Welcome to the fifth installment of the EVE Blog Banter, the monthly EVE Online blogging extravaganza created by CrazyKinux. The EVE Blog Banter involves an enthusiastic group of gaming bloggers, a common topic within the realm of EVE Online, and a week to post articles pertaining to the said topic. The resulting articles can either be short or quite extensive, either funny or dead serious, but are always a great fun to read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed here. 

This month’s topic comes to us from Mynxee of Life in Low Sec. She asks “Alts and Metagaming: Is playing two accounts who are logged in at the same time and work together (hauler/miner, explorer/combat associate, trade alts in trade hubs) a form of metagaming that is “ruining the game”?“

Roc stumbled into his bunk, his head pounding from the amount of booze he had drank. He promptly fell asleep, snoring himself into a deep and restful slumber.

—

“Hey Roc, you almost finished cleaning up that pirate nest?” Roc asked over the comm.

“Yeah Roc, we’re good here. How about you? Everything profitable in the market today?” Roc replied.

“Always. We’re gonna make a good profit this quarter. Roc’s been seriously busy mining, and Roc has been working nonstop on producing ships for sale. All in all, we’re doing well.” Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

Roc smiled.

He wasn’t sure how it had all occured, but there it was. He had been podded one day, awakening in a new clone. As he left the chamber, he heard the hiss of another pod opening, and saw an exact replica of himself exiting from its womb. Then another hiss, and another perfect copy. And another, and another, until there was an army of Roc Wielers standing in the cloning bay, each maintaining an exact imprint of all their memories.

Quickly, they had divided up tasks amongst themselves, focusing on various areas of expertise. One group would be responsible for mining, another for industry, another for scientific research, another for corporation management, another for missioning, another for PVP, another for fighting in the war against the Amarr.

It was like a fantasy, a dream come true; an entire legion of Roc Wielers, all driven to one single purpose, all controlled as if with one mind.

—

Roc awoke with a start and a belch. What the hell was that all about? He wondered. He chuckled to himself, and rolled over to go back to sleep. There was barely room enough in this galaxy for one Roc Wieler, let alone an army of them. He snorted, drifting back into unconsciousness, reminding himself once again why he should exercise more self control when drinking.

—

CALDARI SPACE

“Hey John, you almost finished cleaning up that pirate nest?” John asked over the comm.

“Yeah John, we’re good here. How about you? Everything profitable in the market today?” John replied.

“Always. We’re gonna make a good profit this quarter. John’s been seriously busy mining, and John has been working nonstop on producing ships for sale. All in all, we’re doing well.” 

John Doe smiled.

It was indeed a strange universe.

Participants:

• Epic Misadventures, This is my Alt – There are many like it but this one is mine.
• Inner Sanctum of the Ninveah, I Missed This Month’s Blog Banter!
• A Mule in EvE, Meta what? Is it hurting EvE?
• Morphisat’s EVE Online Blog, Me, Myself and I
• One Man And His Spaceship, Me and My Shadow
• Ombeve, Blog Banter edition 5
• Diving into PsycheDiver’s Psyche, CK’s Blog Banter #5: Everybody Needs Somebody
• Dense Veldspar, Blog Banter
• Ecliptic Rift, OOC: Blog Banter #5 Metagaming
• The Ralpha Dogs, Me, Myself and I
• Mad Rant, “Blog Banter – It’s my party, and I’ll alt if I want to….”
• EVE Chick, The Handicapper General
• The Wandering Druid of Tranquility, “…you see mate, it’s a matter of leverage, savvy?…”
• New Eden Diaries, It’s only a game
• Oz’s House of the Evil Dead, If You Can’t Ride Two Horses At Once, You Shouldn’t Be In The Circus
• Diving into PsycheDiver’s Psyche, Everybody Needs Somebody
• more to come over the next few days!…

I hadn’t expected to hear from Stoogie in this regard. I hadn’t expected him to pursue it further once I had deflected my answer to that of our CEO, Cytral. Yet he had, and here we three sat, discussing the offer Stoogie had made.

“I completely understand your position, sir.” I began. “They are not unfamiliar words.” I had flown previous skirmishes under Stoogie’s command during the war. And though I outranked him, I still addressed him as ‘sir’. There was a time when rank mattered; there were more often times when ability commanded respect. Stoogie had my full respect, even though at this moment I couldn’t agree with his opinion.

Cytral spoke up. “While I think there is credibility to these wormhole rumours, I’m not entirely convinced it’s worth moving our operations into nullsec at this point in time. A lot of our pilots are still rookies, getting their wings so to speak, and I think our movement might be more than most of them can handle. Then again, I may be surprised at how well they adapt. After all, that is what existence is in the end. And the lure of profit is great.”

“Exactly.” Stoogie seemed excited by Cytral’s response. Neither of them had the military access I did. Neither of them knew for fact that the rumours were indeed true, and moreso, that the enemy waiting beyond the wormholes was of a like never seen before in New Eden. And while the rewards were potentially great, the risk was equally great. I could foresee a lot of pilots dying pointlessly in pursuit of this new ‘T3’ technology, as it had been dubbed by the upper brass.

Stoogie continued on. “The war is exhausting our Republic pilots out of their own pocket. The government isn’t subsidizing us, or offering us incentives to continue the fight. Our losses are ours alone to cover, and frankly, it’s draining everyone’s isk reserves. We’re not making headway against the Amarr, nor are they making any real progress against Republic space. In the end, to me, it all seems to be a political game, and I no longer willing to be a pawn.”

I grunted to myself in disdain. As I said, his words weren’t new. I had heard them dozens of times from other pilots I had flown with, briefly. I had a tendency of only flying with like minded individuals; those dedicated to the cause of freedom. I never held someone’s point of view against them, though occasionally I would present logic to twist their own words on them, but inevitably it accomplished nothing, so why bother? 

I was more than a little dismayed that Stoogie felt this way. He had been an inspirational role model to me early on in the war. In fact, if he hadn’t been popped in one of our early endeavours, forcing me to step up to command the remainder of the fleet, I don’t think I would even have begun the journey I had found myself on since that fateful day.

“Roc, I value your thoughts.” Cytral said, both of their attentions turning towards me. I took a moment to collect myself, prolonging the silence, though not for any desired effect. 

“You know my position.” I said to neither of them directly. “I serve the Republic. I am a soldier. I am told to go, I go.” That was it in a nutshell really. I let what was unspoken remain so. Should Freeform Industries choose to go to nullsec, I would resign what was left of my corporate life to continue fighting the good fight. I would always be available for contract should they need me in nullsec, but my higher duty was to my people, all of them. I could tell by Cytral’s eyes that he understood my implication. At the same time it seemed my words had excited Stoogie, for knowing I would go if the corp decided to go was a bonus in his eyes. I knew he held me in high regard as well, or this conversation would never have happened in the first place.

“Then discuss it some more at length amongst your people.” Stoogie said. “But please don’t take too long. It will be a bit of a logistical nightmare getting this all together in the short window of opportunity we have.” With that, he rose to his feet. We followed his lead, and after a round of handshakes, sat back down, just the two of us.

“Our pilots aren’t ready.” Cytral said. “We both know it. Still, there is the potential for a large influx of income from this venture.” He was very contemplative. A part of me felt I was betraying him, not able to speak on the military secrets I had witnessed first hand. I hoped that should these memoirs ever get published, that he would understand my position that day, and know that my leaving Freeform Industries was an attack against him personally.

I grumbled some more. Those few whom were close to me knew that my inner struggles often were expressed in primal sounds. “Speak your mind, Roc. That’s what I value you for.” Cytral said.

“I won’t go with you.” I replied bluntly.

“I know.” Cytral said without anger or hurt. It was at these moments that my respect for this man grew. He would joke with the best of them, and was lighthearted with the corp, but Cytral was a brilliant, caring man, who only wanted the best for each of his employees.

“Roc,” He began, waiting until he had my full attention. “You are a valuable asset to Freeform, there is no denying it. But I have to tell you, you’re destined for so much more. You possess such potential and haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of it. Your talents, your steadfastness, your honour to duty, you are what this war needs. You are a natural leader, an inspiration. You are the type of man that will be at the very front when the Republic is victorious, with a vast sea of supporters beside and behind you. Do what is right for you, and I will always support that, as your friend.”

I wasn’t very good at receiving praise. For all my arrogant bravado, I was a man filled with insecurity. There were some things about myself I was confident in, and that is what I let the universe see, but worry and irrational doubts plagued my every thought. I was constantly second guessing myself. It was something I was working on.

“And I will always honour you, Director Cytral.” I stood then, showing him the highest form of respect I knew. I saluted him, crisply and strongly, and did not break that salute until Cytral finally stood, returned the salute, then extended it into a firm handshake, and a warm embrace.

“You’re a good man, Roc Wieler. I have a feeling we’ll be flying together for a very long time still.”

DAL SYSTEM
REPUBLIC FLEET STATION

Our corporation didn’t have a private gym. Many businesses on the large station didn’t. Station management did offer a corporate facility to the many companies that rented office space within it. It wasn’t publically available so it did offer some security, though the gymnasium itself was surrounded with glass, and anyone walking by could see who was inside. Still, it was better than nothing, and I had been going there regularly for about eighteen months at that point in time.

I was a very a focused man, dedicated to the task before me, and to me working out was no different. I wasn’t there to socialize. I wasn’t there for any other reason than to sculpt my mind and body. Occasionally there were some which bothered me, but for the most part I was left alone.

As with any gym, you slowly come to recognize the regulars. There was one guy I had been working out with regularly for over a year now whenever I was in Dal, a very likeable fellow. He was slightly shorter than I, weighed about eighty pounds less, but was strong as an ox. On some exercises he could push more weight than I could. On others, not so much. He was very thin around the waist, but proportionately broad across the shoulders. He was covered in so many tattoos that many Brutor would’ve felt shame in his presence. I can’t recall this guy’s name; not sure we had ever exchanged them.

He was a civilian, and managed a small import/export business. His staff consisted of himself and two others, and they mostly worked government contracts, but were making a good profit from it. On the side, he frequented the top Aussie casinos, and unlike many whom watched their life savings disappear, he was up seventeen thousand so far this year. He was very proud of that fact.

He had only come to Dal with his partner about a year ago, and hired on their one employee four months prior. They rented a small office that couldn’t fit more than the three of them. If things kept going like they were, he said, they would need to rent out a bigger space. One of the tenants across the way, a smaller, older woman, was in the process of moving her operation elsewhere, and had been dumping all her excess equipment to them. Apparently it was almost impossible to even navigate their workspace.

That was how our workouts went. He typically talked. I typically listened. He never pried about my affairs, never acted as a fanboi. That left me content to exercise with him.

Earlier last week, as I had entered the change room on my way in to workout, I was intently focused on some idea in my head. I don’t remember what it was, and it’s not important to the story, but I was so focused that when this same fellow spoke to me, I responded in a very distracted manner.

Days later, he had asked me during our routine if he had done something to piss me off. After getting some more details, and his reference to the aforementioned incident, I waved him off as overly sensitive, and reaffirmed that no offence had been intended.

I hadn’t seen him since that day.

Today, I walked into the change room, and heard the spray of the shower going. I saw familiar clothing hanging on a hook nearby. It was my regular gym partner. “Oh, I see how it is.” I began in dramatic sarcasm. “You slight a guy one day and he avoids you forever.” I waved my hands in a grand flourish, though the change room was empty save for him and I.

“Not at all my friend.” He yelled back from the shower. “Just been a busy week.” I could hear the showerhead turn off, and the glass door open. I was busy taking my shirt off, getting changed into my workout gear.

We began our usual small talk, me tying my shoe laces, him towelling off. I was just about ready to leave when he interrupted.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you alone for a while, but there’s always someone else around.” He said, his tone not changing in the slightest. It was true; it was a crowded gym. Apparently the station managers were cheap bastards, and figured a single workout facility on the station was more than enough for the many corporations leasing from them. Currently, that one gym had two broken cardio machines and a snapped cable on a back machine. Hey, it wasn’t my fault it broke, but that’s a tale for another time.

“What’s up?” I replied evenly, curious as to whether this would be the moment when he finally called on the favour of Colonel Roc Wieler.

“Well,” He began. “I think I’ve developed a bit of a crush on you.”

His words hit me like a shockwave.

I realize in this day in age there are a great many differing lifestyles across New Eden. Homosexuality is probably one of the least perverse indulgences out there. Just the same, I was not, I am not, I never will be of that persuasion.

I am also one that defends my own beliefs strongly. I was opinionated. I was brash. One thing I had never done though, was to force my opinions and beliefs on others. It just wasn’t my way. If you wanted to discuss philosophy with me, sure, I would venture forth my credo. Otherwise, what I believed was none of your damned business just as surely as your beliefs were none of mine.

All of that was to say I held no homophobia, nor a sudden ignorant hatred or fear of the man. I had won many a bet regarding “personal space” with other men. It’s just that this man’s apparent lifestyle held no interest to me, and frankly, neither did his friendship. I didn’t even know his name for crap’s sake. And it wasn’t like we had ever hung out outside of the gym. He simply was a good guy to workout with. My mind cringed as that phrase took on entirely new implications.

Anyway, it wasn’t about preferences; it was about appropriateness. I mean, there we were in a change room, him with his doodle in his towel, and he pops this on me? Seriously, do you think I would’ve reacted any differently at all were it a naked woman in front of me? Damn straight I would’ve, but that’s not my point.

Sigh. I don’t think I can articulate my point succinctly.

A compliment was a compliment. Fine. But there’s a time and a place for everything, and this sure as hell wasn’t it. I was very uncomfortable with the given situation, and honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to it.

The hostile side of me thought about paying off a shipping clerk, slipping some Vitoc into one of their shipments, then reporting them to the station authority. That would solve the situation quickly. It was also devious and underhanded, and really wasn’t the best solution to the problem before me.

“You’re gay.” I stated dumbly. Well done, Captain Obvious. “Well, suddenly our conversations make a whole lot more sense.” I rubbed the back of my head with one hand. I had no idea what kind of man he was. Was he a bitch that would start crying if I were to reject him? Was he some alpha male queer that would try to force me to… I shuddered. Whatever, it was what it was. I didn’t really care.

“I was wondering if maybe we could grab a drink sometime?” He said, a slight hint of fear in his voice. Nobody liked being rejected.

“Sure.” I said, giving him PsycheDiver’s number.

Yesterday was a day chalk full of pleasant suprises. The first being I received a paid day off. Like any well trained soldier, I awoke early at the crack of noon to a rumbling stomach, and promptly made my way to the mess hall.

After devouring quite the satisfying breakfast, I headed for the gym, keeping mental note to not overwork this new body. My routine was brief, but satifsying, given the limits of my new shell.

After a long, steaming shower, I headed for my regular tattoo salon. There was a trendy fad amongst capsuleers to pay a little extra and have their clones “pre-inked” as it were, and though I could afford it, there was a certain spiritual satisfaction to ritual. My forebearers had endured the needle; thus would I. I walked through the station promenade towards my regular tattoo salon.

I had grown accustomed to the paparazzi by now, and the civilians that recognized me, hounding me for even the briefest of attention, to sign this or that, or to simply acknowledge them with a salutory wave of my hand. Originally, it had bothered me greatly to be in the limelight, to have no privacy whatsoever, and the realization that it no longer did, that I no longer viewed it as an intrusion or interruption, was another welcome surprise.

A quaint set of chimes sounded as I entered the salon, and immediately I was recognized as a regular by the shop owner. “Ah, Colonel Wieler. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” He had a smile on his face, and was just finishing up with another client, wiping his own hands with a clean towel as he came to greet me.

“Good for me. Bad for you.” I smiled back, my hand extended, and gave him a stong-gripped, thorough handshake. He had my tattoo patterns on file, and within two hours I had familiar markings back on my face. He always tried to sell me on body ink as well, and I always told him the same thing; “Maybe next time, friend.” I tipped him well, and made my way to my personal hangar bay.

Sometimes I just enjoyed the sweet smell of labour. My teams were working diligently, though with me having some downtime, they weren’t nearly as busy as I usually kept them. Still, the entire bay was spotless, and I only saw one team on duty, working on my Claymore. The command ship had become a hobby project since my original overestimation of how I could equip it, and I honestly hadn’t devoted myself to putting together an optimal fit for the vessel.

I glanced through my datapad, checking my messages, and noticed I had won an auction for a Firetail. I simply couldn’t help myself; I thoroughly enjoyed that ship. To be fair though, I had recently stumbled across an interesting guide to Rifter class frigate combat, authored by a fellow Minmatar, Wensley, and had to admit his guide inclined me to try out his suggestions at least once. 

After shadowing and pestering my work team on their various tasks, I finally decided to hook into my pod. As I was jacked into the Aura network, my military grade credentials were sent into the system via electronic pulse. Within moments, I was following along the day’s activities in the Minmatar militia channel. 

That was when yet another surprise occured.

“Greetings, Colonel.” One pilot shouted out into the channel.

Another showed their live video hookup, and was saluting me. “Roc” was all she added to the salute. 

Within a few minutes of channel hopping, I noticed another small squad of pilots had secured Tararan. “Well done pilots.” I spoke into the channel. It wasn’t that any of us needed recognition, but it was certainly nice to know our efforts didn’t go unnoticed. I didn’t expect a response back of course.

“Sir! Thank you, Colonel. And I must say, welcome back.” That brought a smile to my face.

All in all, it was truly just a pleasant day off. A day of relaxation; a day of pleasant surprises and recognition.

Little did I know that in only a short while the next surprise to happen to me that day would not be pleasant in the least.

It felt good to be back in the Renegade. My repair teams had done an excellent job restoring her to pristine condition. She glimmered; she reflected and absorbed the surrounding light. I could’ve sworn when I launched her from the docking bay in Dal she gave a little extra thrust, her appreciative gesture of freedom enjoyed. 

I had one of the new recruits to Roc’s Renegades flying with me in his Rifter, nervous and twitchy. He hadn’t experienced any flight time in the war yet; today that would change. We had scoured a few contested systems already, our onboard engineers quickly capturing bunkers; there had been no direct ship engagements as of yet. It was comfortable for me, falling back into routine; I’d scout ahead, give the rookie the all clear, then he’d join me insystem and we’d start scanning down the area. He didn’t complain of boredom, he didn’t speak of fear; he simply followed orders and did his job. 

We had been at it a few hours, and I had been keeping an ear out on the militia comms, doing my best to keep us away from the hotter areas. As always, the Amarr were out in organized force, systematically crushing our resistance. We had managed to retake a system since my return from Evati, but it was at great cost. Still, it was a nice way of letting those bastards know Colonel Roc Wieler had returned.

I had decided we would go to Lantorn, Amarr contested space. The rookie seemed to be handling himself well thus far, so I figured a small jaunt into enemy space might be the next logical step in his training.

I slowed at the Amamake gate in Dal, my senses fully alert. Amamake was a hornet’s nest of hostility, continual back and forth throughout every day of the war. It was also the quickest route to our destination. I weighed the options and decided it would be good to show the rookie how hard it is to actually catch someone whom is even the least bit aware.

I pushed through the gate.

Dozens of wartargets were tracked in local scan; none on visual. I signalled the rookie to join me in Amamake and began warming up the warp drive for the next leg of our trip.

An enemy Crusader and Punisher decelerated out of warp. Simultaneously, the jumpgate lit up,  letting me know it was too late to warn the rookie to stay in Dal. The Crusader and Punisher accelerated towards us. The rookie didn’t move. 

I pushed the Firetail forward to intercept the two enemy ships, locking them from range, taking half the shields from the Punisher on my first volley. I scrambled the Crusader and both turned their attention to me. Good. I could easily take these ships down. The two ships began to accelerate away from me, and without a webbifier to slow them down, there wasn’t much I could do about it. They warped away. Not a victory of blood, but I kept my wingmate alive.

“xxx Amamake, dozens of wt, engaged Crusader and Punisher. Assistance required.” I sent the message into our intel channel, quickly receiving a trusted response.

“That you Colonel? Goddamn it’s good to hear your voice.” Voshud Major Ira stated. He went as ‘Lord’ Ira, and did possess minor nobility ,though between his tongue and his temperment, you wouldn’t know it.

“I’m two jumps out and on the way, Colonel!” Ira was a good soldier. No questions, no hesitation. He went where needed, and moreso, he made a difference once he got there. I was pleased to see was a Major now. It looked good on him.

“Roger that.” I replied.

Turning my attention back to the gate, I saw the rookie beginning to move. The Crusader and Punisher warped back in on top of me, taking away my range advantage. I quickly hit my shield booster, nullifying any initial damage they had done. I put distance between myself and the two ships, and continued assaulting them, bringing the Punisher into structure. I commed the rookiee to get out of here, and he quickly complied, entering warp.

During the engagement I hadn’t noticed I had strayed far from the Dal gate. I hadn’t noticed the two nimble enemy ships pulling me away, deeper into space. My focus had been on my rookie. It was a costly mistake I would never repeat.

A Sabre warped directly in front of me, locking me near instantaneously. It tore me a new one.

I awoke seconds later back in Dal, smashing my fists against the clone tube containing me. I quickly exited the tube, running to the nearest military comm unit, ignoring the stiff response from my new body. I hurredly entered in my security code phrase, and listened to the chatter.

“You get that, Colonel?” I heard Ira’s voice say.

“Negative, please repeat. I was podded, Major.” I replied, my new voice sounding gritty from lack of use.

“Ah hell no.” Ira replied. “Sorry about that, Colonel. Got here as fast as I could. We’ve routed the Amarr near the gate in Amamake. Which wreck is yours? Got a few Republic transponders here.”

“Renegade, Firetail class. She salvageable?” I quickly asked. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, though only a few seconds had passed. A medical drone had brought me a robe, and was poking at me in various places, performing standard ‘new clone’ testing procedures. I wrapped the robe around me, trying to brush the drone away to no avail, the entire time my focus riveted on the comm unit. The Renegade had been such a good ship. I truly hoped she was within repair. Sure, I could get another Firetail, could even name it the same, but there had been something very special about this ship, something more than steel and paint.

“Negative, Colonel.” Ira’s voice sounded despondent. He was a man that understood the bond between man and ship. “Looks like they didn’t get the chance to loot her though, I’ll get what I can for you, ok?”

“Much appreciated, Ira. I’m in Dal.” With that, I turned the comm unit off. I made my way to my room to put on a set of fresh clothes, then radioed my hangar bay chief to inform him I was enroute and would need a ship prepped. He had asked me which ship I wanted made ready. To me, the answer was clear. Tribal Vengeance, my Republic Fleet Stabber. Amamake was still afire, as was my soul. 

I checked in with Freeform Industries and found that the rookie had made it back to Dal safely. I was glad at least one more death was averted. I looked on my datapad at the list of names of the marines and engineers I had just lost on the Renegade. I would have to inform their families.

Within minutes, I was heading back to Amamake, for a small taste of revenge. The Tribal Vengeance surged forward, her weapons bristling. Even the scream of her engines was one of anger. I entered Amamake. 

The Dal gate in Amamake was camped. Aura confirmed the Crusader, Punisher and Sabre were the same IDs of the ships that had wrecked and podded me. Additionally, two Retributions, an Arbitrator, an Omen and a Prophecy were all showing up on immediate scan. I began to align my ship back to the Dal gate, knowing I was clearly outnumbered, when Aura picked up my secured comm frequency. It was my emergency crew channel. My skin shivered.

“Repeat. Mayday. We’ve gone down in Amamake, running out of air. We have wounded, require assistance.” I knew the voice of my men when I heard it.

I was sure they wouldn’t broadcast on all channels in a hot zone, and it was only my outrage at the loss of those men that had brought me back to Amamake so quickly. Aura triangulated the source of the comm; it was from what was left of the Renegade. How had Ira missed surviving lifeforms? Did he even bother to scan for them? My own sudden indignation would have to be dealt with later. Right now, I had to figure out a way to save my crew.

I angled the nose of the Stabber towards my wreck, drawing the full attention of the Amarr gatecampers. I warmed up the Afterburner, preparing to fully overheat it. I had Aura open the local comms channel, the public broadcast channel for Amamake system.

“Fuck.” I said, engaging Tribal Vengeance to full velocity. “You.” It might not have seemed like much of a threat, but it was spoken with every fiber of my being. 

I was back in the frontlines; and this dog was hungry for fresh meat.

My Stabber pushed forward as hard as it could, it’s artillery cannons spitting out hot death to those that were able to pursue and engage. The enemy battlecruiser salvoed me from afar, its weapons damaging my smaller ship considerably. Thankfully, not all of the enemy were in range yet. 

“This is Colonel Roc Wieler. I’m coming for you, men. System is hot. I am engaged. Prepare for emergency evac on my mark.” I received a double click of static, and knew they had heard me. Tribal Vengeance roared as she continued to streak through space, her engines close to their threshold.

I managed to put a bit of distance between me and the ships that mattered. The smaller ships flitting about me kept dancing in and out of my range, well past their own. They were no immediate threat. I opened my comm again as I slowed the ship at my wreck.

“Blow the hatch in three… two… one… NOW!” I saw an airlock hatch blow from the Renegade’s wreckage, and watched as my crew was immediately jettisoned into space. I deflty moved Tribal Vengeance to them, my own rescue teams standing by. Within moments, I got the all clear from below deck, and aligned my ship to the nearest moon. We achieved warp, and were away.

That evening, I treated my crew to some dinner and drinks at the Black Hole Pub. Not a one had perished, and we were all in the mood to celebrate that fact. 

I raised my glass in a somber toast. “To the Renegade and her crew!” I saluted. The return chorus was deafening. “To the Renegade!” they all cheered.

To the Renegade, I thought to myself.