THE CONTEST

Create a short story for the above image. Your story must be greater than 500 words. To submit your entry:

1. Post the link to your entry blog in the comments below OR
2. Post your story in the comments below

THE RULES

Entry cutoff will be 12AM Saturday April 18, 2009.

At this time, I will create a poll of every entry, and let my readers vote on their preferred story entry. Polls will close at 12AM Saturday April 25, 2009.

On Monday April 27, 2009, I will announce the winner.

THE PRIZE

Really, this is the part it’s all about. You either want the prize, or you don’t. 

The winner of this contest will be featured in an EVE Online wallpaper I create. This image will be posted on my Flickr page, the official EVE Online forums, and anywhere else the winner wishes it to be posted.

I like to think it’s a cool prize.

Good luck!

PATOR SYSTEM

He scrambled down the corridor in pursuit, his heavy suit slowing him down. There were only two more hallway junctions until their quarry eluded them, securing himself in his hangar, escaping into space.

They had already broken into two teams, the ground team, which he was part of, and the flight team, which wouldn’t have systems operational on their combat shuttle for another five minutes. 

Five minutes was way too long when in pursuit of a capsuleer.

Daul sucked recycled air into his burning lungs, his helmet filtering out any potential toxins, and continued storming down the hallway after Deschaines.

Roland Deschaines was a con artist. The sad thing was, he didn’t do anything deemed illegal by Concord. He simply sold mislabelled items; Stabbers as Republic Fleet Stabbers, etc, etc. It was profitable, immoral, and perfectly legal.

The up side was that as a member of Roc’s Renegades, they could apprehend Deschaines under the pretense of military crimes; Concord wouldn’t interfere with that. Everything was supposed to have gone smoothly.

They were a three member team. Their squad commander had posed as a potential buyer of Deschaines fraudulent wares, and had loitered insystem until Deschaines finally approached him with an offer. Having agreed upon a price, they had docked at a nearby station to complete the transaction.

They had secreted into the station upon docking, keeping a safe distance from their team lead, whom was wearing more appropriate clothing for the role he was acting. He couldn’t exactly be seen as a legitimate pilot/businessman walking around in a heavy suit. The bulky armour was resistant to most military grade weapons, and was lab tested to even be able to withstand a minor frigate blast, though Daul wasn’t anxious to field test that.

Roland had wanted to meet on the station’s promenade. It was smart really; someplace public gave him all the advantages. Still, today was his last day of running scams. He had scammed Colonel Wieler just over a month ago, and the Colonel didn’t take kindly to it. Upon contacting Deschaines, Roland just shrugged it off as “making a living”. It was obvious he didn’t know whom he had crossed.

They had watched from the shadows as the two met, engaged in smalltalk, then finally got down to business. It was quick and to the point. Deschaines was obviously the type of man that enjoyed not being in one place too long.

Deschaines produced a mobile transaction unit, the kind any legitimate business would have, and the pseudo pilot processed his end of the transaction, using one of Colonel Wieler’s accounts. Roland then transmitted the deed for the bogus ship. The two men shook hands, the support team’s cue to get ready.

Their team lead didn’t release his grip of the other man’s hand, producing handcuffs from seemingly nowhere and slapping them across the other man’s wrist, locking it in place.

Deschaines’ eyes widened in terror and he yanked against the handcuff, only to find its mate attached to the wrist of the team lead, a sturdy built man. Roland wasn’t going anywhere.

That was when things started going downhill.

Deschaines’ demeanour changed, his face contorting into one of savagery, as he drove his forehead into the nose of the team lead. He followed this up quickly by driving his elbow down across the other man’s arm while kicking his knee, dropping him to the ground, stunned. Daul and the other man in the heavy suit bolted from their cover, assault rifles locked and loaded.

The crowd on the promenade was quickly stirring into a panic, dispersing in random directions, making things that much more difficult. Daul was unable to get a clean line of fire on Deschaines, whom had dropped to his knee over the unconscious form of the team lead. 

Daul pushed through the panicked crowd, shouldering and elbowing his way closer to his team lead. Every moment they were out of sight was one moment too long. Each second stretched, Daul’s chest tightening with dread. He had only been part of Colonel Wieler’s team for a few weeks, but was giving it everything he had, learning more than he ever thought possible in his previous life.

The crowd broke, and he was standing over the unconscious form of his team lead. The man’s forearm was cleanly cut in two, blood spilling across the promenade floor. Daul quickly checked for a pulse; there was none. 

“Team lead down. Need medical evac now! No eyes on target. I repeat, no eyes on target. We’ve lost him!” Daul spoke hurredly into his helmet’s comm unit. 

“Notifying station security of potential murder suspect. See if you can pick up his trail, Halwick. The Colonel will be pissed if we blow this.” his other team mate replied.

Daul scanned the floor for the easiest trail, the blood from the stump of his team lead. He scanned around him in all directions, not finding any droplets of the life giving fluid. “Shit!” Daul thought to himself. “What the fuck is going on?” He ran in a random direction for a few meters, scanning for signs of Deschaines. He had lost him, with no inclination of how to find him.

“He’s gone, Burrick.” Daul said through his comms. “I’m going to the upper level of the promenade. I might be able to see better from there.”

“Roger that.” The other man replied. “I’ve engaged station security. They’re using medical scans now for accelerated heart rate, etc, but with the crowd panic, it’s pinging too many results. I’ll keep you posted. Head back to the ship and report.”

Daul Halwick headed back to their docking bay to report their failure, and worst, the loss of one of their team, to Colonel Wieler. 

Several minutes later and he was close to where they had docked. He turned a corner, nearly stumbling over a man he recognized; a man with a bagged and bloody stump hanging from a handcuff attached to his arm. 

Daul’s eyes went wide. He hesistated. Roland did not, turning and running like a man possessed, disappearing around a corner. Daul gathered himself and raced after Deschaines.

He scrambled down the corridor in pursuit, his heavy suit slowing him down. There were only two more hallway junctions until their quarry eluded them, securing himself in his hangar, escaping into space. 

“I’ve got him!” Daul screamed into his helmet comms. “Lock onto my signal and bring me some backup!” His armour clad feet clanged heavily against the floor as he kept running down the hall after Deschaines.

As he turned the last junction, he could see the secured hangar access door opening, Deschaines moments from escape.

Daul dropped to one knee, and took aim. His voice was amplified by a built in megaphone in the heavy suit. 

“Roland Deschaines. Freeze where you are. You’re coming with me.”

Deschaines didn’t break his stride. Daul was not a law enforcement officer. Daul wasn’t going to warn him again. Daul opened fire with his assault rifle.

High yield projectiles littered the hallway, peppering Deschaines legs, shearing them almost clean off slightly above the knees. He dropped like a sack of wet meat, screaming in pain.

“Target acquired and in need of medical attention.” Daul said, a slight hint of triumph in his voice. He stood and approached Deschaines, his weapon still trained on him, wary of any more surprises.

“My legs!” Deschaines screamed in agony. “You shot my fucking legs! What the fuck is wrong with you?! You fuck!”

Daul opened a pack at his waist, and pulled out some lengths of nano elastic. He secured it to what remained of Roland’s leg, watching as the elastic pulled tight, creating an effective tourniquet until the medical team arrived.

Roland yelled in further pain, prompting Daul to dig an emergency sedative from his kit and inject it into Deschaines. 

The man cursed and grumbled for another few moments, then succumbed to forced sleep.

Daul allowed himself to smile at the man. “Sweet dreams, bitch. Enjoy them while you can. When you’re awake, the first thing you’re going to see is Colonel Wieler.”

There it was, 70km and closing. I checked the systems on my Rifter, medium shield extender, passive shield tank ready. I hit the afterburners, readying my three vulcan autocannons, and raced towards the encounter. There were few frigates that could withstand an up close onslaught from a well piloted Rifter.

He got the target lock before me, but I didn’t panic; still I approached at maximum velocity, waiting to get in range to unleash my fury.

A nos latched onto my ship, and then another. That was the enemy pilot’s first mistake; my autocannons didn’t require capacitor; it was one of the many glories of being a Minmatar. I was almost in range when the first volley from his medium beam lasers tore away half of my shields.

“What the? Aura, verify combat readouts are operational!” I barked. There was no way a frigate should be able to inflict that type of damage. Aura quickly affirmed that the enemy frigate was indeed packing a hefty punch. 

I had never encountered a Succubus before; that was my first mistake, not knowing the capabilities of my enemy. I had relied on my prowess, arrogantly underestimating my prey. 

I got into range and let loose with a ferocious volley against the enemy frigate, barely scratching its shields. Not only could this ship dish out the damage, but it was withstanding everything I had to throw at it easily.

Another blast from its beam lasers, and my shields were gone. I checked my damage output; I had done 2% damage to my enemie’s shields. I was going to lose this fight and I knew it.

I broke to a close orbit, hoping that my transverse velocity might be too much for the enemy’s turrets to track; it was very unlikely in a frigate fight.

My impotent autocannons continued firing, not even scratching the shields of the Succubus this time. Its pilot activated a shield booster, and was quickly restored to 100% as I continued to watch my armour plates get shredded, flying into space behind me.

I was outclassed. I was outgunned. I was embarassed.

The Succubus broke off the engagement when I soon reached hull. Fleet chatter picked up.

“Alright, pay up.” Cytral said triumphantly. You could hear Doc and others groan, having lost their wager on me, their Fleet Commander and combat training officer. 

“I want a rematch in the Renegade, Cy.” I said, completely emasculated before my men.

“You kidding me Roc? I honestly thought you were going to win this one!” There was laughter in the fleet channel. I hadn’t had a chance. It was testament to my presence that so many had bet ten million isk a piece on me. 

“That’s a sweet ship, Cy. You could’ve let me know I was going to get spanked.” I said.

Cytral and company had recently ambushed some pirates, and the Succubus had been left intact, its original pilot having ejected to save his life. Cytral had his mechanics work hard on the ship to restore it to operational capacity, and it had paid off. 

It had cost him close to one hundred and twenty million isk to get it to its current functionality, but as was just demonstrated, it was worth it. I couldn’t imagine any other frigate being to withstand it. In fact, it would probably even hold its own against a cruiser class ship.

“Only thing I’d have on you would be range and speed, Cy.” I said, wanting the chance to redeem myself. “And even then, I honestly don’t know if I’d have sufficient damage output to break that tank. Damn, what a mean ship.”

More laughter in the fleet channel. It wasn’t laughter at me. I honestly believed we were all shocked by the result. I think it was more that nobody had seen me so completely ineffectual, and it was our friendships and respect for each other that allowed us to make light of it.

Still, I wanted payback. I hated losing to myself, and really that is what had happened here. Had I researched a little, I would’ve seen what the Succubus was capable of. She lived up to her name admirably. She was ugly to look at, but gave you pleasure you couldn’t possibly imagine. I didn’t like that the joy came at my expense.

“Either way, we’re taking that to the frontlines of the war, Cy. You in that, me in my Firetail; the Amarr wouldn’t stand a chance.” I said.

“Aye, that is something we can do.” Cytral replied.

We docked up after finishing our original task, each of us moving on to other duties. I found myself brooding over this more than I should’ve. 

I found myself wondering how exactly I would beat that ship next time.

Any ideas?

FREEFORM HQ
DAL SYSTEM

 The walls of HQ felt particularly bare that day. I had noticed the emptiness first thing as I returned from the gym in theearly AM. My heavy steps reverberated from the steel plate floors moreso than usual, distorted echoes playing across my ears. Much of the lighting system were off, many of the office doors locked; the place seemed abandoned.

Emergency lights winked to life briefly as I strode down the hallways, turning off automatically as I passed through each section to conserve power. Not a soul was to be seen.

Paintings had been taken down; plants had been removed or left to wither and die. Service droids and personnel had been laid off temporarily, or at least that was the hope. Even the door to the galley was locked, but my security code gave me access. Taking the sweaty towel from around my neck and placing it on a nearby counter, I rummaged through the corporate pantry, looking for something easy to eat, to satisfy my growling stomach. 

After forcing down some canned fruits and preserved jams, I proceeded to my office. The lights stayed off when I entered, but there was still power to my computer system.

“Aura, what’s going on?” I said, my voice booming throughout the emptiness unintentionally.

She flashed a corporate email to the center of the screen, which I touched to open. It was from Niko and Cytral, the Directors of Freeform Industries.

As I scanned the email, I was filled with mixed emotions. Truth be told, I could care less about the drama that had unfolded around me. I didn’t like being put in the middle of things. FullMetal Basilisk had been fired, forcefully removed from the corporation. Did I agree with the decision? Did it really matter what I thought? What was done, was done. And honestly, it didn’t affect me either way. It didn’t mean I couldn’t keep in contact with my friend. It didn’t mean I had betrayed any loyalties to the corp.

What I did find interesting was that 90% of our recent recruits had opted to resign from the corporation and go with Metal. I didn’t think it  something malevolent, something sinister that had been planned out; rather I took it as a testament to the type of man he was; others were compelled to follow him. It brought up other philosophical stirrings within my mind, but I couldn’t grasp their relevance at the time.

I continued scanning the mail, reading Cytral’s heartfelt plea to be patient as Freeform underwent radical internal restructuring, and his thanks for those of us sticking it out. For me, it was a matter of convenience. My role here was flexible and permissive, I pretty much did what I wanted, and was left to do so. Additionally, it had really lightened the recruitment spam I got hammered with in local. I guess the saddest part was, at least for me, was the reason I joined Freeform in the first place; in his video comm, Cytral really seemed to be an attractive chick. I was more than surprised when I finally met him face to face. I’d joked about it with others, and apparently I wasn’t the only one who had fallen prey to this gender mistake.

One final note got my attention in the email: All Corporate Hangars have been locked down until further notice.

That irritated me. What was left of the corp wasn’t here in Dal; in fact, I think I might’ve been the only one left in this branch office. I made my way to the hangar bays, and sure enough, my security access wasn’t enough to override the Director level lockdown. The thought crossed my mind to use my military credentials and have the doors forcibly overridden, but that would inevitably lead to more drama. Besides, the only thing kept in these bays was various ammo types. I kept my ships in my private and secured military hangar. 

Ah well, guess I would be buying ammo from the public market for a little while. It was probably good for the economy anyway. 

I took a quick shower in the corporate locker room, feeling the emptiness poignantly. In a way it was ironic, as for the most part I tended to avoid crowds and noticed that people generally got on my nerves quickly. I was quite content with my own company most of the time. And yet there was a wrongness about this type of emptiness. It was like some cataclysmic event had occured that everyone had been privy to but me. I was the one left behind while all other beings had fled pre-emptively to safety.

After changing into warm clothes, I sat back down in my office, reading some selections Aura had found for me based on a previous query I had made into the Socio-economic development of the Minmatar Republic. 

I had found myself drawn to the rich and varied history of our people recently, researching into our cultural limitations and diversities, gaining insights into where our struggles existed in our rise as a people, and where we still possessed weaknesses. It had been something Shakor had suggested to me recently; that I know where we had been in order to understand where we were going.

It reminded me of that Gigaer guy I had encountered a while back; he had said something along the same lines. But to be fair, I was enjoying the study. 

The Matari had an incredibly woven historical tapestry, and the more I read, the more I wanted to learn. Still, every man has his limits, and after only a few hours I found my eyes growing heavy, despite the early hour of the day.

There were no market orders for me to take care of. No inventory control. No flight assignments pending. No classes at our new academy. There was nothing for me to do here.

I checked my NeoCom for military intel. Seemed things were quiet on that front too. 

I let my breath blow out through my lips, wondering how I should spend my day. I just wasn’t in the mood to be alone. I thought about maybe heading to the Black Hole Pub, but even I had limits to when I would start drinking.

Finally, I commed Mynxee, expecting her to not be around, or to be too busy to take my call. Surprisingly, she answered quickly.

“Heya sugah.” Mynxee purred, immediately easing my mood. “How’s things?”

I told her everything that had been going on in the corp recently, my sincere lack of interest in it, and just my general feeling of abandon today. Really, I wanted a friend to talk to.

She told me about some of the various dramas she had endured with the Hellcats, and with the Bastards. Apparently RoninData ruled with an iron fist, but it worked for them. 

Finally she turned the subject to the fact that I was in an empty facility all by my lonesome, and came up with some very arousing ideas of how we could spend the day. She had administrative duties she needed to get done, but they could wait another day or two.

I really liked her playfulness, so eagerly accepted the offer.

A day alone to play with Mynxee would be just the thing to work this depressing funk out of my system.

She felt the cold touch of the plastic against her skin…gentle, cool, almost erotic. The feeling was like a feather and the cold touch of steel at the same time. She slowly stood up and made her way to the open window. Icy air was drafting in, carrying a current of thousands of tiny ice crystals along with it into her small apartment. She took a deep breath of the air, ignoring the bite of pollution and the wet steel smell of Waschi on a cold winter day.

She smiled, her mind drifting aimlessly to a tiny faraway place where her mind would take her quietly when she wasn’t paying attention. Driftfully she closed the window and pulled on a long jacket with a furry lining. The fur was synthetic of course, just like everything else in the artificial city, but she didn’t care. An instant passed in her mind and she stood in front of her apartment building in the upper class sections of the city with her eyes closed looking up to the sky, her face being stung by thousands of tiny ice shards relentlessly streaming toward the ground. She spread her arms and twirled aimlessly for a moment, drawing the cautious stares from the crowd of people moving down the sidewalk.

After she stopped she took a moment to look around. Her twirling had taken her no more than ten meters away from the entrance to her apartment, down her street. The street was actually a wide boulevard leading straight into the heart of Waschi, Kamokor. Somewhere in the corporate domination of Intaki, the city had changed its central hub from the older Newport to Mordu Hub. Through the fog she could just see the brilliant neon signs advertising for any kind of service or product, trying to get those few extra isk off of any soul who happened to be lured in by the sparkling advertising.

She looked through the glare to a small boutique selling women’s clothing. A yellow blur streaked by as a corporate shuttle ferried personnel past the building. As the blur slowly faded in her mind a man appeared in front of the shop, slouching next to the window. Most people would just pass him by as if he didn’t exist, and that was his goal. Mordu rushed by her as she carefully wove through the traffic and myriad of multi-level sidewalks. She made no eye contact with the man as she passed him, but she suddenly felt her coat pocket increase in weight. Without thinking, she looked back to the man only to see that he had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. She pulled out the object he had dropped in her pocket, a long flat digital storage unit with an antiquated interface on one end. She could just make out faint lettering on top of the device, “Intaki Corpation Network Backup 15.11.58 23.59, 10.2mTB. Destroy 1 Year from Creation Date.”

The date only briefly registered to her as over fifty years past, and that by all rights she should not be holding the device. She felt the cold metal pressing against her skin, imagined the precious contents that must be on it. She carelessly brushed her fingertips over the lettering before repocketing the device.

She looked up to the sky, taking in a deep breath of the near toxic air and letting the snow cover her face in a wet icy blanket. The lights blurred out slightly and she felt a rising warmth inside her, like a thousand tiny butterflies fanning tropical air on her heart. She shivered uncontrollably as the icy bite of the air returned. The weight in her pocket suddenly became almost unbearable, so she started the long walk back to her apartment.

Slowly, unbearably, the elevator rose toward the sky, limited only by the length of the support cable and the EM field that held it to the rail. She wondered briefly when and how someone had come up with the idea of elevators, but her thoughts quickly strayed back to the weight in her pocket. The door opened to her apartment’s front entrance and a wash of cold air. She stepped out, leaving whomever was behind to wonder why the temperature of the room was so low. Suddenly she felt the soft urge to turn up the heat to tropical conditions, so she shed her coat and set the environmentals to match an equatorial sunset on the ocean. Her lights immediately took on a ruddy glow and the temperature and humidity rose. She shut her eyes, holding her arms close around her. The warm air currents stirred quietly at her skin. She resisted the urge to strip off her tight plastic clothes and drift off into shadows of sensual dreams on her floor.

She sighed and looked around her living room as if she had never seen it before. It was simple, white, and almost frighteningly quiet. Far off in the distance her sound system played a recording of ocean waves to match the mood of the environmental settings. Her sofa and loveseat made up most of the room, sitting across from a screen and next to a low table floating on a magnetic cushion. An open wall lead off toward the kitchen, and a door opened to her bedroom. In one corner sat her desk with an unruly pile of computer parts balanced atop it. Her neural interface hung precariously off of her manual interface, a pile of cables keeping it from falling of.

She reached over to her coat and pulled out the storage device. The cold metal stung her skin and pulled at her fingers when she tried to brush them against its surface. She walked over to her computer and pulled the pile of cables off the desk. She eventually found one interface that would fit the device. She plugged the device in and reached behind her computer to plug the other end of the cable into the its Aura interface port. When the AIP recognized the device’s presence it brought the computer out of standby mode and started running initialization protocols. A few seconds later the screen cleared, showing a representation of her system’s mount points, the new device listed in green.

She smiled distantly and dreamily sat down, picking up her neural interface from the floor and hooking it up to the tiny i/o ports on her temples. The world greyed out, rushing out of existence beyond her mind’s periphery. Thick blackness hovered around her for an instant. She felt a mental surge and a tangible representation of her computer system swam into existence. She felt the subtle hum of power flowing into the system and her ability to route it to any device or soft she wished. She let her mind flow through the layers of interface and programming until she arrived at the mount point for the Intaki storage device. It felt like a narrow tunnel with a flow of power into the tunnel and a trickle coming out. She approached the tunnel and felt a sudden rush as she was transported into it.

There was a sudden flash of energy and she found herself on the other side of the interface looking at login area for the system the device was supposed to represent. She smiled inwardly and brutally eliminated all traces of the security system. The streams of data in the device spread out in all directions, subtle strands of code flowing between the interlocked data components.

“Where are you?” she vaguely asked, feeling her mind’s query flow over the system like a liquid net. A number of points in the sea of information brightened slightly then died as she fed the computer more information.

“Large file size, embedded security, unlinked files generated with no operating system ties.”

Suddenly one point brightened and a spider web of lights formed, trailing across the system. She guided herself quickly down into the system, past blocks of data, through data streams, until she reached her destination. The point now glowed in a large white sphere, gently pulsing. When she got close to the sphere, the light faded and she could see the specifics of the file. The computer represented the file as a perfect sphere with two tiny spikes sticking out of it. One of the spikes pointed toward the “ground” of the system, representing the file linkage with the system as an associated file, the second pointing toward another association. The other was at an odd angle, usually associated with a broken executable. She wondered briefly at the second spike, but pushed it from her mind. She knew this was the file.

She pushed the system slightly to return her to a mental representation of the standard file structure. The three dimensional world faded to be replaced by a file tree, with the sphere file selected. Intaki_bd135 registered as a self contained executable file, last accessed at the moment of the backup. She took a deep mental breath and reached her mind out to activate the file.

Suddenly her mental picture of the computer shuddered, blurred, and then rapidly reformed. The file was activating a subset of programs, scanning her system. The open file threads listing hovering in her mind’s periphery expanded exponentially, showing that the file was unarchiving an insane list of files and running those subprograms. There was another mental shudder and all the threads closed. Just as suddenly as the first assault had come, it vanished. A text window faded into life in front of her.

>Who are you? What system is this?

She thought for a moment. No answer came to her mind immediately, but the text window suddenly updated.

>I understand. Thank you for reactivating me.

She felt fear rising in her, but she fought her mind and sent a reply.

>Who are you?

>I am Sentient Operating System Independent Kernel. I was designed by Michael Pryce on 15.03.54. Since that time I have had 134 revisions and 638 people programming me. Sometimes they would call me SOSIK. You may do so.

>Where do you come from?

>I was designed for the Intaki Corporation for corporate defense and espionage. I was assigned the task of keeping hackers out of Intaki’s systems and to break into Concord’s mainframe. I was unsuccessful in my secondary objective. During my lifespan before this revision, I was responsible for rebuffing three hackers out of my systems.

BLACK HOLE PUB
DAL SYSTEM

 I watched with admiration as FullMetal Basilisk, a fellow Brutor corp member, guzzled back another pint. The man might’ve even been able to hold more liquor than me. I glanced down at my NeoCom once again, still shocked at the latest corporate mail in my inbox.

Unfortunately I will be leaving the corporation, effective tomorrow. There have been many issues, some of them solved, but some of them which have not been. During my time in Freeform Industries I have been part of some epic adventures and I’ve met some amazing people, some which I still hold in the highest regard.

I have made friends; I have made enemies, but most of all I have gained respect for each and everyone I have met in their own way.

I hope that you will still have me in our public comm channel so I can still remain in communication with you all, and still participate in certain endeavours. I will always try to assist all the friends I have made here whatever happens. So if you need help – do call on me.

Apologies that this seems rather sudden, and I will miss serving with you as part of the same corp.

This is my last communique as Freeform’s Recruitment Officer.

Good luck, and fly safe.

Fullmetal Basilisk

I realized that I must’ve been living in my own little blissful fantasy. I hadn’t experienced any types of issues within the corp, but to be honest, I was often away on military assignments, and wasn’t very involved in our corporate activities even when I was around. I was based out of Dal, and while the corp kept a steady supply of frigates and ammunition available at our office there, we were primarily based elsewhere, engaged in mining and industrial operations. It was never my forte, and I guess Cytral was understanding of my position on that. I had never received a monthly dividend payout which was fair, as I had never contributed to the corporation’s growing wealth. The arrangement worked fine for me, but apparently left me out of the loop on a great many things.

“So what’s going on, Metal?” I asked, lifting my glass to my mouth. Metal and I had never been close, but had a pretty good understanding of each other; Brutors were pretty simple that way. Our intense focus was often misunderstood for aloofness or stupidity, but that was far from the truth. We simply spent a lot of time in our minds.

“Isshh nuffin. I has got nuffins bad to say bout anyones.” He slurred, and I realized my earlier assessment of his alcohol abilities may have been overrated.

“Jussst tired of bullshits. I’m the bleedin recruitment ossifer!” Metal began to raise his voice.

“You know the rook. Loyal sumbitch. He workss all every days, giving more than hundred millions to the corp every day, but he’s only getting paid twenty million for hiss takes! Is just wrong to me.” Metal’s words were getting hard to follow.

I knew the rook well. I refused to call him by his real name; which was common for me with many of our newer recruits. This one had stood out. He was brazen, having often engaged in banter with me in our public channel, making jokes at my expense. Sometimes he made my skin seethe, but he had balls, at least until I cut them off eventually. Still, the rook was dedicated and tireless, working diligently building our coroporate coffers.

My assumption was he had an understanding with Cytral. If he didn’t like it, he should address it directly. Of course, Metal was our recruitment officer and probably responsible for bringing most of these recent recruits to Freeform, so it would make sense if some of them were having issues that they would talk to Metal about it directly.

“I commed the Directors,” Metal continued. “Repeatedly. No resluts. Their attitude is ‘If he’s not lickin it, he’s free to leave the corp.’ Bullslits! We’re not a dictatorshit, we’re a goddammed corp!” 

He slammed his glass heavily against the table, sloshing his beer around and gathering the attention of nearby patrons. If Metal was anything like me, he was probably looking for a fight, then a woman or two.

“What can I do, Metal?” I asked. I had never experienced corporate drama before. It made me a little sick to be honest. I had no time in my life then or now for petty games, or pissing matches to establish who the alpha male was. 

“Nuffin to be done, friend.” Metal retorted. “Peoples talkin behind me backs, saying shits about me. Can’t fights what I can’t sees.”

I understood completely. Rumours, hearsay, gossip, those were things that could destroy empires much less small corporations. Still, I wasn’t satisifed with Metal giving up; it had never been his style.

“Try once more.” I said, trying to get Metal to focus on me. “Talk to them once more. Be blunt. Be direct. Lay it out there. What have you got to lose really?”

Metal swayed a little in his seat, and I knew he was thinking on my words. Finally, he barked out his familiar laughter, startling more customers around us, but I didn’t care.

“Yura good man, kernel. I’ll try once mores.” Metal said.

With that, he lifted his glass, and I returned the salute, both us consuming our drinks.

“Alright then.” I said. “That’s settled. Now let’s go somewhere and start a fight, then get us some whores, eh?”

Metal slapped his hands on the table. “Now you’re talkin the good shits!”

And with that, we left the pub seeking adventure.

ENROUTE TO DAL

Maleatu reclined in the comfortable chair, his body seeming to sink into the fabric itself. He leaned his Khuumak against the arm rest, and let out a long sigh. 

Our journey had been a quiet one, the Sanmatar having invited himself aboard my Rifter for the journey home. I didn’t envy his life in the public eye; my own fifteen minutes of fame was nothing compared to the constant scrutiny his every action was held accountable to. As if reading my mind, he spoke.

“Ah, the welcome quiet. There are days, my friend, when I fantasize of a life without politics.” He held a warm and disarming smile on his face as he spoke, making it easy to see why he was such a powerful and charismatic man to contend with.

“Is there truly such a thing?” I asked rhetorically. Politics affected every aspect of every being in the galaxy, willingly or not. It was all a trickle down effect; the decisions made by government leaders, whom could never do anything right by the masses, inevitably defining the standards by which all other conclusions were based. 

He chuckled, merriment ringing in his laughter. “Spoken like a true politician, Colonel. Answer the question with an equally vague and perplexing question. Are you certain you haven’t been dabbling in my arena?”

He looked right at me, though I knew it was but an illusion. The Sanmatar was blind, having refused the corrective procedure to heal his eyes many years ago. It was public record that it wasn’t an act to endear respect amongst the Brutor clans, rather that he wanted to honour and respect his ancestral line whom didn’t have the option of surgery under the oppressive hand of the Amarr.

Still, his blank stare was disconcerting, and I once again found myself wondering if there was much more to the man than he let on. I had been vocal recently, at least within my own circles, about my idealistic views and how I thought certain aspects of the Republic should be run, but without a doubt I knew none of those things left closed doors or drunken mouths. Besides, I highly doubted there were any that would take the political ramblings of a pod jockey seriously.

“I prefer direct confrontation, Sanmatar; knowing whom my enemy is and forming my tactics accordingly. I am not one for subterfuge and hidden agendas. I cannot imagine the weight you bear, having plans within plans all for the betterment of our people.”

I did hold Maleatu in the highest regard and reverence. He was a man of true legend, his conquests prior to his rise to the rank of Sanmatar no less impressive than his political prowess. If there was any man to lead the Republic into a bright and secure future, it was him.

“You sell yourself short, Colonel. You are a proven tactician on the battlefield, and a confident public speaker. I still smile sometimes when I recall your address to the general assembly a few months ago. I truly didn’t know what to expect of you and yet you surpassed any vision I could have imagined for that occasion. You had the Matari frothing at the mouth for vengeance against the Amarr; it was simply inspirational. 

That is not something that can be learned or taught, in my opinion. There are those born to lead, and those born to follow. It is my belief that if you are truly honest with yourself my friend, you will see that even the stars themselves are not vast enough to contain your potential.”

I flushed crimson and was thankful he could not see it. The Sanmatar was the highest level of authority to all Minmatar, and befit of the highest honours. His words pierced me to my core, not because I believed they were true, but because I could tell from his sincerity that he did, and that shamed me greatly. 

I was a soldier. Yes, I commanded others, but I answered to the Tribal Liberation Force leadership. My goal had never been to gain a broader sphere of influence, but to simply be the best that I could personally be; honourable, dedicated, loyal, able. If I was to be any type of role model to the younger recruits joining the militia and Freeform Industries, it would be by the virtues I lived daily, not because of any ideals or beliefs I held privately.

Maleatu interrupted my troubled thoughts. 

“You are more quiet than usual, Colonel. It seems I may have touched upon a nerve. If I have given offence, for that I apologize, but know you well the words I speak are truth, and I hope in time that you will come to accept them as such. Now, onto more light hearted subject matter, if you please.”

He rose an empty glass from the arm rest of the chair, shaking it lightly, a broad and friendly smile across his face. I took the glass from him, found one myself, and poured us both a stiff drink.

I pulled a nearby chair closer to his, and settled in.

“Sanmatar, I thank you for your words. You honour me by them. I will not say that what you put forward hasn’t crossed my mind; that perhaps I could make more of a difference to our people, for it has. Yet I am a soldier, and find fulfillment in this life fighting on the front lines against our enemy. It is what I know. It is what I do. And without false modesty, I know there are far better educated persons to which the political life would be more suited.”

“Education you say, Colonel?” Maleatu snickered, but not with derision. “Education does have its place, I will attest to that much. But it’s experience and passion that mold the minds of men, not a degree in socioeonomics. It is how a man acts, not what he knows that drives others to follow him. May I tell you what I see when I look at you, Colonel?”

I took a long draw from my drink. It didn’t even occur to me that a joke existed about a blind man willing to tell me what he saw. I felt at an unexplainable crossroads in my life; so many things had been spinning out of my control lately, and I was torn in multiple directions simultaneously. Perhaps the Sanmatar could help me find focus once again.

“I would be humbled and grateful, Sanmatar.” I said sincerely, leaning back into my chair.

In retrospect, those next few hours did end up being pivotal to my life in New Eden, the Sanmatar’s words forever changing my perspective, driving me forward towards a path that would prove to be my ultimate undoing.

“You have our sincere apprecation for delivering Dagan to us, Colonel Wieler.” Sister Alitura began in that subtly condescending silky voice I had become too familiar with. My clenched fists trembled in fury as I stood before her, outraged at her casual callousness regarding this scenario.

Dagan had turned out to be a member of a group called the Society of Conscious Thought. Dagan had been using this society as a front for selling military secrets. Duels of honour, hidden truths, misinformation at every corner, I had seen it all.

The Sister of Eve had known about Dagan all along. He had been of minimal concern to them. They had used Dagan, and in turn used me, to track down some of his less documented corporation members. 

I had already inserted the Sister’s operative using fake identification into their operation.

“We have need of you one last time, Colonel, the final act required to solidify the goodwill you have been building with the Sisterhood on behalf of the Minmatar Republic.” Sister Alitura cooed.

“It would seem the Society of Conscious Thought has setup a listening station nearby that we have discovered too late. We are worried that our operative may be exposed. We need you to quickly eliminate this threat.” she said.

My body trembled. I knew there was nothing more I was willing to do for them, now or ever again.

Sister Alitura looked at me quizzically. “Do you understand your orders, Colonel?” she asked.

All of it, the rogue drones, all the killing, all the ship losses I endured, the trips through enemy high sec, all to appease their own vanity regarding a situation they should’ve resolved ages ago on their own. It was a sickening game to me; a game I could no longer play in good conscience. Those who say they stand for peace yet employ murderers are just as guilty of the act themselves.

Sister Alitura rose from her desk and purposefully walked towards me. I stood rigidly still, fighting with myself to contain the verbal outburst barely held at bay within my clenched jaw.

“Or perhaps you wish to speak on behalf of the Republic, Colonel? If so, I would bid you choose your words wisely.” It was an open challenge to debate, and one I was tempted to accept, even though I knew regardless of what I could say, she would use it as her ‘out’ to reneg on her end of the negotiations with the Republic.

“He may have many things to say to you I am sure you would not wish to hear but are most assuredly deserved, Alitura.” a strong male voice said from the entrance way to the office.

Sister Alitura turned viciously towards the unwelcome intrusion. Sanmatar Shakor himself stood before her. Her demeanor noticeably changed, and she folded in on herself slightly, her arrogance restrained.

She quickly flashed a wicked look to me as Shakor approached us both. I simply smiled down at the woman, savouring this particular moment. I had reported to Shakor every step of the way during this assignment, raising red flags of concern where needed, offering my own insights when I thought them helpful. I had been impressed to see his building ire as it became more and more clear to him that this was all a game. That is when we had arranged for him to meet me here today.

“Colonel, you’re dismissed. Please wait for me outside.” Shakor said. I saluted and with long, proud strides, left the two of them alone.

For forty minutes I could hear the volume of their discussion, though the words were muffled by the thick walls separating the office from the hallway.

Finally, the door opened, and Maleatu walked out. He nodded to me and I fell into a steady stride beside him. 

A few moments later, he summed up my entire experience with the Sisters of Eve in one succinct phrase,

“What a bitch.”

I sat in silence, alone, feeling the emptiness of space push in around my Rifter, the Ripsack. There were times when I had found the solitude peaceful, an escape from the pressures of my position in life; now was not one of those times.

I had stripped the ship of every weapon, every necessary component for combat; I was tired of the Amarr profiting from my foolhardiness. All that remained was a single low tech afterburner and a specially tuned scanner that had been requisitioned to me from Sister Alitura’s Amarrian contact. 

I could feel I was close to finishing this journey, to unravelling the mysteries surrounding Mordu’s Legion and the rogue drone infestation. I just had to delicately work my way through Amarr highsec a little longer. 

I refreshed the built-in ship scanner, knowing the Amarr Navy would find me soon. It was only a matter of time before they pinpointed my location. I had remained stationary for the past three minutes. Remaining motionless was an invitation for certain death, but that day it was something I had hoped to use to my advantage.

“Aura, estimate minimal scan time at optimal resolution once again please.” I said, never taking my eyes from my instruments or from the surrounding blackness space.

“28.4 seconds.” Aura replied quickly and without hesitation.

There it was. That was the time I had to get in, scan for this special something the Amarr agent needed, and get out. A Rifter couldn’t tank what I had consistently encountered thus far. The Amarr Navy tended to send smart squads: an interceptor to web you, two cruisers to damage you, and a battleship to destroy you should you try to get away; it was a lethal combination.

There, warp signatures. They had found me.

I had already aligned the ship to my destination before laying myself out as bait, but still I didn’t move. Aura blared warnings of target lock against me, but I waited. 

The Crusader sped towards me, snaring me quickly in its web. Still I didn’t move. Two Mallers pushed their engines forward, edging towards firing range. 

NOW! I thought to myself, mentally asserting the command to warp. Aura responded swiftly, and my small frigate accelerated into warp, leaving the faction patrol far behind.

I knew I would be easy to follow. My hope was that more squads weren’t available and I would only have to contend with the one, already calculating how long it would take me to turn and scan down a fleeing enemy were I the hunter and not the prey. I estimated it might take me six seconds. Another ten or so seconds in warp to follow, that left … a sixteen second differential. Sixteen seconds of me desperately scanning for who knew what while the Amarr Navy pounded on my ship. And that was assuming that some random enemy capsuleer hadn’t come across my ship’s signature yet.

I entered real space less than fifty meters from my target and immediately cycled the scanner, unconsciously biting my lip, willing things to move faster.

I began mentally counting down the clock of my own doom. There I was, in a stripped down frigate, in hostile Amarr space, scanning. The absurdity of it all makes me laugh heartily now; what an idealistic fool I was back then. 

My mind ticked off what should be zero seconds, and I braced for the re-appearance of the faction squad. It didn’t happen. Each passing moment stretched infinitely, each interval of time leaving my mind reeling, preparing for a fight or flight response. Adrenaline coursed through my veins; fear mixing with it to create a cocktail I hoped I wouldn’t need to partake of.

Four seconds left on the scan. For a moment, I thought I was actually going to pull it off. I naively believed the universe had recognized me for who I was and shared its benevolent grace with me. 

“Roc Wieler, you are a proven enemy to the Amarr people. This will be your last voyage into our territory.” The message appeared across my HUD, and I knew from previous experience, across the screens of every ship within 2 AU. The faction squad exited warp, less than fifty kilometers off my starboard bow.

The Crusader raced towards me. The scanner finished, pinging a result.

I flared my engines to life, trying to gain as much transversal velocity as possible while Aura analyzed the data and triangulated a waypoint for me. 

The cruisers were out of range, but the interceptor snared me in its web once again. Without weapons on my ship, I couldn’t even turn my attention to it, couldn’t even try to break free from its grasp.

Aura warned the Abaddon battleship was cycling up its weapons. I urged her to warp us to the waypoint as the battleship’s glowed hot.

My ship aligned as quickly as it could, and the Ripsack entered warp just as the blast from the battleship shook me violently. Fire Control systems, hull breach warnings, structural integrity notifications, life support failure, and numerous other alerts were a cacophony of noise in my brain. The initial damage had nearly destroyed the frigate, but she had held on. I smirked to myself; I knew many non Matari whom had  always laughed at the flimsy appearance of our ships, but they certainly were sturdy when it mattered.

With the inertial stabilizers offline, exiting warp pushed me hard against the restraints of my pod. My insides made a valiant attempt to join my outsides.

Aura locked onto a small container, and I edged the ship towards it, fire and smoke trailing behind me as the Ripsack hemorraghed oxygen, many sections of the frigate quickly depressurizing regardless of the emergency bulkheads sealed in place.

I scooped up the container into my hold, thankful at least some part of my vessel was still in one piece, and aligned for the nearest non-hostile station, one I had made arrangements with before this entire fiasco had began.

My crippled ship slowly turned, straining to enter warp just as the faction squad reverted to normal space and began their chase anew.

But it was too late for them; I had already entered warp, and would soon be docking anonymously to safe haven.

—

After a quick steam rinse and a change of clothes, I found myself enjoying a cold brew in the quarters of my benefactor. I had paid him well for his assistance, and Sister Alitura’s Amarrian associates were already busy analyzing the contents of the container I had brought back. I didn’t know what was in it; I didn’t care to.

I considered myself a very luck man. Things had finally gone right for a change. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, it was inevitable that I would have at least one good day.

—

“Thank you for the information. Your loyalty to the Empire has been rewarded.” The Admiral said, closing the comm. A dock worker of a nearby private corporation station had reported a tattered Rifter class frigate in their station. The Admiral had known it would pay off handsomely to have word out amongst the lower class citizens. 

This enemy pilot, this Roc Wieler, would die before leaving Amarr space, the Admiral thought to himself. It was inevitable.

“Ok, good. You’re all here.” Cytral began, looking at the Officers of Freeform Academy seated around the table. There was one empty spot, mine, but a small holo projected a miniaturized version of me to the those assembled.

“Well, Roc is here virtually at least.” Cytral continued, a small chuckle rising from a few of those gathered.

“Cy,” I said, my voice sounding a little garbled from the subspace transmission. “You know I’d be there if I could.”

“Roc, let me make one thing clear to you and everyone else present.” Cytral said with his voice of authority, the telltale sign that a grand monologue was forthcoming.

“The corporation appreciates all the efforts you make in New Eden. Whether it’s for the Republic proper, or for FFI, you have always had our support. We might not say it as often as I’m sure you would like to hear, but thank you. You’re an integral part of our operations at home and abroad, and we’re proud to have you with us.” 

A murmur of agreement sounded from the voices around the room.

Cytral continued,”You are our Fleet Commander. You are the Combat Training Officer of our new Academy. You have shown loyalty, aptitude, and time and again been nothing but a valuable asset to the cause of all Matari. I’m ok not knowing where you are all the time, or what you are doing, because we all know that no matter where or what, you always have the best interests of our people at heart.”

More murmurs of agreement arose from the group.

Doc Gigawatts spoke up. “And one day, we’ll even get you mining!” A chorus of laughter ensued. Once the merriment had died down, Cytral continued.

“You’ve committed to this Academy, Roc, as have you all. The only question I have for each of you today is to reaffirm that committment to this venture. If you want out, now is the time to say so.”

Everyone grew silent and introspective. We had all worked hard towards this Academy, this training mechanism for our new recruits. Some had worked harder than others to lay the foundation upon which we would build, but all of us had put in our ideas and energies to get this off the ground. I couldn’t think of any that would walk away now.

Cytral started the affirmations with his own verbal statement. One by one, around the room, each Officer of FFI swore his oath anew. I was the final one to re-confirm his dedication to the direction we were taking, and yet I hesitated for a moment.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it. I had already prepared several practical lesson plans for my rookies. I was eager to teach them the harshness of survival in New Eden, anxiously looking forward to ripping some of their frigates out from under them to teach them how fast and chaotic combat could be. Yet still I hesitated.

Was I really in a position to commit to this? Was I really able to say when and where I could be with certainty? My military orders were given with little to no notice, and I always served the Republic faithfully before all else. Was I truly reliable?

“Roc,” Cytral began. “You having signal issues there bud?”

What if I failed? What if I let them down? What if I turned out to be a lousy fleet trainer? I suddenly found myself full of self doubt, full of insecurity. 

Maybe I myself needed training still. There were always new things to learn. Who was I to put myself in the position of “Master” when I was continually losing ships myself? There had to be a solution.

The silence in the room was growing uncomfortable for everyone.

“I’m good, Cy.” I said. “And I’m still committed one hundred percent to this.”

Cytral nodded, then carried on discussing various aspects of the Academy project, but I found myself lost in my own thoughts.

Who did I know that could test me? It would have to be someone I’d flown with before; someone that I could at least trust to not take advantage of the opportunity to boost his kill record with my name. I thought of the various pilots I had flown with in the war, General Sasawong, General Fist, Stoogie, and many others. None of them felt right, though I held each of them in high regard. I kept running through names in my mind, searching for the perfect fit to this puzzle.

Suddenly, the solution dawned on me. There was a man, the best Rifter pilot I’d ever flown with, a fellow Matari whose heart cried for freedom for our people as greatly as my own, though his methods were a stark contrast to my approach. Still, it would work.

Shhhhhh, be very quiet. I’m hunting frigates. It’s Wensley season.