Something I have never understood about people is what I have termed “Woeful Ignorance”. “Head in the sand”, “Oblivious”, “Self-centered” are all similar terms, but they just don’t completely embrace the message I am trying to convey when I say “Woeful Ignorance”.

It’s more than just being a selfish jerk. It’s more than being ignorant of politics and news. It’s about allowing your own ignorances to detract from others, taking away from their enjoyment of life is some way, big or small. To be so completely out of touch with reality, microcosm or macrocosm, to the point where you are impacting strangers, friends and family alike, is one of my greatest pet peeves. 

I have no patience for stupid people.

—

It was a hot and humid summer. I was on the magtrain. I know, you probably still wonder why I spend so much time among my own people if I just become infuriated. I wonder that myself sometimes too. These are the people I fight for, but there are days I question why. I think that might be my reasoning really. My own internal conflicts are often brought to self-illumination while riding the magtrain, and I force myself to somehow work through them to resolution. Doubt in a pilot’s mind can be lethal, and I couldn’t afford to have doubts.

So, I was on the magtrain, observing, listening, remembering what it was like to be anonymous. It was my usual routine; one which I enjoyed. I am a people watcher. I find for me, it’s the best way to gain understanding of a situation; observation. I am detail oriented. I take in sights, sounds, smells, body language; everything I can.

I’ve had some tell me I’m too judgemental. Isn’t that, in and of itself, a judgement?

One particular male had my attention. He was talking on a handheld communications device. Not everyone had aural implants, even though they had come down in price drastically over the last two years. Anyway, I gathered from his vocal volume that he was having trouble hearing the person on the other end. I find that ironic. If you can’t hear them, why must you speak louder? Does it help you hear them better? Do you assume that because you can’t hear them, they must not be able to hear you? I hadn’t been on this particular magtrain before, but had a particular destination in mind. The magtrain was quite crowded, and I was near the back, which made it difficult to see the “Next Stop” sign at the front of the magtrain. There was an Aura-like voice that broadcast the next stop, but with that guy talking so loudly I couldn’t hear it clearly. I was getting to know all about the person he was talking to though, as were most everyone else in his vicinity.

I really didn’t want to miss my stop.

I politely said “Excuse me.” to get his attention. He put his hand over the mouthpiece of his device, throwing me a dirty look. “I’m in the middle of a call.” he said, in case I wasn’t already painfully aware. “Would you mind keeping it down a little? I can’t hear the stops, and don’t know the area. It would be appreciated.”

“Move to the front of the train then. Not my problem.” he replied.

“Look, the train’s full. I’m just asking you to keep it down a little so I can hear. It’s not a difficult request.” I was standing directly in front of his seat now, my volume normal and steady, non threatening, so as not to raise even more of a disruption than his excessive volume. 

I guess he didn’t like that because he asked the person on the other end of his phone to hold on, then stood up in front of me, inches from my chest, looking up at my face, his bravado evident. Good for him. He felt brave.

I didn’t back up. “Why don’t you find somewhere else to stand, Brutor?” he said at me with disdain. “This is an important call.”

“Yes, I realize Kelly’s cousin isn’t feeling well, and now Kelly has to do all of her grocery shopping, and with all the hours she’s been putting in at work recently, she’s so tired that she doesn’t even want to get out of bed. It’s quite the dilemma.”

I pay attention to details. His eyes narrowed with furious intent. I had violated his privacy. The irony of course, is that he had violated his own privacy, but I have often found it’s difficult to explain these subtle truths to people when they become angry. His body posture changed slightly, becoming more aggressive. His hip turned. I knew he was going to throw a punch.

Having said that, to the witnesses there, it would like I started the fight. I did not. I simply knew the punch was coming before them, and diffused the situation before it became embarassing for this guy.

With my left hand, I grabbed his handheld. With my right palm, I forcefully angled downwards a firm push where his neck and clavicle met. Simple biomechanics. It doesn’t matter how big you are, how strong you are, your body will respond as it was designed to, no matter how hard you try to resist it.

He plopped down ungracefully on his seat, murderous rage and confusion on his face.

As I mentioned, it was a hot summer. The magtrain had a few windows open. One happened to be right behind him. I threw his handheld out of the window.

He went to stand again, his aggression apparent. I stiff armed him back into his seat, quietly warning him “Don’t”.

Just then, I heard the next stop being announced. It was mine. I backed away, keeping my eye on him lest he not realize this was already over.

He just sat in his seat, glaring bloody murder towards me. I was used to that look. It said to me, “I am now impotent, and know it. I hate you for making me feel that way.” It was a common rationalization. It made the other party to blame, instead of having to look at your own woeful ignorance.

The magtrain slowed to a stop. I left the train, and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my day.

I had nothing left to give. There is always more to give, my mind told me. I grunted and exhaled, straining beyond my limits, pushing for that last rep. The clanging of the bar against its holder was a sound of triumph to me, as I finished what proved to be a fantastic workout.

I was drenched with sweat, my arms shaking, my chest quivering. I had some stress to work out and felt all the better for it. I headed for the treadmill to start my ten minute cooldown. I noticed a Krusual corp mate had finished his workout, and was heading to the change room. I didn’t know his name, as he was a rookie to Freeform Industries. There was only one shower in our corporate gym, so I figured by the time I was done my cooldown, he would be finished up. Perfect; just enough time for me to shower and report for duty. I enjoyed being punctual. It was something I demanded of my pilots. It was something I demanded of myself.

Ten minutes later I discovered I was very wrong about my timing estimate.

I entered the change room, still dripping sweat, to hear the only shower still going. No worries; he was probably just finishing up. I stripped down, wrapped my towel around my waist, and waited. I could hear the soap dispenser. I waited. I could hear it again. I could see through the translucent shower panel that he was rewashing himself, twice, three times. Sweet Lord. 

I harumphed as best I could, trying to be polite. I heard the shampoo dispenser going. For the little bit of hair that Krusual had, you would think he wouldn’t need to wash it five times. I cleared my throat; loudly. Still no response. I sighed outwardly. Nothing.

I looked at the chrono on the wall. I was running out of time, and couldn’t very well report for duty soaked through with sweat. Again, what I demand from my pilots I demand from myself. It had been 18 minutes. Including the ten I was on the treadmill, that’s 28 minutes in the shower. Sure, he was a little chubby, but seriously?

Another five minutes passed, with me huffing and hawing to no avail. Then the showerhead stopped. He was finished. A wash of relief flowed through me; prematurely as it turned out. 

He towelled himself off; once, twice, three times. Another four minutes had passed. That was all I could take. 

I walked to the shower door, threw my towel over it, opened it up, and walked in. The look of shock and modesty on his face was very satisfying, as he shrank beneath my impressive form. “Sorry, I don’t have all day to wait for you to dry the crack of your ass.” I said. He frowned at me, but said nothing, quickly scurrying from the shower.

Ah, a nice hot shower. Exactly what I needed after a good workout. I turned the showerhead on, and felt the searing heat… for about twenty seconds. Then the water went ice cold. You chubby little shit, I thought to myself.

Just the same, I enjoyed a five minute shower, quickly towelled myself off, and opened the door. Much to my surprise and mirth, the Krusual was still in the changeroom. He had a complete line of toiletries lined up on the counter, and was currently applying baby powder to himself. I couldn’t help but smile. There was deodorant, cologne, a comb, hair product, a tooth brush, toothpaste, mouthwash, tweezers, a freshly rolled pair of underwear, socks, dog tags, and the baby powder in hand. The way they were methodically laid out made it easy to see where he was in his slightly obsessive routine.

I ignored him, as he ignored me, and quickly dressed, stuffing my soiled workout clothing into my duffle bag. I had to take one more look. I simply couldn’t help myself.

He was currently holding his towel under the hair dryer, making sure it was good and dry. Unfrickinbelievable. I watched for another moment as he folded each of his clothing items, ensuring they were in their allocated spot within this gym bag. Then he went back to applying more baby powder.

I understand we all have our own quirks. I get that we all have our own perceptions of ourselves. What I also know is that I do my very best to not allow my personal habits to interfere with the lives of others. Case in point, I took a five minute shower because I know it’s the only shower there. It drives me mad when people are just woefully ignorant. How hard is it to be conscious of those around you? Why do so many simply go about their lives robotically, completely engrossed in their routines, incapable of responding to unexpected stimuli into their ritural? It’s a pet peeve. One of many.

I snorted condescendingly to myself, and made a parting comment. “You look pretty; hope he appreciates it.” Then I left the gym to report for duty. 

I vowed if I ever had to fly with that Krusual, I would shoot whomever made the duty roster.

Four miles through the most treacherous terrain you could imagine. The first mile was through a narrow rocky path, surrounded on all sides by thorny underbrush, and the rain was pouring down hard, slicking the route, making the mounts a little more hesitant to follow commands, and a little more likely to turn on their rider.

“C’mon girl, you can do it!” I yelled at my mount. There were only six of the eight riders left; one having been taken out just after the race’s start, the second being dislodged from his mount less than a minute ago due to a misstep near the underbrush. I was currently in third position, most of the remaining pack behind me. The downpour was treacherous to both my mount and I. Her fur was matted flat, difficult to hold onto, and her footing unsure. My clothing was soaked through, easily adding twenty pounds to its weight, my shield and flail that much more difficult to lift. The shield had an obvious purpose. I chose the flail for it’s reach. This one was a four foot pole with a six inch chain attached. At the other end of that length of chain sat a one foot iron rod, covered in four inch reverse hook spikes. It was efficient for tearing riders off of their mounts, or were I a dirtier player, slowing down the mount itself.

Taking out the mount was frowned upon between most riders. There was an inherent respect for the mount; the care and training it took to rear such a beast, the respect given to its role in this sacred race. Pounding the snot out of each other was one thing, but respect the mount. There were, occasionally, those who would play dirty, but they quickly found themselves facing “early retirement” as most honourable racers would sacrifice positioning in a race to maim or kill a known dirty rider. Still, it happened.

“C’mon girl, we’re almost through the first mile. Stay strong.” She didn’t really need my coaxing. We had slowed pace to her comfort level. I learned long ago that your mount is very aware of its own limitations; it doesn’t need you telling it to give more. Fatiguing your animal, or pushing past its ability to perform, inevitably leads to disaster. My mount was still moving quickly, only having slowed slightly to allow herself better traction in these slippery conditions.

Thankfully, aside from the torrentous rain, the race itself had been uneventful for me thus far. I was riding alone, but the race was still early. The camera drones hadn’t spent much time on me, so I knew I wasn’t in any immediate danger. Generally, the bloodier the show, the more the audience enjoyed it, and the more the drones hovered around you.

I looked ahead to the next mile of the race in the distance, the steep and narrow mountain climb to a snow covered summit. Between the rain, soon to be sleet, snow and hail, and the subzero temperatures, I couldn’t even see the mountain top. Lovely.

It had been a brutal season. It was expected to lose racers each season, that’s part of the glory of this sport; part of the reason the fans still came in droves even though practicing this time honoured tradition was made illegal fifty years ago.

But there were too many losses that season. 

The rules to bear racing were simple. There was a marked course, and you followed a path from point A to point B. You were not allowed to leave your mount at anytime, or you were disqualified, and you were not allowed to bring any weapon with moveable parts, or you were disqualified. Pretty much anything else was acceptable. 

My new trainer was working out nicely that season. He had taken to the bear immediately with grand affection, and more importantly, the bear reciprocated in kind. They had achieved a lot for me, and I was well pleased with the progress.

My bear snorted in anticipation, snapping me back to the task at hand. It was the semi-final race. I leaned down and patted her behind the ear, letting her know how fond of her I was. She was a good bear, fast, fierce, and full of stamina. I looked down the line to my left and right, taking in the other competitors, looking for signs of fear or weakness, looking for ways to exploit them in this race. 

I could feel a small bead of sweat forming at the base of my neck; my own heart racing with excitement. There was something to be said for riding a bear; no matter how many times you did it, it was always a rush. The entire experience of being a racer was an adrenaline packed fun fest. It reminded me of piloting. 

The tribal drums started up, the indication to both racers and fans alike that the race was about to start. The crowd went wild with cheering and applause; the racers tended to their mounts last minute needs and screwed on their own courage.

The announcer’s voice blasted over a megaphone, going through the ritual in the old language, as was our tradition. I dug my hands firmly into my bear’s fur, fistfuls ready to steer her towards a hopeful victory.

The countdown began. 

3

2

1

The horn blasted, and the race began.

“What do you mean it’s the wrong one?” I growled. “Imma telling ya Colonel, she’s not the extra large.” my Chief Mechanic barked back at me. “Yer contact pulled the ol wool oer yer eyes.” I was fuming angry. I had been sold a LARGE Gist-X Shield Booster, not the X-LARGE as advertised in the contract. How was that even possible? A billion ISK out of pocket. I paced back and forth angrily, barely able to maintain focus enough to devise a solution to this dilemma. No wonder my team had no problem fitting it to my ship. I just wanted to scream.

“Imma fraid there’s more bad tidings fer ya as well lad.” What else could there possibly be? I was already out most of my earnings from the last six months, stuck with a part I didn’t even want. I would have to see if I could unload it on the market at some point. “What is it?” I fumed.

“Well I did some research on Luther Veron fer ya. And I don’t be thinkin’ hela be givin’ you any parts soon.”

“And why is that?” I snapped.

“He was beheaded nearly two years ago.” 

I deflated completely.

How could I have been so grossly incompetent in my planning? My Claymore sat there, a hunk of worthless metal to me right now, taunting me with failed visions of grandeur. She was going to be my flagship. Now I was going to have to start my fittings schematics all over from scratch.

This time, I would verify everything was obtainable before letting my mind go crazy with pipe dreams.

“Iva already started modifying the fittins.” It was like he could read my mind sometimes. “And?” I retorted.

“We’re lookin’ close to twenty billion fer the best o what’s out thar.” TWENTY BILLION??? How in the hell was I going to come up with twenty billion isk? I felt my knees weaken. My dream was being repeatedly shattered, until comprimise after comprimise left me with just an average Claymore. 

My heart was distraught. 

I was just a naive fool, trying to live beyond his means. No ship is worth twenty billion isk. I would have to come up with another idea for the Claymore.

What a noob.

I sat in a local medcenter after the magtrain incident. I took a good shot to the jaw, which was now clicking whenever I shifted it. I also managed to bust the skin of my knuckles open, probably from repeatedly punching my fist into the side of the head of one of those two Brutor teens. I was like a battering ram to the temple, which sounds a lot more mystical than it was.

Anyway; the magtrain was delayed for twenty five minutes. At first, the people were pleased with my actions, some even clapping as the train security came and removed the two hoodlums; then the conductor announced the delay, which soured their mood. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again; people are fickle. When we arrived at the central station stop, the last stop for that particular train, the same security team that had removed the punks from the train, was waiting for me on the platform. I figured local authorities would’ve been called if it was something serious, so didn’t even break stride as I egressed from the train.

“Sir, would you mind if we asked you a few questions?” one of the two private security officers asked. “Not at all.” I replied. “We just wanted to hear your account of what happened on the train, as the two offenders are both saying that you attacked them. Is this true?”

I could tell from his tone, and the way his eyes shifted and fidgeted around in their sockets that he really didn’t want to pursue this matter further. “Look at me.” I began flatly. “I’m smaller, older, and a helluva lot more tired than either of them is I wager. I’m already thinking of going to the medcenter to make sure they didn’t bust up my insides. Do I really look like the kind of guy that would start a fight?” I almost couldn’t get through that sentence with a straight face. They looked at each other for a few moments, quietly talked amongst themselves, then delivered their verdict. “We figured as much. It’s pretty obvious how it went down. Trash like them lying to try to get out of their situation is typical. And if you need a ride, sir, I’d be happy to take you to the medcenter.” Ah crap. I actually had no intentions of going to the medcenter. It was just a few scrapes and bruises; it would heal quickly. “That would be very kind of you, son.” I said, trying to sound older and more frail than I really was.

And that was how I got here. There were worse things than waiting for medical treatment. Besides, the attending nurse was rather attractive. She had batted her eyelashes at me more than once already; and from her physical manner it was easy to tell she was interested in me. As she finished applying disinfectant nanites to my knuckle wound, I eased into my pickup line. “Am I gonna live?” I asked with mock sincerity. She laughed a beautiful laugh, her eyes alight with fire and passion. I was already aroused. She held my hand in hers, lifting it closer to her face. She squinted her eyes, crinkling her nose, as she examined my knuckles. “Well, I’m not a doctor,” she intoned with an inflection as silky smooth as honey, “But I think you’re perfectly fine.” She smiled a coy devil’s smile at this, and “accidentally” let my hand fall against her chest before acting surprised and blushing. I decided to go in for the kill. “I have read that physical affection can often aid in the healing process. Do you know if that’s true?” I stood up, looking her directly in the eyes, my smoldering gaze penetrating her. She moved towards me, to give me a hug, and I began to reciprocate. I reached to hold her close, to enjoy the feel of her against me; to heighten the sexual tension and excitement between us both; to take this little flirtatious game to the next level; to … be patted on the back and burped like an infant? WTF?

Ladies, please; when you hug a man, do it right. Let him get a good squeeze of you. Why else do you think he’s hugging you? The “burp me” hug is near the top of the list for affection faux pas; right up there with limp wristed handshakes. If you’re going to do something, do it with all your passion, or why do it at all? Especially if you like the guy.

So now things were awkward. In the space of one bad hug, I went from aroused and interested to uninterested and second belly button. If this was how she hugged, she probably made love like a Gallente; you know, dead and motionless.

I politely thanked her and scurried away, not giving a second glance behind me to see her standing there, bewildered. I hightailed it out of there quicker than an Amarr cruiser fleet encountering two Minmatar frigates.

I don’t really care if I was politically correct. I don’t really care if I upset or hurt her. Why? Because.

You will know if I am affectionate towards you. There will be no room for doubt in your mind. I demand the same in return.

I give my all; you give yours.

Despite my constant sarcasm and cynical view on things, I am actually a content and happy man in most respects. I like the person I am. I like the life I’ve built for myself. I enjoy my work. Even still, there are times when all the negatives in life simply weigh down on me. I’ve had some people tell me “Well don’t let things bother you.” or “Just let it slide off of your shoulders.” But that is simply not me. I work through issues. Setting things aside doesn’t resolve them, in my opinion. It only sets them aside, often allowing them to choose when to come back and bite you in the ass, usually at the most unexpected times. So no, when something is pressing down on my heart and mind, I work through it until it no longer has any power over me.

Three days ago was the annual remembrance gathering for my people to pay tribute to the many Matari that fell to gain our people freedom in the great war. I was there of course, as I am every year. This year was different for me, and particularly emotional, though you wouldn’t have known had you seen me. This year we’d gone to war ourselves, against the very same enemy. For generations there was a fragile peace. Now there was only pain and suffering. This year I achieved the rank of Colonel, something I had dreamed of for a very long time, something my own father told me to never wish for. “Pray you never even need serve in the military” he would say. My father served a minimum tour of duty when he was younger. I figured his words were those of a coward. He was right though. The things I’ve seen in this war, the deeds I’ve done. I never imagined such atrocities existed, or that I would engage in such despicable acts myself without hesitation. I felt closer to my great great great grandfather this year, the first Colonel Wieler in our family line. I felt like I had a better understanding as to what type of man he was, to what type of man I had become. Like I said, I am a happy person, but life was weighing me down.

I heard from Sam yesterday. His voice wavered and crackled. You could hear him crying. My bitter views got the best of me again. My immediate assumption was that he had been kidnapped; that the Amarr were torturing him, and I already had at least fifty different rescue scenarios worked out in my mind based on whatever was going to be said next. Instead, Sam shared with me a family tragedy he was going through. It hit me hard. Not just because Sam was my friend. Not just because deep down I am actually a caring person. It hit me hard because it pulled up all kinds of unresolved memories from when my best friend died on April 24th of this year. I know, I know, I said I don’t push things aside; work through them. Well, add hypocritical to the list of things weighing heavy on my shoulders. I simply couldn’t resolve those feelings at the time, so forced them deep down, in order that I could function. We need to function as people. If we don’t, it alienates those closest who would help us in the darkness. At the time that might seem like a good idea, I know it has to me in the past, but it doesn’t serve us well in the long run. So as those unresolved emotions flooded me while I listened to Sam, I found myself crying, a true rarity, and as he ended the conversation, I just sat on my sofa sobbing, remembering vividly the pain I felt when my best friend passed away; the pain I still feel each and every day. It’s a feeling of uselessness; of being completely powerless. It’s not a sensation I enjoy. I bought a ring when my best friend died. On the inside, it has his name, birthday and death date. My fleet knows that if I get podded, they are to recover my corpse. Morbid as that may sound, I haven’t lost that ring. So yes, I understood what Sam was going through.

Then there’s work. Our CEO had apparently been fighting a serious illness for months, off and on, and I didn’t even know. Just goes to show how self absorbed I could be. Some of the junior roles in the corp whispered that it’s Jovian sickness, but to me that’s a load of bunk.

And yet I am fortunate in so many ways. There are so many supportive people out there believing in me, in my potential, in everything I do. And I am appreciative. And yet it’s just something more for my broad shoulders to bear. Expectations.

All these thoughts and more filled my mind as I swayed back and forth, part of the rythmic motion that came from travelling on the magtrain. I just needed to get out of pod for a bit. I needed some open space to clear my thoughts, to find happiness in the midst of life’s storms. The irony isn’t lost on me that a crowded train isn’t exactly open space, but it is what it is, and there I was.

I overheard a commotion and turned around. When a magtrain stops at a station, each car of the train has a set of sliding doors that open to the adjoining platform. A small warning chime sounds to let would be passengers know the doors are about to close, and they will have to take the next train. Seated between one of the doors happened to be two teenaged Brutors, with multiple body piercings, trendy and meaningless tattoos, and a fistful of attitude. Their legs were stretched across the entryway, forcing passengers to physically step over the two brutors’ legs to get on or off the train. One of the teens had a Guristas logo across his ripped TShirt, while the other spouted obscenities at nearby people. Laying where their feet met was a backpack, a further hindrance to those wishing to enter or leave the train.

I politely and slowly made my way towards that doorway; it took a few stops. I took another evaluative glance of the two thugs. “What the fuck are you looking at old man? You want to suck my fucking cock or something?” His associate laughed as if this was the funniest thing ever said. I turned away slightly, much to their satisfaction. “That’s right.” the more vocal and articulate of the two said. They were easily younger than me by fifteen years; and each of them looked more solid, and taller than me, though it was hard to be sure with them seated. But you know the rule:

“Never start a fight you can win.”

As the chime sounded, and the doors to this car of the magtrain began to close, I took action.

I quickly punted their backpack out of the doorway, just before the doors sealed shut. I ignored the string of obscenities that followed, and the forthcoming threats as they stood to face me. They were indeed both much bigger than me. The one on the left stood with his feet facing slightly outward; means he has weak knees from improper walking posture. One on the right wore about six pounds of facial jewellery; need I say more?

I could feel the rage starting to consume me as I cracked my knuckles and walked towards them. This was exactly what I needed right then to distract myself from my worries. This was going to be fun. 

Life is not a fairy tale. There are no magical happy endings. Life can be an adventure however; it is what we make it, like so very many things. A part of me was saddened that it had come to this; one Matari teaching two others a lesson; that we were reduced to fighting amongst ourselves. It’s this ignorance and lack of basic respect for one another that starts wars in the first place.

Yet there we were. And for me, right then, right there, it was a simple happiness.

For once, I felt well rested. I was sorely feeling my age last night so I turned in early. My lower back has a bit of a pinch in it this morning; I’ll need to watch my form next workout to make sure I’m keeping my core tight when doing back exercises.

I was heading to “work” already. The Amarr don’t sleep, so why should we? On the way, I decided to stop off at my personal hangar. I wasn’t surprised to see my Chief Mechanic already elbow deep in grease when I arrived.

“How’s it coming with the Claymore?” I asked over the sound of pneumatic tools. He paused for a moment, lifted his safety goggles, dismissed his construction drone, then took a deep breath. “Well, I’un dun got thar new Gist X booster installed fer ya. She’s a right beast she is, but she’ll keep ya well shielded. Had to cram yer hold full of cap boosters to feed er though. We also managed to sync weapons controls directly to yer egg, so ya can be grouping them now fer volley firing. Will pack more of a wallop to yer punch, and reduces the strain on ya while flying. Ye gots enough to be worrying about.”

I smirked. He always had to outdo himself. Weapons linking would indeed be a benefit. It would stop me from having to focus on each weapons team individually, pushing my thoughts as orders to the appropriate systems. Being linked, I could just push my will once, and all appropriate personnel would respond simultaneously. I liked that.

And they got that shield booster in. I was honestly quite surprised it fit. I didn’t even want to know what they had to do to manage that. Damn thing cost me a billion isk. And that’s just one of the five parts I still desired for this ship. I went over the list in my mind:

2x Gist X Shield Boost Amplifier
2x Luther Veron Modified Invulnerability Field

So far, I hadn’t found either of these items on the markets, or through public contracts, or through some of my private contacts. It was almost as if they didn’t exist. And that just wouldn’t do.

After some minor shop talk with my mechanic about some other alterations to my ships, something to do with quantum mechanics, new CONCORD standards, the latest craze for all the hotshot pilots, etc, etc, I left him and his team to return to their work, and I headed to mine.

I was the first to arrive to Freeform Industries HQ this morning, which wasn’t surprising. Lights came on automatically as I entered rooms, and I quickly made my way to my designated office. It wasn’t a large office compared to the directors of the company, but it didn’t really matter. I was quite utilitarian anyway. There was a small basic desk with a metal chair, a neural interface built into the desk. There was nothing else on the desk, and two boxes on the floor I hadn’t unpacked since joining the corporation. To be honest, I hardly ever spent anytime in my office so what did it really matter? I plugged myself into the terminal, and was soon walking the interweb. I saw my marketing partner had left me a message, so viewed it.

“Heya Roc” her image started. “Since that Amarr attack in Gallente space, the market’s been in turmoil. I’m gonna scale back our risk factor a bit, and cautiously keep our business venture going until things stabilize. Commodities are shifting all over the place, so best to go slow. Talk to you soon when I see how this flows.”

Damn. She was my moneymaker. Those remaining parts seemed a little further out of reach. I might have to see what agents were around, or what tasks the corp needed done. Being a military man was my calling, but I still needed to look out for my own personal needs as well. Eventually, this blasted war would end. There was another message from our office manager. “A reminder note to all employees to please decorate your offices. Adding a personal touch to your work area creates a positive environment for everyone. Blank walls and unpacked boxes are not conducive to a team environment.” Subtle, considering I was the only one with a stark workspace. Meh, I’d deal with that another time. Or not.

I read the newsfeeds, continually cursing the Amarr under my breath. Just thinking about them for too long gave me headaches.

I shut down my system, locked my office, and made my way to the Republic Milita hangar on this station. My Fleet Stabber was still docked and primed, ready for action. I might not have as much respect for the patchwork these military grease monkeys did as for my own chief mechanic, but they were fast for military grunts, and always had a ship ready for me. I noticed things seemed to be unusually busy in the workbays this morning.

I made my way to the militia office, throwing salutes when required, until eventually I was seen by a commanding officer I had worked with before. “Colonel,” he began, as I made a crisp salute. “Good to see you here.” We broke salutes. “You’re not due to report for duty until 0900, another few hours yet, but I’m glad you’re here.” He wasn’t the most brilliant tactician I had ever met, but was perfectly suited for this clerical role. He never forgot details, and always knew exactly who should be where and when. “We’ve lost two recon wings near Gallente space. Now as the Gallente are our allies, this is troublesome, given the recent hostile activity of the Amarr towards them. I need someone with experience out there. Someone who can tell me what the hell is going on, and if we’re still on the same side or should be preparing for more grief.” 

“I can have my crew prepped and launched in 37 minutes, sir.” I replied. I too appreciated exactness and detail. 

“Very good, Colonel. Mission specifics will be ready when you are.” And with that, he turned and walked away onto more pressing matters.

I tapped the comm implant on the side of my head. A small HUD appeared on my retina, and with a few mental choices, I was hooked into my crew’s quarters loudspeakers. “Morning ladies,” I began, my voice echoing with booming results. I called off the roster required for this expedition, and told them they had fifteen minutes to report for duty. I clicked the comm implant off.

Looked like it was going to be another busy day. “A day of change.” I thought for reasons unknown.