PROLOGUE

TRIBAL LIBERATION FORCE, HEK SYSTEM

“Though risky, I can see the value in your proposition, Colonel. This could change the tide of the war.” General Sasawong was a seasoned veteran, a well known force on his own for liberating enslaved Matari. There were few things he would not do to win this war; his approval on such a plan demonstrated this flaw.

“I concur. You do realize that this council will deny any and all involvement in this operation should it fail. The onus would be entirely on you.” General Coven was the pragmatist in the group; he would be supportive if the logic of an idea were sound, but he had a gifting for seeing ramifications and backlash should said idea go sour. He was a valued member of the Tribal Liberation Force heirarchy.

The third and final member of this Council of Generals was General Saido Mako, a decorated and accomplished brute of a man, both on and off the battlefield. Ambitious, powerful, charismatic, he had been a force of reckoning within the machinations of the Republic for over three decades. He had forgotten more than most soldiers experienced.

“I think the plan has possibility,” he began, “but I am not entirely convinced you’re the right man for the job, Colonel.” The sarcastic emphasis employed on the rank title was just subtle enough to be mistaken, yet bold enough to be heard correctly. “However, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else stepping forward with such innovative solutions to the problems we face, I will go along with my esteemed colleagues this one time. You have the Council’s unanimous agreement.”

Roc Wieler, Colonel of the Tribal Liberation Force, clicked his heels together, and offered a crisp salute. He was a bit short for a Brutor, but wider across the shoulders than average. He was in full dress regalia for this occasion, and looked every bit the strong officer he was. He was a growing force in the Republic as well, though he didn’t really comprehend his reach. He was ambitious in his military career, but not for any personal or political power. His sole motivation was the liberation of his people. Noble, if not naive.

As Colonel Roc Wieler turned on his heel and left the Council chambers, General Mako couldn’t help but quietly hope Roc Wieler failed.

I stood in a vast chamber. There was little in the way of furniture or decoration. A single spotlight shone down upon me from a ceiling beyond the reach of my vision. Even my breathing echoed in the enormity of this place.

“Roc Wieler. We have found you guilty of violating Republic Military code. Assault against non military targets is unacceptable, and will be punished. Do you have anything you wish to say before sentencing?”

The Tribunal; few things could frighten a man more than them, yet I oddly felt a calming peace amongst the storm. I had been apprehended at Evati VII, Republic Fleet Logistic support, and ferried securely back to Hek. I knew this day would come. I knew I would have to take ownership of my actions. What more could be said?

“No, your honours.” I replied monotonously. 

“Because of your exemplary record, colonel, we are going to go easy on you, though we want it known that things can go very poorly for you, and very quickly, should we ever see you before this tribunal again. Are we making ourselves clear, colonel?” 

It was odd how the tribunal spoke. There were three members, each taking turns speaking, but it was done in a mid sentence rythmn that it made seem like one speaker. 

Regardless, they were taking it easy on me. There were obvious undertones. “We need you, colonel. It’s war out there and we need every available body. Just don’t mess it up again and make us look stupid for our leniency.” That was the real message I was hearing.

“I am but a servant to the Republic, your honours.” I replied with heartfelt sincerity.

“Very good, colonel. You are temporarily suspended from fleet command status. You are to be docked 1200 ISK to cover medical expenses and legal fees for the three victims you are charged with assaulting. You are not to leave Metropolis region for 10 days. Failure to comply with any of these terms of your sentence will result in immediate apprehension and prosecution to the full extent of our power under the Republic military code.”

A loud hammer sounded, and the tribunal was finished. Things could’ve been much worse for me.

—

“And how do you plea, Roc Wieler?” the judge asked. A camera drone whirred by my face, recording this shame for all the galaxy to see. The courtroom was packed, as this was a civil hearing, and open to the public.

“Guilty, your honour.” was my honest reply. A gasp came up from much of the crowd, and I could see the looks of shock on most faces, the look of disappoint on others, the look of smug self-satisfaction on fewer still.

The judge repeatedly hammered his gavel against his desk. “Order in this courtroom. Order!”

It was one of the biggest media events in recent history; Colonel Roc Wieler, hero of the Republic, facing charges for assaulting three civilians on an Evati magtrain. 

For the last four days those civilians had been on television more than coverage of the war. They had become fifteen minute famers, and were eating it up.

I regretted what I had done. Whatever consequences there were to be, I would accept them.

“Roc Wieler, it is within my power to imprison you. It is within my power to lock you away, throw away the key, and nobody will ever hear from you again. Do you understand the severity of what you have done?” 

I nodded my head and replied “I do, your honour.”

The judge continued. “But I’ve read your file, son. I know the pressure you must be under. And before I sentence you, I want it known to you, and to the trillions watching, that I appreciate you, son. I appreciate every soldier out there fighting for our way of life. I salute you personally, and am sorry that you and I are even in this courtroom right now.”

The crowd gasped as the judge stood, saluting me, and continued his monologue.

“With a heavy heart I must act upon the admission of guilt submitted by the defendant. Roc Wieler, I find you guilty on the count of assault, and guilty on the two counts of aggravated assault. You will be fined 700 isk, and released into your own custody. Court dismissed!”

The judge hammered his gavel, and we were done. 

So far, my punishment had been a trivial amount of isk, some well deserved public humilitation, and restrictions on my travelling. Like I said, things could’ve gone much worse.

—

“Roc, I’m sorry, but I can’t have our people acting this way without reprimand.” Cytral said, as we sat in his office at our corporate headquarters. “You’re suspended from active duty without pay. I also have to write this down in your permanent record. One more incident, and I’m going to have to let you go from the company. Geez Roc, just get it together ok?” Cy was a good director; firm, yet fair. He had always been good to us at Freeform Industries. I hated letting him down. I really did need to get it together.

So there it was; no pay, isk fines, flight zone restrictions, public humiliation. Guess I would be out of touch for the next ten days. I guess I should just look at it as a forced vacation.

Merry Christmas, Roc Wieler.

—

OOC: Merry Christmas everyone! See you in the new year!

This month’s EVE Blog Banter idea comes to us by Roc Wieler of Roc’s Ramblings. Roc asks us to “write a story about a fellow EVE Blogger, or an EVE player whom has inspired you or affected you in some tangible way. After your story, describe why you chose them, and any Holiday wish you have specifically for them“.

—

Fade Region, a place I didn’t visit often, and for good reason. As a Colonel in the Minmatar militia, it wasn’t easy for me to get to, but today, it was worth the risk incurred. 

I was heading to Vanguard Frontiers, to visit Sam. I had been there only a handful of times previously, but Lady Grey had arranged for safe passage through their area of space, allowing me to avoid Band of Brothers, one of the most notorious alliances in that region.

I docked safely, and was greeted personally by Tessa Yor. She was cordial, respecting my rank and achievements; and I in return was respectful for all she had accomplished with her corporation. With her aid, I made my way through their station, navigating the labyrinth towards the lower levels that Sam called home. 

The door to his workroom slid open, and my nostrils were immediately assailed with numerous odours; oil, burned metal, Quafe soda, rotting food, body odour, and too many others to recognize. 

It was dimly lit, but the vibrant glow of dozens of terminals shone from various areas of the room. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear him immediately.

“Quantum superpositions of product states and, these so-called entangled states can have unique and counterintuitive properties. The best-known example of an entangled state is that which corresponds to two spin-½ particles with a total spin of zero…” 

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but that was actually quite normal for anyone that knew Sam. He was beyond brilliant, beyond innovative; he was truly astounding.

One accomplishment of note; he had developed an automated system for production and order management that earned the corporation over 100 billion isk per month; over a trillion isk since its first inception one year ago.

That was Sam. It wasn’t about the money for him; it was about the accomplishment, the knowing that it could be done. 

I rounded a corner of hardware and wires, tripping over a trash heap full of empty Quafe soda cans, and finally laid eyes on Sam, in all his … glory?

He was hunched over three computer monitors, typing furiously with one hand, while making adjustments with a micro laser tool in the other hand. He stank of sweat, and from the oily look of his hair, hadn’t showered in days. That was one of the problems with genius; it often left you unable to focus on the everyday necessities of life. 

This neglect had earned Sam much of his reputation among his corpmates. Sure, they thought he was a god when it came to technology, but they also mocked him behind his back. The clearest example of this was his nickname “PyjamaSam”. Clothing was one of those things that just got in the way. “In the time it takes me to put on undergarments, trousers, a shirt, a jacket, socks, boots and whatever else I need, I could’ve already been getting important work done.” Sam once explained to me. And as I laid my eyes on him now, I wasn’t surprised to see him wearing his typical choice of clothing; one piece blue flannel pyjamas. Despite this, I would never call him PyjamaSam; to me, he would always be Sam, my friend.

I wasn’t even sure he was aware I was there, until he suddenly turned to stare directly at me, which was somewhat unsettling. “What?” he said, as if that one word explained everything. I could already tell from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t even paying attention, that the fact I was here didn’t even phase him despite its rare occurence. He was probably juggling about three dozen different ideas in his head, which I obviously was intruding upon. The fact he acknowledged me at all actually showed the depth of our friendship.

“Sam,” I started. “When was the last time you slept?” He had huge bags under his eyes, his skin was even more pale than usual, and he just looked on edge. He grabbed another Quafe from nearby, popped the tab and drank it down in two gulps. 

“Seriously bud, you need to sleep.” I said. I was worried about him; he worked too hard, all the time. He didn’t know how to slow down.

Sam was a capsuleer, but you wouldn’t know it. Yet once again, Sam had to excel at all he did. He had managed to get blown up in just about every system he visited as soon as undocking. That was something.

“I just need to finish this equation, then I’ll sleep. I promise.” We both knew it was a lie. We both knew he would go until he collapsed, then sleep for a few days, only to get up and do it all over again. But you know what? That was ok. That was how Sam worked efficiently. It might not work for all of us, but then again, Sam wasn’t all of us was he?

“Let me see.” I foolishly said. I moved towards the monitor he indicated and looked at the screen.

Upsilon(1, 2) = (1/2^½)[{phi₁(n) x phi₂(-n)} – {phi₁(-n) x phi₂(n)}] was as far as I got before my head hurt. I wasn’t cutout for these things. 

Sam finally realized how odd it was for me to be here. He looked around, then directly at me, and asked “Roc, what’s wrong? Why are you here?” 

In addition to his brilliance, you’d be hard pressed to find a more caring man than Sam. His heart was actually more acute than his mind. He was always the first to be there for you when needed, no matter what he might be working on at the time. Most people didn’t notice this, as trying to penetrate that intellectual bubble was quite the daunting challenge, but the reward was well worth it. He was a sensitive individual whom I had opened my heart up to when needed. And no, we’re not gay. Why can’t two grown men be friends without people assuming they’re gay?!? Wait, I’m getting sidetracked.

“Nothing’s wrong, Sam. Just the opposite actually.” I said with a grin on my face. “It IS Christmas. I just have a gift for you is all.” I could see I had his full attention, as he turned on his seat to completely face me. “You, um, didn’t have to get me anything, Roc.” 

“I know, but I really thought you’d like this.” I could barely contain my joy at this; the look that would invariably end up on his face. That was yet another thing I enjoyed about Sam; he had the ability to completely and fully enjoy the moment.

I reached around the corner I had just passed, and picked up the present I had brought specifically for Sam. He looked at me quizzically, and as I handed him the box, I could tell he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Well, open it.” I urged him. He tore at the wrapping, quickly disgarding it haphazardly on the floor nearby, lost amidst the bottomloss trash heap.

He stared in wonder at the black box he held in his hands. It was featureless onyx, about the length of his arm…

His head snapped up to look at me, his eyes wide, when he finally figured out what he was holding.

I smiled from ear to ear at my dear friend, and nodded.

He stood up and placed the box reverently on his workbench, knocking Quafe soda cans loudly to the floor. He moved a spotlight to point down at the box from above, and turned it on. Opening the box lid carefully, he looked down in wonder, his hands clasped together, and stared at the DNA computer I had retrieved not too long ago on a recon mission. He just looked at me, almost begging for an explanation.

“Our guys couldn’t figure it out. We need you, Sam. You’ve got 48 hours.”

With that, I had lost him. He was already absorbed with the task at hand. I knew he would extract every terran secret from that artifact. This would tip the scales in favour of the Minmatar forever.

“Merry Christmas, Sam”. I thought to myself, and walked away back towards my ship.

—

“Sam”, this story is for you bud. In the amount of time we’ve known each other, I have to say you’ve become a very good and close friend. I appreciate your brilliance, your dedication, your ambitions. I share in your pains, your losses. You are my brother.

You taught me the joys of EVE Offline, and have helped me to see my own creative talents come to fruition. 

I celebrate all you are. I thank you for everything you do.

Merry Christmas.

—

Participants:

• CrazyKinux’s Musing: Standing on the Shoulders of Giants
• The Wandering Druid of Tranquility: What will your verse be?…
• A Merry Life and A Short One: EVE Blog Banter #3: What Not To Do
• Mad Rant: My Hero
• The Ralpha Dogs: A Greeting Card
• Inner Sanctum of the Ninveah: The Station
• Diving into Psyche Diver’s Psyche: CK’s Blog Banter #3: Praise and kudos
• Protosolus: EVE: Blog Banter 3 – A Piratical Legend
• Blogging from inside the Pod: The ‘Jita Incident’
• Achernar: Citizen Zhang
• Cosmik R5’s EVE Blog: Blog Banter: Tribute to an EVE player – Letrange
• Letrange’s EVE Blog: Is it December Banter time already?
• Life in Low Sec: EVE Blog Banter #3: Reverend Book
  
• Sweet Little Bad Girl: Blog Banter #3
  
• Votrian’s EVE Blog: EVE Blog Banter #3 – my influences

 

“That’s right; 2 billion last month.” she said to me via vidcom. 

She chuckled at me when I told her about my datacore production. To her, it was a pointeless endeavour compared to free ISK, free ships, and free parts.

I had picked up the datacores earlier in the day, and returned to my ship. I was free to leave, but honestly I had nowhere to go. I was fixated, unable to get my mind away from other things, so had decided to call my stockbroker. She took care of all my investments, and though young and traditionally unskilled, she had proven herself very adept at making profit.

“That’s fantastic to hear, Minara.” I replied. “I don’t know how you do it, but I’m really not complaining.” She was a curiousity to me. Given my military connections, she was easy to track, as she operated out of Rens, but the results of her movements weren’t very revealing. As I said, I had no idea how she was so successful at the market, but who was I to complain with 2 billion isk on average coming in per month?

She was a Caldari, but sympathetic to the Minmatar cause. It wasn’t uncommon to find immigrants from other regions coming to stand alongside the Republic in our struggle against the tyrannical oppression of the Empire. 

Besides, profit was good.

—

She sent a passive signal across time and space, waiting for the almost undetectable pingback in return. It was an innovative piggyback system, her signal discreetly attaching itself to secured military transmissions. It was so low bandwidth, emitting almost no trace, that you would really have to be purposefully scanning for it to even know it existed.

Her comm blipped. The receiving party was available.

“Does he suspect?” a soft male voice inquired.

“Not a thing.” Minara replied.

Profit was good.

“You’re free to go, Wieler, but don’t leave Metropolis Region before your tribunal hearing date, got it?” The Concord officers had been anything but friendly, but then again, why would they be? They knew who I was. They knew my status and my rank. Maybe by my actions I had reinforced already existing stereotypes they had about Brutors, about the military, about capsuleers. Who knows. I didn’t care.

“Understood.” I replied solemnly. I gathered up my gunbelt, reholstering my two pistols, letting them lay in their familiar grooves against my outer thighs.

I headed back to my ship, the Tribal Glory, and headed for my personal quarters. I needed some time to think; a lot had occured today, and it was only just reaching noon. I lay on my bed, allowing myself to sink into its luxurious comfort, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling of my room.

There had been many people throughout my life that had given me advice. Stop being so emotional, learn to control your anger, have emotional stability, etc, etc. They didn’t understand me. They thought they did; they thought they had the answers, but they didn’t. 

I wasn’t them. I never would be them. How could they understand that which they have never experienced firsthand? I’m referring to passion.

Passion had always been my greatest strength. I applied passion to all I did, and it had made me successful in a great many things. I poured my heart into my pursuits, never accepting no as an answer, and as such, my talents had shone. 

Passion had always been my greatest undoing. With the capacity to succeed at much comes the chance to fail large as well. Looking back over my life it was true; when I fell, I fell hard. 

But I wouldn’t change a single thing.

Passion is what changes society. Passion it was moves the universe forward. Passion is what improves the quality of life, allowing us to vibrantly feel and experience all that is around us. Without passion, not a one of us would be where we are today.

My own people, though many are still enslaved, were once all subject to that outrage. It was acceptable to be owned if you were one of our ethnicity. Society said that is how it was. Through passion, this was changed. It’s not just about an ideal or belief, but the acting upon, the never giving up on, that same ideal or belief that brings it into reality. Passion is the catalyst of change. Passion is the key component of triumph. One voice, filled with passion, gives way to thousands.

Look at Sam. Sam is brilliant. He has thoughts in his head I can’t possibly understand, and that’s ok. Yet they are more than thoughts. Sam’s passion brings his ideas to life. Brilliance is not enough. You need the passion to bring your dreams into reality, like Sam does, like I do.

I am a creature of passion. I don’t care what society says is acceptable. If society were correct 100% of the time, we wouldn’t be involved in yet another war would we. We wouldn’t watch our economy crashing as the cost of moon minerals skyrockets, and supply can barely keep up with demand. If the laws that existed were flawless, we wouldn’t have a generation of selfish sycophants, who have never gone wanting. 

Passion. A life lived without passion is a life not lived at all; or something along those lines. 

So for all my flaws, for all my shortcomings (don’t misread that ladies), I am who I am, and I take  immense satisfaction in that. 

I am Colonel Roc Wieler, proud fleet commander for the Tribal Liberation Force, scourge of the dreaded Amarr, and part-time supermodel. I chuckled to myself. I had been taking things too seriously again, letting them get to me. It was time to rise above it all, to allow my passions to achieve some good, as only I could do in my own unique way. It was time to go to Evati. It was time to fulfill my duties.

20 MINUTES LATER

“The pleasure is all mine, Shae.” I said across space. I had come to Evati looking for the Bastards originally, to enlist their aid in a corporate level 5 job I had undertaken. Turned out that Evati actually fell under my military jurisdiction, as it was part of the war zone my fleet and I were responsible for. I should’ve realized it sooner, but to be fair, it remained uncontested a fair amount of the time. I suppose that meant I’d been doing my job well, yay for me.

Now my objective had changed. It was well known throughout the militia that Evati was a hostile zone. Military vessels were at just as much risk as anyone else, if not more. The Pirates of Evati didn’t discriminate. Had I known that the Hellcats, and by association, the Bastards were the pirates of this system, I would’ve come here sooner to hopefully rectify the situation.

“Aw sweetie, aren’t you just a charmer?” she replied. “Mynx should be in subspace range soon, I know she’ll want to get in on this little chat of ours for sure.” Shae was cute. She sounded a little young, but extremely perceptive and intelligent. I would wager many a man had underestimated her only to end up floating outside an airlock, or out of wallet. I wouldn’t make that same mistake. Everyone deserved respect until they demonstrated otherwise.

“Thank you kindly, Shae.” I stated cordially. Coming to an accord with the Bastards would be a major strategic advantage for the war effort, allowing our forces to pass through Evati unmolested. This could open up new routes for us to flank the Amarr, and I was all for anything that would give us an advantage. Slowly, we had been losing ground to them. Systems had fallen and not been recovered. The Amarr were moving forward, unchallenged and seemingly unstoppable.

Shae and I engaged in some enjoyable smalltalk, until we heard a familiar voice enter our secured comm channel. There are some women in this universe whose voice can simply melt you to the core of your being. As I listened to her greet us, and start up some friendly banter with Shae, it became self evident that Mynxee, CEO of the Hellcats, was one of those women you could never let your guard down with, or she would devour you heart and soul.

“Roc, are you there sugah?” I had drifted off, the cadence of her voice already getting the better of me. “I’m here, Mynx.” I replied, trying to sound a lot more gruff than I usually did. 

We small talked about life in general, catching up on some interesting tidbits I would have to save for later should the need arise, until we finally circumvented to the reason for my visit, as it had become clear no help would be forthcoming from the Bastards for that cursed level five job I had taken.

I told them both of my intentions regarding Evati, and its involvement in the war effort. There was some back and forth questioning until Mynxee finally told me to hold tight.

Shae had to take her leave of us, and we wished her well; something about a pub and some young men needing to be relieved of a great many things. I shook my head; the follies of youth.

A new channel opened on my HUD; encrypted beyond military means. I heard Mynxee’s voice, and another I did not know.

“Colonel Wieler,” the voice began, synthesized to avoid voice filter detection. “Mynxee has told me much about you.” If we read between the lines there, what was really implied was “Or I wouldn’t be meeting with you at all.” I had to respect a man who went to this much trouble to protect his identity. It demonstrated intelligence and cunning, traits I often sought after for my own pilots. I had much hope for our negotiations.

“Thank you for flagging me as non hostile in Evati space.” I began. We cut right to the heart of the matter. 

“I’ve been informed that you wish safe passage in our space. How will it profit us, and what risk does it entail?” I wanted to correct him, as this space was most definitely not theirs, but to be fair, the militia was too thinly spread to contest the bold claim. Besides, no point in angering the man I needed something from, right?

“The Amarr grow bolder each and every day. Evati gives us a flank route from Hek, allowing us a clear tactical advantage over the systems in Metropolis. Your cooperation in this matter will be greatly appreciated, and bode well for the Bastards standing with the Minmatar Fleet.” 

I could’ve sworn I heard a chuckle when he began to speak again. ” I appreciate your position, but this war has become very profitable for us. What can you offer us that we don’t already have? Why risk our necks for a war we’re not involved in?”

Once again, that familiar feeling of outrage began to rise within me. This war affected all of us. If the Amarr were to be victorious, all of our systems, Evati included, would feel the iron rule of the Empire. How could he not see this? Or did he simply not care, believing the Amarr would leave them to carry on as they had? That was brazen, and foolish. And should the unspeakable happen, and the Empire lay claim to this system’s sovereignty, he would quickly find that out for himself.

“We can compensate you for your troubles.” I replied, keeping my anger in check, appealing to his pirate’s sense of profit.

“We already have a business setup for that, Colonel. We offer weekly and monthly passes to any whom wish safe passage through our domain. Depending on how many ships you are thinking, and which side you support in the war, I am sure we can come to an arrangement.”

Which… side? That was it. I was done here. I was just about to give him a verbal tongue lashing, when Mynxee, whom had remained silent thus far, burst into the conversation, screaming the battle cry of “MINMATAR!!!”

We both chuckled at that, and I found my anger subsiding.

“I was thinking no more than a single squad, ten ships, and in addition, we would allow you to lay claim to any salvage, as well as the prize of any Amarr ships we engage here.”

He didn’t reply right away, and I knew I had found my angle. We obviously were all Minmatar, as revealed by our mirth at Mynxee’s comment, and the temptation of salvage and Amarr wreckage at the cost of ten ships had to be an attractive offer. Sure, I had comprimised at the number of ships, but even a single squad should be able to do what was required in this system.

“Alright Colonel, ten ships. Send me the pilot list through Mynxee, and we’ll work something out on compensation. I’ll take this to our board of directors, though I can’t see any problems arising. I look forward to hearing from you.” With that, the deal was on the table.

Pirates. It always came down to profit with them.

“I’m impressed, handsome.” Mynxee chimed. “I like a man that can get his way.” 

Passion. She understood its power. I definitely needed to be more cautious around this vixen. 

I gave some thought as to which pilots would be appropriate for this role. The militia consisted of countless corporations and freelance pilots; keeping track of things in that manner would inevitably bring “accidents”, which would only lead to unnecessary complications. A single corporation, a single skilled squad, was what I needed. 

I grinned as the answer came to mind. I would use the Renegades.

I transmitted my report back to HQ, awaiting recommendations and decisions made by my superiors. Hopefully, there would be no problems with what I had done here. Diplomats weren’t received well by pirates. And where diplomacy failed, sometimes there was a chance for other avenues. 

It was only early afternoon. I still had time to pick up my datacores.

I chatted with Mynxee a little more, taking mental notes with each sentence shared, finally taking my leave.

Bring passion to all you do, and succeed or fail, your life will be one to remember.

It’s not all glamourous. It’s not all fun and games. Every action has a consequence; good or bad.

—

“Roc Wieler, you are under arrest. The charges are two counts of aggravated assault, one count of assault. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to …” I had tuned them out already, withdrawing deep inside of my own mind. What I had done? It would be all too convenient to say to you that I had no memory of it; that some type of miraculous hole had occured during my rage filled attack on that group of commuters. I can’t in good conscience do that though. I am fully aware of what I have done; I am simply in shock that I did it. 

Magtrain security had responded quickly to the train’s sudden lurch, as pressing the strip engaged the braking system, bringing the train to a halt and notifying security of exactly in which train car the strip was pressed. They arrived on the scene amidst my melee assault on those four passengers whom had given me the letter full of mucus. 

The two security personnel engaged me, trying to pull me off of one of the females, whom I was in the midst of punching repeatedly in the face. Some people don’t realize how vicious women can be; far more dangerous than men, both physically and emotionally. She had scratched long clawmarks down my face, and had kicked me in the groin. I don’t discriminate when it comes to combat. If you attack me, I will put you down.

They pulled me onto the floor of the train, yet still I struggled, headbutting one of them clean across the bridge of his nose. His grip released, as his hands reactively moved to cover the injury, leaving me free to deliver a meaty hook to his partner. By now though, two more security personnel had arrived.

I was restrained until the train could arrive at its next station, where CONCORD was awaiting me to press more formal charges. 

I was taken to the nearest CONCORD station, thrown in a holding cell, and left to consider my actions. I had been doing nothing but since the incident.

It only takes one choice, one moment, to change your entire life. I was being charged as a civilian; no military or capsuleer special privileges this time. My name would make the news, and not in the way it had in the recent past. There would be no coverup. This could end my military career.

When I was asked whom I would like to call, I had chosen my CEO. I figured he might at least have some pull on the civilian side of things. Instead, when I was finished being processed, given the terms of my release, and guaranteed I would show for my court date, it was my CEO who via vidphone, reminded me of corporate policies regarding criminal activity, then wrote me up on disciplinary action, letting me know that if anything like this happened again I would be terminated from the corporation.

I also had a call from General Fist, letting me know that in addition to the civilian charges I was now facing, I would also be charged as a war criminal, and made an example of. Abuse of power would not be tolerated within the ranks of the Republic. 

I’ve had people tell me to let go of my anger in the past. I’ve done the blame game, where it’s everyone else’s fault but my own. I am not that person anymore.

I accept the consequences of my actions. I know there will be reprecussions. I’m just so very tired of the idiots in the world. The sad part, of course, is that aside from the one I hospitalized, the rest of that group from the magtrain will go about their lives just the same, having never learned a damned thing.

Maybe I should just be woefully ignorant. Maybe I should just give up caring about anything, as it seems the more you try to do what’s right and good, the more you get bit in the ass for it.

I don’t know; it’s been a trying day. I just needed to writed my thoughts down. I have a lot to consider over the coming weeks. 

And I totally forgot about my datacores.

I woke up on the right side of the bed today, spring in my step, however you want to phrase it. This morning’s workout was incredibly rewarding, even though the “after workout pump” only lasted for about twenty minutes. Still, it was like a mirror into the future; looking at yourself, muscles engorged with blood. It was the future of what you would become with consistent hard work and dedication.

The station’s head mechanic had left me a voicemail; the ship was repaired and ready to go. I had fully expected delays and excuses; so it was particularly refreshing to hear everything was on budget and schedule. I also had an automated message from my datacore production facility; my cores were produced and awaiting my pickup. All in all, a very good morning.

I hummed an offkey tune as I waited for the magtrain, my final day on this godforsaken station, and smiled at near passerbys. The train arrived on schedule, and I found myself a spot to stand amidst the crammed in crowd. There was nothing that could get me down.

“Excuse me, but this is for you.” a strangely familiar voice said. I turned to see one of the Achura females from the annoying group in the corner standing before me, an envelope in her outstreched hand. I politely thanked her, and she turned away, squeezing her way back to her seat in the corner with her friends. I had completely forgotten about them, my joy was so great at what awaited me today.

I looked at the sealed envelope in my hand. Maybe I had gotten through to them? Maybe taking the high road did work after all? I looked back over at the group, who were quietly talking amongst themselves. I felt good about myself suddenly. Maybe I did make a difference for once, not as Colonel Roc Wieler of the Tribal Liberation Force, but simply as an anonymous commuter. My belief in the good of people was quickly being restored.

I tore open the envelope, eager to read their response. There was a folded sheet of paper inside. I unfolded the paper, only to see a large, thick glob of mucus stuck between the folds of the paper. On the paper itself was a smeared lipstick kiss. There were no words on the paper whatsoever.

My right eyelid twitched uncontrollably. My hands trembled, adrenaline coursing through my body. I could hear their laughter now, and chanced a glance in their direction. They were pointing, ridiculing me, louder than ever before. My head burned, and I could feel my heartbeat strongly in the pulsating vein on my forehead. The muscles and tendons in my neck strained as my jaw clenched, my teeth grinding against each other.  The mucus glob had slowly made its way down the paper, and dropped to the carpet at my feet with a thick, wet thud. 

I tried to push my emotions aside. I tried to make a rational decision. My vision narrowed and turned red, the rage announcing its hungry desire. All I could see were Veshta Yoshita, Mandi Kai, the two teenaged Brutor morons, the Amarrian priest, and every other individual from my past and present that subtracts from my enjoyment of life. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcefully willing myself to not react the way every fiber of my being was urging me to. A single tear slid down my face. 

I turned my head away before opening my eyes. When they opened and focused, my vision rested upon the yellow sticker from the day before; the emergency sticker and strip that lined the top of the side walls of the train. A sinister grin tugged at one side of my mouth. The decision was no longer mine to make.

I pressed the strip. An emergency was about to happen…

“Yeah, you’ve managed to ding her up pretty good,” the Republic Fleet assembly plant mechanic said.

—

Lasleinur.

Aura provided everything the Minmatar militia and Republic historical records had on the system. Bottom line; it wasn’t pretty. I hadn’t heard back from Mynxee; I took her silence as my answer. I had decided I would at least recon the agent mission, and if need be, employ some local mercs to assist me in its completion. That would be a delicate balance; I would have to offer them more isk than the salvage of my ship would be worth. Mercs could be loyal; their strength and weakness being the pursuit of profit.

—

“How much?” I grumbled to the mechanic. I nearly scoffed at his response.

—

Reality slowed to real-time around us as we exited warp from the ancient accleration gate. The scene before me was gruesome, but all too familiar. I quickly deployed scan probes, Aura quickly processing the terabytes of data into something I could understand. Twenty seven Minmatar wrecks between sixty and ninety kilometer range. Damage markers indicated massive hull piercing from laser based weapons, with support from cruise missles. My mind tried to analyze what must have transpired here.

—

His cost for repairs was non-negotiable. Apparently pirates in low sec didn’t only live outside of stations. In reality though, I had no choice. I was fortunate enough to find a Fleet assembly plant out here that would have the parts needed for my ship; things could’ve been much worse.

“How long?” I asked.

—

Aura blared her warning alarm across the ship and through my brain; forty four hostiles warping in at one hundred kilometer range. The probes quickly made haste to get better intel for me. The data was grim; Guristas. Their fleet consisted of mostly battleships, a few battlecruisers, cruisers, multiple frigates, and two interceptors, which were already aligning towards me and running hot.

My mind reeled at the sight of them, and my memory flashed images of those two Brutor teens I had disciplined not too long ago on the magtrain; especially the one wearing the Guristas shirt. I could feel the anger rising within me, the desire to turn straight into this fleet and tear them apart. It would be foolhardy to do so, and I knew it. Instead, I focused on what I had been learning in therapy; slowing my breathing, pushing emotions to the side to make rational decisions. It was a difficult thing for me to do in all honesty. My life was war. My life was killing. Trying to balance that with inner peace seemed contrary and hypocritical to me, as if I were living a duplicitous lie.

The interceptors had already closed to fifty kilometers; the time to act was now. Lazily, my Republic Fleet Stabber rolled to its port side, away from the incoming angle of the interceptors, Aura aligning the nav computer to a nearby moon. From there, it wouldn’t be difficult to plot an escape route out of this system. A bright flash of light appeared directly in front of us, Aura talking directly to my cerebrum. 

“Warp Disruption bubble detected, 100 km radius.”

A heavy interdictor had warped directly in front of me. I would have to find another escape route. Entering warp on this course would tear both our ships apart, killing our crews needlessly. 

I fired up the Corelum C-Type 10MN Afterburner, angling the ship’s nose downwards, increasing  thrust to a maxxed out 2700 m/s. The interceptors were under thirty kilometers now; the familiar sound of my ship being target locked chiming through the pod. Things were going to get interesting.

I pushed the mental commands through the system, directing the weapons masters to get ready. Most Minmatar liked autocannons, as did I. There were few things more satisfying than getting in close to your target and tearing their plating to shreds. It often meant sustaining more damage than needed, and in a hostile environment such as lowsec, the more I could minimize damage to my ship, the better. I had my chief mechanic and his team fit the ship with 650mm tech 2 artillery cannons for this endeavour, complete with Fleet Issue Titanium Saibot and Phased Plasma ammunition.

The two interceptors broke formation, splitting into paths I knew were designed to urge me away from my current alignment, reducing my chances at escaping this engagement.

I gave the command to fire. All five cannons were trained on the closest interceptor, whom undoubtedly was trying to get into range to web me. Slowing the velocity of your enemy was one of the first things every new pilot was taught. It figured into transverse calculations; the slower your enemy was moving, the faster you could keep moving while maintaining the same percentile for successful weapons hits.

While fast, interceptors were weak; there was always a tradeoff. It exploded in a brilliant display of light, but I had already turned my attention to the other interceptor. That was when the ship lurched. The interdictor had joined the battle.

—

“Five days?!? Are you kidding me? For that kind of ISK, I think you meant five hours,” I rambled. “What the hell am I supposed to do in this godforsaken place for five days? I have deadlines to meet!” I went on extensively beyond that, but already knew from the glazed over look in the station mechanic’s eyes that it wasn’t going to matter. Five days was how long it was going to take. I could already see the smirk on that bastard agent’s face as I kissed my bonus goodbye.

I sent Sam a transmission. We talked briefly about things way beyond me, as was often the case, but his passion about technical things always left me feeling the better for our conversations. Sam wasn’t one to make you feel stupid even though he was probably more brilliant than anyone he spoke to. That was one of the many things that made his friendship so likeable. One of the other things was his curious quest to find new and easy ways to make life better, whether it be through technology, or simply through profit.

“Data cores? I have no idea what you’re talking about Sam.” I said into the vidcam. He patiently explained it all to me, and how basically I could research and produce datacores, which were always in demand across all of New Eden, and basically profit for very little work. I looked up the agent directory for this station, and sure enough, there was an entry level Research Agent that would more than likely help me get started in this new venture. I had five days to spend here anyway, so what the hell. I transferred the agent’s location into my datapad, then headed for the station magtrain system. 

—

The interdictor had me webbed, had scrambled my warp drive, and was hammering me with its weapons. I was much faster than the interdictor, so very few of the blows were full impact. Either way, too many hits and I was done for. I gave another mental command, then veered away from the interdictor, trying to escape the reach of its stasis webifier, praying that the reset cycle for the warp core would come online soon.

A single Augmented Valkyrie was released from my drone bay; a little something to distract the remaining interceptor while I made the desperate attempt at escape. The Valkyrie might have a chance at even taking out the enemy, depending on how good the opposing pilot was.

Four kilometers. It doesn’t seem like much in a starship, but when you’re webbed, it might as well be forty. Well, that’s not entirely true; it feels like forty, but really you’re only slowed to half of your maximum velocity. Still, in a fight, every second counts, and I was running out of time on the clock.

—

DAY 1:

Societies are funny. One realization I had just come to was that it doesn’t matter where you are, or who the people are, there is always a “rush hour”, that time twice per day where far too many people cram into far too small an area to get far too unsatisfying jobs. Those particular times of day might vary from place to place, but they are invariably there. I had happened to discover rush hour at this station.

I kept to myself, standing in an aisle on the magtrain, enjoying some neo-jazz through my audio implant. I heard some rather raucous laughter, even through my music, and turned my head to see the source of the disruption. In the corner of the magtrain sat four adults; two Achura females, a Caldari male of some sort, and a Gallente male. They were talking, gesturing, laughing quite merrily, and at excessive volume. I noticed many other passengers throwing them dirty looks, trying to ignore them, trying to subtly give them a sign that they were indeed being quite annoying and disruptive, but it was having no effect.

I turned back to mind my own business, as I often do. This wasn’t familiar territory. I didn’t want to make any poor impressions here; just get to work, do the job, then get back to the mission. As I let my eyes wander in front of me, I noticed a small yellow and black sticker placed above a thin yellow strip that ran along near the top of the sidewall of the magtrain. It said “Emergency Alarm, Use in case of Fire, Harassment, Illness, Accident, Vandalism, or Passenger Safety.” Nice. Maybe lowsec wasn’t so uncivil afterall, present noisy company excluded of course.

—

The heavy interdictor continued to pour hot death down upon me. The Valkyrie seemed to be holding its own though, a little taste of good luck I savoured. My shield hardeners strained against the punishment they were taking, and I knew once they were drained my armour plating wouldn’t last long. Things were becoming serious, and quickly. That was when I had a crazy idea. 

I turned my Stabber towards the Interdictor, urging Aura to lock onto the enemy’s bridge. They might think I was bluffing, but that was simply because they didn’t know me. All artillery turned and fired in bursts at the bridge, the damage splashing off of the larger ship’s shields. That was ok; I actually was bluffing, but it was all about appearances. I closed the distance between us as best I could, edging ever closer to the enemy’s bridge, continually burst firing all the while. Artillery was limited for close range combat, but I had enough skill that I believed I could pull this off.

At five thousand meters, the enemy reacted as intended. The interdictor slowly listed to one side, not so much worried about the dismissive damage we were doing, but more because they had calculated my trajectory. For all intensive purposes, it appeared to be a suicide run directed straight at the command center. No pilot in his right mind would risk his ship and crew falling prey to that, especially when they knew their enemy was a capsuleer, and could simply clone himself into a new body should the worst fate befall him. Their ship had a much larger crew than mine. Their ship was far more expensive than mine. Their loss would be far greater than mine. Everything always came down to profit with mercs. I played my hand.

At three hundred meters, I forced the ship to pull away. It groaned, threatening to buckle at the command, but managed to obey me faithfully. I felt a lower turret sheer off as the two ships scraped against each other, but the plan had worked. The interdictor captain had reacted predictably to this insanity; the webifier was disengaged, and as my ship cleared theirs, they entered warp. At the same time, the second interceptor exploded, having been beaten by my Valkyrie.

The frigates were under sixty kilometers now, and the warp disruption bubble still active. Shields were at eleven percent, and wouldn’t be recharged in enough time to sustain anymore damage from the enemy. My warp core still needed thirty seconds to complete its reset cycle, and there was no way I could escape the grip of the bubble in time to make a hasty exit before the frigates arrived. Unless…

—

DAY 2:

Datacores were actually kind of interesting. I had never engaged in anything outside of death and destruction, and I found this to be a new and enjoyable challenge all on its own. I decided to take the same rush hour magtrain as I had the previous day, and much to my chagrin, the same cluster of disruptive commuters were seated in the corner, sharing each and every word they had to say with the rest of the magtrain crowd. It was starting to get on my nerves a little bit; I could only imagine how vexed those who took this train every day must’ve felt.

—

I sent the Valkyrie to destroy the bubble generator. It was another gamble, but I really couldn’t think of any other options at the time. I wasn’t going to survive the frigate assault, and I wasn’t able to warp away to safety. The seconds counted down ever so slowly as the Valkyrie zoomed towards its intended target. I hoped this wasn’t one of those times where it spontaneously decided to quit listening to my mental commands and choose its own course of action. That was an annoying thing with drones, they sometimes went rogue, achieving some form of self awareness, and simply no longer responded to control. I routinely had my drones’ memories wiped clean to minimize that possibility.

—

DAY 3:

I could feel the vein in my forehead pulsing. I knew I was growing flush. I clenched and unclenched one fist repeatedly. Maybe I should just take a different train? But why should I have to change my schedule to accomodate someone else? Would they do the same? Of course not. If they gave a rat’s ass about anyone besides themselves they wouldn’t continue to sit there in woeful ignorance, blathering on about asinine things. I mean, did this look like a pub, or a dance floor, or a grade school cafeteria? Some other commuters were trying to sleep; some trying to read or work on their laptops. It was just simply disgusting. I was losing patience. Maybe I should just write them a letter, try to be civil about it. That is what my therapist would say. Of course, she always said don’t send the letter, it’s just a release for my own emotions, but I think this might be one of those exceptions. I would write it tonight.

—

The frigates locked on. I was aligned on my escape vector. The warp core finished its reset cycle. The drone destroyed the bubble generator. Augmented Valkyries weren’t cheap, but I didn’t have time to wait for it to return to the drone bay. I urged the ship forward, and time and space stretched before me. I had escaped.

—

Day 4:

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “This is for you.” I handed them an envelope, with my written letter inside. This is what it said:

“Dear sirs/madams,

Thank you for taking the time to read this communique. 

I am a man of great joy, and can appreciate and celebrate the joy of others. I applaud your many stories and  shared laughter, and commend you on the vibrant friendships you share with one another.

I am also one who enjoys the ease and availability of public transit. 

As such, I haven’t been able to help but notice your group. You are all very loud, disruptive even, and it affects me. At first, I was judgemental, wondering who you thought you were, that your time was more important than anyone else’s, or that what you have to say is of more value than those other passengers that surround you. I realize this was wrong of me, and I apologize.

Perhaps you are simply and woefully ignorant of the impact your little group has on others. Perhaps you aren’t aware that this isn’t a place for teenaged like behaviour amongst adults. Perhaps you paid more for your tickets than the rest of us, and that entitles you to carry on inappropriately the way you do, but I doubt that, as all tickets are the same price. 

I really am not sure what the right way to approach this subject is, so I will simply and politely ask. Would you please mind keeping it down so as to not negatively affect and interfere with others enjoying the magtrain? I know I would not be the only one incredibly appreciative of this gesture.

Thank you, sincerely.”

—

I was most curious to see if my heartfelt letter would have any effect.

“Too many things to do, never enough time.” I know we’ve all felt that way. Right now, it’s my turn. In addition to my already fulfilling and overbooked life, I’ve eluded to some special projects I’ve been working on.

Rocalicious 2009 Calendar

This is now the single most viewed post on my blog. There must be a lot of women out there anxiously awaiting this product (and maybe a few ‘men’).

The calendar is almost ready, and should be in my upcoming online store, the Store of Roc, shortly. Just finishing up some postwork on the images. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten!

Bio CD

The other project I’ve been working diligently on for the last two months is a sixteen track soundtrack chronicling the story of Roc Wieler thus far. It was an emotional experience composing, arranging, mixing and mastering this CD, but I am very excited to see the reaction my readers and fans have to this musical work. It will be launching at the Store of Roc on Dec 15th!

I gave a sneek peak of the Rocalicious 2009 Calendar not too long ago, so it’s only fair if I give a sneek peak of the Bio CD. The title track of the CD can be downloaded HERE. It’s in AAC format, perfect for iTunes. The CD itself has superior quality of course, but I chose AAC for this preview as it does a better job than MP3. If you have issues playing it, I’m sorry, you’re just gonna have to wait for the CD.

Capsuleer

This list just keeps growing. Sam and I have been relentless in our pursuit of bringing you the single best EVE Online iPhone application. The features we’re adding should really immerse our users more into both EVE and into the application. We’ve restructured our entire application process, and laid out our plan about 4 major version releases in advance, so our roadmap is completely defined, and there are already elements of future releases being implemented into v1.1 of Capsuleer. 

So thanks for bearing with me recently. I still try to write a rambling every day, and once I get these things off of my plate, I am sure it will be back to business as usual. Of course, Christmas is here, New Year’s, wrapping up projects at work … ugh … too many things to do, never enough time.

“That is correct,” he said flatly to me. “I require you to undertake this contract with extreme haste and prejudice. You have proven yourself capable in the past for us, and given your military record, this should be a walk in the park for you, Colonel Wieler.” He emphasized my rank with sarcasm. I really detested dealing with new agents, especially ones on the edge of Empire space, but he did pay well; very well, and who was I to turn away work? War was expensive, a constant outpouring of ISK with precious little in return. I re-read the intel report, furrowing my brow further. This wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, unless by walk he meant blindly run, and by park he meant minefield. 

“All right, I’ll do it. Just make sure you have your bonus signed and ready.” I threw the intel datasheet on his desk, stiffened my posture, the heels of my military boots clacking together, turned perfectly on the ball of my foot, and marched out of his office. It might not have been the appropriate display at the time, but it felt good. People got lazy in lowsec; there was no discipline, no order. The further you got from Empire space, the less civilized people tended to be. There were exceptions of course, but this condescending agent was not one of them.

I had only ventured a handful of times into known pirate space. Sure, the war had taken me wherever needed, but that was different; I always had a fleet at my side and the support of the Minmatar Republic at my back. This was corporate work. Nobody would be coming to look for me if things turned sour; they would simply entice someone else with the promise of ISK, never having to risk their own corporate assets. Pilots were expendable.

I arrived back at the docking bay we were moored at, and entered my Republic Fleet Stabber. I had upgraded some of its fittings recently, trying to get my feet under me again in the private sector. I had gotten so used to barking orders, focusing on the tactics of hundreds of ships at a time, that I had gotten a little rusty at surviving on my own. That needed to change.

My newest crew was untested. I hadn’t taken them on any war engagements, though they had over one hundred hours each logged in the holosim, engaging in plex skirmishes. After losing my previous crew due to gross impulsiveness on my part, I was more cautious about throwing away any more lives or ships needlessly.

To that end, I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I could pull this off on my own. Strong willed or not, I was going to need help.

Who did I know in lowsec? Who could I trust to not double cross me on this run, and be happy just taking their cut from the salvage? I looked closely at the star charts. 

I wasn’t exactly sure where they were based, but I was hoping they might be able to help, as they were quite reputable pirates and would know how to go about this type of thing far better than I. I just had to make sure this entire adventure wasn’t traceable; the last thing I wanted was  my pristine reputation tarnished being seen associating with filth. I sent an encrypted burst packet across subspace. Here’s hoping she remembered the decryption key we used last time we did business. 

Here’s hoping the Hellcats were willing to do me a favour.