Iceland 2009 – Entry 1

Posted by Roc Wieler on

Where to start? I was thinking of posting as Roc, but honestly thus far I’ve had more of an adventure as good ol’ Marcus J. Dickinson than even the Colonel could imagine…

3:30 PM SUNDAY, TORONTO PEARSON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

Finally got things sorted with my booking. Helluva way to begin my adventure.

I sat and enjoyed a pleasant meal with my lovely wife at Wolfgang Puck’s. $15 CAD for a burger, but you know what? It was a fantastic burger.

It was going to be a “chance in a lifetime” trip; CCP had invited me to Iceland for Fanfest, and to discuss business opportunities for Capsuleer, along with my partner Chris Whiteford.

Originally, my wife and I had planned on attending Fanfest this year since around March, but with the expense of the wedding, and other unforseen costs, we sadly gave up on it, which was ok.

She has always been incredibly supportive of my endeavours, and knew in my heart of hearts, I wanted to go to Iceland more than anything.

She prayed it would happen.

I had honestly resigned myself to the fact I wasn’t going, and with work as busy as it has been steadily, it wasn’t viable. However, I had previously booked the time off, and due to business, laziness, whatever you want to call it, I never “unbooked” the time allotment.

Then we started corresponding via email with CCP. We were asked if we would be attending. Chris was coming of course, but regrettably, I could not attend.

I made the joke that I’d be happy to come if they would be willing to pay my way.

Two days later, we get the email. We were going to Iceland.

My heart nearly dropped. I was close to having tears in my eyes. My wife was ecstatic and so proud of me.

Chris called, and my shaking hands could barely push the correct button on my iPhone. We were both freaking out.

We finished our meal in the airport, and checked in, walking that long hallway to our final goodbye.

It was bittersweet.

The line moved far more quickly than either of us wished, and instead of the romantic Hollywood passionate kiss with dip I was planning, I was shoved along in the line, and ended up barely able to give her a peck on the lips, then I was gone.

Sadness.

Alright, time to go through customs. No biggie. I took my shoes off, my jacket, emptied my pockets, ooh, my iPhone. I turned it to vibrate. Put it all in a grey plastic tub, then put my backpack on top.

It was just as the Customs lady was handling my backpack that my iPhone decided to vibrate. Without even having to look, I knew it was my business partner, Chris, and I wagered he was trying to prank me. He couldn’t have picked a single better moment.

“Step away from the bag, sir.” The Customs lady said sternly.

“It’s just my phone, I can show you, it’s ….” I replied.

“Step AWAY from the bag, sir.” She repeated, more firmly.

I was surprised how quickly the two burly male customs officials had seized me by the arms, and pulled me out of line.

Sunuvabitch, I thought. I’m gonna kill Chris.

After a chemical swab of all my belongings, and a near naked pat down of myself, I was allowed through customs.

This trip was just getting better and better.

I checked my phone, and sure enough, Chris had called. I called him back, relaying the tale, and he laughed hysterically. I’m sure even now as he reads this blog post, he has tears in his eyes recalling the incident.

I will get you back, bitch. Don’t ever doubt it.

I tried to stay optimistic. It was 6:30 PM. My flight was 7:20PM to Boston, with 90 minutes or so to catch my connecting flight to Iceland. Piece of cake.

I took a seat, and did some reading.

“Attention passengers, flight AC 366 to Boston has been delayed due to poor weather conditions in Boston.”

*grumble.

I hated Air Canada. Every time I had flown with them in my life, something always managed to go wrong, but who was I to complain? I wasn’t the one paying for this trip.

Alright, so the new time of arrival was 8:50 PM. My connecting flight was 9:30 PM. That left 40 minutes to do a transfer in Boston. Doable.

We finally got on the plane, only to experience another 20 minute delay on the Toronto side before lifting from the runway.

The flight was uneventful, though they did give us free drinks to compensate for the delay and potential missed connections.

9:15 BOSTON LOGAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

The doors to the plane opened far too slowly. I raced out of the terminal, screaming for directions as I went, and found out I had to get to Terminal E. I was in Terminal B.

I ran out the outer doors of the terminal, and saw the terminal shuttle bus there, pulling away. I had been told they only come once every ten minutes.

I had to catch it.

I sprinted about 300m after it, 13 pound backpack bouncing away on my back. Thankfully, airport traffic is nuts, and the bus wasn’t moving when I caught up to it, slammed my palm against the door, and begged him to let me on.

He did, and I made it to Terminal E by 9:22PM.

I flew up four flights of stairs, and sprinted another 400m through the terminal. It was 9:26PM.

I had made it, with four minutes to spare.

I presented my boarding pass.

“We’re sorry, sir.” she began in broken English. “The plane has already departed.”

I waited to catch my breath, which to my surprise, took less than a minute (my personal trainer would be proud), then blasted her with full verbal fury.

It only made things worse.

Half an hour later, I was talking to the Air Canada representative. To his gay credit, he gave me a complimentary suite at a five star hotel across from the airport, an $8 voucher for breakfast, and a $12 voucher for lunch.

Score.

I then asked about my baggage, as I really didn’t want to be without it, you know, clean underwear and all.

I went back to the ticket counter for Icelandair. Nobody was there. Lovely.

I returned to the Air Canada desk for further assistance. Nobody was there. Lovely.

I finally found a general baggage claims area, and after dancing around the issue for about 45 minutes, I finally convinced someone to go into Icelandair’s baggage room and find my bag for me.

There were no bags there.

So, either my bag hadn’t left Toronto, was somewhere in Boston Logan airport, or had already made it to Rekjavik in Iceland to enjoy Fanfest before me.

Lucky baggage.

Finally, I called the shuttle service for the hotel. All I needed to do was checkin, go upstairs, and go to sleep.

“And we just need your credit card for a security deposit. Money will only be withdrawn for additional charges.”

Man…

My Mastercard had been used fraudently the previous week, dropping me to -$31 dollars, and I had been fighting all week with them to dispute it. Don’t get me wrong, the people at Mastercard have been very friendly; they just haven’t gotten any results for me.

Frankly, you can be the biggest prick you want to me, provided you get the results I want.

“I don’t have my credit card this trip, I’m afraid.” I replied, trying to be as charming as possible. My wife would’ve cringed at my transparent attempt, but hell, it worked on her didn’t it? (Sorry honey if you’re reading this).

“Well, we could take a cash deposit.” she said a little flirtatiously.

“That could work, IF I had any American currency. I wasn’t planning on being here in all truth. You take Canadian?”

Back in my youth, I travelled the States a lot. I had noticed that the further south you went, the less likely they were to take Canadian currency. But I was in Boston, in my mind, no problem at all.

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t.” she replied, a little less than polite now.

“Look, I’m stranded. Icelandair only flies out of Boston once per day, so I have to wait until 9:30PM tomorrow night. I just want to go upstairs, collapse, wake up sometime around noon, then be on my way. I’ll be having a shower, might steal your toothpaste, as I have no baggage either, but that’s about it. Can you please cut me some slack?”

Her fingers glided over the keyboard effortlessly, and a few moments later, she was ready to talk to me again. I waited patiently, silently.

“You look honest, and I feel bad for ya. I’ll waive the deposit. Hope your trip gets better from here.”

I took the room key, flashed her my most charismatic smile, winked her way, then went upstairs to my king size bed.

1:15 AM Hyatt Hotel

I wrapped the warm duvet around me, lost myself in the 8 pillows on the bed, and collapsed into a deep, rewarding sleep.

Dead End Intercept

Posted by Roc Wieler on

I accepted Nilf’s mission to kill the RSS traitor.

Good. His name is Lomar Vujik. As soon as he emerges, terminate with extreme prejudice. Recover any data that wasn’t destroyed and then report immediately back to me.

I had sworn to myself that I would not kill his family, which he had taken onboard his escaping vessel with him.

What did that kind of action say about a man?

Lomar obviously loved his family; that was respectable. He was obviously in a blind panic; no husband nor father would rationally put his family in harm’s way unless he was completely desperate and without hope.

If Lomar had become that irrational, he would be prone to reckless mistakes, clouded judgements resulting in possible catastrophe for those he sought most to protect.

The very ones he cherished most might suffer if this wasn’t handled delicately.

The soldier’s voice in my head reminded me that he should’ve thought of that before betraying the Republic; and that orders were orders. But things were never that simple. There was always a reason behind action. I was sure the truth would surface before this was finished, one way or the other.

I made good time to Fredagod, warping the Onslaught to the RSS Residential Suites. My crew was made well aware that if they did not respond to my commands within nanoseconds, there would be severe disciplinary action, and past toothbrush bathroom cleaning sessions had instilled a healthy fear in them.

While in warp, I took a moment to review the data Nilf had transferred to me regarding the RSS Residential Suites.

This reconfigured station houses thousands of RSS agents along with their families, and serves as just one of many secure locations for employees to settle down. Often the line of work RSS agents undertake brings with it a risk for recriminations. In order to minimize the threat to their families and keep agent’s minds on the job, the RSS often heavily subsidizes the accommodation at these residential suites. For the RSS it is just another way to approach internal security; the cost of these subsidies pales in comparison to the amounts the Amarr would pay for just one good defector, and the damage done from a high-level leak would be significant for an entity that built itself on the security of information.

I felt uneasy. At first I thought it was because of the nature of the assignment I had been tasked with, but further introspection revealed a more alarming truth; my world view was being challenged.

Thus far in my life, decisions had been very black and white, very clear. There was a line. There were consequences for crossing that line. I had always been able to discern what was right and what was wrong.

I was starting to see just how many shades of grey there were in this universe, and it left me unsettled at how easily the vast majority of the population lived within them. I didn’t like when things became unnecessarily complex, but the longer I lived, the more complex my life became.

I missed clarity from simplicity.

I exited warp 100km from the residential station, my overview quickly filling with RSS ships. Frigates, cruisers, and a single Fenrir freighter. I flagged them all as friendlies to avoid any confusion should things turns sour.

I began moving towards the station when I received an open transmission from the docking authority. At first I thought they were requesting credentials, assuming I was moving to docking proximity, but there was no talking. I was privy to overhear an unauthorized debarkation of a Republic Fleet Tempest battleship, and the ensuing firefight as the ship broke free of the station.

This had all been planned for the benefit of Lomar Vujik, but it gave me all the information I needed. I cycled up weapons, set the crew to red alert, and moved in, locking the battleship and launching my Valkyrie II drones.

This wasn’t going to be an easy fight.

This variant of the frontline battleship of the Minmatar Republic had been heavily modified with only one purpose in mind: destruction. It had been supplemented with decks of top-of-the-line fire control systems, and its entire power distribution structure had been redesigned to provide as much power as possible to its weapons, resulting in a truly fearsome battleship.

Thankfully, the Onslaught wasn’t a stock Sleipnir; I had some surprises of my own for any enemy I faced.

The battleship hammered my shields hard, and I returned fire in kind. Very slowly, I peeled away his shielding and his armour, not letting up as his hull began to flame.

By now Lomar must’ve known he had reached the end, and that his family was going to suffer his fate if he didn’t act quickly. But what was he to do? I had him locked down tight, at my mercy, but had it been me in his situation, I would be of the mind that it was better for my family to die with me than to suffer torture at the hands of the RSS to reveal what they did or did not know. I would take them with me, selfishly, not thinking it through in the heat of the moment.

“Stand down.” I broadcast with authority to every ship within 250km, not knowing the exact frequency he would be using. His ship continued its barrage against me.

“Lomar, stand down. It doesn’t have to end this way.” I said with as much compassion as I could muster. I used his name to try to establish familiarity, relationship; it was a device often employed in negotiations.

Still, his ship continued to assault me, my shield dropping dangerously low.

“You have my word that your family will not be harmed. Simply stand down and…”

“Your word?” Lomar replied on an open channel for all to hear.

“What good is your word, Colonel, when you act as the uncaged bear of the RSS? Your word means nothing to me and my family. You will die, or we will die fighting you.”

Did he not see the dozen frigates and cruisers surrounding him? Did he not realize I was giving him an out? Impressive as his ship was, it would not stand against this fleet.

“You don’t have to do this, Lomar.” I said, genuine sincerity pouring from my voice, the use of his name pleading to his subconscious mind to hear me as a long-time friend.

“Yes Colonel,” Lomar paused. “I do.” The regret was clear in his voice.

He was not irrational at all. I had been mistaken. He had weighed all his options, and this was the choice that he had made for his family. There would be no swaying him; this I could tell from the grave finality of his tone.

He opened up with a new volley against my ship, dropping me into armour. I quickly gave the mental command, which was relayed to my engineering deck, and a size 800 capacitor battery was used to top up my ship. Seconds later I activated my shield booster, regaining about 30% of my shielding. I let the booster cycle again, and was close to 60% shield strength within six seconds.

I was trying to make it clear to Lomar that he would lose everything he valued most if he continued on this way. If he was so far gone that he would sacrifice them all, maybe I could push him further, to the point of breaking, to the realization of defeat, triggering his survival instinct to the foreground of his mind. It was never too late to change your mind; that’s what it was made for.

He simply continued firing at me, telling me his answer without uttering a single word.

With great regret, and a burden that still haunts me some nights to this day, I gave the command to the destroy his ship.

My eyes closed as it exploded brilliantly, a single tear escaping unseen within the liquid of my pod.

“Send a team to check for survivors.” I croaked, emotion slipping unwanted into my voice.

No life signs were showing via ship scan, but they weren’t 100% reliable in my experience.

Within fifteen minutes, my search and rescue team confirmed my ship sensor readings; there had been no survivors, but they had been able to recover a single singed datapad.

datapadThis barely functioning piece of personal electronics turned out to contain ledger upon ledger of financial statements, high-level meeting transcripts and company rosters from several public and private Minmatar organizations. A large portion of the data was encoded in some sort of advanced cipher, leaving it completely unintelligible to me.

I returned my findings to Nilf Abruskur, the pressing burden I felt only increasing in weight, crushing my spirit.

It’s good to know we’re on the same page, Colonel Wieler. Our asset in Ammatar sends their thanks. They’ve been gathering information for us; there will be something shortly. Get back to me in a minute or two.

I closed off the comm link, and squeezed my eyes shut, until the physical outweighed the emotional pain. I was angry at Nilf. I was furious with this entire situation. I was enraged at myself most of all.

Lomar hadn’t comprimised. He had stood by his beliefs until the very end, despite it costing him the lives of those he loved most. He had known the consequences of his choices, but for him, it had remained black and white until the very end.

I envied the man quietly.

If there was a god, I prayed that my superiors would be held accountable for my actions. After all, I was just a soldier following orders; that left my soul unblemished did it not?

I had hoped my own rationalization would cheer me slightly, allowing me to focus on the very real tasks before me. Instead, my inner voice could see through the self-deception, the lie, the attempt at justification for something I knew in my heart of hearts was clearly a wrong and despicable act.

What was I becoming?

My Little Eye/Dead End Intercept

Posted by Roc Wieler on

As always, it seemed downtime was a luxury only civilians got to enjoy. We had barely started our RNR on Hek VII TLF Logicistic Support when Arsten commed me.

I hadn’t even had the time to enjoy a decent meal, and protein paste just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

My disgruntled crew quickly and professionally re-assembled, ready for their next mission. I couldn’t begrudge them their dissatisfaction; we were all in a position of subjugation. It was part and parcel of serving the Republic.

Heroes aren’t made 9 – 5. Sounded like a good rule.

We made haste back to Frarn, rendezvousing with Arsten Takalo’s Republic Fleet Tempest once more.

Excellent, you’re back. Firstly, I have an update on the documents you recovered. The Thukker and Krusual have flown in analysts to go over the copies. It may take some time to sift through the data and find the fresh leads, but I’m confident they’ll find something useful in there.

In the meantime I have something else for you to do. I’ve made a few arrangements with the RSS and convinced them to let you continue to work on this Wildfire Khumaak business. Officially you will be acting as the RSS liason for the Brutor tribe, but in reality you’ll be on the front line working for the both of us to figure out what’s going on. You’re our go-to guy for this one and you got that job based on my recommendation. Don’t make me look bad, alright?

I didn’t respond, having gotten to know Arsten well enough by this point to understand that most of his questions were rhetorical. He simply enjoyed the sound of his voice, and of making you feel like you had a choice.

I’ve been asked to point you towards Corporal Nif Abruskur, who you can find in the system of Aldrat, Metropolis. I don’t know the guy, but I do know the RSS, and my advice is not to trust them. In fact, part of the reason I recommended you for this job was because I know I can rely on your judgement. That, and you how to deliver results.

I want you to keep an eye on this RSS operation. My gut still tells me that they’re keeping something from us. I suppose we’ll see, right?

Again with the royal “we”. I would find out. My crew would find out, and hopefully we’d find out with enough time to react; otherwise there would be a time of reckoning for those whom didn’t equip me with all the necessary intel to succeed at my task.

“Understood, Arsten. We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure. Fly safe.” I said, already laying in the course for Aldrat.

The fifteen jump journey was uneventful, which was a welcome rarity. My crew was on standby, but not full combat ready alertness.

As I warped the Onslaught towards the RSS Liason Headquarters, I had time to reflect on what Aura’s records revealed about them.

For the most part, the Republic Security Services Corporation has not made a habit of hiring outsiders, preferring instead to stick to known, trustworthy people who have long proven their loyalty to the Minmatar cause. The one notable exception to this isolationist tendency has been the capsuleers, who are afforded much higher levels of access due to their unique capabilities. Unwilling to let such powerful individuals serve other agendas, the RSS long ago made sure that the proper in-space and in-station infrastructure would be there to act as a bridge, a connection between their own shadowy world and that of the powerful capsuleer class.

Good news for me, I guessed.

A Rapier class covert ops vessel decloaked off my starboard bow, and I was hailed by our RSS representative, Nilf Abruskur:

nilf

Nilf Abruskur

Greetings Colonel. I’m Corporal Nilf Abruskur. I’m glad to have you working with us. Now, we have much to discuss and little time in which to discuss it, so if you don’t mind, I’ll get straight to the point.

I broke my salute, allowing the Corporal to continue.

You conducted yourself with skill and cunning for Agent Takalo. Due to this, and due to the fact that you’re already involved in this delicate matter we have decided to enlist your services, if you will provide them.

As you’ve no doubt learned by now, it appears we have an intelligence asset in the Ammatar Consulate, and their handler – our agent – had disappeared under mysterious circumstances as well. It is a messy situation at the moment, but I have little doubt that we’ll clean it up one way or the other.

Our Ammatar asset is the priority for now; if we can find her, we will be able to make sense of the Wildfire Khumaak you have discovered. The tribes have their best people working on those documents you recovered as well, trying to glean her identity from something in there, but even though we don’t know her identity, they have shown us who one of her enemies is.

The data you have recovered has strongly supported existing evidence that we have an Ammatar counteragent in our midst, and now we have their name. We believe this person has gathered information that may compromise our own source in the Ammatar government. This traitor is currently residing at one of our residential quarters with his family, completely unaware that the world is about to come crashing down on him.

We’ve dissolved his ship’s FTL link without his knowledge, and for the past twelve hours we’ve run a dead-end intercept on every transmission he’s tried to make out of the area. We know he’s about to make an escape with his family sometime soon.

Your task is to ensure that ship does not escape the area intact. Local agents will stand down, they know the score.

I felt sick to my stomach.

I had seen war. I knew the consequences every kill brought. I’m not talking theologically here; eternal damnation, reaping what I sow, blah, blah. I’m talking straight out facts: I kill a pilot; their family suffers the loss.

You de-sensitized yourself to it; you had to or you would drive yourself insane with the guilt of it all. You accepted that you were choosing the lesser of two evils, and shouldered the burden; that was your job.

But this man, traitor or not, would have his family on board his vessel. There was no way I would open fire on innocents. It simply would never, EVER, happen.

But if I said no, they would simply find someone else who would comply. If I said no, I would be potentially removing the Brutor tribe from even having a part in this discovery.

I accepted the mission.

I would find a way to accomplish my objective and spare the family.

The Keg

Posted by Roc Wieler on

Inherently, people were stupid. I had learned that time and again, and yet I still let this simple fact get under my skin far too easily.

It wasn’t that I was an impatient man, prone to explosions of anger, though my present company might disagree; it was more that I just had no tolerance for stupid people. Needless to say, that made me impatient often.

“It’s fine, Roc. We’ll get there on time.” PyjamaSam said as we walked down the busy boulevard.

There were three separate concerts going on in the city that evening, plus some film festival, and of all the nights to choose, this was the night we had decided to meet in the city. It was a sardine can of a million people, and I didn’t like fish.

“For the love of …” I began, not finishing my sentence, unchecked anger surfacing far too quickly. There was a two-door entryway in front of us, but instead of making use of both doors, the idiot crowd was filing in through one already open door. How lazy did you have to be?

As we drew closer, I saw a more rotund gentleman approach the second door, and almost felt the anxiety fall off of me; he was going to open the second door, relieving this self-inflicted congestion of pedestrian traffic.

My eye twitched.

Instead of simply reaching out with one fat hand and laying his chubby digits around the handle, opening the door like any person with an iota of intelligence would do, he turned, and waited until someone let him in the lineup for the already open door.

“Unfrickinbelievable.” I uttered to myself, approaching the second door to open it myself. We were already late. I hated being late.

Sam, in his geeky might, had decided prior to exiting the shuttle, to input the location of the restaurant we were going to into his NeoCom. He had the latest GS model of the NeoCom, far superior to my base model; at least that’s what he always reminded me of. Mine did the job; that’s all that mattered to me.

We had nearly arrived at The Keg, a fine steakhouse I had been told, when he double checked his NeoCom one final time.

He stopped in his tracks.

“What?” I asked with more hostility in my voice than intended.

“We’re, um, at the wrong location. He meant the other one.” With that, Sam turned around back the way we had come, and was off at a brisk pace, leaving me no time to even scathe him with harsh words.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at our new destination.

From the outside, I had to admit, the place looked far classier than I was accustomed to. A quick glance at my flight pants, leather jacket, and drink stained muscle shirt confirmed it. Yeah, I was definitely going to fit in here.

We entered the restaurant and were assaulted with chaos; the place was packed to capacity. I could barely hear the hostess asking if she could help me, but managed to utter the word “Canux” to her.

She smiled pleasantly, and muttered something, then walked away. We followed, and in short order were seated in a nice booth with comfortable leather benches.

The noise of the crowd was so distracting, I barely had time to appreciate the waitress’ assets.

I looked at Sam and uttered, “As long as he’s later than us, I’m good.”

It was just then that the thinnest, tallest Caldari I had ever seen smiled at us, and extended his hand.

“Roc Wieler, I assume.” he said, his voice nearly as low as mine. I returned his firm handshake, making a mental note of his grip; he was obviously strong despite his appearance.

“And PyjamaSam of course.” the Caldari continued his introduction, shaking hands with Sam.

“Namkha, good to meet you.” I said, taking my seat and discarding my jacket.

Namkha turned out to be many things, an astute and successful businessman only one of the many hats he wore; at least that was my impression of him by the end of this meeting.

Sam and I had received a comm from him several weeks earlier to meet with him for the chance to discuss “a business opportunity of great potential interest to us.”

I was skeptical of all business people since my last horrible lapse in judgement that I was still paying for with my very career, not to mention the fact that he was Caldari.

Don’t get me wrong; I had many Caldari friends and associates despite them being allied with the Amarr. I knew the Caldari people were a good people overall. My belief was that their interim leader, Tibus Heth, was an easy to manipulate jackass and a despot whom would soon reap the crop of what he had sown within the State, or fall under the charm of the Amarr Empress whom had been courting him of late.

Of course, given that the Caldari State had crushed the Gallente Federation didn’t really reinforce my ability to perceive things accurately. But then again, I still believed  Jamyl Sarum  had a hand in that; you couldn’t trust any Amarr after all.

In the end, Sam and I had discussed the invitation at length, and accepted. We had even joked about his intentions.

“What if he tries to kill us?” I had said humourously to Sam.

“That’s why I brought you.” he replied, not missing a beat.

“Why? Because I run slower?”

We both laughed.

Within the span of the next fifteen minutes, I felt more at ease. Namkha turned out to be one of the most enjoyable Caldari I had ever met; he was intelligent, his words were well thought out before spoken, and he had a quiet confidence about him that demanded respect and held your attention.

Sam, of course, blathered on incessantly when given the chance. That was one of the few things about Sam that really irritated me in our friendship.

90% of the time you couldn’t coax a peep out of him; he was just simply anti-social. But get him talking about something he held a passion for, and even a Titan class Ragnarok warping into your frigate couldn’t shut him up.

We ordered steaks for dinner, Namkha having his with wine, Sam having his with a glass of water.

I had beer. Lots of beer.

The conversation over dinner continued to be enjoyable, and the meal itself was delicious.

As we sank into our seats after dinner, declining a look at the dessert menu, Namkha hit us with the business opportunity.

I’m not going to go into the details of that in this journal entry at this time, but sufficient to say, Sam and I were both floored.

It was an incredible opportunity for us to consider.

After composing ourselves, we generously thanked Namkha, and let him know about a few other avenues we were currently pursuing, but should those fall through, we would definitely give weight to his considerable offer.

He footed the bill for the evening, which further demonstrated the class of the man. As I said, one of the most enjoyable Caldari I had ever met, and someone I would definitely be staying in touch with.

We said our goodbyes, and Sam and I made our way back towards the shuttleport, which took exactly… four minutes.

I punched Sam in the shoulder. “You’re an ass.” I said, commenting on how close we ended up being to where we had started. He had taken us half an hour in the wrong direction towards the wrong location, when the damned restaurant had been right beside us upon our arrival. Grrr.

Once we had shuttled back to the orbiting station, we said our goodbyes, and I made my way back to my private hangar bay.

An enjoyable evening, but there was still a war going on around us, and war was what I was good at.

[OOC] Give NAMKHA’S BLOG a read; hopefully you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.

Friends in High Places

Posted by Roc Wieler on

I knew it was the right course of action. They needed me for this. I had past relationships with the Republic Security Service, and was in good standing with them; it should’ve been a no-brainer.

Why Arsten was still in debates with them as to whether I was an acceptable candidate or not was beyond me. I stressed about it more than necessary, blaming my recent public misfortunes once again.

I wasn’t self-pitying; I was self-loathing. There is a difference.

Alright, we’ve talked it out and I was right. You’re going in there. The RSS almost threatened to have you killed for attempting it, but with the accusations being leveled at them right now they’re just gonna have to get over it. We needed someone independent, not tied to any one faction, and who we knew we could trust. You were the obvious answer; I didn’t even have to suggest it.

That gave me a small sense of satisfaction. The previous few years of my life at that time had been tirelessly dedicated to the cause of the Minmatar; my blood bled daily for our freedom.

The RSS has given us the location of the compound where this agent was doing his work. Your task will be to fly to Alakgur and investigate it. We’re looking for anything that would give us further insight into why he was visiting the Defiants. All they could tell us was that he expressed an interest in examining the Khumaak and then suddenly showed up. The Angels followed shortly after.

Hmmm, it seemed the “official” story they were going with was different than what had actually occured. I supposed it wasn’t the first, nor the last time, a cover-up would occur surrounding potentially volatile situations.

It’s a politically delicate assignment, Roc, but a pretty easy one from your end. Just fly in there, have a poke around, and bring back anything you think may be relevant to our investigations. I’ll be plugged into your camera drones for this one, along with the rest of the RSS, heh. We’ll tell you what to look for too, if we see anything in there. Sorry about the invasive measures, but it was either that or a 500 million isk collateral to the RSS.

You down for this?

I grumbled to myself at their extreme measures. It wasn’t like I was some random cadet, still green around the ears. I knew how things worked. They didn’t have to threaten; they simply needed to show some courtesy was all. Then again, it was the RSS, and I had never known any of those security types to be charming or personable.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” I told Arsten, ignoring the look on his face at my obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“Thanks Roc. I owe you one.” He said, disconnecting the comm.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to solve this mystery as much as anyone else involved, or that I wasn’t excited to be a part of it.

I was just tired of taking orders from just about anyone I spoke with at that point in my life. When would I get to be in control of my own destiny? When would I get to make the decisions?

The Onslaught made good time to Alakgur, warping insystem to the coordinates provided by the RSS.

I was unceremoniously reminded of my audience.

You’re in warp to the RSS compound foyer, from here you have to use the acceleration gate marked RRD-XX3. It should be the only one you have access to.

So far, it was only Arsten talking, which I didn’t mind. We were Brutor, and he was a pretty straightforward guy thus far.

I maneuvered my Sleipnir to the designated gate, and activated it, hurtling myself and my crew through subspace, the gate controlling our destination remotely.

Okay, we’re in. Good.

Arsten was anxious. I could hear it in his voice. I pulled up my overview as soon as reverting to realspace.

Now, see those three storage warehouses to your left, up the back? Start there. The RSS says any documents archived there would have more than enough information. Let’s see about that.

It seemed Arsten was the designated mouthpiece for this mission. He was as much a puppet right now to the RSS as I was.

I moved to within scanning range of the warehouses as directed.

warehouses

Nothing was showing up on my scans throughout any of the warehouses. I was starting to doubt the RSS had any clue whatsoever. Arsten apparently agreed with that sentiment.

Still nothing? What the hell?

Okay… one last thing to try. That giant radio telescope over there? I’m guessing it cached all outgoing transmissions. Everything else might be empty but I’ll bet there’s still some data in that thing. Head over and check it out. We’re going to kindly ask the RSS for the decryption passwords right now…

Good thinking on his part, and he quietly covered my ass in the process. I knew little to nothing of hacking and decrypting, leaning closer to the nothing side.

I moved towards the telescope.

telescope

Using the codes provided by the RSS, I accessed the logs of the telescope… and found what we had been looking for.

Finally, something. This is looking good. We’re picking up all sorts of data on your sensors.

We just uploaded the interface protocols and security clearance to your electronics subsystems; you should be able to freely access the telescope’s storage compartment. That will have hard copies of all communications logs. Bring everything you find there back to me. Good work.

I sent out a drone to retrieve the now available records from the base of the radio tower. I looked over the reports myself.

reportOperation Stillwater: Synopsis

This small data storage unit contained a swathe of operational information, offering insights into an ongoing RSS investigation known as “Stillwater”.

Although the report logs number in the hundreds of pages, a few key details became immediately apparent. The name of a highly-ranked Ammatar Consulate official recurs frequently, and references to her as “sister” reveal a secret loyalty to the Republic. Despite the prominence of this Ammatar defector in the reports, her name and any other identifying details were omitted.

Page after page of synopsis were filled with meticulous documentation of the agent’s daily life; every meeting they had, every stakeout they sat through, and every other lead they chased up – it was all there. The problem wasn’t the lack of detail, more the overwhelming amount of it. It would take some time to make sense of it all.

I moved onto the next report.

reportReport R:081-9560

This fragment appeared to be just one part of a larger intelligence dossier.

“The Consulate is able to, of course, but I’m confident that the current situation won’t escalate. Even still, we need to keep pushing for the location of the [unidentified encryption – string undecipherable]… the Angels have smelled Jovian involvement and are now throwing all kinds of ISK around to catch up to us. They will, eventually. Don’t doubt it. I almost wish Boufin sold us out to them in the end, they’d realize there is nothing of value to them there and screw off. But then I guess anything we value, they’ll want to lord over us too. I’ve noticed a few people of theirs are assigned to me too. I’ll be taking slightly longer to get to our meetings as a result; I don’t want to be leading them anywhere we don’t want.

She asked to meet Boufin again today by the way, and again I had to explain the risks and make her promise to lie low. I’m not completely trusting that she will let me handle things. She needs to keep up her public appearances in court, not go off meeting Gallentean historians in secret. Her career would be over in a second if we got made, and I’d have serious problems of my own.

She’s growing increasingly frustrated though, so we may have to look into some kind of arrangement. Surely we can set up a secure FTL line for them both? I know how to do it myself; I just need your clearance to proceed.”

Things were getting personal; and I had learned quite painfully that mixing business with pleasure is poison. If ever a man wanted to end his professional life, he simply had to mingle with the wrong type of woman. Trust me on that one.

I read the final report.

reportThis fragment appeared to be just one part of a larger communication. The intended recipient was unknown, but was presumably someone within the upper echelons of the Republic Security Services.

“… you dare try and cut me out of the loop again. If you wanted to run operations without me knowing or caring then you should’ve brought in someone with half my skill.

I’ve given six years of my life to this. Try that shit again and I’ll be out of here. The last thing you’ll see before the sip of Pator Whiskey you keep in the 2nd drawer kills you will be me waving a Wildfire Khumaak on The Scope news.”

Ah women, can’t live with them, can’t kill them.

My heart ached even at the thought of another man’s romantic mishaps. I was getting soft. It was time to go home.

home

Once I had dropped off the reports and had my audience removed from my ship’s systems, I debriefed with Arsten.

Excellent work out there, Roc. We’re making copies of the data you recovered now. It looks like we’ll have more than enough here to work from.

You’re telling me, I thought to myself.

From first impressions, it looks like this RSS agent was working almost entirely alone on some operation involving a highly-placed Ammatar defector and the Wildfire Khumaak. The RSS people here with me are claiming they’ve never heard of this matter before.

Yeah right.

I’m seeing reports here to suggest that this Ammatar “sister” was a source for historical information on the Wildfire.

I don’t like the name of that RSS operation though, Roc. Stillwater? That’s basically the opposite of “Wildfire”. We should be careful not to trust the RSS too much on this one, I think.

I was about to communicate my wholehearted agreement with Arsten’s assessment, but he kept on going.

In fact, I have an idea. I’ll speak with you again after I’ve made a few arrangements with the RSS.

Interesting. What was he up to now?

I was sure I would find out soon enough. But right then, it was time for some rest and relaxation for my crew and myself.

I laid in the course for Hek.