It always saddens me when I have to fire one of my crew. With the heavy losses the Minmatar have been sustaining lately, it’s just not practical to keep drafting civilians into duty. I’ve been hiring from my own pocket.

I am pretty demanding as a commander, but I am just as demanding of myself, if not moreso. Still, it’s never easy having that one on one conversation, where you know emotions will run high, and no positive will come from it.

“But, but this is all I have! I swear I can improve, Commander!” We’d been at this for ten minutes already. He was a likeable enough fellow, but reviewing his file I could see he’d already been given numerous opportunities to improve his performance, and he hadn’t.”

“Look son,” I said sympathetically, “I just need to know that every single member of my crew is of the same top caliber. I’m not saying this to hurt you, but I just don’t think you’re cut out for this line of work.”

He bit his quavering lower lip for a few moments before he couldn’t contain himself anymore and the tears burst free.

“But I really have nothing else; no girl, no family, nobody to go back to. This is it!” 

I learned long ago that it’s important to balance out your life. Never rely on just one or two things. I mean, if you think about it in that context, losing one thing in your life means you’re now 50% empty. I try to fill my life with as many things as possible. That way, if there is loss, it’s not as impactful.

“What about friends? Or hobbies? Any other interests or skills? Religion? School? I’m sure there are plenty of things that you are passionate about.”

He sobbed quietly, shaking his head. 

“Well what about politics? Or sports? Anything?”

At the mention of sports, his eyes lit up momentarily, before glazing over subdued once again. I seized the moment.

“You know, I don’t tell many of the crew this, but I’m a bear racer.” The room became deafly quiet. His eyes bugged out of his head, his jaw reaching as far as possible towards the floor.

Bear racing was a common practice thousands of years ago, but outlawed in recent times. Nevertheless, it wasn’t difficult to find an illegal bear race among any of the Brutor Tribes. There’s just something about grabbing a hand full of fur, and inflicting your will against that of the beast that is a bear. It gave me a thrill second only to the feeling of ship combat.

And the term Bear Racing is really just a technicality. More often than not, the crowds that come to these events could care less about the race. They are more interested in the brutality of how the racers struggle to reach the finish line. Hand to hand combat, unmuzzled bears, it all adds to the thrill of the sport. I was already starting to daydream.

Back to the present.

“You ever been to a bear race?” He shook his head violently in the negative. “Tell ya what,” I began. “I’m gonna take you to my next race ok? Introduce you to my bear. If he likes you, maybe I’ll hire you to feed and clean up after him. How’s that sound?”

With the amount of excessive nodding he did, I was astonished his neck didn’t snap. I patted him on the shoulder, telling him I would be in touch, and again, to keep his chin up. We all have a potential to fill.

As he left, I realized I forgot to mention what happened to my last bearkeeper…

You know, hard as it is on the mind to adjust to being in the heat of combat, then suddenly waking up in a cloning chamber, I have discovered another side effect that made itself painfully aware to me today… forgetfulness.

Let me try to break it down for you.

As part of my daily exercise regimen, I engage in some good cardio, some free weights, and some machines, to push my body to greater limits and to keep me in peak condition. As anyone who works out will tell you, it takes time, consistency, and discipline. Working out is not an easy thing.

Recently, I have engaged in a new program for muscle gain. That’s a good thing. The ache the next morning of sore muscles trying to repair themselves, the promise of greater strength and better physical appearance, it’s all attractive to those of us who do this to ourselves.

But then I got podded.

It’s happened before; it will happen again. But my mind forgot something very important. This is a new body. So what did I do? I went to the gym of course. I did a fantastic leg workout at the same intensity I had before. That was my mistake.

Now it’s four days later and I can hardly walk. I look worse than had I been anally raped by a group of Amarr priests. It hurts to sit. It hurts to bend. It hurts to walk. It pretty much hurts to do anything.

My body isn’t the same as it used to be. Next time I clone, I’d better remember that.

Some random day. Some random location. Some random woman, on some random bench. I sat there also, though we had never met before. I had never actually seen her before, and wouldn’t have noticed had she not been crying.

It was a busy spot apparently, as the crowds passed us by in both directions, not a soul so much as paying attention to her distress. That is how I came to be sitting here. I am not the type of person to simply ignore and walk by.

She was sobbing into her communication device, talking to someone on the other end. She was shaking, her face swollen from the tears, her voice hoarse from the screaming and crying. Yet still, I just sat there.

I wanted to help. Truly. 

What was I to say? “It’s ok?” I don’t know her situation. Do I offer to help? What could I possibly do to actually make things better. Do I offer to listen if she wants to talk about it? Why would she want to talk to me? These, and a thousand more questions entered my mind, none with a solid answer.

I felt very inadequate.

My own day thus far had not been much better. My commanding officer had barked at me all morning until I finally told him where he could stick his opinions, then stormed out of the military complex to get some fresh air. I started my day getting a sound tongue lashing from the CEO of the corporation I belong to. I didn’t get much sleep last night either, out late on recon patrol.

I ran more scenarios through my head. She could just tell me to get lost. How would I react to that? Would I feel angry? What right did I really have to feel angry at that? Would I feel rejected, trying to offer help only to be turned down flat? She might think I was trying to hit on her. Do I look like that kind of sleaze?  I was becoming annoyed; not with her, but with myself. 

It reminded me of the vids for charities you see so often. “Please give generously” they always say. Do we actually give because we care about whatever the charity represents? I often wonder. If we really cared, wouldn’t we give of our time? Wouldn’t we tangibly help? Giving money is the easiest fix I think. It doesn’t cost us our time, nor sweat, nor effort. Just write the cheque and make the guilt go away. 

We give for ourselves. Seriously. That feeling of doing “right”. It makes us feel less condemned. We aren’t one of those horrible people that does nothing, even though in fact, that is exactly what we are doing. It’s the very minimum we could do. Why do you think the charities ask for our money? They know we won’t give anything more.

I didn’t need the rejection and self condemnation today. I was already getting myself worked up over the “what ifs”. We do that to ourselves a lot too. I sighed audibly, then stood up from the bench, and continued on my way. She would be ok, right? I mean, are we really that vain that we believe people won’t be ok if we don’t intervene? I couldn’t stop the thoughts from hammering me.

It wasn’t my most shining moment. Maybe I should’ve helped. Maybe I’m a selfish bastard for worrying more about myself.

Maybe I’m just like everyone else.

LOCATION: Somewhere in Heimatar

“Ok, I haven’t moved for 7 minutes now, you should be able to pick me up soon.” I tried to sound a little frustrated but not actually annoyed. We’d been at this for a while. “Ok, I have you on scan, commander.” That was good. I smiled to myself. These recruits were learning quickly. “Alright then, Mercedes. Narrow down the scanning constraints, and come to my exact location.” The comm channel double clicked in acknowledgement. They were new and eager, but I was still a little frustrated at how slow this was going.

—

“Alright ladies, settle down. Welcome to day one of Freeform Industries Basic Combat Flight Training, or as I like to call it, the school of Roc. ”

Even though it was mandatory training for all corp members interested in flying as part of Roc’s Renegades, I was surprised to see how much our pilot ranks had swelled in number. Some had flown engagements with me during the war, others had heard my name attached to some software I helped develop, and I am sure some had seen me on that blasted government commercial. Regardless, it was good for business.

“Today, we’re going to cover the most very basic items: scanning and not wetting your pants in combat.” This brought the few anticipated chuckles. “You might laugh now, ladies, but I’m dead serious.” I furrowed my brow and heavily stressed the next words. “Dead serious.” The laughter died.

—

“Sir, I’m having trouble finding you.” she stated after two more minutes had passed. Were this a real scenario, she would either be dead or her prey would’ve easily escaped long ago. “It’s just like what we covered in class today. Start with a 360 scan, then a 180. Those are the easy ones. Then look out your viewscreen. Aura will overlay grid markers for all the various entities and structures on your screen. So scan each of those within the confirmed arc.” Another double click.

It was a straightforward approach taught to me when I began, and now something I am passing on to others just budding in their careers:

1. open scanner, 360 degrees, max AU radius.
2. progressively narrow your search to 30 degrees using your viewscreen and cosmic markers for reference. The faster you can do this, the better.
3. While this won’t work for those hidden in “safespots”, it will help you target anyone not SSed pretty damn quick.

I’d give her another two minutes, then we’d move on. The rest of the class was waiting.

—

As the class packed up their notebooks and headed for the Freeform hangars, Director Cytral appeared just inside the door to the classroom. He patiently waited until every pilot had left before closing the door. “What is it?” I asked, already anxious to get into my Fleet Republic Cruiser, the Tribal Vengeance. It’s not that I didn’t like Cytral; in fact, the opposite was true. It was Cytral, and the person he is, that motivated me to join Freeform Industries in the first place; a smart decision as it turned out. 

“Got some intel is all.” he began. “You were taking them out to Dal, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, we have reports PIE traffic has been increasing there dramatically over the last 30 minutes. Just wanted to give you a heads up was all.” New recruits flew Rifters. They were a nice frigate; sleek, cheap to fit, and very effective when used properly. I still fly a Rifter often. Or it’s big brother the Jaguar. We use frigates to minimize life loss in the case of accidents; and because many pilots really haven’t the feel for the bigger ships this early on. It was just practical. However, if PIE was about, and Veshta, then a group of noob frigs might not be a good idea. Many of my pilots joked that I fly a fleet cruiser during basic frig training because it would be embarassing if I were to get popped by a green pilot. Maybe that’s true. It’s also true that I want to have some type of firepower available, and a trained crew to utilize it, should we encounter anyone who wishes to interrupt our training exercises. You can only be so safe. That is something these pilots would learn soon enough.

—

“Sir, I have you to 60 degrees. I should be with you .. WTF? Holy … !!!” An xxx appeared on my HUD.

—

“xxx in your HUD so that everyone knows you’re under attack and can come to assist you.”

—

“Malediction, Crow, Arbitra…” the comm went silent.

—

“If possible, identify what ships are attacking you, so your fleet knows what to expect. And when, not if, a distress call is signalled, allied ships should align to that fleet member immediately. Renegades don’t leave each other behind.”

—

It had happened. We had tarried too long in one spot. That was one of the first things I told them in class today:

—

1. Always be moving. Never sit still. A moving target is much harder to hit than a stationary one.
2. Always be aligned to something. I don’t care if you’re mining, ratting (a common term we use to describe working for freelance agents), or out sunbathing. Always have your ship aligned to something.
3. No comm chatter during an engagement. Listen for your Fleet Commander and do as ordered. No arguments, even if you disagree. Simply do.

—

“Aligning now. Warping fleet in 3…2…warping now.” Our small fleet of frigates entered warp. I could sense the anticipation in the new pilots. I remember how I was. Terrified really, my hands shaking with adrenaline at the thought of tangible engagement. It’s an exhilarating experience. Too often though, in the beginning, it’s over before you really register it had begun, and if you’re lucky, you’re warping away in your pod.

—

“Have multiple overviews setup on your HUD. While Aura is irreplaceable, you need to rely on yourself as well. If you’re close to losing your ship, switch to your Moons overview, pick a moon, and keep hammering the command to warp until your ship responds. Often in combat, a ship’s systems overload, and data will lag.”

—

The comm came alive. “I lost my rifter, commander. Warping to planet IV, moon 6 now.” Good girl. You got out alive. That’s better than I did in my first encounter. That’s better than I still do in some of my encounters. I pushed the conscious thought command for Aura to open the Tribal Liberation Force Intel Channel. “Colonel Roc Wieler, requesting intel on all gates surrounding ###### (system masked for security reasons). Engaging hostiles, need to know what traffic’s like around the system ASAP.”

—

“When your fleet is travelling, always have a scout in front and rear. Many fleets don’t opt for the rear scout, but in my experience that is costly. The only comm chatter should be your fleet commander, and those two scouts, unless otherwise designated by the fleet commander.”

—

The elongated light around us reverted back into normal space. Our enemy lay before us. “Alright Renegades, we’ve trained for this.” I barked.

—

“Know yourself before worrying about knowing your enemy. Know your ship; weapons range, deceleration speed, capacitor drain and recharge, everything. You need to know your ship as intimately as you would know a lover. Otherwise, you’ll betray her. Very rarely will our ships betray us.”

—

“Close to point range, watch your caps. Get on that Malediction. Squad One, talk to each other. Get that ship disabled now!”

—

“Check your voice system before you undock. Make sure everyone is clear, volumes are good, and you are speaking in the right channel. It is a MUST to be voice capable.”

“Have a common terminology. Point means webbifying to me. So when I ask ‘Who has point?’ you will know how to respond. Having terminology agreed upon beforehand will reduce confusion on the battlefield, and there is always confusion.”

—

I watched my Renegades quickly move into position. They could easily outflank the enemy if they kept their cool, and remembered everything I had forced them to learn about Rifters. Their formation was loose, but they were responding well to direction. Aura informed me that the Crow was moving to engage them at 5500 m/s. I had seen faster Crows, but it was fast enough to cause my Renegades genuine concern. I pushed my ship to fullspeed, 6400 m/s. I wondered if the enemy was expecting that.

As I descended upon the Crow it was clear its pilot had not considered me an immediate threat due to range. That would be the first and last mistake in our encounter. I quickly webbed and scrammed it, reducing its speed to 10% of what it was, nullifying the ability to warp away from our engagement. Barrage ammo was loaded, and I let loose with a full volley from my five 200 mm Autocannon II. The Crow pilot knew it was over. He/she knew they couldn’t run, and he/she had strayed too far from his/her wingmates. They would offer no support. Within ten seconds, the ship exploded. I was already turning to assist my fleet. Ordinarily, I would’ve taken the pod, and their life, but right now my priority was to not lose any lives of my green pilots.

—

“Always pod. While it’s possible your enemy is cloned insystem and will just be back with another ship, it’s more likely they are at least a few systems away, and won’t be back in time for the current engagement. Plus, it just feels good.” The pilot trainees laughed in unison.

—

I switched to the squad channel.

“I’m low on cap, need someone to take over webbing.”
“Roger that two, I’ve got web. Recharge now.”
“Whose on the Arbitrator? It’s tearing my shield to pieces!”
“We’ve got it into armour, five. Just hold rank and we’ll see this through.”

I smiled to myself as I hurtled through space to my fleet. They weren’t backing down. That is something you can’t teach. That’s something you either have, or you don’t. I quickly viewed my fleet HUD to see the overall status of my pilots. Most were well into armour. If we didn’t end this conflict soon, we were going to lose ships, and possibly lives. Most of these pilots had never even cloned before.

—

“While we are immortal as capsuleers, don’t treat that lightly. Cloning is not an easy process, and sometimes things do go wrong. It’s traumatic physically and mentally, despite what you may think. Your goal is the same as it was before you became a pod pilot; stay alive.

When you start flying larger ships, be considerate of the lives of your crew. They don’t have our gift. They are not an expendable piece of equipment.”

—

I locked both targets at maximum range, choosing the Malediction as my primary target. I yelled into fleet channel of my intentions, and quickly closed to optimal weapons range.

—

“Always have backup target callers; primary, secondary, tertiary. When one goes down, the next starts calling targets until either they’re all dead, or we are.”

—

The Malediction had been slowly losing its armour to the Rifters. While they were more maneuverable, they didn’t have the tanking nor firepower the Malediction boasted. My ship changed that dramatically, and after thirty seconds of concentrated fire, the Malediction fell.

There was whooping and hollering over the voice system. “Quiet down ladies! We’ve still got enemy out there!” I know the elation of surviving an encounter, of being the victor. There would be time enough later for celebration. Local channel showed one of my pilots trash talking the pilot we had just killed. I would have to reprimand that pilot when we were done here.

—

“There’s no need for trash talk. Destroying your enemy is trash talk enough. Don’t show your lack of experience or age by engaging in mindless banter.”

—

The Arbitrator tried to escape, seeing that alone it was no match for our coordinated effort. It didn’t escape, and we took its pilot as a bonus.

—

“Look to your left and your right. Every time you encounter an enemy, one of those two pilots beside you will die. Make sure it’s not your fault.”

—

We got very lucky. One cruiser, six frigates on training exercises, and we survived our first real encounter as a fleet without a single loss. The intel channel signalled me.

“No traffic spikes, Roc. Doesn’t look like any Amarr militia are around. Seen a few pirates, and a couple of pods heading out of system, figure that’s your doing. You need anything else?”

“We’re good, Megan, thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

It was time to go home.

47 MINUTES LATER

I walked into the pilot co-ed locker room amidst an ad hoc celebration. They were half naked, half drunk, but fully pleased with themselves.

“Alright ladies listen up!” I bellowed, the echoes of the tiles reverberating my voice far more than I intended. It was a nice effect though. “We got very lucky today. Don’t think otherwise.” I let my words sink in to sober them up a little to the reality of the harsh life New Eden offers. “That could’ve gone very differently, and we could’ve lost ships and lives.” They were slowly becoming somber to my words, hanging their heads, looking at the floor, covering up with towels. 

“Nevertheless,” I smirked. “You kicked ass, Renegades. I’m damn proud of you.” I threw a crisp salute, which they all immediately reciprocated, then turn stiffly on one heel, and marched out the locker room door. 

“Roc! Roc! Roc!” was the chant behind me. 

We had accomplished far more than a victory in combat today. They were becoming a team. Well done, ladies.

I’ve been working out of the Ortner Constellation in Heimatar for quite a while now. Even before the war began, this was where I was often found. 

It’s not just the women; nor the fact that it’s home. While I enjoy both of those immensely, what really has kept me here these past couple of years is a dirty little dive of a bar on Rens VI – Moon 8 called “The Hole”. Go figure.

I’ve been a regular there since first coming to this region. I’ve had quite a few intimate encounters there, as well as some most memorable brawls. I’ve passed out there. I’ve worked there. I’ve done other things there that I probably shouldn’t mention.

I could tell you countless stories until your eyelids become so heavy you can’t even stay awake, and not because of boredom, but from sheer volume. That’s what life is really about isn’t it? If you don’t have any stories to share when you’re done, well, you didn’t live much of a life did you?

As a regular, I haven’t had to actually place my order in months. I simply walk in, slide up to the bar, and within seconds my usual drink is placed in front of me. It’s the small pleasures in life that make me smile.

Last week, the owner decided it was time to have a signature drink in the bar, so opened it up to the public for entries. You know, the typical marketing ploy to drive more busienss to the bar.

Without my knowing, the fulltime bartender entered my regular brew into the contest, and it won. No real prize. No real thrill. I will admit though, it’s amusing to have a drink named after me. Here’s the recipe if you’re Matari enough to try it, and yes, it’s a real drink:

Roc’s Revenge

Half fill a regular glass with a mix of tomato juice and a double shot of vodka.

Layer french mustard on top of the tomato juice. Do NOT mix.

Squeeze fresh lime on top.

Serve with an unused feminine hygiene product instead of an umbrella.

Enjoy, ladies.