I’m not slow to understand. I’m not too good to participate in group activites. I’m not too stupid to know the word “meme”. I simply struggle with relevancy sometimes.

Who really wants to know where I’ve been? Do people care? My enemies might, but doubtful. My readers? Why would it matter?

So I’ve struggled over this far more than I should’ve. It clearly was a “Do it” or “Don’t do it” decision. But like the guy who arrives at the party just as its ending, here’s my images showing where I’ve been.

ORIGINAL IDEA POST

Surprised to see some nullsec in there? I know I was, then I remembered my beginnings in New Eden.

When I first escaped slavery, I headed for Hrober, a nice little 0.3 system with a lot to do insystem.

Of course, being new, I had no idea what I was doing, and found myself without a ship a lot.

Finally speaking with someone in local, and trusting them enough to know what they were talking about, I started on my adventures as a Nullsec scavenger, stealing cans from ships during big PVP battles before anyone really noticed I was there. This was before the days of wrecks when everything was cans.

I made some good profit doing this, but after a few short weeks came to realize scavenging wasn’t the life for me.

From there, I headed to Empire, found myself a good corporation, and started missioning, though looking back now, I should’ve just stayed in Hrober.

Not surprisingly, most of my time has been spent in Heimatar Region, the Heart of the Republic some would say.

It is from here that I have built up wealth, ships, influence, and power. It is from Minmatar space that I have launched myself into the interweb and beyond.

I can’t see myself leaving this area again in the forseeable future, but will do what is required of me to best serve the needs of the Republic, as always.

Sorry for the short posts recently. I’ve been ill and haven’t been able to shake it. I’m heading back to the doctor again this morning to see what can be done.

I don’t normally share things like this, but it’s really starting to concern me, and I would ask that you remember me in your thoughts and prayers.

Thank you.

“The Caldari Militia have taken the last remaining system controlled by their Gallentean foes. Mercomesier fell last Sunday following a coordinated attack on the system’s control bunker…” I turned off the vidscreen.

We both sat in silence, contemplating the Caldari victory. Any of the possible scenarios running through my mind had dire consequences.

If we needed to aid our Gallentean allies, we would be spreading ourselves even thinner, something the Amarr would certainly seize upon. Any number of the pirate factions would take advantage of the opportunity regardless. Then there were the Thukkers, the Starkmanir, and the Nefantar tribes to consider. How would they react to our dispersion of forces so close to the assembly summit the Sanmatar had recently called for? Would it be seen as another sign of weakness from a leader they didn’t possess confidence in?

And what if we didn’t lend ourselves to the Gallente? Surely with interplanetary defenses down, the Caldari would push forward with an invasion force, claiming sovereignty over Gallente space. With their war ended, they would only be in a position of greater strength to further assist the Amarr in dealing with us. It could mean the end of the Republic.

I gazed down into my glass at the fine cognac I had been unconsciously swirling about within it. The sweet aroma of my burning cigar filled my nostrils, and I looked to the ceramic ashtray I had laid it across before disengaging the vidscreen. It was the first time I had smoked, and I had to admit, it was enjoyable.

The days ahead would be perilous for all of New Eden, I decided; nothing was going to remain the same. It was frightening, change; who really welcomed it if they were honest with themselves? We were all creatures of habit and safe routine; none of us really pushed beyond our comfort bubbles by choice. What did that say about us as people? What did that say about me?

To some, I knew I came across as self-centered, arrogant, narcissistic. To others it was seen as bravado to overcompensate for obvious insecurities. Yet to others still I was just some socially awkward Brutor who thought a bit too highly of himself, but really was a threat to nobody save myself. I was curious to know which perceptions were the accurate ones.

Had I lost myself somewhere along the way? Had I been so consumed by the journey that I had forgotten why I started it in the first place? Was the task at hand so pressing that my own needs and wants were cast aside without second thought?

Who was I anymore?

Sure, I could justify myself by saying my past experiences forged me into who I was, but again, if we’re open and raw with ourselves we have to admit that our histories are no excuse; we alone have the power to define who we are and who we shall be. Don’t we? 

Or did the Amarr have it right? Was it all divine providence? Was there some God that had pre-planned our lives and we were really just along for the ride? I supposed for some that could be a worry free way to live, but not for me. For me, it just expunged guilt, justified wrong choices, assuaged hypocritical people that lived what they believed in word only, but not with the heart of their actions.

I looked down at my uniform; I was wearing my formals. Across my chest were my military decorations.

The Medal of Garmr

Awarded for actions above and beyond the call of duty defending the Minmatar Republic. Historically worn by the Protector Guardians of the Republic, a defunct order created around the mythos of Garmr, the demon dog that guarded the gates of Hel, devouring any whom crossed its path.

The Sanmatar awarded me this medal personally, and it gave me great pride to wear it emblazoned across my breast. It was the first time in a hundred years this citation had been awarded in the Republic.

Eternal FreeForm Ranger

This medal was created by elite scientists hired from unknown territory. Some speculate that these advanced beings come from Jove territory.

This medal is awarded for true loyalty and service given to the corporation. It is believed to have other functions as well, though only the future will see what lies in store.

Cytral pinned that to my chest just the other day, a final token of appreciation for every effort I had made with respect to the corporation.

Matar Colonel

Matar Colonel is a senior commissioned rank in the Tribal Liberation Force. It ranks above Voshud Major and immediately below Valklear General.

“War is within our hearts. It is a raging beast which we must harness lest it consume us.”

– teaching of Valla.

For me, it had never been about the number of awards, nor the recognition of achievement from peers. Yet still I appreciated the gestures, understanding their symbolic significance to others, respecting the tradition behind them. 

I hadn’t thought of the teachings of Valla in a long while, but it still rang true to me. Maybe that is who I was, a raging beast that unleashed his fears and aggression outwardly lest it consume me inwardly. Seemed rather weak and cowardly.

I returned my focus to the greater news at hand. Really, who I was, or who I wasn’t didn’t matter at the end of the day. Whether a Capsuleer, a Colonel, or nothing at all, my life was as valuable and as worthless as anyone else’s if we didn’t all work together in the coming months. 

“Tell me your thoughts, my friend.” Maleatu said from the chair beside me, pulling me from my own heavy self-instrospection.

We had been sitting together discussing the upcoming Republic Tribal Assembly, him mostly running ideas off of me. Apparently my blunt honesty made for a good sounding board, and I enjoyed the Sanmatar’s company. He had quickly become as a mentor to me, but also something more, perhaps a role model? Or a hero?

His tales of his past adventures always invigorated me to do better, always pushing me back to tweaking more precise ship configurations, always referencing territorial maps, enemy strengths, forming new strategies for our militia to use against them.

The man was a living legend, and quite simply, I was humbled around him. He didn’t treat me any differently than he treated anyone else, and I think that was the key. I was just another man to him, and he was as respectful to me as he would be to a homeless vagrant on the streets of Matar. That was made the Sanmatar so attractive to the Republic. He was the epitomy of the “Every man”. 

I shared my thoughts with him, my own inner struggles with identity and direction, my hesitation towards embracing a future I was unsure of. We discussed the offers I had received from General Fist to join Tribal Core, from the Ushra’Khan to stand with fellow Minmatar Loyalists, and from ex-militia Fleet Commander Stoogie, whom himself was working towards a tribal unification strategy. 

Maleatu shared his insights with me about these things, as well as his interpretations of the events at Mercomesier, all over cigars and cognac.

The hours passed effortlessly, both of us lost in the companionship of the other. As some merry laughter subsided, he leaned in his chair towards me and said, “You will have to decide your path soon, Colonel, and it may not be one you had ever previously considered. You still have much to learn about this universe, and I encourage you to embrace as much of it as possible, it will only be an asset to you later on your path. Utilize your full potential.”

I chewed on his words, as I often did, slowly drawing on my cigar, letting the savoury flavour linger in my mouth. Finally, I nodded, relaxing further into the chair.

As a joke, I said out loud, “Who knows Maleatu? Perhaps even one day I’ll want your job.” 

The laughter on the edge of my lips was held at bay by his quick and decisive response.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Colonel.”

SISIEDE SYSTEM

“Alright ladies, split and scan the planets. I’ll take P1.” I said, quickly aligning my Rifter class frigate, the Ripsack, towards Sisiede I.

As the stars elongated around me, Seraphine, a pilot in my small squad chirped in. “Um, sir, with all due respect, wouldn’t it make more sense to just drop a probe in system and do it that way?”

I could hear the snickering from the others, though they were smart enough not to thumb their comms. Probes? I didn’t even know you could use probes for this, let alone knew how to use them myself.

“Of course that would make more sense, Seraphine. I was just testing you all. Well done.” I said, the lie sounding as obvious to them as it did to me.

“Thank you, sir.” Seraphine replied instantly, full professionalism in her voice. “Do I get a gold star?” she added after a moment’s hesitation.

“That will be quite enough, pilot.” I stammered, my ship slowing from warp at Sisiede I.

“Seraphine, since you’re the mouth of this operation, you’re in charge while I head back to Dal and fit a Core Probe Launcher.” I said, feeling incredibly noobish at the entire situation.

I had started the morning feeling exhilirated to be back on the frontlines, now that I was free from my corporate responsibilities. It was liberating really, though I hoped Cytral and the others found new homes for themselves. For me, it gave the opportunity to solely focus on the war effort, to take the fight to the Amarr, to be counted amongst those making a difference for the liberation of our people.

Now, I felt like an old dog trying to learn a new trick. Still, if you couldn’t adapt, you’d die, and I wasn’t ready for that either.

—

DAL SYSTEM

“I don’t know, isn’t that your job?” I yelled at my crew chief, whom was complaining about fitting the probe launcher onto the frigate. 

Getting a core probe launcher had been easy; figuring out how to use it was proving a little more problematic.

“Just give me the blasted manual then!” I screamed, my voice feeling hoarse. I had been under the weather the last few days, a rarity really, with the benefits of a healthy lifestyle and the wonders of modern medicine.

Twenty minutes later, I had learned the basics of astrometics, and how to fit the damn module to my ship, and working with my mechanics, quickly had it in place.

We loaded up five probes into the launcher, and I was on my way back to Sisiede.

—

SISIEDE SYSTEM

“What do you mean you’re finished here and have moved on to Auga?” I asked somewhat impatiently. “Did you not feel the need to tell me the fleet had changed position?” I asked.

—

AUGA SYSTEM

“Probe showing one minor installation, sending coordinates to fleet overview…now.” I said, warping my Rifter towards the complex.

Our engineers quickly made short work of the facility, and ten minutes later, we had secured the system. A cheer went up in the militia channel upon that report, and I had noticed things had even changed there as well since last I had flown regularly.

I was positive spies and the like still existed within our network, but I noticed a much higher level of activity and morale amongst our pilots; more coordinated efforts against both the Amarr and the opportunistic pirates that had been plaguing our systems for many months now. 

The Heretics in particular were becoming a nuisance, but recently one of the TLF fleet commanders had been launching larger ship initiatives against their stations. 

I could feel the momentum of the war shifting in my bones. 

Several defensive systems later, our borders were secure. I thanked my pilots and dismissed them.

—

ASGHER SYSTEM

“Yeah, I got a probe hit, Q.” I said to Qanatas, an old wingmate I hadn’t flown with in over a year, but happened to run into earlier that day. “You should really try probe launchers; can read an entire system in ten seconds instead of manually scanning down each planet.”

“Yeah, I’ll try me that for sure, Colonel. Thanks for the tip.” he replied.

We entered the acceleration gate together, noticing the squad of Amarr frigates protecting the installation. 

“I’ll engage the hostiles, you get your engineers onboard that complex.” I said, already surging forward towards the enemy.

“Roger.” Q replied, holding back until I was aggressed, which didn’t take long.

The Amarr quickly called for reinforcements, and I soon found myself intertwined within a swarm of twenty four frigates. I gave a silent thanks to Wensley; this latest Rifter armour tank configuration I was flying was holding up very well against the damage I was taking. 

Ten minutes later, we had achieved victory. Qanatas quickly collected his engineers, and after watching him safely warp away, did the same, leaving the remaining enemy frigates behind, denying them the chance of defeating me.

—

TARARAN SYSTEM

“Ok, got another hit. Let’s move in.” I said to Q and Rushur, another able pilot that had proven his worth to me over the last few days.

“I’ll keep my Rupture watching the gate, but I’m too big to squeeze through there and assist, Colonel.” Rushur said.

“No problem at all.” I replied. “Keep a safe distance please.”

“Roger that.” Rushur replied, his Rupture already angling away from the gate.

“You ready Q?” I asked.

“Ready as ever.” he replied.

We warped through the gate, and once again I took towards the enemy, Q’s engineers on standby for the complex.

Six minutes in, we received a warning from Rushur. “Two Battlecruisers and a Battleship out here. They’re not going to be able to get in to you, but if you need to warp out, you won’t be going back through this gate.”

“Understood.” I replied.

My shields had failed long ago, and my armour repair systems were slowly losing the battle this time around. Seemed we were only going to get this one shot, so I would hold out as long as I possibly could.

“Get your engineers moving double time, Q.” I said, subtly letting him know the status of my ship.

“Wouldn’t ya know it would be the Minmatar hiding their frigs in a minor installation?” one of the pirates at the acceleration gate spoke into the local system channel. “Had six of your pilots run away from me earlier today when I was poking around. Seems you’re all the skittish type.”

There was ignorant laughter in the channel from his wingmates, typical of pirates flying big ships to overcompensate for other smaller attributes. I’m speaking about intelligence of course. And penis size.

“Yeah, he’s right Q. We should take our two Rifters against his two BCs and BS, plus whatever additional support he’d need to beat us.” I said with arrogance into the local channel.

“Well, at least let them get their allies forewarned; got to make it a fair fight and all.” Qanatas chimed in. “Besides, you don’t look like you’re quite into hull yet, Colonel. Might want to wait a little longer so they have a chance.”

“Hull, Q? Forget that. Podtank FTW!” I yelled in my greatest battlecry.

“Har, har.” the original mercenary replied. “You’re very funny in the safety of your little complex. Why don’t you come out here and boast?”

“Or” I began, “Why don’t you get some ships that take some skill to fly and come in here and teach us some manners?”

“Two minutes remaining, Colonel.” Q noted to me in fleet comms.

“They’re moving off the gate.” Rushur mentioned. “Probably going to buy and fit some frigs.”

That made us all chuckle.

We finished the complex, comprimising another Amarr system, and made haste for Dal, laughing all the way.

—

AMAMAKE SYSTEM

“Hostiles inbound!” Stoogie shouted over the military channel. “Multiple WTs on Oso gate in Ama. Tics everywhere!”

The Heretics weren’t happy with our recent counter-aggression towards them. Meanwhile, another, larger TLF fleet was in motion.

“Got room for four more, BS and higher, then we’re a full POS killing fleet. X up now.”

Numerous Xs appeared in the militia channel.

I overheated my weapons, my autocannons tearing the final pieces of hull off a Punisher, and watched as the enemy’s pod slipped through my grasp.

“Watch yourself, Roc, you’ve got a Falcon closing range fast!” Mutnir shouted in fleet. 

“Affirmative, moving in for the tackle. Gonna need some help here.” I replied calmly, angling towards the oncoming Falcon.

Mutnir laughed. “You’re insane, Colonel, but I got your back.”

I smiled as I snagged the Falcon, scramming its warp drive, my statis webbifier slowing it to a manageable transverse velocity.

Old dog or not, it was good to be back on the frontlines, doing what I do best.

“Hey Mutnir,” I said, mirth in my voice. “Did you know you can use probe launchers for scanning plexes?”

By Terry Bisson

“They’re made out of meat.” 
     
“Meat?” 
     
“Meat. They’re made out of meat.” 
     
“Meat?” 
     
“There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat.” 
     
“That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?” 
     
“They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines.” 
     
“So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact.” 
     
“They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines.” 
     
“That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat.” 
     
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat.” 
     
“Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage.” 
     
“Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?” 
     
“Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside.” 
     
“Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through.” 
     
“No brain?” 
     
“Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 
     
“So … what does the thinking?”
     
“You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat.” 
     
“Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!” 
     
“Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?” 
     
“Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat.” 
     
“Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years.” 
     
“Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?” 
     
“First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore New Eden, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual.” 

“We’re supposed to talk to meat.” 
     
“That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing.” 
     
“They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?” 
     
“Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat.” 
     
“I thought you just told me they used radio.” 
     
“They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat.”
     
“Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?” 
     
“Officially or unofficially?” 
     
“Both.” 
     
“Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favour. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing.” 
     
“I was hoping you would say that.” 
     
“It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?” 
     
“I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? ‘Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?” 
     
“Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact.” 
     
“So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe.” 
     
“That’s it.” 
     
“Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?” 
     
“They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them.” 
     
“A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream.”
     
“And we marked the entire sector unoccupied.” 
     
“Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone else interesting on this side of the galaxy?” 
     
“Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again.” 
     
“They always come around.” 
     
“And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold New Eden would be if one were all alone …” 

Amamake was alight with destruction once more. Amarr and Minmatar destroyed each other by the thousands with no end in sight.

That was the intel report coming in from Mutnin, a TLF scout I had retasked to my purposes.

I sat docked in Rens, my Sleipnir class Command ship, the Onslaught, vulnerable and overpriced. This was my second Sleipnir; the first not surviving the maiden voyage home, due to my own ignorant negligence.

I had learned from  my mistakes I hoped. This time I had 5 warpcore stabilizers strapped onto the ship, as well as a Pith X-Large Shield Booster and a Field Extender II rig. That gave the ship an incredibly hard shell, hopefully enough to make it back to Dal unscathed.

“You’re gonna have to go around, Colonel.” Mutnin reported. I calculated the route to enter Dal via Vard; 13 jumps. I was only 4 jumps away from Dal here in Rens. It was ridiculous to me, and there were several lowsec systems even on the alternate route.

I sighed in resignation.

“What time is your rotation finished, pilot?” I asked.

“19:00 hours, Colonel.” Mutnin replied promptly.

“Very well, standby.”

I exited the ship in Rens, and spent the next hour at a local pub. I figured if I wasn’t going anywhere for the moment, I might as well enjoy myself.

My Neocom buzzed. I had a new corporate mail.

It is with great sorrow that I write this communique, but I find myself no longer able to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Unless by some miracle, Freeform Industries will permanently close its doors two weeks from today.

All assets will be sealed indefinitely, should the opportunity ever arise that we find ourselves a corporation once more, but for now we each will need to find a new place to call home.

I have enjoyed flying with each and every one of you, and wish you only the very best. Fly safe.

Cytral

Seemed even the eternal optimist had limits. I hoped the conversation we had a few days prior hadn’t been a negative influence. Cy had asked me my honest evaluation, and I told him, the corp was dead. I hadn’t moved on, giving Cy my word that I would wait to see what he could do to resurrect FFID. I felt stangely guilty that I hadn’t done more to help.

I returned to the Onslaught, and commed Mutnin for a sitrep.

“There’s a single TIC on the Amamake side of the gate; could be a trap, but this looks as good as it’s going to get, Colonel.” Mutnin said.

Did I risk it? Even in this partial “travel” fitting, there was over 2 billion isk invested. I really had learned not to invest in expensive ships, preferring Rifters and my shiny Firetails, which, to me, were something I could afford to lose. Losing this ship would hurt me financially, in a big way.

At the same time, it was useless just sitting here in hiding. I had big plans for this ship, profitable plans.

“Alright Mutnin, I’m coming through.” I said as I undocked and entered warp.

Two jumps later, I was adjacent to Amamake. I took a deep breath and entered warp for the last leg of this voyage.

As I exited warp, there were no surprises waiting for me. I jumped into Amamake without incident.

Quickly making my way towards the Dal gate, I grew alarmed by the sudden spike in local. Things just got busy again.

The stars reverted to normal around me as I slowed at Dal gate. Over a dozen wartargets were sitting at the gate, whether having just entered Amamake, or been camping there the entire time I did not know, nor did it matter.

I jumped. There would be no repeat of my last death. There would be no technology glitches to cost me another clone.

Upon entering Dal, I immediately docked up at my base of operations, and set my teams to optimizing the best possible fit for this ship.

A few hours later, we had calculated a way to fit 7 720mm artillery cannons on it without overloading the capacitor, as well as keeping the Pith booster.

She was a magnificent ship. I couldn’t wait to take her out now that she was fully fitted.