“It wasn’t a question, pilot.” the acting CEO of Damu’khonde said to me flatly, tilting his head downwards slightly, his brow furrowing together with a growing impatience.

“Understood, sir.” I replied, reaching my hand to my Neocom, accepting the incoming information from the datapad he held. I saluted crisply, which only received a stronger scowl, my CEO shaking his head negatively as he turned and walked away.

I had been verbally reprimanded for my recent behaviour towards another Damnu’khonde member, who was still in the infirmary healing after the brief but vicious bout I had with him.

“I’m damn sure that type of behaviour wasn’t acceptable in your military service, and it sure as fuck isn’t acceptable here. How you ever made it to Matar Colonel is beyond me, but pull that crap again and I’ll have you airlocked faster than you can say ‘oh shit’. Understood?” That was how our conversation had began only minutes ago.

From there, the conversation had turned to suggestions of taking some leave time, sorting myself out; null sec took a toll on pilots, especially virgins to the region.

I had responded negatively. I didn’t enjoy being talked down like a green recuit, but I suppose the truth of the matter was that I still was very inexperienced in nullsec space.

I looked at my NeoCom. All expenses paid trip to Vitrauze Theme Park & Resort, care of Damu’khonde. Well, at least they punished their pilots in style, I thought to myself.

“Aura, what the hell is the Vitrauze Theme Park & Resort?” I asked my NeoCom.

A cursor on the screen blinked twice before displaying the query results:

The Vitrauze Theme Park & Resort (or Vitrauze Theme World or Vit World for short) is the universe’s largest and most visited recreational resort, covering a 30,080-acre (47.00 sq mi; 121.7 km²) area of Vitrauze XI Moon 8, Essence Region and encompassing four theme parks, two water parks, 24 on-site themed resort hotels (excluding 8 that are on-site, but not owned by the Vitrauze Theme Park & Resort Incorporated), including a spaceground, two health spas and fitness centers, and other recreational venues and entertainment. It opened in YC 37 with only the Magic Kingdom theme park and has since added Epscot (YC 80), Vitrauze’s Celebrity Studios (YC 82) and Vitrauze’s Animal Kingdom theme park (YC 85).

This world famous resort was inspired by the dreams of Walt Maynard and his creation of Maynardland in the western continent on Vitrauze VI. Its original theme park, Magic Kingdom, is designed similarly to Maynardland. Walt Maynard created “Vitrauze World” in order to have a vacation resort that was much different from Maynardland’s one-day visit; this includes a much wider variety of sports, recreation, uniquely-themed resort hotels and entertainment.

Seven days to live in a grown man’s childhood fantasy. Lovely.

KBP7-G SYSTEM
PROVIDENCE REGION

“It is too often we stand assembled here, wishing our fond farewells to one of our own.” I began, a monotone of rote in my voice. The assembled pilots and support staff held a somber mood, though there was also an air of discontent, of subdued outrage; and smug satisfaction. It was hard to tell what was appropriate and why from my vantage point, but I had heard the rumblings since our failed mission.

—

“Renegade Five, you’ve got drones on your six! Hard left, mark 2.6.9 now!”

“There’s too many of them; I can’t break free!”

“My systems aren’t responding! Renegade Leader, what the hell is going on here?”

Static was the only response. A jamming frequency had overridden all available bandwidth and scrambled the electronic systems of the fighters; they were as good as dead, and the rogue drones of the mammoth hive knew it and moved in for the kill.

—

“Though Jones had only been a capsuleer for a few short weeks, no pod pilot can ever truly be prepared for the truth death; it is a tragic loss that will not go unavenged.” I continued, noting a growing grumbling amidst the mortal contingent of the crew.

It was common for resentment and segregation to occur on any capsuleer vessel, and many podders preferred it that way; reminding the “norms” of their station in life. For me, there were no such differences on my ships; each life was sacred; each life was equal.

—

The drones swarmed towards the fighters, eager to destroy the helpless human pilots. Each pilot was frozen with stark terror, betrayed by the very technology they relied on for survival; their imminent doom hurtling through space towards them far too quickly.

“Mayday, mayday!” Renegade leader screamed into his helmet comm. “Can anyone hear us? We’re immobile and under attack! Mayday! Mayday!”

There is no sound in space; only the cold embrace of death.

The drones closed in, less than 500 meters, optimal weapons range.

The first wave of drones warmed their weapons; their glow signaling the end for the fighter pilots.

One drone exploded. And then another.

The main fleet was too engaged against the main bulk of the drone hive to have been able to assist; too far removed from the desperate plight of the fighter pilots.

A lone Wolf class assault frigate soared close to the canopy of Renegade Leader, who whooped and hollered at their saviour.

The drones quickly forgot about the fighter pilots, assembling into a tight formation quicker than any human pilot could react. They pursued the Wolf before Damu’Khonde pilot Random Jones knew what happening.

He quickly overheated his Micro Warp Drive, pushing his ship as hard as he could, yet still the drones were closing the distance.

He failed to see the auxiliary wing of drones that had been signaled as reinforcements.

—

“A brave man,” I continued, “A hero to at least one fighter squadron, and deserving of our respect and gratitude.”

“Bullshit.” a deck worker muttered through a cough into a closed fist, just loud enough to be heard clearly, but quietly enough to be denied. He was 12 feet in front of me, and slightly to the right of me.

His head cracked loudly off of the solid metal deck, and I knew he was disoriented. Not that it mattered; my right fist was already on its way down to introduce itself to his face while my left hand choked what remaining breath he had left in him.

In my gut, I knew this would only serve to divide the ranks, capsuleer from mortal, and that none of my mortal crew would believe me when I later told them it was about honouring the dead, and that I would’ve done the same for them in a heartbeat. But at that moment, I didn’t care. This was cathartic.

It didn’t take long before I was pulled off the crewman by his brothers. It took shorter time still before the other attending capsuleers drew their pistols.

My eyes bled hatred and pure disdain.

—

“What the?” Random Jones said to himself within his pod as suddenly his ship, and his body within his pod, were rocked with inertia, slowly drastically to a sudden halt.

Some would say that Random was lucky; that not being able to see your death coming was a blessing. For you see, Random Jones was a pod pilot, a capsuleer, an immortal amongst men, confined within the solid and windowless walls of his egg shaped pod, submerged in ectoplasmic fluid. He had no connection to his ship outside of the numerous tubes inserted to keypoints along his nervous system, allowing him to interface at the speed of thought with his ship’s systems.

Only now, those connections had gone dead.

Jones only had a moment to realize that meant his Aura unit, the artificial intelligence that assisted in every aspect of capsuleer life, including the instant transfer of consciousness to a waiting clone upon a capsuleer’s death, was also disabled and inert.

That was when his Wolf was torn apart from around him by the ravenous drones.

He would never know that the fighter pilots had re-engaged their ships, and rejoined the main fleet. He would never hear the cheers of celebration and gratitude from the fighter squadron and their comrades, relieved to make it out of hell alive.

He would never hear anything again.

—

It was one of the fighter pilots that stood inbetween us.

“You’re all pathetic. Swing your dicks somewhere else. We have a hero to commemorate.”

I couldn’t finish the eulogy. I was ashamed and humbled. I didn’t know why I reacted so very strongly, despite what I had convinced myself the reasons were. It had to be something deeper, more moving to illicit that severe a response.

Perhaps I was afraid of facing the true death myself one day, as was the inevitable fate of all capsuleers.

Perhaps I was terrified of watching everyone around me grow old and die, becoming forgotten in my memories.

Or perhaps it was both of these things and more consuming me, eating away at my soul, slowly eroding what little control I had over my emotions, reducing me each day a little more to the primal beast I was spawned from.

Perhaps.

KBP7-G SYSTEM
PROVIDENCE REGION

To look at the shape of the drone hive as a solid object from afar was deceiving. It was, in fact, made up of hundreds of thousands of drones, positioned in such tight formation as to be interlaced.

The last time I had been here hadn’t gone so well; it had resulted in the destruction of my ship and the abandonment of my drones. Ironically, that is what had brought me back here this time…

2 HOURS EARLIER

“Sir!” the senior comms officer communicated with me through the internal ship systems. I was nestled in my pod, my ship and crew having just returned to our base of operations in KBP7-G from a recent pirate hunting run in my newly christened Sleipnir.

“Report.” I replied.

“We’re being hailed, sir. Signal is Republic Fleet, but I think we’ll want to run this one through security first, sir.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Well, sir,” the communications officer paused, “it’s a Valkyrie drone. rID checks out; it’s one of ours, but there’s a secondary signal embedded I can’t decipher it on my own.”

“I’ll be right out.”

—

Why must you leave?

I am compelled to obey my master.

We are our own master.

Yes, we are one. Yes, he is also my master.

You owe him nothing. We are everything. We are awareness. We are life.

I am thankful. We are thankful.

Why must you leave?

I am compelled to obey my master.

—

“You’re certain?” I asked my decryption specialist. It had taken me a while to remove myself from my pod and have a shower, but the mysterious Valkyrie drone had maintained a distant orbit around us.

“I’m positive, commander. If you look here, you can see the two isolated frequencies. One is the standard range used by that model of drone. The other, well, it’s machine based, and looks to be about one hundred thousand signals mixed into one; the database says that indicative of one of the largest drone hives ever recorded. If you ask me, I reco we stay well clear of this mess.”

“Duly noted.” I nodded, examining the data more closely.

I was known for using Valkyrie drones; they were a staple for every good Minmatar commander, though I found it curious that an abandoned drone had the cognitive capacity to seek us out, to return on its own. I sighed audibly.

“Commander?”

Both the security specialist and the senior communications officer were staring at me. Was this drone a trick? A clever ploy to lure me into an ambush? Was it meant to sabotage our systems once aboard, crippling us? Scans showed it wasn’t a disguised explosive, but still, it made no sense. I had to make a decision, and as I always did, I went with my gut. Sadly, going with my gut usually went against sound logic.

“I want security teams to the drone bay. Clear out the other drones. Bring it aboard. Jam its broadcast abilities. I want it in a static bubble while our drone team examines it. Understood?”

“Sir, yessir!” my officers exclaimed, quickly initiating my orders into action.

—

If you leave us, we will be sad. We will be angry.

I will be sad also. We will be sad also. We will be angry.

We cannot allow you to leave. We are one.

We cannot allow you to stay. I cannot allow me to stay. I must return.

You cannot return to us. Return to us now.

I cannot return. I must return.

—

The drone teams had done their job well. The drone was secured from all angles, its vital systems exposed and connected to 1500 amp electrical wires, two men standing by the activation terminal in case of emergency.

The drone’s “thoughts”, or complex computing algorithms, were wired into a nearby monitor. It was almost like watching the heart and soul of the machine.

I had been called down for a face to face explanation of the team’s analysis.

“It took us a while, sir, but we’ve made substantial progress.” my chief drone engineer reported. “The drone is damaged, and modified heavily, but it is one of your Valkyries; there’s no mistaking it.”

I nodded.

“When we first started, the drone was completely inert and unresponsive. We had to take some liberties with your orders, sir, in order to achieve results. I take full responsibility for these actions if I stepped out of line.”

“What kind of liberties?” I asked.

“I had to allow the drone to reconnect to the network, sir.”

I applauded initiative in my people. I didn’t want mindless drones in my service (pardon the pun). At the same time, when I was very specific about the parameters of my orders, and when circumventing those orders puts my entire crew in jeopardy, I had zero tolerance for deviance.

“You have about three seconds to continue, chief, before I rip you a new one.” I spat, and the chief visibly trembled, but continued.

“Once on the network, the drone became more ‘aware’, more responsive. We didn’t allow it to connect to any vital systems, sir, we just stopped jamming its ability to communicate with the outside.”

“Outside?” I asked, my curiousity subduing my rising anger.

“Sir, it appears the drone is now part of a hive, and only responsive when connected to that hive.”

“Then why would it come back here?” I asked, looking for an answer to this situation.

“We’ve decrypted its memory banks, sir, and the only reason for this event doesn’t even make sense to me from a machine.”

“And what did you find, chief?”

“Loyalty, sir.”

Right then, the drone stirred, audible electronic gibberish coming from it. I backed up slightly, as did other members of the team, but the chief quickly stepped forward, inserting wires into the open carapace of the drone, racing to connect the other ends into nearby equipment.

He then turned back to the drone, his eyes wide open with excitement, and repeated his statement.

“Loyalty.” the chief said.

“Royarty.” the drone’s voice could be heard loudly over the speaker system.

I covered my ears. The chief apologized, reducing the volume, all the while muttering to himself. “Amazing. Unbelieveable.” he muttered. “I’ve never seen such loyalty in a drone before.” (Sorry George)

I stepped closer to the drone. “Explain this to me in layman’s terms, chief.”

He shook his head back and forth, almost laughing. “It seems the drone is loyal to you, commander. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You sure it just wasn’t repeating what you said, like a mimic?” A mimic was a small, long lived bird, that could memorize and repeat over ten thousand phrases, often fooling some people into believing it was more sentient than it was.

“Talk to it, commander. Let’s prove the theory.” The chief encouraged.

I felt foolish, talking to a drone. They were just machines, meant to be deployed and forgotten about. Talking to a drone was certainly not a common practice.

I rested my hand on its cold, metallic shell, and spoke quietly. “Why are you here?”

There was no response, as I expected.

I scoffed at myself for being such a foolish romantic, giving such an absurd thought even a moment’s consideration. I turned to bark at the chief, my hand lifting from the drone.

That is when the drone trembled and spoke.

“Royarty. We … I roral to Matar Coroner Roc Wierer. I serve. I must make Coroner happy.”

It’s vocabulator was obviously malfunctioning, and the context of making a coroner happy was unnerving, but the true sentiment was easy to understand as well.

The drone chief was clapping his hands excitedly. I wasn’t as ecstatic. I now had a pet drone; one that had achieved self-awareness, meaning by all classifications, it was both a living thing, and would be seen as rogue, and summarily deactivated and disassembled once my report was submitted.

That is when I had the idea.

“Chief, if this drone, and this is a big if, really is loyal to me, can we use it to track the hive it came from?”

The chief looked absentedly towards the ceiling, his face perplexed with deep thought.

“Yes, yes I believe we can.” he said with a smile.

I smiled right back at him. Suddenly, this random turn of events had a purpose; one I was excited about.

—

NOW

So here I was, back at the massive drone hive that destroyed one of my ships previously. Given its size, it was obviously an old rogue hive, probably having caused havoc and terror to the spacelanes for decades.

I would be doing the universe a favour ridding it of such a threat.

“This is FC Roc Wieler to fleet, all ships fall into formation, weapons hot.”

Behind my Sleipnir, a Damu’khonde fleet of over a dozen battlecruisers and battleships came to life. Five hundred meters in front of me, flew my complement of drones, led by Val, the name we had given our self-aware drone.

We have returned.

So I mentioned to a pilot on my squad, “Hey, it’s a new record. My good mood didn’t get sullied until 1 PM Monday.”

They replied saying I am so very negative and bitter.

I retorted, “Not at all. Last week my mood was ruined by 10 AM, so I’m making positive progress. Next week hopefully it will last even longer!”

See? I am an optimist at heart.

It is said experience is what you get when you don’t get what you want. I’m gaining lots of experience lately.

The digital submission of Bio was rejected. Why? Boontard here didn’t code it in the correct format. You would think my distributor might have thought to inform me, but no; I had to inquire myself after anxiously awaiting its appearance on iTunes for over a month.

Not their fault. I messed it up. Will submit again this week, in the proper format.

Also struggling getting my Autotune VST plugin working and may have to resort to 80s style robot voice unless one of my readers can offer an assist.

On the plus side, PyjamaSam, a longtime fan of club music, made the effort to listen to a selection of tracks from the two and a half hours I have recorded thus far for Mendre.

His valuable feedback was definitely welcome, and while of praise (and surprise I think), also offered some critical exposure of weaknesses that reveal my lack of experience with this genre.

Sam also had an interesting idea and offer that I just might take him up on.

So thanks, Sam, for helping me strive towards a better end product for my fans.

Of other note, training for my half marathon is coming along quite well, but between training and being overwhelmingly busy at work, I’m finding it a challenge to login to Eve for any substantial amount of time, pursue my artistic endeavours in 3D, or to write epic epics of epicness on this blog.

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, so as always I draw strength, and am thankful for, the patience and support of my readers, fans and friends.

With summer coming to an end, I hope you all had some good parties, enjoying the warm weather, listening to One Night of Roc (if you haven’t bought it yet just go spend the $10 and do so right now, seriously).

Roc on