangar bay. Valkear General Stone returned my salute sharply.
“Thank you for coming, Colonel. I figured you’d want to know about this, so I pulled some strings to get you the necessary authorization.” He turned to the ID scanner, allowing the system to authenticate him. The heavy metal door slid open, and he motioned me inside, following closely on my heels, taking a conspiratorial glance around before the door slid securely shut.
I followed him through a few corridors, the deafening sounds of machine work threatening to drown out his voice. He yelled overtop of the noise as we walked. “We reported our findings to Concord regarding that wormhole you stumbled across, as well as submitting our findings from the debris it expelled. Turns out Concord was already aware, and that your anomaly wasn’t unique; there’s been hundreds of sightings across New Eden of such astral events.”
We turned a corner and abruptly stopped at a closed set of berthing doors. They were mammoth, easily able to hold a battleship. General Stone turned towards me, his stern expression urging me to listen even more intently. “What’s more is Concord has managed to ‘acquire’ an intact cruiser from the wormhole, and members of its crew. The pilot ejected in his pod and managed to escape, and yes, you heard correctly, his pod. We’re dealing with capsuleers from beyond the holes. Concord ‘interviewed’ the surviving crew of the vessel, and barely learned a thing about these ‘Sleepers’, as they like to call themselves. Concord also conducted extensive studies on the ship, and made their discoveries available to the Empires. What they’ve uncovered is, well, let me show you.”
He entered a sequence on a nearby keypad, and the massive doors groaned and creaked, splitting from the middle, slowly opening to reveal perhaps the most gorgeous vessel I had ever laid eyes upon. I walked forward into the berth, my eyes wide with wonder, my mind filled with intent, as the General continued speaking.
“They’re calling the ship class ‘Strategic Cruiser’, and we’ve dubbed the project ‘Loki’. She’s of an advanced technology we’ve never really seen before, completely modular in design. It surpasses ‘T2’ tech in everyway; you could even think of it as ‘T3’.” He smirked at his own humour before continuing.
“The ship is made up of five components and highly configurable. We’ve already tested hundreds of configurations through Aura, all with resounding success. She’s really a piece of work.”
I looked closely at her lines, her curves, feeling my palms grow sweaty and my heart race. I had never been so excited by a ship before. I had to have her.
“She can be stripped and reconfigured within a matter of hours, making this class very versatile on the warfront. Though there are some imperfections that neither we, nor Concord, has been able to work through as of yet.”
That got my attention. There was always something; some fatal flaw. My expression must’ve shown my skepticism.
“There’s a lot to learn to fly one of these, Colonel, and our current level of pod transfer technology doesn’t allow for a complete download of a pilot’s neural map. Empire scientists haven’t been able to produce a solution anywhere in New Eden. Basically, if you get blown up in this craft, you’re going to lose some of your memory.”
And there it was, the achilles heel, and a helluva vulnerability it was. A beautiful, magnificent ship, that would exceed my every expectation, but at a very high cost. Like any good mistress she took more from you than you thought you could give, but was always worth the ride.
General Stone continued. “A temporary bypass has been managed in that should you eject from the ship, your mind mapping remains intact. I would hate to see these ships fall into the hands of our enemies, but I prefer that over brain damaged pilots.”
He clasped his hands behind his back while still I was held under her spell. I simply couldn’t take my gaze from her. He smiled knowingly at me, nodding once, waiting for me to take in my fill.
After a few minutes I could finally look away, if only for a moment, satisfied that I had appreciated her fully. I went to speak, but the General raised a palm to me, cutting me off.
“She’s gonna need a name, son.” His slight smile broadened, his expression one of quiet patience, waiting for me to understand the deeper meaning behind what he had just said.
She’s gonna need a name. Realization flashed across my eyes, and General Stone laughed heartily upon seeing my comprehension. “I want you to start training immediately, and prep your crew. She’s yours.”
With that General Stone saluted, and I returned his salute out of rote. He turned stiffly, walking out of the berth, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and with my new ship. My ship, the thought echoed inside my mind.
I found a work sled hovering nearby, and slowly approached her. I ran my hand across her smooth skin, shivers running down my spine at the sensation. She was more than everything a pilot could want, and she was mine.
“Kandjal.” I whispered, not knowing where the words came from, but feeling them to be right. I glided my hand over her hull again, content.
She would become a symbol of Minmatar purity I had been learning about. She would harken back to a time where our people were far more unified and held close to an identity we had yet to regain. And like the ceremonial weapon I had named her after, she would strike fear into the hearts of the Amarr.
It had been too long since I’d stood in this dank, dimly lit room, shoulder to shoulder with some of the men and women I trusted most in this war. The briefing had been called by General Angry Fist, one of the most well known men on the battlefield. I looked around at other faces I knew like family: Stoogie, Sasawong, Megan Maynard, and many more.
We were the Fleet Commanders of the Tribal Liberation Force. We were the ones laying out the plans for those pilots that would live and die by our word. We had our directives from Fleet Command, yes, but under the direction of General Fist and General Sasawong, we were given much freedom in how we went about our business.
As it turned out, business had been dire whilst I was away.
The Amarr had advanced their aggressive push much harder during my absence in Evati. Enlistment numbers had declined also, and we were still as of yet unable to capture any enemy systems.
Morale was down. Something needed to be done.
The increase in pirate and mercenary activities within our warzone systems had also been increasing, and with our dwindling discipline, fewer pilots were willing to do anything about that, or much of anything else.
I was updated on the list of known spies within the militia, and was outraged that they were being allowed to continue on, disrupting our initiatives daily. Fleet Command believed the feeding of misinformation was the key to neutralizing their effectiveness. To that, I threw the list of captured systems at General Fist, and asked him with great hostility if he really believed that strategy was effective.
There was also an updated list of trusted allies, just over two hundred names of pilots that could be counted on 100%.
I was starting to feel like I had been gone away too long. So much had changed in only four weeks: systems lost, spies permitted within our ranks, only two hundred trustworthy pilots to fight a war; what the hell had happened to the Republic?
I had left the meeting in a rage, my mind reeling at the latest developments on the Rupublic warfront. The apathy that was present in that room sickened me. It wasn’t that they didn’t want things to change for the better; they had simply given up hoping, accepted that things were what they were.
I would never give up hope.
As I returned to my quarters and sunk heavily into my bunk, I stubbed my toe on that damned stick the strange little man had given me only days before in Evati. I recalled the name of the weapon, a Kandjal, supposedly a traditional weapon from ancient tribal times. I hadn’t had much time since receiving the bizarre gift to really give it any thought, but as I looked at it then and there, it suddenly held a fascination to me. I wish I could’ve explained it, but I felt compelled to hold it, to appreciate its workmanship and heritage. I wanted to know more about it.
I looked around my room for the tutorial vids that had accompanied the gift, and spent the next several hours learning the basics of the Kandjal; its history, how to care for it, what it symbolized, how to use it as a weapon.
I was hungry for more. I felt like a man born in the wrong era. Back then, the Matari knew what the lines were, what was black and white, and if anything crossed those lines, they were dealt with harshly, and severely. This generation needed more people like that. This generation needed to define their lines and not let them be crossed at any price.
This generation needed hope.
I looked down again at the Kandjal, noticing my knuckles had turned white, my grip so intense on the shaft of it. I relaxed my hands, putting the weapon away with care.
Sometimes, to embrace our future, we must embrace our past.
“I just finished reading an interesting article about you.” She said as I finished sitting down in a comfortable leather chair. Amazing how intimidating this office was the first time I came to it, I thought to myself, and now I found myself completely comfortable here.
“Oh?” I asked with genuine curiousity, “And which article might that be?” There had been various interviews, articles, rumours, and stories about me over time, and that’s not a statement of vanity. It seemed the war effort liked showcasing its better known soldiers as a form of morale for the general population; a way of showing them that the Republic was indeed strong and prevailing in the conflict against the Amarr.
“The Evati Chronicles.” She said, the tone of her voice difficult to read.
“Oh, that.” I said dismissively. My time in Evati felt so long ago, like an early memory of childhood. At the time, it may have been the most intense emotional experience you had ever felt, but in retrospect, you can hardly even remember the details.
“Yes, that.” She said with appropriate sarcasm. “It shed some light on the events of that time. In all honesty, it was very informative. It filled a lot of the gaps from the time period for me. You might say I am student of history. I have always found it fascinating.”
“Well, I’m not a relic yet, doc.” I replied with mirth. Our sessions together had been quite beneficial to me, allowing me to understand not only myself, but the universe around me more completely. It aided me in achieving new perspectives on things, gave me new tools with which to further my life. I was sincerely thankful for having first stepped through this office door when I had. Who knows what direction my life would’ve gone had I not? Perhaps I would’ve continued to spiral downwards, out of control, eventually to self-destruct, hurting only myself and those around me.
“I never meant to imply you were, Roc.” She said with a smile.
“Have you kept your medals? I imagine it would be quite the collection to admire.” She said quickly, moving the conversation along.
I had kept my numerous medals, awarded to me throughout my career. They were preserved in a small glass display case in my apartment, a reminder of all that I had gone through, that all of us had sacrificed during the war.
“Yeah, I keep ’em. I should probably dust them off more often though.”
She nodded and continued on.
“Whatever happened with your musical pursuit? What was the first one called, ‘Bio’ I believe?”
“Yeah.” I replied with a bit of sorrow in my voice. “It didn’t really do so well, though it did end up being played on Eve Radio at one point.” I chuckled at that. The thought of my music being played on New Eden’s #1 radio station always amused me. I supposed that if I was honest with myself, I knew I had admirers, fans even, and drew strength from knowing that I wasn’t alone, that were those who believed in me. At the same time I would cast aside such notions, as there was no place for celebrity on the fields of war. I was a soldier, and duty alone should be enough to suffice.
“I must confess to you, I still listen to ‘Christmas Roc’ during the holidays. You’ve quite the talent.”
I had never thought much about personal hobbies or interests; never saw any value in them. Life was too short, too unpredictable to waste time on pursuits that didn’t further your ability to survive. Yet all of the hobbies I enjoyed filled my life in ways I never knew were possible. They enriched me, balanced me as a person.
“And did you ever finish your calendar? I seem to recall there was quite a demand for that, at least from the female populace of the Republic anyway.”
I blushed. At the time, it had seemed like a fantastic idea. Once Sam and I sobered up and gave it more thought, I simply could not bring myself to do it; it just wasn’t me. Of course, that shy inhibition faded with time as well. Thanks for that, Mynxee, I thought bemusedly.
“Well, I never did publish the first year one, though I had every intention of. I just couldn’t get over myself really. I did put out others in subsequent years though.”
“I’m glad to hear it honestly, and not for the obvious reasons.” She smiled coyly at me, but I knew better than to think she was flirting. She was an extremely intelligent woman, armed with a deeper understanding of me than I perhaps had of myself. Everything she did was with a calculated purpose, though she had no ill intentions whatsoever.
“I bet.” I replied, throwing my most charming grin her way, just for the hell of it. “So what did you want to talk about today?” I asked, surprisingly anxious to begin the session.
“Alright, enough small talk then. Public appreciation is the topic of the day. Seems that while your ‘fanbase’ has always been expressive in their appreciation of you and your pursuits, you don’t really seem to acknowledge it. Why?”
I should’ve stuck with the small talk. The woman had a way of cutting right to my heart. I was all for being blunt and to the point, but when she chose to be direct, it stripped me raw, leaving me emotionally exposed without defense. You would think I’d have been used it.
“Hey, I did that ‘Heroes of the Republic’ public motivation speech for Shakur when he was in power. And I was out there every day killing Amarr. What more do they need in the way of thanks?” I was shocked at my own defensiveness. She picked up on it immediately.
“It wasn’t an attack at you, Roc, merely an observation. I’ve been through the interweb; I’ve seen the sites about you, the comments people post in response to information written about you. I am merely suggesting that perhaps a personal ‘thank you’ might go a long way, not for them, but for you.”
I didn’t understand. I was ready to jump down her throat and tell her I wasn’t going to form some ‘Roc Wieler Fanboi Club’, or the ‘Cult o Roc’. I never asked for fame. If anything, it was her fault that I came to the public eye at all. She had motivated me to start writing my memoirs, my ‘Roc’s Ramblings’ as I came to call them.
But it wasn’t her fault; that much I had learned from her. People were who they were, and regardless of what they thought they controlled, life had a way of putting us where it wanted us. For me, that had been in the limelight, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened in my life. It seemed that no matter how much I strived for a private life, an existence of obscurity, it was never what the universe had intended for me. I accepted that long ago.
It wasn’t her fault that my apartment had been broken into long ago. It wasn’t her fault that my journal had been stolen, only to show up on the interweb under a site called ‘Eve Ramblings’. They could’ve at least done a better job of it. What a crappy site it had been before I had it taken down by order of Concord.
I sighed to myself, allowing myself to calm down. You couldn’t change the past.
“I apologize.” I said through gritted teeth. I was sincere, but it was still an effort to this day for me to apologize. “How would you propose I thank the people who have enjoyed reading about Roc Wieler over the years? Do I send them a card?”
“No.” She said sternly. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about appealing to your own vanity. It needs to be a sincere gesture on your part, and you can do it right here, in this room. Just express your words with your heart. What would you say to them if each and every one of them was here?”
I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I did enjoy the spotlight. If I hadn’t, why did I stay in it for so long? I could’ve easily walked away from it all, leaving people to wonder whatever happened to that Roc Wieler guy? My fifteen minutes of fame would subside, and people would get on with their lives. I guess I was arrogant afterall.
I took a deep breath and just spoke.
“Thank you, really. The feedback I’ve received, the comments I’ve read, the emails, the fan mail (though I find it creepy that people found my mailing address), the instant messages, the private comm requests (please, I don’t mind having 80 requests at once by the time I finish syncing my pod to my ship), the personal meetings in public stations, I appreciate it. It weirds me out sometimes, but I appreciate the gestures for what they are.
It’s been a challenge for me to grow, to allow myself to be more personable; it’s not the Brutor way. But I do appreciate each and every one of you, sincerely. Sometimes my only motivation to continue is because of you. Originally, I started this journey for myself, but that has changed. I live for more than just me; I live for the Republic.
You are part of that Republic, and therefore, a part of me. We may not always get along, but we’re in this ride together. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you.”
I exhaled after my rant, and felt good about it. Every word of it was truth.
DAL SYSTEM
MILITARY REVIEW BOARDROOM
“And there’s nothing else you wish to add to your report, Colonel?” the Valklear General asked. “Sir, no sir!” Roc Wieler replied, full of military discipline.
His return to the Tribal Liberation Force’s base of operations within Dal was bittersweet. Aside from listening to Sam narrate his adventures to the crew of the Renegade, the journey home had been unremarkable, and Roc found his mind wandering back to thoughts of Evati, to thoughts of the newfound friends he had made there.
“Very well, Colonel Wieler. I see no discrepencies within your report. The DNAC is back in secured storage, awaiting further testing from our top scientists, though the mystery remains of how Mako managed to extricate it in the first place.” The General’s eyebrow raised slightly, and Roc forced himself not to betray any hint of his duplicity. Mako hadn’t been the one to remove the DNAC from storage; it had been Roc, using a forged signature, and a sufficient bribe. The measure of the bribe’s sufficiency was being measured now.
“We’ve also deployed GIS to Egmar. They will be responsible for that region of space now. I have every confidence they can eliminate the pirate presence there, though let it be said your initiatives in Evati were crucial to this decision being made. The loss of enlisted personnel was minimal, as was incurred costs from the loss of ships. You’ve done a fine duty, Colonel. We’ve collected data regarding the wormhole from your Aura unit, as well as analysis of several pieces of unknown debris, presumably ejected from the wormhole before its collapse. The preliminary results are staggering in their implications, Colonel. Mako’s Faithful have been disbanded and resassigned across the Republic. Should Mako resurface, he will be held accountable for his treacherous actions.” The General levelled his gaze at Roc before continuing.
“We all owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude.”
The General motioned to an aide, whom walked towards Roc from the side of the room.
“Colonel Roc Wieler, for bravery and loyalty above and beyond the call of duty; for honour and perserverance in adversity; for the glory of the Republic and the defense of its noble people, I hearby award you the Medal of Garmr. May you henceforth be known as the Guardian Protector of the Republic.”
Roc Wieler stood stunned as the aide pinned the medal to his uniform. He had been completely taken by surprise at this act, half expecting court marshall for the way things had gone down, at least in his mind. He wasn’t one to see himself the way others did; if anything he was too self-deprecating.
He stood to brisk attention, clacking the heels of his freshly polished boots together, throwing a strong and crisp salute. The Valklear General returned his salute, a chiseled smile etched upon his face.
“Keep at it, son. Pretty soon you’ll be on this side of the table. Dismissed!”
Roc Wieler pivoted on his heel, marching proudly from the boardroom towards the hangar bays, towards the Renegade, towards the glorious Republic he called home.
—
WICKED CREEK REGION
VAF HEADQUARTERS
PyjamaSam and Lady Grey walked hand in hand through the station’s garden. This system’s sun shone brightly through the transparisteel dome, bathing the vegetation surrounding them with its life giving rays. Lady Grey smiled her beautiful smile at PyjamaSam, pulling him closer to her.
“You are a wonderful man you know.” she cooed. “Your intellect, your dedication. I wish we had met … long ago.” Her voice trailed off as long distant memories that seemed like only yesterday flooded her mind. Everything around her was like new; everything around her was new. Every new sight, new sound, new sensation she experienced she held onto with innocent wonder, savouring all that New Eden had to offer. She smiled at him again, truly thankful for all he had done for her.
“There was no other choice, really.” PyjamaSam said. “Your own brilliance makes mine look infinitesimal. It is my honour and privilege to be walking hand in hand with such greatness.”
They both laughed at his corniness, continuing to walk through the beauty of the garden. Lady Grey stopped to pluck a flower of an origin she had never seen. She breathed in its fragrance deeply, her eyes shining with brilliant enjoyment at the moment. Her thoughts turned to the flower, its short life span, how it would begin to wither and eventually die, and reflected on her own mortality. From what Sam had told her, she had only a few months to enjoy this body before the memories of its original host, a long distant descendant she could never have known, would begin to resurface, her mind reclaiming its rightful body.
PyjamaSam could almost read her thoughts. “Elly,” he said, taking her face gently in his cupped hands. “We’ll figure it out, together. I promise.”
Tears streamed her face, and he wiped them away with his thumb, leaning in to share their first of hopefully many kisses.
—
DAL SYSTEM
FREEFORM INDUSTRIES
Roc Wieler had returned home. His ship was being repaired by the mechanics he trusted most, and he was taking the opportunity to check his office. His mission had been off the books, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to find that his dereliction of corporate duty in the meantime would’ve had him terminated from Freeform Industries. After getting caught up, he was heading to the Black Hole Pub to catch up on some well deserved rest and relaxation.
As he was sifting through his incoming messages on his office computer, Cytral casually strode in. “Welcome back, Roc.” he said by way of greeting. “Got the pilot duty roster for Roc’s Renegades I need you to sign.” He handed the datapad to Roc. With his eyebrow raised, Roc took the datapad in one hand, looking questioningly at Cytral.
“You’ve never needed me to do this before, Cy. Can’t you get my XO to do it?”
“Just read it and sign it, knuckle dragger.” Cytral replied, his smile streching across his entire face.
Roc activated the datapad, and begin scanning down the list. He saw some new recuits, fresh meat always being welcomed in the war effort, then his eyes rested on a name he knew, a name he never expected to see. He looked up at Cy, incredulity on his face, only to see Cytral giggling and nodding.
“She arrived earlier today, and was a quick study. She’s already passed the basic training exercises with flying colours, and specifically requested duty with the Renegades. Enjoy.”
With that, Cytral left Roc to his own musings. Roc shook his head again, staring in disbelief at the datapad in his hand. Jedziah had joined Freeform Industries, and with his approval, would now be flying his wing. Roc digitally signed the roster, putting it aside on his desk, exhaling a deep breath.
Just when the universe was starting to make sense, he thought to himself, chuckling. He turned his attention back to his computer, quickly scanning his messages for anything of importance; looked like FFI had gotten by just fine without him.
He was scanning the last page of his messages when he noticed one in particular that demanded his attention. He opened the message, which read only, “We need to talk.” It was from Mynxee.
Gathering his jacket, Roc hurried down to the Black Hole Pub. He really needed a drink. He thumbed his personal computing device to life, to respond to Mynxee’s message. His heart raced at the thought of seeing her again, and his mind reeled trying to figure out what she wanted to talk about. Was it their night together? Was she still trying to “convert” him to the pirate life?
Roc pushed the door open to the Black Hole pub, nearly tripping over two women standing just inside the door. She was tall and beautiful, with red hair and piercing grey eyes. “Well hello handsome.” Mynxee said, smiling broadly. Venom stood beside her, smiling her own giddy smile, while Roc stood like a deer in the headlights in front of the two women, his jaw hanging wide open.
“Aren’t ya gonna greet a lady?” Mynxee said. Venom broke the silence by playfully punching Roc in the arm. “Ow!” he said in mock pain, massaging the assaulted area.
The three of them turned, walking to a corner table, talking and laughing as they went.
For the first time in a long time, Roc Wieler realized just how good it felt to be home, to be with family.
—
AMARR SPACE
LOCATION UNKNOWN
She checked her computer again. The ten billion isk was in her account. It simply made no sense. She had been waiting for the signal from General Mako for days; her sign to initiate her betrayal of Roc Wieler. The General had paid the up front half she had demanded, but hadn’t contacted her since. Everything was still in place, and she knew that obviously something must’ve happened to General Mako.
Minara Dawn wondered what her next course of action should be. Should she go ahead as planned regardless? Should she liquidate all of Roc’s assets, leaving him penniless? Or should she wait, count the ten billion as a divine gift, and hope that she would never hear from Mako again?
She had been over the for and against arguments a thousand times already, neither side showing favour. She simply didn’t know what to do.
Inspired, she reached her decision.
Reaching for her computer, she sent a single message. It contained one solitary word, “Go.” She leaned back into her chair, smiling at how fate had shown her good fortune once again.
I-UU15
The Renegade raced towards the dreadnoughts that stood between it and the station. The dreadnoughts unleashed their fury against the small, nimble ship, but their large armaments were better suited for siege assaults against other capital and super-capital ships; the fast frigate was far too agile a target. Weaving amidst the assault, Roc Wieler’s ship drew closer to its objective, the Naglfars unable to even slow its course.
“Ceasefire!” blared the squad commander. “Release the Bouncers.” Sentry drones were often misused in battles; they weren’t as capable as heavy combat drones for search and destroy operations, but were extremely effectual for defensive screening. As each dreadnought released its full accompaniment of drones, five apiece, the squad commander felt assured of success; there was no way a single frigate could elude fifty drones, regardless of how skilled its pilot may be. Their victory was assured.
Roc locked five drones immediately, peppering the first with artillery fire and missiles. The drone didn’t pop immediately, but hastily fell to the powerful volleys as the ship maintained its severe velocity. He knew that slowing to orbit would result in certain death; he knew that if he even hesitated, the dreadnoughts would be able to track and destroy him. Instead, he pushed forward, never veering from his path, ignoring the constant sound of multiple target locks against him. A second drone fell to the weapons of the Renegade, but Roc knew even if his luck were to hold out, his supply of ammunition wouldn’t, nor would his overheated afterburner. That is when this current stalemate would end, and sadly not in his favour; but he could not, would not retreat; not while there was a chance his friend was still alive on the nearby station. Aura had performed a perfunctory scan of the station interior, all that could be managed with the amount of combat data occupying the system, and hadn’t found any life signs. Still, Roc would not be deterred. He hadn’t come all this way to turn back now until he knew for himself what the fate of Sam and VAF was.
A single notion nagged at the back of his mind, pulling at his focus; the station wasn’t firing. If there was anyone left alive on the station, there should’ve been some signs of a self-protective endeavor. There were no wrecks, no corpses. There were no engine trails, no damage to the station. Then there was the wormhole. Roc had no idea what its implication was, but he wagered that was where Mako, and the bulk of his fleet had gone.
Another drone’s hull fell away to his weapons; forty seven more to go, assuming they didn’t have more in their cargo holds.
Roc’s brow sweated copiously at the effort of his exertions. If someone had told him how suicidal assaulting a full squad of dreadnoughts with a frigate was beforehand, he would’ve heartily agreed. Now, in the thick of things, there was no thought to odds, only to moving forward one engagement at a time. When the end came, he would either be contemplating his folly from a fresh clone, or celebrating an unfeasible win amidst his crew and friends.
Either way, what would be, would be.
—
UNKNOWN WORMHOLE
General Mako could feel the strain on his ship’s hull, and knew the rest of his fleet would be suffering similarly. The sheer mass of his fleet passing through the wormhole had been almost beyond comprehension. Yet they had done it; they had passed through to the other side, having lost only three ships to structural tearing.
There were always sacrifices in every historic moment, Mako rationalized to himself. Achieving greatness never comes without cost.
He ordered a quick status report from the pod pilots of his fleet while he ran diagnostics of his own flagship. Within moments, the data was streaming through his neural interface: thousands of reports of weakened structure, systems offline, sick bay emergencies and the like, but the fleet was operational.
That is what Mako needed to hear this close to the end, this close to his monumental victory. It wasn’t that he cared about the survival of even one of his crew members; to Mako they were all dispensable pawns to be used towards a much greater purpose. The reason he was contented with their survival was because who would be there to speak of his celebrity should they all perish? What good is an extraordinary achievement if there are none there to witness its importance?
“General,” the long range scan engineer interrupted. “We’ve locked the unknown scout ship and scrambled its warp drive. We were going to apply a webbifier also but, well, sir, the ship isn’t retreating. It’s actually motionless but aligned towards us. Shall we proceed?”
Of course you proceed, you dolt, Mako thought to himself. Why wouldn’t you destroy your enemy when they’ve presented themselves to you as a gift?
“Yes, you may fire on your mark.”
Too late he realized his error, as they occurred so seldomly. His flash of anger at the incompetency of his underling had been enough to distract his intellect from seeing four moves ahead. A scout ship would never reveal itself, nor posture aggressively towards a superior enemy force unless…
“Battle stations! Condition Red! Combat pattern Mako-Epsilon-Seven!” His command was repeated throughout the fleet without delay, the hulking dreadnoughts responding with a promptness that attested to the wonder of capsuleer technology.
It was an instinct born from decades of military service, from an unwavering trust in one’s own gut feeling, from a self-confidence possessed from knowing you were superior to any and all you encountered.
The small unidentifiable scout ship exploded under the dreadnought’s guns.
Space itself fluctuated and shimmered in front of them; hundreds of ships reverting from warp at various ranges, in front and behind. Data from every dreadnought detailed the same entry; the entire fleet was outflanked, under attack and none of their equipment could identify a single ship configuration.
—
I-UU15
The Renegade shook as another glancing shot riddled its shields. Roc couldn’t divert any more power from the capacitor to the shield boosters while still maintaining this level of afterburner overheating. His frigate moaned as he threw her into yet another high gravity banking maneuver, and he could hear at least one of the marines losing his lunch.
His crew trained hard. They were the best he had worked with, and it was his honour to do so. They had never questioned him; never failed to obey an order. Roc’s Renegades were everything a commander could want; loyal, willing, dedicated, and capable. It was part of why he felt such a responsibility to his crews; they gave him their complete trust, and he would do everything within his ability not to lose that faith they placed in him.
He cycled down his weapons systems, pushing his engines even harder, diverting every available watt of power into the shield boosters and engine cooling systems.
“I’m taking life support down,” he relayed to the small team he had with him. There were four of them still on this long flight from Evati, two marines and his single remaining engineer. They had been through a lot together, and he was about to put them through a whole lot more.
The Renegade screamed as it shot straight towards the station at the upper limit of its thrust, straining to keep its bolts together. The dreadnoughts were directly in its path, still at a distance, with a screen of Bouncer II sentry drones in front of them.
—
UNKNOWN WORMHOLE
History was fickle; the telling of its recorded truth subject to the interpretations of the victor. There were countless beings, all an integral part of varied histories whom never received mention after their defeat; unsung heroes who died for their beliefs and ideals in the attempts to further humanity towards a greater tomorrow. It was unjust. It was unfair. It was human nature.
The commanders of each dreadnought struggled valiantly to keep their crews alive, to keep their ships functioning; each commander fighting for their very right to exist in the memory of time. They were capsuleers, and assumed that should they inevitably perish, as almost seemed certain in this moment, they would at least be able to continue on their legacies throughout another lifetime. Moreso, they were Mako’s Faithful, and they would fight to the bitter end as they had hundreds of times before, for the glory of the Republic, for the honour of serving this millennia’s greatest military mind.
Arrogance is a wondrous commodity. When we are full of pride, we believe there is nothing we cannot accomplish, that is, until reality comes crashing down around us, almost to spite us and remind us of our own frail and infantile existence.
As the dreadnoughts began to crumble under the combined might of the highly advanced fleet, reports filled the comms from surviving commanders of how Aura was consistently failing to transmit neural data packets correctly through the wormhole.
The brave capsuleers which had dedicated themselves to years of service within the glorious Minmatar Republic were dead, with certain finality.
General Mako bit down on his lip, drawing blood. He watched with impotence as each maneuver he engaged his fleet in was outperformed by this alien fleet. His anxiety grew tenfold when he learned of the inability to clone through the wormhole anomaly.
He would not perish here today; he was far too important a figure in history for that to happen. He ordered his fleet to turn, to engage in a full velocity push towards the wormhole. If they could break through the enemy wings flanking their rear and get back to familiar New Eden space, they would live to tell the tale of these ships; they would live to fight another day; they would live.
With less than half of his dreadnought fleet still operational, General Mako started calling targets, concentrating the firepower of his fleet on individual ships, edging ever so slowly towards freedom, towards salvation, towards the wormhole.
—
I-UU15
Roc Wieler ripped through the drone line as a bullet through glass. Drones spread out chaotically, coordinating their attacks with one another, plastering the Renegade with damage. Expertly, Roc maneuvered the frigate through the blockade, taxing his ship beyond its capacity.
He was less than eighty kilometers from the dreadnoughts when his afterburner exploded, sending the Renegade into a vicious roll. His velocity dropped dangerously, and he could hear the warning alarms of the dreadnoughts acquiring lock on his ship.
A nearby Bouncer stripped what was left of his shields, leaving the Renegade and its crew unlikely to survive the next few moments.
“Abandon ship. Abandon ship. All crew to the escape pods.” Roc Wieler hurredly spat out over the ship’s comm system. She had been a good ship. She had been a very good ship.
He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and then set the Renegade’s reactor to self-destruct. He angled himself towards the nearest dreadnought, beginning his suicidal run towards it. He was filled with regret, as these men and women were only following orders, but when you opened fire on Roc Wieler, you were no longer a friend. When you risked his crew, and his objectives, you were an enemy, and would receive his full wrath. If today was indeed the day he would die once again, then many more were going to experience death with him.
He listened as Aura counted the time to self-destruct. He watched as the distance between his target dreadnought and himself dropped from thirty kilometers, to twenty five, to twenty.
At fifteen kilometers, the Renegade shook violently. At first, Roc thought one of the dreadnoughts had scored a lucky shot, but they were still alive. A volley from a dreadnought would’ve incinerated them instantly had it hit. He checked his readout from Aura to find that a dreadnought had just exploded, and his ship had received damage from high velocity debris. Roc hollered with a newfound determination, and cancelled the order for self-destruct.
The station was firing on the dreadnoughts. Sam was still alive.
—
PyjamaSam fell back into the command chair with a sigh of relief. He had been struggling since the battle began outside to understand the intricacies of the station’s automated defensive grid. Turning it on was pretty straightforward. The challenge was in determining friend from foe. He had raced through the station’s tutorial programs on the subject, scanning for anything relevant that would assist him. He had tried to be expedient yet cautious; not the kind of thing you want to make a mistake with the first time.
He had watched in horror as his friend’s ship fought valiantly for survival, but he knew it was a losing battle from the beginning. Slowly, the Renegade was sustaining damage beyond its ability to repair; all it would take was one lucky shot and the ship would be erased just as easily as had it never existed.
With great anxiety, and when he couldn’t in good conscience wait any longer, Sam activated the defenses, silently hoping he had gotten the friend or foe configuration correct.
He was rewarded quickly as the first dreadnought was blown to pieces. Over the next few minutes he watched as the dreadnoughts slowly regrouped, turning their attentions towards the active and hostile station.
—
“Bring down those shields!” the squad commander bellowed as the dreadnoughts activated their siege modules, unexpectedly under attack from the station. All thought of the Republic Fleet Firetail had left his mind. They were already down two dreadnoughts, and it was going to now take them hours to destroy this station, should they last that long. The squad commander hoped General Mako would victoriously return from the wormhole long before then.
—
UNKNOWN WORMHOLE
It was a brutal and destructive back and forth as the Onslaught and its wings slowly pushed their way through the enemy ranks. They had sustained heavy losses, and were now down to less than twenty ships, but had inflicted substantial casualties to their enemy as well.
“All ships, prepare to enter the wormhole!” They were only moments from escaping this nightmarish hell, from returning to the paradise that was New Eden.
As the first dreadnoughts made their jumps, slaved to Mako’s ship, he realized too late his fate. Seeing their attempt to flee, much of the surrounding enemy ships were entering the wormhole as well, in pursuit.
As Mako’s ship entered the wormhole before he could abort the jump sequence, he could feel the ship crushing inwards, could feel the pressure from the collapsing wormhole. It was a simple matter of physics really. There was simply too much mass to allow the wormhole to sustain itself. Mako had limited understanding of science, but a very real understanding of his death, as his ship tore itself apart while jumping through the wormhole.
As he closed his eyes to embrace eternity, he hoped only to be remembered for the hero he was.
—
I-UU15
“Target the docking bays. I want nothing getting in or out of that station!” The squad commander knew his situation was dire. He continually checked for a signal from the wormhole, receiving only static as his response. He had to buy more time for the General to return. In a worst case scenario, they would die to the might of the station. In a best case scenario, they could destroy the station, and its few remaining inhabitants, thus thwarting the efforts of the General’s hated enemy.
—
Roc Wieler had to manually land his frigate aboard the station; the automated docking system had been disabled or destroyed. Few pilots practiced manual landings anymore, but Roc had always been one to routinely practice every aspect of flying. He was coming in far too fast, and the hole in his ship from where his afterburner blew was making it very difficult to fly in a straight line this close to the station.
His crew had returned from the escape pods, and was quickly trying to assist Aura in makeshift repairs to the ship. “Hang on!” he yelled as they collided hard against the hangar deck, and he could feel and hear metal sheering from the Renegade.
When he finally managed to get the landing ramp extended, and detach himself from his pod, he saw Sam already making his way towards them, carrying the limp form of a woman in his arms. The two marines quickly ran to his assistance, as further explosions rocked the station’s shield. It seemed to be holding for now, but there was no point in making a picnic out of their stay.
“C’mon ladies, hurry it up!” Roc yelled, waving his people back into the ship. He grabbed Sam by the arm as he ran by. “You good?” was all Roc said.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. I got the box. It’s garbage, corrupted DNA. The woman is a corpmate, Lady Grey. She fainted. I’ll tell you all about it later. I think right now would be a wonderful time for us to make our egress.”
Roc nodded and withdrew into the Renegade along with his friend.
—
The squad commander was receiving activity from the wormhole. His heart raced as he watched the wormhole open, knowing that General Mako had returned, and that victory would still be theirs today.
But the wormhole was not hearkening the return of his commanding officer. In fact, just the opposite was true. In a brilliant display of colour, the wormhole expanded momentarily, then collapsed inwards on itself, disappearing from all sensors.
—
The Renegade catapulted out of the station, Roc already urging Aura to pick a place to warp to. Within moments, the stars outside the ship elongated, and they were away.
One of the marines was tending to PyjamaSam and Lady Grey, whom was beginning to regain consciousness. PyjamaSam quietly moved to be by her side.
“Where…where am I?” she asked, her voice weak and unsure.
“Shhhh, you’re among friends.” PyjamaSam replied.
“I’m Sam, you know me. Everything is going to be just fine.” He said with a smile on his face.
She closed her eyes for a moment in concentration, and then opened them again, looking at him with heartfelt appreciation. “Sam,” she said. “Yes, you’re right. Everything is going to be just fine.”
I-UU15
To General Mako, all existence was but a stage, the players filling their various roles. Sometimes the actors were conscious of their role within the greater schemes of things, but more often than not in his experience, the players were but pawns to be moved to a more grand design; and were he to have his way, a scheme of his design. In his universe, he fancied himself a director.
The stage was set; fifty Naflgars in place, five hundred Hounds in a secured perimeter around their designated target station.
Stage lighting was masterful; a powerful wash of yellow from the system’s sun, white fill lights reflected from the stars, an eerie blue hue from the unknown wormhole casting a somber mood across the entire diorama.
A constant thrumming of fission engines provided a suitable bass staccato, an ominous soundtrack to the events unfolding.
He always envisioned the audience when executing his plans, picturing them gasping when appropriate, sighing when the play’s progression filled with emotion. He could only imagine their reactions at this, his masterpiece, but he was faced with a quandary.
Here he was, in the final act, finding himself unsure of the play’s resolution. The wormhole was indeed an unknown factor in the story, as was the appearance and disappearance of the unidentifiable scout ship. Futhermore, there had been no resistance, even now that the entire fleet had arrived, from the station they surrounded. Would they really give up without a fight? Would they really abandon it?
No.
“Abort siege operation preparations.” General Mako blared to the entire dreadnought fleet.
No.
It was inspired. It was beautiful. It was a worthy climax to the story being told. They hadn’t abandoned the station at all. No corporation would do such a thing by choice, especially in nullsec. He was on to their plan; keen to their intent.
They had retreated through the wormhole. He realized he had been overthinking, overanalyzing the entire situation. Sometimes the best moves were the simplest ones. It explained everything: the empty station, the scout, everything. By moving their fleet to the far side of the wormhole, VAF and their allies could wait in complete concealment until his dreadnoughts were locked in seige position. Without a proper support fleet, the dreads were vulnerable to concentrated assault. The lone scout reinforced his assessment; they would need visual data relayed to them when their enemy was at their most vulnerable. Undoubtedly, their station, now set to close range defense, would “miraculously” come alive, pounding the dreadnoughts while able to sustain their bombardment long enough for the VAF fleet to emerge from the wormhole.
General Mako allowed himself a heartfelt smile. Not this time, he thought with malice in his heart. He was the director. He was the one to spin the web of intrigue and deception; nobody else. He was the one who would bring this epic tale of glory and victory to its climatic finale!
“All ships, formation omega-charlie-sixer. Destination … wormhole anomaly.”
His imagined audience gasped, holding its breath.
Without a word, his entire fleet performed their synchronous dance, slowly making their way towards the wormhole. The music crescendoed as the fleet’s engines reached a feverish pitch, and General Mako breathed it all in with great relish.
When they were in position, Mako initiated the command for a fleet jump, but was interrupted. “Sir,” one of his scanning officers said quickly. Mako hated being interrupted when he was enjoying his own musings; it irritated him. “Sir, there’s a Republic Fleet Firetail in system, designation ‘Renegade’.”
Ah, so he had made it afterall. General Mako felt a wave of relief wash over him. He would’ve hated if the antagonist in this play hadn’t arrived for his death scene. What kind of play would that be if the good guy didn’t win in the end? How could his audience appreciate all the sacrifices he had made, how could they truly celebrate him, if there was no cataclysmic demise of the villain?
“Dreadnought squad six, linger, if you would, and welcome that Firetail.” he said with toxic sweetness.
After receiving acknowledgement of his order, and allowing the dreadnoughts of squad six time to break formation, he gave the order to jump.
As they accelerated through the wormhole, all Mako could think about was how majestic this day would be.
—
You have got to be kidding me, Roc Wieler thought to himself as he processed the data Aura was feeding him. Over five hundred and fifty ships, Hounds and Naglfars were insystem. He knew without a doubt that it must be Mako. So be it.
He checked the status of his Firetail, noting he was close to damaging his propulsion systems if he overheated them much more.
Giving the command to his ship, he raced into warp, the home stretch in his long journey, the final push to reach his dear friend Sam.
—
Sam looked out the station window. He never deluded himself into thinking he was a great strategist, but he was completely baffled as to why the majority of this hostile fleet was heading into the wormhole. Mind you, he was thankful for the temporary hiatus; living was always a plus. He saw a single squad of dreadnoughts break off, his immediate thought that they were to seige the station. It may take them more time, but they would be successful in pulverizing it to dust. However, they were not heading in this direction. It appeared as if they were on an intercept course, but towards what, PyjamaSam had no idea.
He almost missed a small flash in space, the telltale sign of a ship exiting warp. Station scanners revealed it was a Firetail. There was only one person he knew that flew that model of ship. Roc had gotten his message and PyjamaSam’s time here in I-UU15 was at an abrupt end.
R. Ellen Magenis was born in Gary, Indiana, in 1925. She was a distinguished American pediatrician, medical geneticist and cytogeneticist. As a key contributor to the human genome project, her work was well known and respected worldwide.
She also was the team lead for a government sanctioned, off the books project code named “Afterlife”. The sole pursuit of this project was to unlock the key to human immortality, something many leading experts of the time believed was achievable within the next few decades.
They were right. And they were wrong.
Ellen, or Elly as her friends called her, had created a way in which living DNA from the host could be used as a “hard drive” to map the mendulla oblongata onto a portable biological computer device. The DNAC was the crowning achievement of her life, though due to its beyond top secret clearance level, the world would never know its marvel until the government deigned it appropriate.
The current issue for her and her team was twofold:
Elly had initially human tested the DNAC on herself. Being the team lead, she felt it her responsibility to take on such a risk. The experiment had been successful. They had downloaded her memory to the DNAC, allowed two days to pass, then uploaded it back into her mind. Testing showed a complete memory loss of the prior two days, having been “overwritten” by the data contained within the DNAC. At the time, it had been a tremendous success, and they were applauded their efforts. It was only months later the problems began. Strong nightmares of memories that were not hers woke her at night in sweats.
It was eventually determined that it was her original memories superceding the imprinted data, fortunately only a two day span of unknown and angst inducing data. It was a problem they never found a workaround for.
Scuttlebutt was the higher ups were going to shut down the project if the desired result couldn’t be achieved. Elly worked day and night for weeks, leaving her very large family to fend for themselves. She knew she was close; she knew the key to immmortality was staring her in the face.
It was one random night that fate intervened, changing her life forever. In her research, she had been given complete security access to the computer network. If they were to do the undoable, she had argued that they would need access to everything on the subject ever attempted prior, on the books, and off the books. While delving into a new branch of research, she had inadvertently stumbled upon sealed files on the central government network; a folder entitled “Afterlife phase 2”. She hadn’t been informed of a phase 2, and not being able to resist her scientific curiousity, opened the folder.
What she found shocked her to the core of her being. Phase 2 was abhorrent and immoral beyond reasoning. The idea was to take the existing DNAC technology, and use it to create disposable soldiers, completely in sync with each other mentally, as they would all share the same thoughts and directives. Entire families would be inducted to the program under false pretense, and be used as small counter terrorist teams by the government. Eventually, as non genetically related hosts were viable, through further research, the entire military could be composed of vacant drones following one mind. It was deplorable and she could not allow it to happen.
Elly deleted all records from her computer, and the network. Undoubtedly there would be copies elsewhere, but she hoped this would at least slow their progress. She disconnected the DNAC, putting it in a duffle bag, and walked out the front door of the government facility.
Within hours she had safely stored the DNAC in the safety deposit box of her grand daughter, leaving a note to never open the box, as it was a most precious heirloom. She then spent most of her life savings acquiring forged identification documents, and disappeared to Europe, never to be seen by the public again. She married and had more children, putting her previous life as far behind her as imaginable.
The US government had eventually caught up with her new identity, and put an end to both “Lady Grey” and Ellen Magenis with a single bullet. The DNAC was never recovered, but the research moved forward.
Perhaps one day cloning technology would be a reality.
—
I-UU15
MEDICAL CLONE VATS
Lady Grey stood transfixed at the station window. The Hounds had cloaked and were no longer visible, the cyno jammer long since vanished, but she couldn’t pull herself away. PyjamaSam was off mumbling incoherently, and she feared her own sanity was straining.
“Incompatible host… not enough time, no time.” PyjamaSam was mumbling. “p-16 strand, p-15 strand, so rudimentary, there must be an answer.” Lady Grey had no idea what he was talking about, nor did it even matter anymore. The invisible fleet outside sealed their fate; they were both going to die. She fixed her gaze back out the window, reflecting on the life she had left behind in the Gallente Federation, reflecting on all the things she had done, and the things she had not done. She had never married; never had children, never experienced any aspect of life to its fullest.
She sighed with resignation. Too late for regrets; too late for false hopes, she thought to herself. She cleared her mind, and opened her eyes wide to embrace the view before her, to appreciate the nebulae and stars as she never had before. If she were going to die, she wanted her last thoughts to be of peace and beauty.
She inhaled deeply, then swooned. She experienced dizziness, then felt her knees buckling. She began to fall ever so slowly, each moment stretching out as an eternity, and she was looking up at PyjamaSam. He had a needle in one hand, his other arm supporting her as she drifted effortlessly towards the floor.
“I’m so sorry.” he said softly, but his words were so deep, so elongated, that she couldn’t help but smile at how humourous they sounded.
All the worries from but a moment ago no longer mattered. She felt comfortable. She felt tired. She felt at peace. She slept.
—
The Rapier pilot cursed his Aura unit again. What do you mean you don’t know what type of ship it is? How can you fucking not know? he thought with extreme anger. The unidentified ship was within one hundred and fifty kilometers, just beyond his targeting range, and still moving insanely fast.
“I repeat, break formation to assist. If this end of the bridge goes down, there’s going to be hell to pay for all of us.” He had ordered squad 15, the closest to his position, to break the blockade around the station and come take out whatever the hell this ship was. There had been no acknowledgement from the Squad Commander. He repeated his order twice more before he heard the sound that sent every pod pilot’s heart alight; he was being targetted.
Seven Hounds materialzed around him. About bloody time, the Rapier pilot thought explosively. The Hounds weren’t moving to intercept the unknown vessel. What the hell were they doing? Then he saw the telltale signs of their intent; they were cycling up their portal generators; offering distractions to the incoming enemy ship. Damn them! He had given them orders to engage, as his ship was locked in place by the cyno he was generating.
If his bridge collapsed, fifty Naglfars would be lost forever, tens of thousands of military personnel would perish, General Mako’s disappearance would certainly mean the end of all their careers, and all they had to do was follow orders and destroy one single ship! There were five hundred of them for crying out loud!
The enemy ship moved closer, and began open firing on the stationary Rapier. The diversion was too little, too late.
The Rapier pilot screamed and cursed, profanities spilling out of his lips with experienced ease, as the enemy ship made quick and efficient work of him, sending him to his clone, far, far away.
—
“That’s correct, sir. The unknown vessel has retreated back into the anomaly.” the Hound pilot reported. General Mako mulled this over in his mind. His advanced strike team had encountered no resistance from VAF, and yet a craft of unknown type had just dismantled his scout with ease, not that killing an ill-piloted Rapier was merit for an award. Still, it tugged at his mind; an unknown ship type. What had they been constructing out here? What new ships were they using that didn’t show up on the Aura network? Were they mass producing them? And what about the wormhole? The chances of a wormhole randomly appearing in the exact system they were travelling to was astronomical. Did they somehow materialize and stabilize the wormhole?
There were too many unanswered questions. Mako hated not having answers; he hated it more than he hated anything else, well, almost anything else.
“The fleet will revert to realspace in 22 seconds, Squad Commander. You will have your orders then.” General Mako ended the transmission.
—
Roc Wieler sped through GME-PQ in Fade Region. He was only two jumps from Sam; he hoped he wasn’t too late.
I-UU15
MEDICAL CLONE BAY
“Stop it! You’re killing her!” Lady Grey screamed at the top of her lungs, tears drenching her face. This was now their seventh unsuccessful attempt at using the DNAC to restore the persona of Elly into a clone. According to PyjamaSam, the first test was successful; Elly had been cloned, for exactly 2.3 nanoseconds before expiration. He was so clinically detached, so scientific and methodical in this, that he seemed to be unaware that it was a human life, a terran life, he was playing with. Her emotions were in turmoil over the repeated murder of this long dead woman. This latest attempt had lasted seven seconds, and in that seven seconds Lady Grey had thought her heart would burst.
Elly had awoken within the clone tube, absolute terror etched across her face. She then spasmed in pain, the palm of her hand pressed flat against the tube, the duress evident in her eyes. Her readings went haywire, then flatlined; again, but they had seen each other. They had eye contact with each other. And in that moment, Lady Grey knew the look on Elly’s face; it was the look of “why?”, and it nearly destroyed Lady Grey as she honestly didn’t have an answer for either of them.
“We’re close, so close; just a few more adjustments.” PyjamaSam said, tinkering with his makeshift equipment. “The DNA may be degradated. I can’t be sure, and we’re out of time, no time.” PyjamaSam was straying close to that line between sanity and insanity, Lady Grey thought. Maybe he had crossed it already and nobody knew.
“No.” she said resolutely. “No more. I don’t know what this is all about Sam, but I can’t let you keep doing this. It’s just wrong. Don’t you see that?” Her eyes pleaded with him to see the error of his ways, to see the monster he was being through these actions, but his vacant stare told her that the effort was in vain. PyjamaSam had already turned back to his equipment.
Her mind was set. She crossed the distance between them quickly. She gave it no thought; she simply did. Whether it was to yank on wires, or flail at PyjamaSam she did not know. She only knew she had to do something to stop this madness. She grabbed PyjamaSam by the shoulder, and he punched her square in the face, knocking her on her ass. He actually punched me! her mind exclaimed, in shock at his unexpected action. She had no reserves left, and began crying freely. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t revived PyjamaSam, if she hadn’t been fantasizing about some fictitious and foolish romance between them, they wouldn’t be here now. Elly wouldn’t be tortured, Lady Grey wouldn’t have been punched in the face, and this nightmare would never have occured in the first place.
“You’re an asshole.” Lady Grey whimpered to PyjamaSam.
“And you’re a naive idiot who can’t possibly fathom the importance of what is transpiring in this moment. Have you even looked outside?” PyjamaSam spat out at her.
Why would she look outside? She slowly stood to her feet, rubbing her tender rump, and approached one of the station windows. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and what she thought had been a nightmare was only truly beginning.
—
The Rapier pilot reported in to General Mako. “The jammer should be destroyed within two minutes, sir.” he said. “There’s been no resistance whatsoever, and many of the enemy ships have evacuated the system through a jump bridge. Do you wish us to pursue them after our objective here is met, sir?”
“What I wish,” General Mako hissed, “is for my pilots to let me do the thinking, as they do the following. If I desired for you to pursue those insignificant vessels, do you not think I would have ordered it?” His voice spat with disdain and anger. He didn’t like being questioned. He didn’t enjoy his lessers thinking, even for a moment, that he hadn’t accounted for every possible scenario. In less than two minutes his Hound strike team would have the system’s cyno jammer destroyed. In three minutes, Mako’s fifty Naglfar dreadnoughts would be jumping through to I-UU15. In ten minutes, the DNAC would be his, Roc Wieler would be destroyed, and he would be in a grand position for Chief Tribunal on the Minmatar Council. Everything had gone exactly as planned, as it always did.
“Sir, yessir!” the pilot stammered, but Mako had already switched off the comm.
—
Lady Grey stared in shock at the sheer volume of ships. There were hundreds of them, insystem, launching thousands of cruise missiles at the cynosural jammer VAF possessed in I-UU15. The explosions were almost hypnotic, like pretty fireworks at the summer festivals she enjoyed as a child. She tore herself away from the sight. “How long have they been there?” She frantically asked PyjamaSam.
“About forty seven seconds. Station sensors are reading five hundred of them, and given their refire rate and capacity for cruise missiles, and the damage output necessary to destroy the jammer, they’ll be finished their task in approximately one minute, seventeen seconds. In that time, we need to finish our task, or all of this will have been for nothing, as I have no clear indication of what their next objective may be.”
Lady Grey paled. There was no time for her to get to her ship. She realized with deep regret that PyjamaSam’s insult was right; she was a naive fool. She shouldn’t have stayed. She shouldn’t have blamed him. She should have grown up, taken responsibility for herself, and done what any other self respecting capsuleer would do. The problem was, she had no idea what that might be. She hurried back to PyjamaSam. “What do you need me to do?” she asked, alight with a new fire from within.
—
The Rapier pilot smiled as the cyno jammer erupted in a brilliant display of fire and twisted metal. He sent the encrypted signal through subspace to General Mako, letting him know that the path was clear for his dreadnoughts to jump insystem. The Hounds were already moving to surround the VAF station from a safe distance, as the backup line to deal with any ship to ship defence they may be waiting to mount. With the force the General was bringing to bear, the Rapier pilot couldn’t imagine anything in New Eden standing against it.
He raised his arm reflexively to cover his eyes, even though in his pod, Aura automatically dimmed the viewport. At first, he thought it was secondary explosions from the cyno jammer, but it wasn’t emanating from the right direction. His sensors were going bonkers with anomaly readings he had never seen before in his career. He couldn’t even align his ship for a better physical view, as he was forced to remain static while he generated the field needed for the General’s fleet to arrive.
He commed the Hound of one of his squad commanders, ordering a visual relay of what they were seeing. Within seconds, it was in front of him as a three dimensional, full colour hologram. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but he knew it was true.
An uncharted wormhole had torn open in space before them, with a single unidentifiable ship emerging from it, accelerating towards him at unbelievable speed.
EVATI STATION
Jedziah couldn’t sleep. She had been tossing and turning in her bunk for hours. First she was too hot, then she was too cold. She thought maybe it was hot flashes, but she was far too young for that. Besides, when she was honest with herself, she knew what was troubling her so; Roc Wieler.
She wasn’t attracted to the man per se, but there was something so appealing about him. It was common knowledge that Mynxee had staked her claim on the Colonel, and Jedziah felt no jealousy whatsoever, so whatever the attraction was, it wasn’t romantic in nature. She fought with herself into the long hours of the night, fighting against the truth she had known all along; she was attracted to all he epitomized.
As soon as she admitted it to herself, she felt much of the tension leave her shoulders. What was it about him though? She had good FCs in the Bastards, guys like FlashFresh, whom could run a professional, disciplined fleet with the best of them. It wasn’t that. It was definitely not the appeal of a military life; Jedziah was a pirate through and through.
It dawned on her suddenly, causing her to sit bolt upright in bed. It was the “rightness” with which he carried himself. His convictions, his unwavering belief in his cause; that was the source of attraction. It was mesmerizing now that she allowed herself to focus on this issue. Roc Wieler was a man possessed by his sheer dedication to what he thought was right. He was a force of nature; unmovable, unstoppable, incorruptible. Sure, he came across arrogant as hell, but she could see that wasn’t it; that was merely what he allowed others to see on the surface. No, there was most assuredly a lot more to this man than met the eye, should one choose to look beyond the shell.
There was no sleeping now. She admitted a heartfelt truth to herself. Her pulse quickened at the implications. She couldn’t just dismiss it; she couldn’t deny it. She wanted whatever it was Roc Wieler had. She wanted to live that life, to have convictions that strong about anything, to make a difference; to do what was right.
That was the key to it all, she realized with more raw introspection. She knew in her heart that the life she was leading, the life she recruited others into, didn’t have that settling “rightness” about it. It simply was what it was; neither good nor evil, and yet real evil existed in New Eden, and here she was doing nothing about it.
What was that saying? she thought to herself. For evil to triumph, good men have only to do nothing, or something along those lines. Her eyes opened wide, as she dug deeper still into her moral conscience. She realized she would never get a good night’s sleep until she answered herself honestly, in a way that was proving very life changing, and uncomfortable.
What was the cost of doing right? And did it really matter? That was the lesson here; that is what she had learned from the Colonel. He had humbled himself to serve jail time when he easily could’ve walked away. He volunteered to work with pirates simply to try to achieve an advantage over his enemy. She herself had been there when he agreed to the command to fire on anything not in fleet. That couldn’t have gone over well with his militia superiors. And yet he had done it all, and would do it again, because he believed ridding this galaxy of the Amarr was right.
And with growing trepidation, Jedziah believed it too.
She looked at her watch; 2:35 AM.
She pounced out of bed, her heart racing, and began packing her things. She would give her formal resignation in the morning.
Jedziah was going to fight for the Tribal Liberation Force.
—
THE HUB BAR & GRILL
The bartender looked at his chrono again; just past 3AM. He continued scrubbing the bar countertop, mumbling too himself about wanting to go home and get some sleep. There was a single patron still in the bar, a very tall, very attractive, red haired woman sitting alone on a barstool, nursing another drink. She had kept to herself, and was tipping well, so he had stayed open. That was two hours ago, and now he was getting a little unnerved.
Another woman entered the bar. This one was also very attractive, though shorter, and with dark hair. She walked right up to the bar stool beside the other woman and took a seat, resting on her elbows to look directly at the taller gal.
“What’s doin Mynx?” Venom said cheerfully.
Mynxee put down her glass, and raised her hand, two fingers extended, indicating she wanted two more shots. The bartender threw a cleaning rag over his shoulder, poured the drinks, and placed them on the counter in front of them. Mynxee handed one to Venom, and raised her shot glass in a toast.
“To Colonel Roc Wieler, that sunuvabitch.” she proclaimed through slurred speech, clinking her small glass against Venom’s, nearly spilling its contents on them both.
Both women drank their shots, firmly slamming the glasses against the counter top. “Men.” Venom said, a sly grin on her face. She was new to the Hellcats, but had quickly proven herself to Mynxee, and had no fear of speaking to her bluntly as a friend. “Got what he wanted and left, eh?” she said.
Mynxee allowed herself a deep and troubled laugh, which caused Venom to hesitate a little. She knew that Roc and Mynxee had spent the night together, hell, everyone knew, but did Mynxee actually care for him? Had she gone and fallen for an upright militia Colonel? She hoped not. But what if she had? Was that really so bad? It was often said you didn’t choose whom you loved; it was love that chooses you.
In her experience that was bunk, but then again, Venom enjoyed the hunt more than anything. Men were play things for her amusement.
Mynxee started crying, and Venom realized just how emotionally fragile she was right then. She had never seen the leader of the Hellcats cry.
“Dammit!” Mynxee screamed suddenly, scaring both Venom and the bartender. “How did I let him get to me, Venom? How did I lose my cool? I never let them get to me, never.”
Venom didn’t really know what to say; she didn’t know what to do. She had never been in love herself, but they all had seen the warning signs early on between Roc and Mynxee. This was bad for the corp. This must be even worse for Mynxee. But Venom was a friend first and foremost. That is what built loyalty more than anything else. She took a deep breath before speaking her next sentence, and couldn’t believe the words coming from her mouth.
“Then go get him.” That was all she said.
“What?” Mynxee looked at her, her grey eyes even more beautiful with tears.
“Go.Get.Him.” Venom smiled. If this is what Mynxee wanted, then damn everything else in the way. She deserved happiness more than anyone else Venom had ever met, and if Venom could help bring that happiness into Mynxee’s life, then she would do everything in her power to make it happen.
Mynxee blinked at her a few times, bewildered by what she had said, mulling it over in her mind. It was such a simple idea, but such an honest truth. Why not? Why not go get him? Why not show him how she felt? Because she had responsibilities here. She had the Hellcats. She had worked too hard to get them to where they were now, to have membership in the Bastards Alliance. Besides, Mynxee didn’t believe in Roc’s war; she had no interest in joining the Minimatar military.
She blinked a few more times, her mouth slightly open, not sure what to say. Venom filled the gap for her. “Just go. don’t overthink it, don’t overanalyze all the why nots, just listen to your heart and go. It’s what you want or you wouldn’t bloody well be sitting here at this hour drinking yourself into a stupor. Go.” Venom’s voice was rising in volume, her words becoming more passionate the longer she spoke.
Just go. She could do it. She knew where Roc was based out of; Dal system. It wasn’t that far. And she didn’t have to enlist. She could simply fly with him, give it a try, see if there was any appeal to her to live that life. She just wanted to be near him. Damn him to hell.
“Come with.” was all that came out of Mynxee’s mouth. “Come with me, Venom.” she said.
“HELL yes!” Venom replied with no hesitation whatsoever.
The two of them smiled, and ordered another round of drinks. They weren’t sure of the details of it all, but they had made their decision.
Mynxee and Venom were going to fight for the Tribal Liberation Force.
ROC'S RAMBLINGS 