I’ve heard rumours that some people think I’m not nice; that I’m rude, blunt, uncouth.

I can be nice. Here’s an example:

It wasn’t too long ago that I received a message on my NeoCom from an agent. I’m sure the agent must’ve been confusing email messages with instant messaging, as only the title field was filled in. The body text was empty. I happened to be having dinner with a friend when I received the message, and showed it to her.

She shook her head, knowingly, and playfully admonished me. “Be nice.” was all she said. I gave her best “When am I not nice?” look, which was returned with a “Do you really need me to answer that?” stare, complete with sarcastic eyebrow raise.

So I was nice.

The title of the message had said “I’ve uploaded the file to your server.”

Now understand I am an organized person for my own sake. Telling me you’ve uploaded a file to my server without telling me the name of the file, the project it’s related to, or any other single useful piece of relevant information isn’t really helpful in any way.

My reply. “I’m sorry. I must be experiencing issues with my NeoCom as the body of your message was completely empty. Please resend.”

I felt good about myself. I put away my NeoCom and continued eating dinner, thoroughly enjoying the companionship and conversation of my friend.

Shortly, I received a reply. “I have uploaded a new binary to your server for you.” Excellent. At least I was made aware of the file type that had been uploaded to some mysterious project on my file server.

I sighed audibly.

My reply. “Please tell me the file name of the binary you have uploaded as well as which project you are referring to as I currently have no idea what the hell you are talking about.”

I had tried nice. Fail.

I didn’t receive an email back.

The following morning, I was called into the office of the agent’s supervisor. Apparently the agent had been offended by my curt reply. The supervisor was understanding, explaining it away as inexperience, etc, etc, but simply asked me to be nice.

“I’m always nice.” I replied. It amazed me just how many people could arch a single, sarcastic eyebrow.

We parted ways, and I went about my business per usual that day.

The next morning I received a message from the same agent. The body text was empty. The title had one simple question in it:

“Did you get the file I uploaded?”

I warmed up my autocannons.

I dream.

My pod has sustained critical damage; navigation systems inoperable. I reflexively vomit in the surrounding fluid as I manually remove breathing and feeding tubes from my throat and nose; the slithering sensation of them from the inside out always foreign to my senses. I get one final assessment from Aura before having her release the umbilicals attached to the base of my skull and spine.

I take a deep breath.

My pod cracks, the metal bending along several seams, as it splashes down, the intense heat of the atmospheric entry dissipating as so much steam upon hitting this ocean. I sear my skin, the pungent smell filling my nostrils as I struggle to be free from this sinking coffin.

I am stuck.

Deeper and deeper the pod sinks, dragging me to my watery grave. Even light eventually cannot escape, and I am blind, my arms flailing about in slow motion, desperately reaching out for salvation … and finding it.

My hands grasps tightly around something I cannot see. I feel waves of pressure roll over me, feel the strength of the creature. My other hand secures itself, and I hold on for all I have; my pod and this creature in a mortal tug of war. I am the rope.

My body bends, threatening to break, but at last I spring free of the capsule, still bound by the strength of my arms and my will to this mysterious creature.

My lungs threaten to burst, and I need to breathe in air more than anything else I have ever wanted, but I know if I do, it will be my death.

The creature pushes forward suddenly, and I nearly lose my grip. Still I cannot see. I can only pray the creature is moving towards the surface, towards the light, towards life.

Minutes pass, my lungs afire. I can feel myself slipping. Even in the blackness, I can see spots before my eyes, and know I do not have much time left. Pressure is building, crushing me from the inside, as my lungs build up pressure from the inside.

The creature is plunging deeper. I panic and let go.

I feel myself slow, no longer accelerated by the incredible speed of the creature. I float, no indication of which way is up, which way I would swim to if my arms and legs were responding. They aren’t.

I can feel myself sinking.

I have many regrets from my lives, not of things I have done, but rather of things I have not done, things I have not said. Mynxee.

The murky depths continue to crush me, threatening to end of my life more quickly than lack of oxygen will.

I am blinded by a light so intense it burns my retinas. I am falling. At least that is what it feels like. I open my mouth to chance a breath and only succeed in sucking in water, making my situation even more perilous.

I see humanoid figures coming towards me, silhouetted against the bright light. I raise my arm to shield my eyes, trying to get a better look.

They grasp at me, holding onto my arms, and I feel a surge of motion once again.

One of them holds my face gently, kissing me, breathing oxygen into my lungs. My life is saved, if only for the moment.

The light fades to a more manageable daylight, and I can see a beautiful city far below, growing in the distance.

My saviours are more clear to my eyes now, they are human, but with fishtails; mermaids of legend, and whatever the man version is called. I hope it is one of the females that was kissing me, though I don’t really care since I am alive.

I spend the next several days with these people, learning that they communicate telepathically, understanding their technological advancements are not as advanced as New Eden. They provide me with a special breathing apparatus that converts water into oxygen, and I sustain myself on seaweed and mollusks.

We’re not sure if my breathing equipment will work in my universe, as I am the first human they have met. I have no choice but to gamble that it will. I cannot stay here.

We have conceived several plans to get me home, and discarded them all. In the end, I will go as I came, naked and alone.

They swim with me as close as they can, but I must push myself into their sun, into the hole I came from. When they saw me fall from their sun, they thought I was a god. I am.

I feel the crushing pressure anew as I push forward, the blinding light causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. Even with my arm in front of my face, the light penetrates through.

Then suddenly, darkness, and a greater pressure than anything I have known.

I open my eyes.

I see stars all around me.

Looking behind, I am at the mouth of a black hole. My confusion is only surpassed by the fact that the water converting breathing apparatus isn’t functioning in this unexpected environment, and I begin to asphyxiate.

The gravity of the black hole begins to crush me, dragging back into its black center. I am helpless.

A small light starts flashing on my NeoCom. I pick it up and see I have one message. It is from Mynxee.

“Wake up.”

I do, with a gasp, throwing the pillow from my face. My alarm clock is beeping on my bedside table. I turn it off.

I quickly assess my environment. I am in my quarters aboard the Ripsack, my Jaguar class assault frigate.

I laugh and shake my head. No more pizza cones before bed.

ZQ-Z3Y
CATCH REGION

“What do you mean there’s an abandoned Abaddon in front of you, Wieler?” the Ushra’Khan Fleet Commander asked again.

“I’m telling ya, I’m less than 20k from it, angling in cautiously on an escape vector, just in case.” I replied, skepticism in my own voice.

“Do you require backup?” the fleet commander repeated.

“Negative. You know what they say when things look too good to be true…”

I continued my slow approach, constantly checking my ship scanners for any signs of incoming warp signatures. There were none. I maintained a calm, practiced heart rate, though I fully expected a Curse to decloak at any moment to be quickly joined by an Amarr gank fleet.

It wasn’t meant to happen that day. My Jaguar, the Ripsack, remained docked alongside the Abaddon for hours, while my small team explored the abandoned and derelict ship.

Every moment was a nerve-wracking adventure, both for the team expecting danger around every corridor corner, and for me, constantly on watch for any sudden unwelcome guests.

There was nothing out of the ordinary to be found once the initial sweep of the vessel had been completed. My tech specialist downloaded the computer’s core data onto our ship, and I quickly had Aura scan through the immense amount of data, flagging anything out of the ordinary.

It didn’t take long to get a hit.

My eyes widened slightly as I read what she had discovered, old memories flooding the forefront of my mind. I quickly recalled my team, followed up with my fleet commander, then took leave of this region of space, making full haste towards a place I hadn’t been in a very long time.

Joining the Federation immediately after its founding, the Intaki remain one of the largest ethnicities of the nation. Exceedingly gifted communicators, the Intaki are today very prominent among the Federal bureaucracy. Though Gallentean culture has permeated their society to some extent, they still cling to their cultural identities and beliefs, most notably their unusual theories regarding the human life cycle – in particular, death and rebirth. These theories give them a unique outlook on life and the living, and many attribute the Intaki’s stoic nature to this philosophy.

LISUDEH SYSTEM
DEVOID REGION

“Haven’t heard from you since you killed Taphos in the ritual duel, and to be honest, given your well publicized hatred of the Amarr, I never expected to.” Doctor Canius said through the comm.

It had been over a year since I been in touch with Canius. He was my best lead when I trying to discover the whereabouts of Dagan for Sister Alitura and the Sisters of Eve. I had given her my word that I would find him and bring him to justice. At the time, my infamy as a Republic War Hero made it virtually impossible to travel through the Amarr systems without getting shot on sight, and in fact, I had lost several frigates in my attempts to make good on my promise.  Eventually, the Republic demanded more of my priority on the front lines of the war than in humouring the Sisters of Eve, and the memory had faded.

It was the Abaddon that had rekindled my interest.

While scanning the databanks of the ship, Aura had flagged Society of Conscious Thought, and that sparked my memory of Dagan, and my promise to Sister Alitura. I didn’t know whether the derelict ship had been there for over a year, or if Dagan was still at large.

The only way to find out was to pick up where I had left off, and that meant Doc Canius. It was unsettling in some ways to travel unmolested through Amarr space. It was as if I had been forgotten…

“Yeah, it’s been a while, doc. Couldn’t be helped. Listen, I need some information.” I said.

“Of course you do. Why else would you come back from the dead to bother me?” Canius replied. I was confused by his comment, but attributed it to a phrasing analogy I simply didn’t see applying.

“What do you have on Dagan and the Society of Conscious Thought?” I asked bluntly.

“Geez, didn’t you resolve that months ago?” Canius replied.

“It’s been over a year actually, and no; there was a war and all…” I let the rest of the sentence hang unspoken.

There was silence on the comm for a while before Canius finally started transmitting data.

“You were lied to, Roc Wieler. I had initially assumed you knew, which is why I hadn’t heard from you, then with the reports of your death, I filed this away, figuring it would never be needed. I was going to delete this information in a few days, so you’re timing is quite fortuitous.”

Again he had mentioned my death. At the moment I was more concerned about the lying part.

“Who lied to me, Canius? What are you talking about?” I asked, urgency entering my voice.

“The Sisters of Eve, Roc; Alitura. They’ve known where Dagan has been all along. They played you.”

Each of us has triggers to our anger, some more than others. There are degrees to these triggers; some slightly flustering us while the extreme others instill in us a blinding and uncontrollable rage. At that moment, I was closer to the latter; dangerously closer.

“Thank you … doc.” I squeezed out through clenched teeth, transferring a small sum of ISK to Doctor Canius’ account as a token of good will for hanging onto this information for so long.

I laid in my next course … Arnon. It was time to say hello to an old friend.

I received this letter in response to a comment made HERE that basically stated I could show several five minute workouts that would crush us all.

Dear Roc,

Been lurking in your blog for a while now, but felt compelled to speak up when you mentioned 5 minute workouts. I spend 3 hours ever single day in the gym, so know you’re talking crap. Nobody can get a good workout in 5 minutes.

Proof or STFU,

Knuckle Dragging Moron

Let me start my reply by saying that unless you are a professional bodybuilder, there is absolutely no reason whatsoever why anyone should spend more than 45 minutes doing a weight workout. If you want to do cardio for 6 hours, that’s a different story, I’m strictly talking muscle training here.

Muscle building burn can occur in less than one minute when done correctly, so I will most definitely put up or shut up.

Here is a quick sample of a five minute workout I challenge anyone to do:

• 1 minute of burpees
• 1 minute of single leg pushups
• 1 minute of burpees
• 1 minute of single leg pushups
• 1 minute of burpees

No rest between each exercise. That’s five minutes of exercise that is working your cardio, chest, shoulders, back, arms, legs and abs.

Here’s another sample, same rules:

• 1 minute squat/shoulder press
• 1 minute knee tuck jumps
• 1 minute squat/shoulder press
• 1 minute knee tuck jumps
• 1 minute squat/shoulder press

Tired yet? Try doing 3 – 4 rounds of this with only 1 minute rest between sets!

I hope by now you’re understanding the concept. Proper form, repetition, abuse that muscle group until it no longer functions. If you’re performing these exercises correctly, you will notice significant improvements in yourself within 7 days. Seriously.

And if you want to make it harder, try to do more repetitions within each minute, or add heavier weights to the routine.

It’s astounding the abuse the human body can recover from. Don’t be afraid to push your limits!

Three things before I go. The first is my favourite five minute routine:

• 1 minute 12 mph treadmill sprint on a 20 degree incline
• 1 minute 7 mph treadmill jog on a 12 degree incline
• 1 minute 12 mph treadmill sprint on a 20 degree incline
• 1 minute 7 mph treadmill jog on a 12 degree incline
• 1 minute 12 mph treadmill sprint on a 20 degree incline

If that doesn’t make you feel like puking as you fall over collapsing then you’re a better man than me.

Secondly, please remember to consult your physician before engaging in any type of physical exercise, especially some of the strenuous exercises I reference in my blog. I am merely making recommendations that have worked for me and cannot be held liable for any personal injury you may sustain by reading this.

And lastly, thanks to Zuzana from www.bodyrock.tv for being so damn hot.

9UY4-H SYSTEM
PROVIDENCE REGION

There was certainly not a lack of activity for the Ushra’Khan.

In the week since I had arrived, my inbox was flooded with training ops, roams, declarations of war, market updates, requisition requests, inventory deliveries and more. Every waking minute was filled with the hustle and bustle of life in nullsec.

I found it exhilarating.

I possessed only two fully fit ships at the time, the Hound I had arrived in, and the Hasimu, a Cynabal class cruiser I had jump cloned back to Rens to pick up. Once I got the hang of jump bridges (always leaving some liquid ozone behind to replenish the fuel used), and had committed our bridge network to memory, I quickly had discovered that Rens was only nine jumps away from our nearest bridge point; a lot more convenient than I thought living in nullsec would be.

While I still wouldn’t be making any large runs to Rens, as I wasn’t an industrialist, it meant I could bring out a lone ship with necessary supplies when I needed them.

The higher echelon of the Ushra’Khan quickly took notice of my natural problem solving abilities when it came to tactical and strategic planning, and I found myself overworked for six days straight, logging 98 hours of planning sessions with various fleets and key personnel. It was simply exhausting.

During one such marathon planning session, I mentioned that we should order ourselves some dinner, my treat. I was always one to lift morale when I could, and I had noticed every long stint out of my pod left me with a ravenous appetite. As it turned out, one of my favourite pizza places happened to be in station; a further testament to the Ushra’Khan and their ability to treat their people right.

I contacted the establishment, which had apparently just opened this location.

“Hello.” said a gruff and thickly accented voice on the other end of the comm.

“I’d like to place an order please.” I said, not sure I had the correct comm connection. I was used to businesses being overly friendly when answering, so such a curt response had caught me off guard.

“Ok.”

This was quickly becoming disconcerting.

“I’m looking to order a few pizzas please. I need beef with no olives. Do you have anything like that?” I already knew the answer was yes, as I had called up their digital menu only moments before contacting them.

“No. You make custom pizza.”

“Ooooo …. kkkk.” I replied, trying to keep my temper. Never get angry with those preparing your food, Roc’s Rule #280. “How about chicken with no olives?” Again, I knew the answer, but was really starting to question the ability of this worker to take a food order.

“No. You make custom pizza.”

I snapped my fingers to gain the attention of someone nearby, silently communicating with them to bring up the menu again.

“Let me make this easy.” I said, finding my annoyance levels quickly rising, “I’d like a large Capri and a large Milano. You’ll notice one is beef with no olives, the other chicken with no olives. Sound good?”

“Ok.” was the reply on the other, before hanging up.

I was very confused. Sure, they knew the address from the comm link, but I hadn’t given them my payment information.

I called back.

“Hello.”

“Yes, I just placed the order for the Capri and the Milano.” I said, throttling my anger back.

“Ok.”

“I’d like to pay via my credit account.”

“No. Our remote machine is not working for credit yet. You come here, pay by credit, then we deliver.”

I could feel the vein in my forehead and the one in my neck pulsating.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to walk down there, pay by credit account, then you’ll deliver the pizza back up here to me and probably charge me the delivery fee anyway?”

“Ok.”

I snapped.

“No it’s not ok! What kind of shoddy operation are you running? You don’t know you’re own menu, you don’t know how to properly answer a phone, you don’t even have your equipment up and running and you want your customer to come to you for delivery? Seriously, if I wasn’t so damned hungry I’d cancel the order right now!” I screamed.

One of my colleagues got my attention, holding up cash chits in his hand.

“Do you take cash?” I asked.

“Ok.” the pizza guy said before hanging up.

I was stunned, not sure if the order was cancelled, if it was coming, or what the hell was going on.

The next 44 minutes were a write off. I was unable to concentrate at all.

My colleagues wouldn’t let me answer the door when the pizza guy arrived for fear I might literally rip him a new one. Then the laughter started.

I walked into the kitchen to see what the fuss was about, my eyes settling on the pizza boxes that had been delivered. Hand-written, in permanent marker, on the top of the boxes, was their marketing message… “Hi, Eat more Amato’s” … yeah, like I would ever be doing that again.

After a few slices I was feeling better, and was eager to get back to work. The others wanted to call it a night, some feeling the need for a nap now that they had eaten, and out of good conscience, we wrapped up our session.

I was tired as well, but my anger kept me awake. I decided to walk along the promenade of the station, get myself familiar with my new home.

That is when I saw they had an Eve Online Poker station here …

I lost the next eight hours of my life to it, but I was up 16 million ISK…

It was going to be a long night.

“Authorization verified, welcome to Ushra’Khan Alliance Secure Channel.” Aura’s voice was melodic, almost soothing. I had forgotten the affect her programmed personality could have on a nervous capsuleer.

I admit it; I was nervous.

I had made a career for myself in New Eden by this point in my lives, and was confident in my celebrity. But this was the Ushra’khan I was part of now; an alliance that had survived Band of Brothers, GoonSwarm, CVA and more. They were the oldest alliance in the universe, and I had finally achieved membership within their ranks.

“Roc Wieler requesting a scout in V2 Freedom Forge. I’m ready to jump clone in from Dal.”

I was used to dealing with small corporations and alliances, and not getting a response for hours, if at all.

“You’re about to JC in from Dal, Colonel?”

“Yessir. Need a scout please.”

“To V2 you said?”

“Affirmative”

“Ok, let me scout for you, erm, ok, you can JC safely now.”

There was chuckling in the channel from other alliance pilots. An unfamiliar flush of warmth worked its way up my neck to engulf my head; I was embarassed.

“Thanks for the quick response, though I was referring to a scout to get me from V2 to wherever our frontlines are located now.”

“Ah, you’re trying to get to N8 then.”

“I suppose I am, yes.”

“Just use the JB.” another voice chimed in.

Using my eidetic memory, I quickly scanned my long term recall, trying to bring to the surface any knowledge I may have had of that acronym. Nothing. He must’ve meant JC for jump clone. It was my chance to impress my new brothers.

“I am ready to JC now, sir.”

There was a momentary pause, so I initiated my jump clone transfer to V2. It was always unnerving to willfully leave one body behind, only to blink and be present in a new and unfamiliar shell. I couldn’t even remember what state of general health I had left this particular one in.

The mild sensation of nausea passed, and I quickly assessed myself. No implants, as I was in nullsec, body reacted within normal reflex parameters, monitors showed a complete and successful transfer of me.

Stepping out of the clone chamber, I immediately could feel the creaks in my joints. I also could feel the weight on my feet was less than it had been moments earlier; obviously I needed to hit the gym with this clone.

“I’m in V2 now, JC safe. Thanks for the scouting. Would it be possible to get someone here to escort me?”

It was disconcerting how very empty the clone bay was and realized just how accustomed I had become to be waited on hand and foot during my service in the Tribal Liberation Force. There was always hustle and bustle in every militia station no matter the hour.

“Way to go. We’re all very proud of you.”

My face burned more crimson. I felt very green suddenly, inexperienced by comparison.

“So can I get a scout to N8 then?”

“Use the JB.” a new and more annoyed voice entered the conversation.

I realized quickly I had overstepped my own personal knowledge limits and quickly asked Aura what a JB was.

“Jump Bridge, or JB, is used in systems of 0.0 security to quickly traverse multiple systems. A beginning and an end are required to establish a Jump Bridge. Multiple connections are commonly referred to as a Jump Bridge Network. Often employed by alliances and …”

“Thanks Aura.” I cut her off.

Once again, I reviewed my learned abilities and expertise. There was nothing within my skill set that would make me more proficient with jump bridges. I had a bit of cyno training, that was it. The technology was probably very similar.

“I have some cyno training, but no relevant skills for using a jump bridge.” I felt very pleased with myself and my response.

“Who the hell recruited this guy?”

I felt a churning in my stomach; that sensation where you don’t quite want to vomit, nor quite sit on the crapper and experience the explosive result.

“Roc, you don’t need any skills to use a bridge. You just warp to it, enter the alliance password, and away you go. Doesn’t get any easier than that.”

I could take a good ribbing. I had a sense of humour. I knew I was the small fish in this new, big sea, and I could accept that. Still, the conversation seemed to be trending towards condescension and belittlement, which wasn’t indicative (to me at least) of a high degree of professionalism within an organization.

Maybe joining the U’K was the wrong decision.

“Alright ladies, knock it off. Set a good example for the Colonel; he deserves that. Roc, let’s take this convo private, and I’ll help you get up to speed with life in nullsec.”

“Appreciate that, sir.”

“And yeah, knock off that sir crap. Doesn’t fly out here.”

I spent the next several hours learning the jump bridge network maps, where U’K stockpiled ship parts and resources, and various other daily essentials for life in Catch.

Quick apology to my readers via the awesomeness that is Capsuleer.

Little hiccup when rolling my blog over to www.rocwieler.com that resulted in a few missed posts. All sorted now.

Please visit the site via the interwebs to get caught up on things, including Roc’s Tyrannis Contest winners!