“Ok, grab what we need from the lab, then pack up some essentials from your quarters.” PyjamaSam said, already putting together a makeshift toolkit for their escape flight.

In the last few weeks Sam had made several alterations to the Null-Aura, or NORA, technology, to make the artificial intelligence more manageable, more controllable. He watched as the last of the flames died down around the infected tissue sample he had taken from Elly that very morning, the sample completely destroyed by a precision welding torch he used in his workshop.

He had wired Nora into the main station systems, and given her commands. “Nora, I want you to bypass all systems on this station; I want you in complete control. You will respond to only my voice, and in ten minutes, you will go offline.” Nora voiced her compliance, and began her task with enthusiasm.

Quickly, Sam grabbed Elly by the arm, leading them both to the sealed workshop doors. Elly had packed a toolkit as well; she was as much a thinker as Sam ever had been. “Nora, open this door, but seal every other doorway on the station.” Sam said, a slight panic to his voice.

They had been locked down into a forced quarantine minutes earlier. Elly, in the body of Lady Grey, and himself, had contracted an unknown contaminent. There had been signs something was wrong with Lady Grey’s body for days, but they both had focused their research into the hope of cloning Elly’s consciousness into a fresh, compatible body; neither of them had been looking for signs of Jovian sickness.

The Jovians were mythical to some, like gods, perhaps never having existed at all. The story went that they possessed technologies never again seen in New Eden, ships and weapons so powerful as to make our current technology look primitive. Yet in all their grandeur they were nearly wiped out by an unknown illness, in all their technological wonder, they couldn’t cure themselves. Rather than infecting all of New Eden, they chose to leave forever, and according to legend, that is where the birth of the four empires really began.

The workshop doorway slid open. Sam urged Elly forward. “Get your things. I’ll meet you at your quarters in three minutes. Hurry!” he cried hoarsely, his voice not used to this fevered pitch. Sam was a scientist, not a fighter. He had used his status as capsuleer to further augment his already impressive cognitive capacities; he had never focused on evolved combat.

He made his way to his quarters, only a few doorways down from his workshop, and threw some clothing into a tote bag. He could hear his corpmates demanding to know what he was up to over the loudspeakers, warning him of the consequences of his actions. “Nora, disable all communications systems.” Sam said. Blissful silence ensued immediately.

Two minutes later, he had met up with Elly at her quarters, though most of the time they had simply shared his. With Nora’s help, they made it to Sam’s Nighthawk hangar bay, and quickly loaded everything onboard.

“You sure you want to do this?” Elly asked, fear and hope in her eyes.

“It’s the only way.” Sam replied. “Nora downloaded all the relevant history of the Jovians to here.” he pointed at his head. “I know where they were last seen. I know where they were going. We can’t go through Jovian space without fear of being destroyed, so we’re going through wormhole space. We’ll get there, don’t you worry.” He offered a weak smile, and she nodded, placing her faith in him. Their love had come so far in such a short amount of time; she wasn’t going to falter now.

Sam began the pre-flight sequence on the Nighthawk, all the while talking to Nora. “Disable station weapon systems. Create false readings of our projected trajectory; I don’t want them knowing where we’ve gone. Also,” he said with a coy smile, “play some neolithic jazz in the command center.” That would drive them nuts, Sam thought with glee.

The ship launched, entering warp without incident, and soon they were several systems away. Sam looked at his chrono. “Nora should’ve gone offline by now, but hopefully with the fake trail we left we should be ok. Still, let’s stay focused and get as much space between us and them as we can.” Elly silently nodded.

He had just given up everything for her. There was no way he could go back now. It weighed on her heart just how much he loved her, and how much she loved him, but was it right? She was dying, she could feel it, and any day now the real Lady Grey would reclaim her body with a vengeance. They hadn’t been able to find a solution; they hadn’t been able to clone Elly successfully. Maybe things could’ve been different if they had made more progress.

Sam was fidgeting with a spanwrench and a control circuit nearby, smiling in triumph as some light indicators switched from red to green. He turned and walked to where Elly was sitting, placing the wrench on the sitting bench beside her.

“Ok, autopilot is working.” Sam said. From what she had learned, it was far more difficult, if not impossible to fly this size of ship without being inserted into the pilot pod, but Sam had somehow managed. Sure, they didn’t have any weapon crews, or a command crew to handle shields and defensive systems, but they were mobile, and that would hopefully be enough.

“We should be in proximity of a recent wormhole that existed in the VAF database. With a little luck, it’s still stable, and we can use it. In the meantime…” Sam said with a smile, pulling out the long, smooth obsidian case that Elly had come to know all too well. It was the real her; the only remaining piece of her original DNA from an era long forgotten; the era of Earth. That single, glorious strand contained every memory of her life, held the key to her own locked immortality, but try as they might they hadn’t been able to solve the mystery…yet. The fact Sam had brought it with her showed he was still optimistic and Elly forced a smile on her face, trying to show the same. She loved Sam with all her heart, but she knew time was running out. Even then she could feel the struggle inside her mind against Lady Grey. The pressure felt almost physical, overwhelming, and she had experienced constant headaches for days. She wanted to be hopeful, but she was far too pragmatic for that.

And now, even if they did find a cure, Lady Grey’s body had become infected with Jovian sickness. So even if she could maintain a feeble control over the other woman’s mind, how long would this body last?

“Elly, your ear.” Sam said, concern washing over his face. His gentle hand reached away from her, blood spatters on his fingertips. She put her own hand to her ear, and was astonished when it yielded the same result. She stared dumbly at the blood on her fingers, slowly looking up at Sam. She was speechless.

“Elly, are you ok? Talk to me. Tell me how to help.” Sam’s expression was of genuine love and concern, and he reached to hold her hands in comfort.

Elly reached her hands forward as well, snatching up the wrench beside her and swiping it across PyjamaSam’s face, disconnecting his jaw. Blood splattered and he fell heavily to the deck.

“Ewy, wha r ou” Sam tried to say before another blow with the wrench across his skull silenced him for a moment. She stood to her feet, towering over the bludgeoned form of PyjamaSam, whom was still conscious, through moving groggily.

“You sick, pathetic, excuse for a man. How dare you do this to me. Did you really think you’d get away with it?” Lady Grey said, hammering down on PyjamaSam’s leg with the wrench, breaking bone. PyjamaSam yelped in pain, his mouth unable to express even that properly.

“You drugged me! You violated my mind! You raped my body! I was there every single time you kissed me with your greasy thin lips! I was there every time you touched my breasts with your bony, cold hands! I was there every single time you, every time you!!!” She lashed out against his other leg with the wrench, filled with vehement rage. For months she had been trapped as a prisoner in her own mind, forced to endure every offence this bastard had committed against her.

She smashed down on PyjamaSam again, blood splattering on her clothing, cries of anguish coming from the crippled and broken man beneath her. She was going to kill him.

“Ewy! Sto! Pwe!” Sam cried.

“Elly is no more you idiot! She’s gone. But don’t worry; I know how much she means to you, and you’ll be joining her very soon.” Lady Grey screamed at him with venom behind every word.

Suddenly, she stopped.

She looked at the obsidian box, then back at Sam, the most wicked and evil smile across her face, her eyes beaming with the most malicious intent. She picked up the box, tenderly running her hand down it’s smooth surface, waiting for PyjamaSam’s senses to register what she had in her possession.

His eyes widened in stark fear, tears running down his face from far more than the physical pain he was in. One hand feebly reached up towards her, shaking and straining with the effort.

“nooo” his weak voice croaked. It was the most pleasureable sound Lady Grey had ever heard.

She smashed the box to the deck, stomping on it repeatedly with her boot heel, delivering devastating blows to it with the spanwrench. The box splintered, then shattered, its contents broken to countless pieces. She saw the DNA container and crushed it with her heel, heartfelt satisfaction etched onto her face.

Elly was no more, and would never be again.

PyjamaSam whimpered helplessly on the floor, his legs broken, his skull bleeding, his jaw hanging awkwardly to one side.

“I’m turning this ship around, PyjamaSam. We’re going back to VAF and you’re going to be held accountable for every single crime you’ve committed against me. I’m sure Tessa won’t be pleased, but justice will be served.”

Lady Grey walked towards the pod, preparing to take command of the Nighthawk.

PyjamaSam was a peaceful man at heart. He was a scientist, an inventor; he worked towards making the galaxy a better place. He had never asked for much, never wanted much. He was content to be alone. He had but a few real friends, and that suited him just fine.

That was before he had found his true love. That was before he had just watched as she was savagely murdered before his eyes, and he wasn’t able to do a damned thing about it.

His heart felt like it would physically break so strong was the pain, drowning out even the screaming of his body’s numerous injuries.

PyjamaSam had never felt such righteous fury before in his life; had never before been so enraged as to defy the laws of biomechanics and physics, never before experienced the power of love in such a real and meaningful way.

He dragged himself across the deck, Lady Grey nearly finished inserting herself into the pod. He wasn’t going towards her. Rather, he was slowly moving towards an interface console, sliding his body in its own blood, his arms weakening with every exertion.

He reached the console, and slid a slender tendril into his skull port. In his mind, he was whole. His thoughts raced through his ship’s systems, locking out anyone but him. He enabled the self destruct. In thirty seconds it would all be over.

Lady Grey had emerged from the pod, screaming incoherently, lunging at him, pure malice her clear intent.

She straddled his body, raining fists repeatedly upon his face and head. He smiled dumbly back at her. He had won, and he knew it.

She began choking him, but it didn’t matter. Twenty seconds and he would be free.

Lady Grey sprang from on top of him, rushing back to the pod, racing to connect herself to it. She was a capsuleer, and if she was plugged in, Aura would have no choice but to obey her programming and transfer Lady Grey’s consciousness into a fresh clone. But this Aura AI was now keyed to PyjamaSam only, and wasn’t letting anyone else access the ship’s systems.

Lady Grey quickly threw down the wires and cybernetic jacks, and screamed in rage at PyjamaSam. If she was going to die, so was he. She still had time to disconnect him from the ship.

She raced back towards PyjamaSam as the Nighthawk exploded.

—

VAF Cloning Facility
Undisclosed Space

PyjamaSam exhaled sharply, the first breath this new body had ever taken. The cloning chamber bed hissed open. PyjamaSam immediately heard the sounds of bootclad footsteps. As his eyes adjusted to the light of the facility, he could see VAF security teams standing in front of him, weapons ready and pointed at him.

Tessa Yor stood in front of them, a frown on her face.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Sam.” She said sternly. “Lady Grey’s lost four months of her life. We were lucky to have a recent backup imprint of her. Jovian sickness, hostile takeover of our station, Null-Aura. Tell me, Sam, exactly what the hell is going on here?”

PyjamaSam smiled inwardly. His heart still cried at the loss of Elly, a loss he would profoundly feel for the rest of his immortal life. But Lady Grey would remember none of it, and he would never tell her. He could come up with a convincing tale for Tessa, about his noble effort to save his corpmates from the dreaded virus, and she would believe him. He had never done anything wrong before in his career.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt though, that for the love of Elly, he would gladly do wrong again.

Mother’s Day had just passed. I don’t mention my parents often. It’s not because I don’t love them or appreciate their contributions to my life, it’s more for their own safety and protection. I’ve made a growing number of enemies over the years, and having my parents suffer for my actions is not something that would sit well with me. It’s even why I didn’t go by my given name, but rather the moniker of Roc Wieler, well, one of the reasons anyway.

My mother knew how to get in touch with me when needed. She was respectful and proud, following my career through the holos, only contacting me on days like Mother’s Day, or my birthday. To be honest, after spending twenty years as a slave, I had forgotten when my birthday was, so appreciated her for the gentle reminder.

When I received her comm, I figured it was because of the special occasion. As her son, I knew I should’ve been the one contacting her, but to her and I it didn’t matter, so long as we spoke.

“Hey mom.” I began, feeling like her child once again. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

“Son, it’s your father.” she replied.

My father and I had never been close. I could fill pages in this journal with reasons why: abusiveness, emotionally crippled, passive/aggressive, dead beat, an angry fool living in a make believe kingdom of his own creation and destruction, those are but a few of the feelings I possessed towards him when he was still alive. 

He had been the epitomy of what a Brutor was hundreds of years ago: didn’t share emotion, worked hard to provide for his family, never complained about his station in life, disciplined his brood physically and excessively, distrusted and feared technology, the quintessential Brutor male. 

He had been hot and cold. While he had possessed great intelligence and a wicked sense of humour, he was untempered, raw, driven by his emotions alone, saying what he was experiencing without filter. Inevitably this had led to him alienating everyone ever close to him personally and professionally except my mother, leaving him an angry and bitter man. Honestly, I didn’t know how she had even put up with him. 

I did have to thank him for many of the characteristics I possessed, but moreso I detested him for many of the obstacles I had to overcome as an individual to become my own man. I wasn’t blaming my father for my shortcomings; merely recognizing the root of the problem and taking responsibility to deal with it myself. There is nobody to blame for who we are but ourselves.

Still, he had been my father, and at the time of this tale, was still full of angry life.

“What’s going on?” I asked, suddenly concerned. My parents weren’t rich, though I did make sure they had enough to get by. My father wouldn’t accept anything more. Though he should’ve retired years ago after a career ending hydraulic lift accident, he went from being a mechanic to a taxi driver; both of these a far cry from the military service he started his adult life with. He was a stubborn old coot; another characteristic we had in common.

“Your father got robbed at work.”

I was actually shocked to hear he was working. Last I had heard my father had his taxi license revoked for blowing up at a city hall clerk viciously; they in turn banning him for life from the municipal building and any municipal employment.

“He got a taxi license for the city next to us, and just started this week.” my mother continued. “He got a call to a dead end alley, and there was two guys there for him to pick up. The one went around to the passenger side. That’s when the other one by the driver side pulled a gun on your father.” I could hear the fear creeping into her voice, and knew she was on the verge of tears.

“Your father knocked the gun away, and floored it in reverse, while the passenger side guy leaned in and kept punching him in the face.” my mother said.

“Is he ok?” I asked, genuine concern for the bastard in my voice.

“He’s fine, not even shaken up. He’s just glad they didn’t get his $50.” My mother let the words sink in.

Fifty bucks. My father had recklessly endangered his life for fifty bucks. Sometimes I just couldn’t fathom the man’s thought processes. 

He was the only one able to work, my mother’s physical health having deteriorated over the years. She refused cybernetics, preferring to be crippled than to not be human. That was something her and I disagreed on. She was afraid being part machine would steal your soul. I loved her too much to tell her otherwise.

“But he’s ok?” I continued.

“Yes, he’s fine. But why would they do such a thing?” my mother pleaded with me.

“I wish I could tell you, mom. The more I fight for our people the more I question if maybe the galaxy wouldn’t be better off without any of us messing it up.”

We spent the next half hour catching up, me mostly listening, my mother mostly telling me each and every detail of their lives since last we spoke. I realized then where I got my gift for speaking from; the woman could just go on and on incessantly.

“Look, mom.” I finally interjected. “I hate to go,” I lied, “but I need to get some things done. I’ll try to call more often.” I lied again. “I love you.”

“Love you too, son. You take care of yourself out there ok?” she said.

“I always do.” I smiled. It was our familiar farewell, and it left us both feeling secure.

I’d take a little security where I could get it. Seemed it was in growing demand.

It was Mother’s Day yesterday, and honestly I felt compelled to write about my own mother, and my relationship with her. I will hold off on that however, as another entry seems to have consumed my mind.

I had recently heard from an old friend out of the blue, and we had arranged to meet for breakfast the morning after Mother’s Day. I woke up in a pleasant mood, today’s artificial weather showing sunny skies within the station. I had decided to make the 20 minute walk to the magtrain station by foot, and must confess that even simulated weather can leave one in quite the uplifted mood, which was the point I suppose.

I arrived at the station in my military formals. It was by request of my old friend, whom was surprised to find out that I was indeed the same Roc Wieler he had shared many years with in an Amarr slave camp. There weren’t many of us left from those days, and though I wasn’t one for revelry, I was still looking forward to the meeting.

Upon entering the station I noticed immediately a much larger and more irate crowd than usual.

The trains were cancelled indefinitely, while an investigation was made into an incident involving a pedestrian. They had been crossing the tracks illegally, and were struck by a magtrain. No other details were being released at this time.

Being blatantly militia, I was asked by the private station security team to lend a hand. At first I was confused as to why they would need me, but it soon became painfully obvious.

I’d like to interject here about what we’ve become. I still held to the naive belief that while capsuleers and military personnel dealt in lives as currency, that regular folk weren’t as desensitized to the experience. I couldn’t have been more in error.

Not one of the would be passengers I dealt with that morning asked the most humane of questions, “Are they all right?”, “Was it intentional?”, “What was their name?”; nothing. Each and every one of them could only care about one selfish thing; the delay and inconvenience it was causing them.

Now I understand our own lives are important; we have jobs to do, people to see, places to go. But at what point did we become so calloused that a few lost hours of our lives takes such high precedence over the death of another that we neglect to indulge in the most basic of human empathy?

What if it had been your mother? Or someone you knew intimately? Would you be so nonplussed then? And was I any different?

Shamefully, I wasn’t. I was used to death; I had delivered death personally many times, and experienced it far too often for it to affect me as it should. As I said, I assumed that was the price of militia life. 

Yet still it was wrong. In my recent historical readings of our people, I was familiar with how we used to be not so very long ago. When we were more tribal by nature, an entire community would pay respect to a lost one with a moment of silence. Businesses would pause, play would cease, and we would commemorate our fallen brother or sister in the respectful way of tradition.

Perhaps it was the media. Perhaps it was growing antipathy as society continued to spiral ever downwards towards eventual collapse. Perhaps we needed to stop blaming all the stereotypical reasons and begin taking accountability for own individual selves anew.

Perhaps I was too idealistic for my own good. Perhaps not.

A magtrain hit a passenger, and my life was too important to care. That was the attitude of the day, and it left me feeling nauseous and disgusted with myself and my people. I tried to comm my friend, but there was no response. For a moment I had the critical thought that maybe it was my friend of years past that was the victim of today’s tragedy. I suppose I would find out along with the rest of the public when the details were released via the newsfeeds.

Even that made me feel a twinge of shame. With my position, I could easily have found out the details of the incident and the current state of the investigation. I could’ve lent my weight to pushing things forward, but I didn’t.

Instead, I simply began walking back to my quarters once the enraged mob had dispersed to a manageable level by the security team. I was crossing the magtrain concourse when a group of women inquired as to what was going on. In a deeply regretful voice I informed them of the incident. I expected annoyance. I expected some type of ignorant disregard for the loss of life. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Home day!” the woman shouted triumphantly, beaming at her friends. From behind the anonymity of my sunglasses, I buried daggers into her, and turned my back on them in revulsion.

If we are to prosper, nay to survive as a society, we could not continue on this path of selfishness. When being put out of our way a few hours is of more import to us than the loss of even a single life, something in our life view has gone askew. We’ve strayed from the path of morality. 

Life is precious and sacred. Life is not a commodity. We are not Amarr, we don’t trade in life for gain, and yet in some ways, we are worse than them. At least they attach a value to life, albeit a monetary one. Were I to stand behind a podium and preach that philosophy to the masses, I wouldn’t even have time to watch my political career disappear, so quick would it occur, and yet that didn’t make the statement any less true.

We needed to start remembering who we are, where we came from. We needed to start drawing many lines in the sand, and stand defiantly, daring any to cross them. We needed to do that with ourselves before we could hope to make a greater influence in New Eden.

New Eden; right then it didn’t feel like the new paradise our forebearers named it to be. Perhaps it never was, nor ever would be again.

Roc rested…

“I could break you, you know.” I grunted out with effort. The headache was killing me; that would teach me to breathe properly next time. I held the barbell across my shoulders, squatting, my legs shaking, my veins pulsing with effort as I strained to stand once again.

“I’m ok with that.” Seo replied, the smug smirk of satisfaction across his face. It wasn’t that he was a sadist and enjoyed hurting his clients, it was more a smile of complete understanding, having been there himself a thousand times over. He was currently training for competition, so knew well the pains I was experiencing. 

“C’mon Roc, only three more.” Seo encouraged as I pushed out the last of my reps. My legs felt like rubber, but there was no pain there as I put my hand to my forehead. It was such a simple thing, breathing, yet such a painful reminder for the rest of my workout.

• 3 x 50 leg press
• 3 x 50 leg extensions
• 3 x 50 squat press

It was a grueling workout, but one I knew would be beneficial to my obsessive insanity.

“Alright, onto shoulders.” Seo chimed, full of merriment.

“One day, Seo, I’m gonna…” My words were cut off by a resounding boom. To me it was recognizable as the sound of artillery impact, maybe on the far side of the station.

“What the hell?” I asked out loud. “Seo, turn on the monitor.” Seo quickly thumbed the remote and we watched as the station news channel announced the attack. 

“A large pirate force has gathered in Dal, and is bombarding local stations. Concord has responded in force, but it seems the pirates are well organized, sacrificing countless frigates to Concord while protecting their larger battleships. No demands have been made at this time, but anyone following the recent news can guess at what prompted this retaliatory strike. Station security systems are quickly sealing off damaged decks. There are no reports of death at this time.”

The reporter continued on, but I was already heading out the door, leaving Seo with a stunned and frightened look on his face.

Pirates. With every action they made they only reinforced their negative stereotype to society. Didn’t they see that? Some would say they didn’t care, but I knew better. Emotion was always the motivation behind despicable actions like this; and cowardice. Attacking civilian stations, attacking undefended militia support stations; these were the acts of desperation.

My NeoCom was already contacting High Command, and I quickly requested backup for this rising situation. “I don’t care if they have all the gates camped in Dal, Concord isn’t helping much, and these bastards have crossed the line. I need support now dammit.” I listened to the response. “Know what sir? Fine. I’m going out there myself then. Get me some ships and some pilots here or you can explain the political fallout of an inadequate response force to the Sanmatar personally!” I disconnected the comm.

My temper still got the best of me sometimes, and I knew I would be reprimanded for speaking to a superior officer that way. I didn’t care. What mattered at the moment was that innocent lives were being jeopardized as a response to my actions. It was I that had started the political campaign to clean up Heimatar and the rest of Minmatar space from the pirate infestation. It was my door they had just come knocking on.

As I entered my personal bay, barking orders at my mechanic crew to get my Firetail ready, I commed whatever militia pilots were available in local.

“Attention all pilots of the TLF. This is Colonel Roc Wieler, preparing to engage the invading pirate force in Dal. I need every able bodied pilot available now to teach these pathetic cowards the lesson they’ve had coming for a long time.”

I plugged into my pod, and fired up the ship. Immediately Aura notified me of multiple requests to join my fleet. I quickly began reconfiguring my HUD to a more suitable fleet command configuration, and watched as my fleet member count grew.

I lifted the ship out of the docking bay, rocketing towards open space as more impact explosions echoed. 

If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get, I thought to myself, priming my weapons systems. This had been a long time coming, and I was going to see it through.

There’s something to be said about meat. Whether it’s beef, chicken or fish, meat is just something the body craves, Brutors moreso than anyone else I have met.

I’ll never forget the time we were stranded on Ossus VI, a planet with extremely hot days and frigid nights. Our ship equipment had failed due to the intense temperatures, and we found ourselves quickly having to survive off of the only abundant indigenous food supply we could find, meter tall chickens…

The Colonel’s Famous Chicken

INGREDIENTS

• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 teaspoons butter
• 1 cup Heinz ketchup (yes, it’s still around after all these thousands of years)
• 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/4 cup chili sauce (Heinz is also good for this)
• 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
• 1/2 – 3/4 tablespoon celery seed
• 1 tablespoon prepared mustard
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 dashes hot pepper sauce
• 8 large chicken breast halves, bone-in with skin

METHOD

1. In a saucepan, saute the garlic in butter until tender
2. Add the next 8 ingredients
3. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly
4. Remove from heat and set aside
5. Grill the chicken, covered over medium heat for 30 minutes, turning occasionally
6. Baste with sauce
7. Grill 15 minutes longer or until juices run clear
8. Continue basting and turning during the last 15 minutes of cooking
9. Serve with any extra sauce you set aside for dipping
10. Yes, the sauce is just that delicious!

An important note for catching giant mutant chickens: Remember despite their size and speed, they are still just chickens. You can easily outsmart them. Don’t resort to shooting them unless absolutely necessary, as it can spoil the meat. Fear, injury and death trigger numerous chemical responses that leave the meat tasting inferior.

The months have passed too quickly, Sam thought to himself, as he lay on his side in bed looking at the sleeping form of Elly. He thought of the irony of her beauty, having never particularly noticed Lady Grey before they had transferred Elly’s consciousness into her body. To be fair, he had never really noticed anyone before Elly; it was one of the many virtues she had added to his life.

He was living beyond his workshop, finally, having even undocked recently, though his brief adventure ended as it always has, him emerging from a new clone back at VAF HQ. He had even begun forming real friendships with his colleagues, not merely being appreciated for all the work he had done in the past, but rather forming tangible memories for the future.

He gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face, then leaned down to softly kiss her lips. She purred, a smile crossing her face, as she twisted and stretched, her eyes slowly fluttering open. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Sam said, his eyes beaming with love for her.

“Morning.” she replied, her voice filled with morning huskiness. “What time is it?” she asked, leaning over to look at the chrono on the wall.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked coyly. “We’re together, so it’s always a good time.” She laughed at his corniess, wrapping herself around him, then stopped suddenly, surprised. A more devilish smile crossed her face as she felt him against her.

“Good morning indeed.” she said, and Sam took his cue. They spent the next several hours making love.

Elly awoke first, noticing she was alone in bed. “Sam?” she asked, wondering where her beloved had gotten off to. Maybe he had gone to bring her breakfast in bed, or pick some flowers from the botanical conservatory in the main promenade. Maybe he was in the shower, waiting for her to join him.

She quickly arose, and searched their quarters; Sam was nowhere to be found. She had a quick shower herself, scrubbing herself down, a sudden jolt of pain drawing her attention to her upper left arm. A small, blood clotted incision was there. She separated the skin slightly, her mind recognizing the telltale signs of a biopsy entry. She turned the faucet off, towelling herself dry, then stood in front of the mirror.

She looked closely at her face. The blue of her veins was showing more prominently through her skin; her time was running out. She had noticed the veins for the first time weeks ago, and showed them to Sam. He still hadn’t found a way to successfully clone her with her memories intact; her terran DNA adding unprecedented complications to existing cloning technology. Together they had exacted over forty one different sequential equations, trying to refine the process to filter her DNA properly. They had not experienced success.

She gripped the sink firmly. The headaches were coming more often as well; it was becoming a more difficult battle to contain the real Lady Grey. Elly found herself becoming lost in the other woman’s memories, often confusing them with her own. It was a terrifying experience, to feel yourself slipping away, not knowing if there would ever be a cure to save you.

After quickly eating some breakfast, she commed Sam. He wasn’t answering. She heard his comm unit beeping, and found it sitting on his bed side table. She pocketed it, and made her way to his workshop, a smile on her face. She enjoyed taking care of him and his eccentricities. She truly had fallen in love with him.

Moments later, she entered the dimly lit workshop, having no trouble finding Sam hunched over some analysis equipment. She walked up behind him, slowly sliding her arms around him from behind, her head resting against his back.

“I see how it is.” she said with mock hurt. “You get what you want, then have no more use for me.” She enjoyed playing against his social insecurities; Sam had never experienced a real relationship before. He stopped what he was doing, and turned to face her, his face apologetic.

“No, it wasn’t that, it’s just that I…” Sam began before Elly could stop him.

“I’m teasing you lover. I thought you’d know me by now.” She smiled warmly at him, hugging him, kissing him again, but noticed Sam was hesitant; his reciprocating kiss not as affectionate as usual. She pulled back.

“What is it?” she said, her voice all business now. 

“We’re almost out of time, Elly. I don’t know what else I can do. We’ve tried everything!” His voice sounded despondent, desperate. They both knew there was only a small window of opportunity in which to solve this riddle; the solution to this puzzle her very existence depended on.

“Ok, what have you discovered this morning. Anything new?” she asked, pulling her glasses out of her pocket. It was amazing how the mind could fool the body. In this day and age, there was no need for glasses; sight correction was a painless and inexpensive procedure corrected at birth and completely unnecessary in capsuleer clones. Still, she had worn glasses in her first life as Elly, and her mind still believed she needed them now. Sam had put flat lenses in them for her, as Lady Grey’s vision was perfect, but it simply made Elly feel more like herself.

Sam began reviewing their progress. “I’m still working in the isolated sequence we’ve narrowed the incompatability to. I’ve ran 1, 024 splicing simulations today already, the closest match being 13%. That number just isn’t high enough for cognitive retention. You wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t be anyone.”

Elly kept it professional. “Has there been any acceleration in dermal degradation?” she asked.

“Not really. Lady Grey’s consciousness keeps pushing forward, and you can see here,” he said, pointing to a graph on a screen, “that there are expontentially more neural spikes in her, in your, brain activity. She wants out, Elly, and pretty soon she will be.

The constant battle of wills the two of you are engaged in is physically affecting the body. Skin elasticity is down 0.04% since yesterday, pigment cell count down as well. Pretty soon, you’re going to be somewhat translucent.”

About a week prior Sam had noticed similarities between the physical symptoms of her condition to that of the little that was known about Jovian sickness.

Together, and with the help of NORA, they had scoured the galaxy for more detailed records as to what disease the Jovians contracted that was so horrible it forced them to leave New Eden. What little they found was speculative, mostly wild theories as unbelievable as the conjecture she and Sam had put forward on many a quiet evening.

She put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder, a gesture they had both come to accept as a sign of encouragement and faith over the last few months.

Sam didn’t want to lose Elly. It wasn’t for fear of what reprisals would inevitably come should Lady Grey regain control of her body, it was that he simply had never found another being so much his equal before. Truth be told, she was his intellectual superior in many ways, but unlike most males he didn’t find that threatening at all. He loved that he could learn from her, and yet at the same time, she was continually learning from him. She had an unquenchable thirst for all things New Eden, sponging up everything he shared about this galaxy he took for granted. 

Sirens came to life, blaring their voices painfully. Emergency lighting dimmed red. Sam wondered if they were under attack, and quickly slid across the workshop floor on his chair to a security terminal. He entered his access code and was presented with a Quarantine Alert, origin point … his workshop.

He quickly began entering override commands, but he was locked out.

“Elly, the door! Run!” Sam screamed, launching himself from his chair at a sprint for the rapidly closing doors. First step in a quarantine situation was containment, a full lockdown of the offending area. They would be trapped, unable to access the cloning facilities vital to their research and experimentation for Elly’s cure.

The doors slid shut and sealed, manual overrides not responding. Sam slammed his palms against the doors in impotent frustration. “Dammit!”

“What’s going on Sam? Why did the doors close?” Elly asked, her voice slightly afraid.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Sam replied with grim resolution. He stormed over to the comm unit, flicking it to life. “This is PyjamaSam, authorization code Echo-Charlie-Sixer-Niner-Bravo-Bravo-Foxtrot. Requesting override authorization for quarantine protocol.”

The word ‘quarantine’ sent chills through Elly.

They waited for a response. “Request denied, PyjamaSam. Quarantine is to remain in effect until further analysis performed. Sit tight; it shouldn’t take long.” an anonymous voice replied.

“Who is this?” Sam replied impatiently. “What’s your handle?” he yelled into the comm.

“Sam, keep it together. It’s me, Tavin. Everything’s gonna be fine, man; just following procedures.” Tavin replied.

Sam did calm noticeably at the familiar voice of his corpmate; Tavin was as kind as he was able. “Sorry, Tavin, just a little freaked out here. What’s the nature of the quarantine?” Sam spoke in a more controlled manner.

“Station systems have detected an unknown viral micro-organism. Source is your lab. Computer says both you and Lady Grey are infected. What the hell you messing with in there now?” Tavin replied jokingly, trying to lighten the seriousness of the moment.

Sam’s mind reeled. Infected!?! What was going on? He ran to his analysis terminal, where the most recent sample of Lady Grey’s cellular tissue he had taken only this morning still was.

He ran a full spectrum analysis against the sample until Aura found the problem, showing him in great detail the results on his screen.

Sam’s eyes went wide. Lady Grey covered her mouth in disbelief.

Sam turned to her, his demeanor completely serious, and said with dead certainty “I think we’ve found what made the Jovians sick.”

May the 4th be with you.

“… join the press conference live, where Colonel Roc Wieler continues to address the Republic. This is a Scope News exclusive.”

Flash bulbs continuously flared in front of me, my heart rate accelerating at the explosions surrounding my ship during the heat of battle.

Camera drones hovered and zipped around, angling for the best shots possible, my adrenaline surging, willing myself to target the incoming swarm of Warrior IIs.

“Colonel Wieler, Colonel! Is it true that many of the smaller pirate organizations are forming makeshift alliances in Minmatar lowsec zones as a response to your open declaration of war on piracy?”

“Colonel Wieler! There are eyewitness reports that you recently lost a command ship in Amamake space to a pirate attack. How is the military responding to the increase in their push into the heart of the Republic?”

The comm chatter buzzed. I wished I could turn it off. This wasn’t a fleet battle; I wasn’t in space. I was standing behind a small podium in a comfortably carpeted reporter gallery. They were not my enemy; they were merely doing their jobs. I had to do mine.

“Please, I’m not taking questions at this time. I have a prepared statement I would like to make.” I waited until the reporters from the various news agencies took their seats. I scanned the crowd as the noise dwindled, thankful my eyes were hidden behind my sunglasses as I glowered at an Amarrian reporter from the Empire. Freedom of the press my ass. We were at war. I didn’t care if he was an official envoy of the Amarr Empire; he was a threat to the Republic and shouldn’t be present.

They were waiting on me now.

“There has been a significant increase in pirate activity within our space; that much is true. Outlaw gangs have been making increasingly brazen attacks closer to our high security systems. There is no need for alarm. Recruitment rates in the Tribal Liberation Force have shown a dramatic increase in the previous days, and these green pilots are quickly putting real experience beneath their belts. Our ‘anti-piracy’ initiative is still progressing, showing tangible results, and I would like to take this opportunity to encourage all Matari to continue to stand against these terrorists, to remain vigilant in the face of these grave times, and to nourish and foster hope that soon we will look back at this moment in history as a small hiccup in the proud legacy of the Republic. That is all, thank you.”

As I turned to leave the speaker’s podium, pandemonium erupted. 

“Colonel Wieler! One question, please! What about the Amarr? Are we abandoning the millions still enslaved? Are we leaving them behind?”

I paused in my step, wanting to speak, but remembered the Sanmatar’s words, ‘Say the speech, then get out. Let the politicians handle anything else.” It didn’t sit well with me then, nor now; I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut when someone breached a touchy subject dear to my heart.

I began walking away again, the gaggle of reporters squawking incessantly behind me.

“Colonel! Colonel Wieler! There are independent casualty reports showing staggering civilian deaths and loss of equipment due to prevalent piracy. Don’t you find your assessment of the situation a bit idealistic?”

That stopped me cold in my tracks. I exhaled a calming breath before turning to face the reporter. I was sure Maleatu would give me hell later, but I couldn’t let this one go.

I clenched my fists, and aggressively stormed towards the reporter, my body language obviously conveying the boiling rage inside me as reporters quickly cleared me a path. I stopped directly in front of the man, his expression of terror a clear indication I was inside his personal comfort bubble. Good, that left us on equal footing.

I pointed my finger at him, a menacing grimace on my face. “You’re right.” I said with thinly concealed contempt. “It is idealistic. 100%.”

I backed up a step, waving my outstretched arm across the group of reporters, whom were all holding out recording devices, but keeping a cautious distance. I looked at each and every one of them before continuing.

“We need ideals to strive for. Societies are not driven forward by the masses; they are advanced by the ideals of the few, the passions of those willing to stand up to make a change for what they believe in. So am I idealistic? Hell yes I am. I believe in principles. I believe that what applies to one applies to all.

Think about it.

Doesn’t matter whether it’s your business relationships, your husbands, wives, childrens, your job, your military career, whatever it is you do. Whatever principles work on a personal level MUST work for the entity as a whole.

For example, look at me. I am a soldier. I am also an employee in the private sector. It isn’t uncommon for me to work with a freelance agent, taking jobs on my own, then executing those tasks with a strong work ethic and precision. At the end of the contract, I get paid, often with a bonus for exemplary performance, and everyone is happy with the outcome. I am happy; client is happy.

If I can do that as a single person, then a corporation should be able to execute its business with the same precision; the principles remain the same and hold true. So when a company process doesn’t flow freely, it isn’t the fault of the ideal. We are injecting the issues. We are the ones to inject problems into the principle.

We need to strip away the dross, to take things back to their most basic functioning form. Cut out the layers of red tape, cut out the layers of management and involvement simply because that is the way it has always been done, and get back to the ideals of business. Do the job and do it well.

The same applies to everything, like I said. 

So yes, I am idealistic. I hold each and every one of us, myself included, to a higher ideal, to a more noble calling and way of life than we have currently. And will I ever give up on those principles, on those ideals? Not while I have breath left in this shell. 

We need idealism. We need people to hold onto their lofty dreams, to mold them by fire into reality that we may all benefit. Don’t spend another moment of your day simply going through the motions. Don’t allow yourself to just meet the status quo and simply exist as a faceless zombie in the crowd, existing but not truly alive.

Dream your dream. Overcome whatever stands in the way of your dream coming to fruition. Infect those around with your ideals and you will find you are no longer alone. 

Adhere to the principle of the one. Be idealistic.

What is my ideal? A free Republic. I dare you to stand in my way.”

I turned on my heel, my voice hoarse. I only realized when I had finished how fevered in pitch and volume my diatribe had become.

As I left the Reporter’s Gallery, needless security escorting me to a private meeting room for a debriefing, I could’ve sworn I heard the sound of applause behind me.

Nothing says “I love you” like a fresh corpse.