Roc rested…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Colonel’s Famous Chicken

INGREDIENTS

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

METHOD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The word ‘quarantine’ sent chills through Elly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May the 4th be with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were waiting on me now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think about it.

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

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

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

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

The same applies to everything, like I said. 

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

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

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

Adhere to the principle of the one. Be idealistic.

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

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

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

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