– by Egwenne

I can still hear it. The Concord holovid announcing the repeal of the age old ban that kept Capsuleers from controlling planets. I still wonder, why are the heavens not enough for these Demi-Gods of New Eden? Even through the questions and doubts, one thing still resonates, change. All things change in the passing, I guess how we, the citizens of New Eden, will enteract with the Capsuleers is changing again. I am almost looking forward to seeing how things will change for our planet, out here far from ‘Empire’ space. Just a small seemingly insignificant planet on the border of Catch and Providence. A war zone from the reports and holovids we see about what the Capsuleers are doing. I am hoping they do not destroy us, fighting for control of the planets as they seem to fight for our system. I am also hopeful that this change, will allow me to change, go beyond the life I have known here. A chance to travel the stars, see the things I can only barely believe from the many reports I have read and holovids I have watched on life away from this place. Maybe I can work for these Demi-Gods who some say have more wealth then can be spent in 10 lifetimes, if they have such wealth I hope they will be willing to pay eager workers well, maybe well enough that one day I could become one of them, or if not maybe one of my desendents. I guess one of the old sayings really is true, the only thing constant in our universe is change!

– by Lucia Ferragano

Rens, Minmatar space.
Rokh class battleship “Fire Tornado”, Strategic Command room

Mrs. Beraha Kaanaetan, or Lady K. as she now demanded to be called, strode regally into the room. It was highly usual for capsuleers to fly a ship without being locked into a pod and she tremendously appreciated the opportunity. Most people in that room, in bodies or tridimensional avatars, were her trusted advisors and partners. They had worked together for over five years now, in the most dangerous and demanding situations the cluster offered. They had built an empire spanning from Minmatar space to Khanid space, and way beyond into the wilds. They had brought their lands and dominions to the common cause and made their best efforts to allow people who trusted their capsuleer wisdom to live their earthbound lives. And now, that was threatened by that single ridiculous planet in Querious, offering supplies to their enemies. Something had to be done to ensure nobody ever made that mistake again.

Kaanaetan sat in the simple brushed steel Caldari executive armchair and powered up her datapad. Something was going to be done.

Querious, AZ7C9 constellation, planetary settlement

The fiery colors of burning skies rival the bloody skin of the Bahani Hound, but tonight, nobody had any time to watch the sun setting. Bahani, also known as GOP-GE III to CONCORD, had been settled for less than half a century. Lao Pai had come from Timudan 1, 47 universal years ago. He had been 19 when he left the small colony in low security space to “make a fortune”. Make a fortune indeed… he looked at the wrecked roof of the Caldari housing that the Bahani Colonization Authority had provided him 40 years ago, after 7 long years of harassing work creating a spaceport in such a low pressure atmosphere. The planetary year was so much shorter on Bahani that he had seen 173 winters come and go. On the other hand, winter was only one month long here. But now, the roof was gone, as most roofs in the settlement. Orbital lasers had targeted the housing in retaliation for providing supplies to a capsuleer alliance, turning the burning skies to real flames. Pai had lost dozens of friends today.

The underground supply depot was probably the most unhealthy place to be in, with the numerous Uranium pallets piling up, even though the lead walls were supposed to contain radiation. Dozens of people were nonetheless huddling there, women hugging young children, crying softly for the deceased. It had been a tactical decision from the capsuleers to hit the nevralgic centers of the planet, and this meant the victims had been mostly young men at work. Of course, death was no stranger to such a danger ridden community, and people thought themselves hardened to pain. Sometimes, families lost people to depressurizations, tunnels caving in, or simply radiation induced cancers. Dangerous beasts would kill workers in the wild or on the ocean, However, it was quite different today. Not only had this fire storm come as unavoidable and unpredictable as God’s wrath, but it also had destroyed the living heart of the colony. The satellites had been left alone by the attack fleet until the end of the attack, allowing ground control to send out emergency signals. Commissioner Helden looked at Father Rentar squarely in the eyes and told him the truth.
-“If they had wanted to destroy them utterly, they could have sent foot soldiers or used nuclear weapons. This was more devious. They left the satellites up for two reasons, first to allow us to call for help, so that we may serve their terror agenda, and second, to allow us to see their might. They know we have streamed footage of their fleet to the Kingdom, but they don’t care, why should they? At worst, their corporation will lose some standing, which can be bought with some work. Anyway, maybe they’ll just pay handsomely for the damage to our royal shareholder. This was a message to our clients, not to the Kingdom. We’ll probably receive relief shipments in a few weeks, and the Kingdom will send new settlers later on. We’ll just have to keep your flock together during this dark time.”

Pai sat on the concrete floor. Father Rentar had preached tonight, and told them of the hard times to come. As if it was not hard times already, he guessed. Father Rentar was but a young man, 26 only, and he could not imagine how hard life had been for Pai. He came from Khanid Prime, and had attended the Imperial Seminary. The priest always had been a bit out of place to the workers, even if they put up with his high class mannerisms because he spoke the Word of God. But to Pai, this was the final straw. God had never willed this. Fate, God, or the spirits as the minmatar slaves used to say when he was young, had nothing to do with that wave of destruction. Capsuleers did. Hubristic, egotistical, monstrous capsuleers who live forever among the stars. His son, however, would never live another day. But he would have revenge. These capsuleers thought they were gods among the stars, but they were men. They jumped from clones to clones, but they were men. They used boosters that rendered the earthbound unconscious, or mad, or simply killed them, but they were still men. Pai had worked for 15 years in Bahani’s booster manufacture. He knew why, sometimes, boosters-using capsuleers did not make it to their new clones during a fight. He knew people who knew people on capsuleer’s ships. He would get his revenge. Or he would die trying. Anyway, he was already dead.

– by Lord Furio

We could feel the ground trembling beneath us as the fleet descended on our home world. Seconds before the first shot was fired, someone asked over the comms, “you think we even stand a chance?” I don’t know if it was out of fear or hate that I fired that first shell. The sound of the 1200mm ‘Behemoth’ cannon was, simply put , frightening. It was the highest pitched scream and the lowest roar I’d ever heard at the same time – something out of nightmares. HQ hadn’t given the command, but it didn’t really matter. No point in conserving ammunition at this point anyway. This was our last stand and if we didn’t put every last bit into it, we were as good as dead.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing sergeant?” asked my lieutenant.

“I’m fighting this war, sir!” I shouted over thunderous sound of the cannon.

“God damn it, sergeant! Carry on!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I saw the remaining artillery batteries begin firing prematurely at the incoming drop ships. Every shot was a kill shot. One by one we downed ships filled with their elite infantry. It was of little use; we still couldn’t see what used to be a beautiful sunrise behind their metal clouds of destruction.

Soon after that little conversation, their ships actually began increasing in number. It wasn’t long before the shorter ranged flak artillery had to start filling the skies with their own debris. Hues of red, yellow, blue and black blotted the sky. It would have been the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen had this been any other day…

“Gorgeous,” I whispered under my breath as the cannon was reloading.

“Sergeant. Sergeant!” my lieutenant shouted trying to gain my attention.

All I wanted to do was lay down and watch as the scene unfolded. There’s a certain solitude to be had in knowing how you’re going to die. But back to reality… The worst part about all this is not knowing what to shoot. The thing about an orbital invasion is that even if a ship is destroyed, they stay rather intact and they don’t change course. One way or another, all they’re ships are going to land. Your only hope is that your position doesn’t become its landing zone.

“Hey, is that the sun?” asked corporal Barone staring at the horizon.

“Since when did our sun turn blu-… Shit!” the lieutenant exclaimed. “Command, this is Lieutenant Hickman, 82nd Artillery! We’ve got an incoming orbital strike from the main fleet, orders?”

“Lieutenant Hickman, this is command. No further orders.”

Our weapons didn’t have the range, let alone the speed to get past their defenses. The charge of their orbital strike was like a massive explosion just hovering in space. We were told that the strike was capable of completely eliminating our largest of provinces. The ship being on the horizon made things just so much worse. Instead of taking out a single target, it was just going to scrape us all off the edge of the planet, much like taking a blade to, well, anything. With all of the artillery batteries taken out, their drop ships would land untouched; and God knows not even our heavy tanks are going to match what comes out of those drop ship doors.

“What’s with the comm silence?” asked some private.

“Shut your mouth, command’s makin’ an announcement,” I snapped.

“Men, this is command. I’m not going to beat around the bush. That orbital strike being aimed right at your and it is going to kill you. Before you go, just know one thing… Your deaths will not have been in vain. Your brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers will continue fighting for what you and our ancestors died for millennia ago – freedom. By the time we’re done here, there won’t be a single bullet waiting to be fired nor a prayer waiting to be had. Before I go, men, remember one thing – waste not, want not. Don’t waste a single fucking bullet, shell or cartridge ‘cuz we sure was hell don’t want those sons of bitches missing out on any of what this planet has to offer!”

I don’t know what was more arousing, the tone of General Roderick or that I could actually hear the orbital strike charging literally half a world away. In just a matter of seconds it would all be over. Being so motivated to die is a weird feeling – it’s bliss. I aimed the cannon at the horizon, brought it up 10 degrees, and prepared to fire. I gambled all my life; the Republican Guard was the only real job I’d ever had. I knew this shot could never hit the ship, let alone destroy it, but what the hell did I have to lose? I closed my eyes, let out my last breath, pulled the trigger… and dreamt about tomorrow.

– by Ore Mut

Growing up my father told me of the legends of men and women who
traversed the wide openings of space. The Capsuleers, as he called
them, were wanderers, opportunist, thieves, privateers, and pirates.
We both feared and respected them. I have never met one myself, but
our livelihood depends on their services. What we produce would be
sent into space across New Eden to far off places that could only been
thought of in a dream.
However, our dream is soon to collapse into the void of nightmares.
For generation we have enjoyed the distant relationship we have had
with the Capsuleers, but soon the prohibition that has protected us
from their greed will soon be dispelled, and with it, our hopes of
continuing our peaceful lives.
First it will be explorers, then merchants, but after that there will
be blood. War will soon break out across the stars and there will be
no pity for those of us bound to a terrestrial existence. These cruel
gods will rain fury upon us that will have no end until we are
completely consumed and are worlds are depleted of resources. There is
no justice for those not numbered among the Capsuleers.
I spend my days now contemplating my end as I watch over my cattle.
The grassy hills sing an eternal peace to my heart that only come
short of giving me comfort because I know that they soon will be gone.
Their eternal song will give way to eternal silence.
There is one hope I suppose, if a Capsuleer exists unlike the ones of
my father’s stories. One that is not only kind, but strong enough to
stay the greedy hands of others. When the explorers and industrialist
give way to the warmonger, I can only hope there are Capsuleers strong
enough to stay their own greed and fight for supreme dominance in the
name of the people.
This fantasy is the closest thing to comfort I have. But I wonder how
one man or woman has so great an ability as to maintain such a hold.
It is beyond me. I’ve watched over my cattle most of the days of my
life and I know them and their needs, but it is difficult to think
that a person can govern worlds and systems like I govern my herd.
I hope that such beings exist among the devilish gods of New Eden. To
think a person with such power could come here and destroy all that I
hold close to my heart is a thought that penetrates so deep that it
fills me with fear and a belief that it may be the truest outcome of
what is to come. My world is coming to an end very soon and there is
nothing that I can do to stop it. I can only stand and watch as the
Capsuleers of New Eden decide the fate of my world and countless
others like it.
I fear the future does not look good for my family and I. I doubt that
I will have sons that will survive the coming turmoil that will carry
on the stories I will tell them. For their sake I hope that there is
good in the hearts and minds of those that sail the stars.

– by Herb Smith

TEN YEARS AGO
SOVEREIGNTY: AMARR
REGION: DOMAIN
SYSTEM:AMARR

A billion to one odds that Aron Kyoto’s sensor probes pinpointed the tiny cosmic signature. He had waited two hours, and continued to wait for the Concord escort. Aron maneuvered his ship closer to it. Wormhole technology had always been artificially created, and mastered by the Empires which allowed ships to jump from system to system, but this wormhole was not a jump bridge. It appeared to be a natural phenomenon. Procedure dictated that he wait for a proper escort, prior to jumping through. Finally! His escort arrived.

“This is Lieutenant Robert Farris, Concord, Reconnaissance division.”

Aron noted the distinct thick Gallente accent of the Concord agent.

“This is Aron Kyoto, and it’s about time, I was beginning to think you forget about me.”

“Not at all,” Farris dispensed with pleasantries, hoping that this poor scout had a false reading from spilling Quafe cola on his instrument panel. Concord’s data records of eager new scout pilots with seemingly innumerable discoveries usually boiled down to the inability to perceive the difference between asteroids and gas clouds. He just wanted to get back to his frozen dinner, and holo-vision. But now this nonsense had interrupted the play-off game. He did not bother to inform his section chief of this latest call, for fear of the standard reprimand, about wasting time, resources, etc.

Robert Farris believed there had to be more to life then this drudgery and like so many others, he believed he was destined for something better than a dead end job. His brother had just been recommended for some new elite Concord division – Dust division, something or other. His brother had always been the lucky one.

“You realize when we jump through, we will end up in Jita, Rens, or Dodixie, and then I will have twenty or jumps back my station,” Farris said.

“I don’t think so. It has been stable for the past two hours, and I am anxious to see where it leads,” Kyoto replied.

“I know you are paid by the size and composition of your ore deposits, but these things never lead to the pot of gold.”

“I am just covering my ass, and following procedure, otherwise I could have reported back by now and we would have mining barges out here already. . .”

Farris interrupted, “Let’s just go.”

“This is fantastic! I have hit the mother load.” Aron’s scan probes registered more mineral sites then he had ever scouted. Pot of gold was an understatement. This side of the wormhole had never been explored until now, and littered across its vastness, lay asteroids formed from the galaxy’s rarest minerals.

Aron performed the necessary mental gymnastics, calculating the number of asteroid belts, the mining yield, transport costs and market value of this future mining enterprise. His ability to quickly and accurately make these calculations earned him recognition as the top mining scout in his corporation. Aron realized that he needed to make a few other last minute calculations as well.

“Mr. Kyoto, I appreciate your excitement, but you realize your corporation will take months to not only get the man power in position to turn a profit, but also Concord will no doubt have a sizeable role in sanctioning this activity. Proper Concord reconnaissance missions will be necessary to evaluate fully the dangers of this unknown space.”

Aron Kyoto never fitted his ships in the accepted and approved format as dictated by his corporation, but his CEO, could never argue with his results in any undertaking, and so his CEO allowed miner blasphemies. He smirked at his scanner’s revelation as he continued his scan.

“It’s time to leave, Mr. Kyoto. I have noted fully your corporate claim to this space, and I need to get back to start the proper oversight procedures.” The big play-off game was almost over by now. At least he recorded it. There was nothing exciting here for him, just asteroids and a greedy mining scout. Robert Farris smiled as he saw Kyoto’s ship maneuver toward the wormhole exit. At least Kyoto bookmarked it, not a total amateur, he thought.

Farris turned his ship to follow Kyoto out of the wormhole. In a nanosecond, Kyoto’s ship halted, turned, and fired. A dazzling chromatic display of laser fire wrecked Farris’ small ship. Farris, surprised and stunned at his drastic change in position, simply skipped dwelling about Kyoto’s reasons for podding him, and went straight to crisis training, although Concord pilots seldom needed to exercise it.

“Two hundred million, Kyoto!”

“It’s a shame you didn’t put that money toward some inertial stabilizers and better shields. On the other hand, I prefer a ship scanner, and a passive targeter. They go great with inertial stabilizers, reversing ship facing suddenly, so that my lasers are perfectly aligned towards, oh say, a meddling Concord recon ship. . .correction, a Concord pod whose pilot failed to realize I had locked his ship for the last five minutes.”

“This goes down with you walking away with three hundred million, and no formal charges.” Farris upped the ransom offer, and had the distinct feeling that jumping through this wormhole severed his connection to his medical clone, or he would have never offered so much.

“Why did you contact me in the first place if you planned on shooting me?”

“Initially, I didn’t plan on shooting you. If this were just a standard mining scan site, things would have gone . . . by the book, but once I realized the implications of were we were I decided to make a last minute scan and take a calculated risk. Goodbye, agent Farris.” He fired.

Kyoto’s last scan was not of system anomalies, but of Farris’ ship of course, specifically, its armaments and defenses. Now the pot of gold was all his. However, he should have continued scanning the system, and maybe he could have left the wormhole before it appeared.

The ship was larger than any empire battleship, smooth and sleek, its hull pulsating with a billion motes of light as if alive. Aron Kyoto could not have known that the ship was very much alive but with intelligence far different from anything that the Empires had ever encountered.

SIX MONTHS AGO
SOVEREIGNTY: GALLENTE FEDERATION
REGION: SINQ LIASON
SYSTEM: DODOXIE

Tyken Nelvee, newly elected CEO of CreoDron, gazed across auditorium of disgruntled and panicked investors. “Ladies and gentlemen, I realize that combined, you have over one hundred trillion shares of stock in our company. I will not waste your time. We are here because my stock . . . your stock . . . our stock, has been declining. My proposal is a simple one. We are going to expand to planetside industry.”

He raised his hand in a grandiose gesture. The lights dimmed, the low vibrations of a grand Gallente symphonic composition began playing through the auditorium’s state of the art audio system. The auditorium’s giant holographic screen crackled to life. A galactic map appeared, first the systems, then a hexagonal overlay chart denoting current planetside industry, which was almost non-existent. He heard low murmurs from the audience of investors. A small section of the display depicted CreoDron space stations overstocked with millions of drones, tiny war machines waiting to be purchased.

“Ever since the empires ceased full-scale conflicts, there has been an ever decreasing need for the military industrial complex. Our corporation is like any living organism. All organisms are either in a state of constant growth or constant decay to the point of death. We shall never die!” His voice boomed over the symphonic music, and had the audience’s full attention.

The small section of display replaced the overstocked drone factories, with different inventory, nanite paste, cattle, water, Quafe cola, and other products. The main section of the hexagonal display focused on one of the thousands of planets, first a solar system view, second an orbital view, and finally an atmospheric view.

Tyken gestured with his hands, and as he did so, a new display showed factories, power plants, and structures extending from the planet into space, giant heavenly elevators of a sort, moving the goods into space, all of this in perfect rhythm with the symphony.

The view panned out quickly, showing freighters and industrial ships moving toward the space elevators, picking up the goods, moving them from system to system. Now the hexagonal overlay expanded until all systems, of all regions, were covered with CreoDron’s hexagonal chart, and finally the CreoDron logo appeared over the galactic map. The symphonic music neared its ending, in perfect harmony with the holographic presentation. Letters appeared one by one reading:

CREODRON

WE SHALL NEVER DIE

What began as disgruntled murmurs, ended with thundering applause. Tyken had the investors. Now he needed support from the Board of Directors, or needed them out of the way.

PRESENT DAY
SOVEREIGNTY: CREODRON
REGION: LONETREK
SYSTEM: NRB-J66

Tyken, sporting his usual dark blue pin-striped suite with a sheen denoting luxury and custom tailoring , usually reclined in his leather-bound chair, overlooking charts of profit margins. Not today and not any day of the past six weeks since the accident involving CreoDron’s Board of Directors. Tyken had insisted the board tour NRB-J66’s production facilities. Tyken’s chief of operations, Nevin Krieger, had arranged the tour. Tyken’s chief computer technician, Dr. Tara Phelps, had retooled many of the surplus drones from obsolete military functions into production, just as Creodron had done with early conceptions for asteroid mining drones. As a junior executive, Tyken had suggested that in addition to military applications, drones could be viable for mining and other uses. His suggestion was tested, approved, and profitable. He had done the same for planetside industry, giving Creodron a major leap ahead of any of its competitors in the current galaxy-wide frenzy of planetside industry. CreoDron’s NRB-J66 facilities ran smoothly until the day of the accident.

The official reported stated it was a miniature drone, EC-547, as it came to be known by its serial number, that become involved in the gruesome affair. One day EC-547 was going about its usual business extracting superheated materials to make nanite paste. Apparently, some superheated material burned a microscopic hole in EC-547’s chassis, and disintegrated the circuit relays controlling EC-547’s extraction protocols. EC-547 reverted to its original military programming, coupled with some malfunctioning circuits, to track, lock and shoot objects registering a heat signature above a specified threshold.

The day the board of directors toured the facilities, EC-547 followed its original military programming. The perspiration of all fifty board members was certainly an obvious spike in heat signature. True to its original programming, EC-547 blasted them. Nevin as the tour guide was unharmed, as he was wearing the requisite Concord sanctioned heat absorption gear. The board members wore lighter versions of the same gear, suitable for guests touring factories producing superheated materials, but not suitable for keeping their heat signatures below a threshold that a malfunctioning drone’s military programming told it to blast. EC-547 was decommissioned on that same day.

Upon death, the board members should have all jumped into their medical clones at various locations across the galaxy. However, Tyken had altered the subspace frequencies of their clone jump routes into his own planetside clone vat bays, which happened to be offline for maintenance on that particular day.

“Mr. Nelvee, your 10:00 a.m. is here,” said his personal secretary.

“Thank you, you may send him in,” he replied. With some dismay, Tyken finished reviewing the hacked data file of his 10:00 a.m. guest. He noted the standard compliment of ships, a troop transport mothership with clone vat bays, heavy interdictors, and additional support ships. “Can’t be too careful,” he thought. The screen finally displayed the bio information of the agent spear-heading the investigation:

Special Agent: Paul Farris
Concord, Planetside Bureau
Division: Dust 514

Concord had an annoying tendency to investigate incidents such as the untimely death of the majority of the board of directors of one of the largest corporations in the galaxy. Tyken knew that his visitor was part of a new division of Concord which had to be routinely appeased for permits, and continued operations of planetside production. He knew that agent Paul Farris, would have a regiment of ground soldiers ready and waiting should they be needed to ‘help’ in Concord’s investigation. Concord creatively named its new planetside division, “Dust.”

“How clever,” Tyken mused to himself. He quickly scanned more of agent Farris’ file and smiled at a peculiar entry, something he had never seen before in the bio section of a Concord agent, “relatives: Lieutenant Robert Farris , Concord, Reconnaissance Division . . .deceased, no clone information available.” Another note of interest, Tyken’s lobby computer scanner revealed that not one of agent Farris’ hardwiring implants was designed for ship combat. He was one of the first to use all cybergunnery implants for personal hand-held weapons, such as pistols and rifles. One of agent Farris’ implants was unscannable and listed as “Zainou ‘Deadeye’ Z4000, model number unrecognized, purpose unknown.”

“Interesting,” he thought. Tyken shut off his computer, no need to appear distracted, besides he had all the information in his head. Tyken had an exceptional eidetic memory.

“Welcome, agent Farris, to my neck of the woods. Have you visited contested territories before?”

“Yes, I have. Why do you ask?”

“Because there are reports of Amarrian hit and run fleets trying to conquer nearby systems, I would hate to see anything happen to you, your team, or your ships up there.”

“Are you expecting Legions anytime soon?” Farris replied coolly. Legions had been reported in nearby systems. Many pilots considered Legions to be extremely dangerous because they sported some of the most advanced technology in the galaxy. The tech III technology as it came to be called, was now routinely taken from the inhabitants of wormhole space, called Sleepers. The empires’ best scientists and engineers could barely make the Sleeper technology work on cruiser class vessels. The reverse engineering of Sleeper technology was relatively new, having seen wide-spread use for only the past year.

“We are quite safe. The Amarrians in this area would realize that to make an enemy of me would cut off this area from my considerable supply of goods and services. As long as they don’t take an interest in my business, I don’t take an interest in there business, but interstellar politics is obviously not why you are here.”

“Indeed.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Tyken.

“Ah, the injunction, I presume.”

“Feel free to scan it into the corporation’s database. Until further notice all CreoDron production is to cease and desist in this system. Further notice being the completion of my investigation and my findings, of course. My men are now stationing themselves throughout the factories,” He said smoothly.

“You realize I have many factories here.”

“And I have many men and many clone vat bays,” came Farris’ retort.

“I hope your men are not prone to wandering off and playing with the drone workers.”

“I hope your drones are not going to wander off and start trying to disintegrate my men. That would end badly . . . for the drones . . . and for CreoDron business interests in general.”

Tyken, bored with the verbal duel, changed subjects, “I have arranged standard accommodations for your stay. I just hope you enjoy your stay more than the late CreoDron Board of Directors. Tyken studied Farris carefully for a reaction to this last comment, discerning what if any underlying agenda he may have brought with him, along with his sidearm, and cybergunnery implants.

“I have arranged for you to meet with my chief of operations, Nevin Krieger and Dr. Tara Phelps, my chief computer technician. She oversees the drone programming and retooling operations. I am assuming you would like to begin your investigation presently, beginning with the area of the incident?”

“I would.”

The Amarrian commander viewed with pleasure the data on his screen. The employment history and current location of Tyken Nelveen was neither easily, nor cheaply obtained. The locator agent had been worth every bit of money, and the payment hardly troubled the commander’s gargantuan bank balance.

“I trust you are satisfied, commander.”

“I am most assuredly satisfied, why don’t you drop by in person so we can finalize the contract.”

One did not argue with the commander of a fleet of Legions. Though the locator agent preferred arms-length and electronic fund transactions, he knew that this Amarrian commander was quite eccentric. “I would be happy to pick up payment within the hour.”

“I look forward to it.” The communication channel changed over to fleet command.

“Commander, we have a new development,” said the junior wing commander with alarm in his voice.

“What is it?”

“Sir, our scanner probes have just detected a Concord Dust fleet in the CreoDron system.”

The Amarrian commander calculated his options. He had spent months carefully setting up his presence in this region, so that he could take the planet’s resources quickly and efficiently. The fact that the resources belonged currently to CreoDron troubled him not in the least. He had run-ins with Concord before. He smiled. The junior wing commander waited for his response. “Set course for the CreoDron system and hold just outside of the Concord fleet’s scan grid.”

“Yes sir.”

Paul Farris took in the panoramic view. Miles of grazing land spread before him, suitable for the millions of cattle that CreoDron shipped across the galaxy. Toward the edges of the pasture, he saw the space elevators stretching into the heavens. In the distance, he saw massive volcanoes, with the attached extraction factories, clinging to them, like mechanical parasites. Graviton propulsion tubes, identical to the one in which he currently traveled, connected the factories and pastures to the space elevators.

“CreoDron transports millions of metric tons of products from this planet into those space elevators to be bought and picked up by millions of clients and we have facilities like this all over the galaxy. This system primarily produces high grade cattle and nanite paste,” said Nevin Krieger, director of planetside operations.

“I can see why CreoDron is leading the competition,” said Farris.

“So what’s it like being assigned Dust division?” Was there a hint of jealousy in Krieger’s voice?

“The landscapes change, but the criminals are the same whether they pilot ships, or shepherd cattle,” Farris stated pointedly.

If that was some sort implication or bait, Krieger let it slide which was unusual for a Minmatar. The Minmatar race was considered crude by many in the other four empires, Krieger apparently less so. They had arrived at the volcanic extraction facility.

Farris spent the day inspecting the facility, listening intently to Krieger explain the production operation. He noted Krieger wore a heat absorption suit. In light of the incident he was here to investigate, he insisted on a suit of the same type. He saw the drones, thousands of them extracting superheated material. He watched as they drilled into the planet crust and lava beds, taking the material to the processing areas to be refined. After refining the material, the factory’s automated conveyor system moved it to an area where human ingenuity with computer aid made the necessary adjustments to transform it into quasi-sentient nanite paste.

Pilots throughout the galaxy realized early on that in addition to the enemies they faced in space combat, another type of enemy showed itself on their own ships – heat. The heat that resulted from pushing their ships to maximum and dangerous performance levels needed a solution. Long ago, engineers combined artificial intelligence with mechanical properties, thereby solving the heat issue in the form of nanite paste. Pilots released the paste throughout their ships and it would spread to the overheated modules and components of the ship, repairing the heat damage. CreoDron now mass-produced this paste on planets and had scored a huge financial windfall.

“Mr. Krieger, where did the actual incident take place?”

“Right there,” Krieger pointed to wide platform overlooking a lava bed. “They were standing there observing the drones, when one of the drones, EC-547, stopped extracting material, turned toward the group and began blasting.”

“Curious that no surveillance recordings are available.”

“EC-547 damaged the cameras during the incident. It was strange too, because EC-547 went back to work like nothing had happened. That’s when I was able to take it off line and bring it to Dr. Phelps. She saw the fried circuits, ran a diagnostic, and decided it was better to scrap it. After disabling its heat shields, I tossed it into a magma pit. You know that one of the dead directors was Dr. Phelps’ father?”

Agent Farris had reviewed the directors’ files as well as the employees’ files well in advance of the investigation. “I would like to meet Dr. Phelps now.”

“Sure thing.”

The two men left the extraction area and headed to the nanite manufacturing plant. Farris waited outside Dr. Phelps’ office only a few moments before she appeared to greet them. Her dark hair and blue eyes did not district his ability to read her body language. His instincts told him that she was suspicious about the incident. Understandable since her father was a victim.

“I will leave you two, now. I have a factory to run.” Krieger turned to leave and Farris saw a bit of discomfort in his demeanor.

“Agent Farris, I am Tara Phelps. Tyken told me to expect you and help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you doctor Phelps. So what do you find particularly troubling about this incident?” He wanted to quickly follow up on his observations of her demeanor.

“You Dust boys do not waste time. I like that. Well for starters, it does not make sense that EC-547 would have been equipped with any type of blasters. The retooling process is thorough. It’s not possible that someone in my department would have let a retooled drone into the field equipped with blasters and targeting equipment. I talked to the engineers myself and reviewed the logs. Nothing indicated that any drone had its targeting equipment or blasters installed.”

“So I start with the obvious question. Who would have wanted the board of directors dead? Tyken perhaps?”

“Let’s go into my office.”

Dr. Phelps’ office was sparsely furnished. Her furniture, metallic and sleek, perfectly matched the modern artwork on the walls. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling. “Computer, enable security protocol two.” If anything changed, agent Farris had not noticed. “A safeguard against corporate espionage. You never know when a competitor may try a sneak peak from an orbital satellite, stealth probe, etc. No type of probing or recording equipment will function in here when the security screens are activated.”

“Like if Tyken might be trying to monitor your conversations?”

“I don’t trust Tyken. Neither did a majority of the board, my father included. He told me that they were going to downsize the production of cattle and nanite paste. The board felt that Tyken was taking CreoDron in the wrong direction, and should have stayed with military production. In fact, they had already voted to reduce funding for cattle and nanite production. Tyken insisted on having the directors meet here so they could see what he had accomplished, to try and persuade them not to cut his funding. After the ‘accident’ the remaining board members who were unable to make the tour and sympathetic to Tyken’s view, voted in replacements from enthusiastic investors. It was like shooting Velators in a barrel.” (As sport and for fun, veteran pirates routinely shot and destroyed Velators, commonly used by rookie pilots.)

“I take it you can’t prove that Tyken arranged the accident.”

“No I can’t and I have reviewed everything I could about the accident. All data available to me backs the official report.”

“So that’s it then? Dr. Phelps, as chief computer technician of CreoDron, are you officially signing off on the death of your father and the other board members as an accident?”

She paused, “Officially yes. . .”

. . .and unofficially?” Farris needed to know where her intentions truly lay.

“I said I based my ruling on all data available to me but Agent Farris all the data available to me may not be all the data available about the accident.”

“Where are you going with this, doctor Phelps?”

“It’s not where I am going but where you are going.”

“And where is it that I am going, good doctor?”

“If you want to know what happened, you are going to have to get access to Tyken’s personal data network. His data network is not linked into the planet wide network and I have no access to it.”

“Let me guess, his office computer.” Many of agent Farris’ investigations required some degree of skulking. He was fully prepared to deal with any obstacles in order to close his investigations. He could take a squad or even a platoon of dust soldiers with him to secure Tyken’s office computer, but subspace commands, such as to erase files on a personal data network node like an office computer, travel infinitely faster than Dust troops. He thought it better to not arouse suspicion.

“I can disable the security systems in the corridors adjacent to his office, but the rest is up to you. I don’t know what electronic security Tyken may have inside his office.” Her voice was a bit anxious.

“Well I suppose it’s about time I earn my paycheck.”

“The security network has downtime every morning at 12:00 for a few seconds to refresh the servers. I can create feed loop and cause extended downtime for approximately five minutes. After that, Tyken will likely be aware of the intrusion and by able to delete or transfer any data to a secure offsite data node.”

“So, we wait.” He wondered what type of security measures a man like Tyken might have in place to prevent intrusion. If they were anything like security protocol two in Phelps’ office, he would be fine.

The Amarrian commander’s fleet entered the NRB-J66 solar system, just off the grid and undetected by Farris’ Concord fleet. The scan of the Concord fleet showed the standard array of vessels, frigates, cruisers, battleships, interdictors and a mothership which contained space fighters and ground transport ships. He also scanned planet six. The sensors revealed suitable resources for cattle and nanite paste production. From the long range orbital scan he could actually see the space elevators extending through the planet’s atmosphere into space. Fantastic!

The locator agent’s information proved accurate. It was unfortunate the locator agent died tragically due to a ship malfunction, as ships tend to malfunction when blasted with tachyon modulated energy beams. Loose ends needed to be tied up. That’s what the Amarrrian commander’s mother had taught him. She had referred to shoe laces. He doubted she would have liked his current application of that lesson to his locator agent.

“Sir, I have additional information. Take a look at this,” his junior wing commander patched in.

The Amarrian commander appreciated the eager morale of his junior officer. He knew that a Concord presence usually meant a planetary injunction against further production, but there they were. Twenty-four unidentified blockade runners had only appeared for a moment before they cloaked. Blockade runners could maintain invisibility from sensor scans and warp while doing so. Ships with this ability were in high demand for transporting valuable cargo. He wondered why they were here – surely not to pick up cattle and nanite paste. For the next hour he watched the system scan and calculated his options.

He contacted his wing commander on fleet channel. “I have a special assignment for you. . .”

The corridor leading to Tyken Nelvee’s office was quiet. Farris could hear the barely perceptible hum of the dim lighting overhead, as he approached the door to Tyken’s office. Tara Phelps had given him a subspace transceiver so they could maintain contact. She had disabled the surveillance devices, motion and thermal trackers, pressure plating in the floor and other security measures. He had four minutes left before these systems would come back online. He approached the door and looked down at the handle. “Tara, there is nothing I can see that needs to be disabled to open the door.”

“Give me a second.”

He had a standard issue decoding device with him, but there was nothing to decode. “Tara, hurry it up.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

He was about to pull out his sidearm to blast the handle when a novel thought occurred to him. He turned the knob and effortlessly opened the door with a chuckle.

“I’m in. I guess with everything else you disabled he doesn’t feel a need to lock his door, code it, or electrify it.”

“You have three minutes.” She said in a hushed tone.

This being his second visit today to Tyken’s office he quickly spotted Tyken’s personal computer. Tyken had left it active. The words, “CreoDron We Shall Never Die” flashed slowly across the screen. He tapped a button and the operating system appeared.

He found the port he needed, plugged in a small portable storage device and began his download. If he had triggered any intruder detections in the office or the computer itself, he could not tell.

“Two minutes left,” She warned.

“Almost done, just another minute or so.” He began scanning the screen while the data downloaded. It flashed some employee profiles. One caught his interest. This part of this employee’s profile was not contained in the materials he had reviewed prior to his mission. It only flashed for a second but he read a small part:

Tactical Evaluation: Subject has passed all physical and tactical testing. Subject has superior motor functions. Subject has passed all Dust planetside warfare and crisis scenarios. Subject has achieved a perfect score of 514 points.

Psychological Evaluation: Subject has passed all base-line psychological screening. However, subject has failed the Dust Moral Imperative of achieving all planetside military objectives while minimizing loss of life. Subject has inflicted unnecessary casualties which achieved neither tactical, nor strategic advantage while completing military objectives. Subject has achieved a nonperfect score of 513 points.

Recommendation: Nevin Krieger is to be discharged from Dust 514 immediately.

Farris looked up from the screen. Nevin must have moved with incredible agility and stealth in a position behind Farris. “Oh you like reading about people on the computer screen, eh.”

“You must have taken a bath today. I couldn’t smell the usual Minmatar stench.”

“Ha! Didn’t know Dust had a comedy division.”

“You wouldn’t know anything since you washed out of the program.” Farris needed to keep Krieger talking, hoping he would not notice as Farris reached for his sidearm.

“Let’s see if your Dust buddies will enjoy reading your obituary on the Scope news channel, funny boy!” He fired at Farris.

The time Krieger took to utter his last comment was all Farris needed. He spun low around the desk, drew his weapon and fired in one smooth motion. He not only fired at Krieger’s current position but also in the trajectory path that Krieger would have most likely dodged, had his first shot missed, which it did, as did Farris’ next ten shots.

“I’ve got Dust training too, Mr. 514 perfect score funny boy.” Krieger said from behind a metallic conference table now turned on its side serving as Krieger’s cover.

The laser fights in the old Zazzmatazz movies dazzled audiences and lasted for a good twenty minutes or so, but those were movies and this was real life.

Krieger and Farris traded shots and tactical advantages for another twenty seconds or so. The conflict would be over in the next ten seconds. Both men moved at accelerated rates, as their cybernetic implants gave them godlike speed and tactics suited to melee combat. Moreover, they were both fully trained in Dust planetside tactics.

Farris did not think he needed to use it and it was only good for a few uses. He actually tried to take Kreiger alive. Having complied with the Dust Moral Imperative, he now saw that decision was a tactical miscalculation in this situation.

Krieger had now positioned himself behind a statute composed of the planet’s rarest and extremely dense volcanic material. It was worth hundreds of millions. Tyken would not be happy that a piece of his art collection was taking Concord laser fire, but Krieger justified the statue’s current use in light of the circumstances. Besides, he was Minmatar, and this kind of art really wasn’t his thing. Tyken would just have to dock his pay.

Farris moved in and activated it. Kreiger never saw it coming. This was the first

Zainou ‘Deadeye’ Z4000 implant to see true field testing. The implant which Tyken had initially scanned upon his first meeting with Farris which had an unknown purpose now made its purpose known. As Farris moved, Krieger thought he was crazy leaving himself very exposed. In true Minmatar fashion, he open fired, fifteen shots at least. Farris timed his move perfectly. In the split second before his death, Krieger wondered how Farris positioned his pistol in such a way as to severe cleanly his head from his body at point blank range. Farris deactivated his personal barrier shield. Those guys at Zainou really knew their stuff. He was pleasantly surprised that it worked. The Zainou ‘Deadeye’ Z4000 had successfully been field tested against a barrage of fifteen laser blasts at nearly point blank range.

With less than a minute left before the security features would come back online, Farris grabbed his storage device, and raced back to Phelps’ office.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“It turns out Tyken had a security feature in his office after all.”

“Did you deactivate it?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She gave him a dubious stare and let the question drop. “Well let’s see what we have here.” She booted up the data. Farris and Phelps examined the data. They saw standard journal entries and corporate contracts, memo drafts, nothing indicating any sinister plots.

“I can’t believe it, there’s nothing here. It looks like my father’s death may really have been an accident.”

“If what you said earlier about the drones not being equipped with blasters and tracking computers is true, then we have got to be missing something.” Farris was puzzled and fairly certain Tyken was up to no good, in light of his recent encounter. Krieger was protecting something for him.

They studied the data again, starting with the financial transactions. Agent Farris almost missed it because he did not have much bookkeeping training but he caught something peculiar about an entry.

“This cattle production entry doesn’t match up with the outgoing shipments. See. Here. The metric tonnage of cattle being produced should equal the metric tonnage being picked up by the cargo ships from the space elevators, but it doesn’t. Could it be just a bookkeeping error?” He asked.

“We can find out for sure.” She programmed a simple formula into her computer. “This is interesting. I programmed a pattern recognition formula to search for similar entries and its showing these discrepancies have been occurring for the past six weeks, almost to the day of the drone accident.”

“So how many cattle have been unaccounted for?”

“According to this analysis, hundreds of millions of metric tons of cattle are missing.”

“It doesn’t make sense that Tyken would be skimming cattle. The net worth of the missing cattle would be ten or twenty billion at most, and Tyken is already a multi-trillionaire.”

“Can you check the nanite paste shipments?” He thought maybe there would be more from this angle.

“Sure.” She analyzed the journal entry for nanite paste. “No discrepancies whatsoever. The amount that is produced is the same amount that is shipped out.”

“The cattle are individually microchipped, aren’t they?”

“Of course, I should have thought of that!” She stated excitedly.

“Let’s find out what’s going on with the missing cattle,” he said.

Phelps punched up the microchip tracking chart and eliminated the tracking signals of all the cattle within the last six weeks that had been shipped out to CreoDron clients. The remaining microchip signals broadcasted from an area miles beneath the planet’s surface.

Tyken knew that somehow the cattle had a connection to the malfunctioning drone accident of six weeks ago. “That’s weird, why would Tyken be housing the cattle below the surface?”

“I have no idea, but we can certainly find out.” She punched up a three-dimensional image of her office, zoomed out to full view of the CreoDron production facilities on the planet, and placed the microchip signals on the map. “The nearest surface entrance to get us down to the location of those signals is here.” She pointed to the map. “It’s an old maintenance elevator, one of thousands, used to gain access to service some of the automated volcanic processing factories. Some areas of the planet’s temperatures are too extreme even for extraction drones. So we use automation where it’s feasible.”

“If it’s too hot for drones, how are we supposed to survive?”

“The elevators only lead to areas safe for humans so the maintenance workers can make necessary mechanical adjustments to the factories from time to time. Besides, the missing cattle are living down there.” Farris was going to speak, but thought better of it, and said nothing.

Farris contacted a Dust troop detail to meet him at the elevator entrance. He and Phelps arrived twenty minutes later. He knew he was getting close to something because thirty of his troops lie dead. He drew his pistol but whoever killed his men had apparently gone.

He and Phelps took the elevator to the lowest level, and this level corresponded to the broadcast from the microchips. The elevator opened into a wide corridor of tunneled rock. Phelps continued to track the signal with a portable device. “This doesn’t look like any sort of maintenance access point, Tara.” What it did look like was an obvious trap, but had he told Tara to stay at the elevator entrance or go back to her office, he knew she would insist all the more on coming with him, and he would have been right.

At the end of the corridor they saw a massive industrial strength door. Beyond the door, they could hear the grinding noise of machinery in operation.

“Any idea what’s going behind here?”

“No, it doesn’t sound like extraction machinery, but the signal of the microchips is coming from behind it.”

Farris pulled a lever, and the door retracted into the ceiling. Farris and Phelps did not expect anything like what they saw when they opened the door. A high-vaulted warehouse contained thousands of meters of conveyor belts winding their way around railed platforms. At the center of the maze of conveyors, a large grinding machine made loud high-pitched churning noise. Throughout this network of conveyors, hundreds of industrial drones, attended to the moaning cattle which stood on the conveyors. These drones had not been programmed with volcanic extraction protocols, but with a different set of instructions all together.

Farris and Phelps could see the long needles attached to the drones, and they watched as the drones moved systematically among the bodies of the cattle, injecting them with the content of the needles preparing them for the grinding process in the central machine. Farris and Phelps saw the complete process. The drones injected the cattle, the machine grinded the cattle into pulp, and a machine on the other side of the grinder, packaged the remains for shipping. Farris saw the packaged cattle remains move toward a space elevator. “Tyken is directly shipping from this room, but do you have any idea why?” He asked Phelps.

“Whatever the reason, he wants to keep it secret, but I have no idea why.”

Farris saw a graviton propulsion tube protruding from the wall, like the ones used to move people around a planet and transport products from the planet to the space elevators. He watched as cattle came in from the graviton tube to the conveyors. The drones entered the conveyor area from another room in the distance.

“That must be where the content of those needles comes from,” he said. He and Phelps entered the smaller room. The drones continued their functions, not distracted by the intruders.

This smaller room contained giant vats of green fluorescent fluid, and automated computer equipment. They saw the drones extracting the fluid from the vats. Phelps moved to one of the computers, but it seemed inaccessible to her. There was a window in this room beyond which they saw a desk, a chair, and a computer. They walked into the room. There was a hanger behind the door holding one of the heat resistant suites that he and Krieger had worn earlier. She moved to the computer. To her surprise, Phelps successfully accessed this computer and started examining files.

“Look at this!” she said.

Farris, looking over her shoulder, only saw mathematical equations on the screen. “This is your area of expertise, doctor. You’re going to have to explain it to me.”

“These equations are almost identical to the ones we use put the artificial intelligence into nanite paste, but these have been modified to make the AI dormant.” She began downloading the data onto portable storage device.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Those vats in the other room contain a liquefied version of nanite paste.”

He tried working it out. “So, the drones are injecting prepackaged meat with dormant nanite paste, trying to poison steak lovers all over the galaxy. . .”

“Not quite, Agent Farris,” said Tyken’s voice over the computer’s speaker. His broadcast appeared on the computer screen.

“Tyken, what is going on down here?” Farris knew he and Phelps would shortly be in a predicament.

“Oh you want the clichéd diatribe of my plans. Very well. You won’t live long enough to tell anyone. You were right about one thing. The drones are injecting the cattle with a modified dormant nanite AI. But it would hardly be fitting that the cattle be wasted as mere dinner for the pilots in pleasure hub stations. No, this product has a more long term goal.”

“and that is. . .?”

“. . .a very expensive goal, which is why I couldn’t allow the CreoDron Board of Directors to cut my funding. So I had Krieger place EC-547 in with the other drones. It had never malfunctioned and performed well in blasting the directors out of my way, literally. With enthusiastic investors just waiting for board appointments, my funding continued for cattle and nanite paste production.

I have engineered these cattle to be placed into the biomass of the major cloning corporations. Once they have intermixed with the biomass, the dormant AI will awake and everyone in the galaxy using a jump clone, or medical cone from that point on will be infected. I have twenty-four blockade runners waiting in orbit above this planet to pick up this last batch.”

“But where did you get the technology to do all of this?” Phelps cut in.

“Oh, about ten years ago, I met a man, named Aron Kyoto at the entrance to the first wormhole ever discovered. He tried to kill me on the other side. But the inhabitants of the wormhole had other plans for me. They saved me just before Kyoto blasted my escape pod. They captured Kyoto too, but let him go for some reason. Anyways, the inhabitants, which the galaxy now refers to as Sleepers, are doing anything but sleeping, and they have plans for us . . . for all of us. Welcome to the dawning of a new age, brother!”

“Robert, you are Tyken Nelvee?” Paul Farris was stunned, Concord told him that his brother had died ten years ago, but the circumstances of his death remained classified.

“It turns out that my life as a bored and insignificant Concord Reconnaissance Lieutenant, always living in the shadow of my brother, has lead me to the means by which I will alter the destiny of the galaxy.”

“You can stop this, Robert,” he barely got the words out.

Tyken ignored the comment. “I lived in your shadow, and you will die in mine. I have rerouted both of your subspace clone jump routes into my clone bays, which happen to be offline for maintenance at the moment. Oh yes, and I have overloaded the extraction factories’ power plants to blow open the planet’s tectonic plates beneath the volcanoes. In a matter of moments, you and your contingent of Dust 514 troops on the planet will be incinerated. As they say in the old Gallente movies, Au revoir. Oh yes. I almost forget. While you and the good doctor wait to burn alive, there is an old friend of mine that will keep you some company just in case you get creative.”

Farris saw the glass window of the small office shatter first. Then 2 more laser blasts hit the area where his head had been, a second before he ducked. He heard the low buzzing and then saw it in the vat room. He could see the small digital read out on its front panel:

EC-547 Online and Engaged

“Tara! Get down!”

“I’m trying to shut off the power plants from overloading.” She continued to work on the computer. EC-547 seemed unconcerned with her for the moment. Farris leaped through the window into the vat room, landing behind a row of vat tubes, hoping to keep the drone’s attention on him. The injection drones continued coming back and forth from the conveyor room to the vat room carrying out the injection protocol on the cattle.

Farris moved from behind the row of tubes and tried to get to the into the conveyor room. EC-547 blasted the tubes, causing the green fluorescent nanite liquid to splash everywhere.

“I hope this stuff isn’t toxic.” He only had a second to think about that before EC-547 fired again. More tubes shattered, more liquid spilled. He was running out of vat tubes to hide behind, and had not yet been able to return fire. “This thing was much faster than Krieger,” he thought. He now saw a way to get to the conveyor room, where he would have more space to maneuver. His timing had to be perfect. He watched the drones coming and going, and made his move. A line of eight drones had just come into the room, he sprinted toward them. EC-547 blasted the eight drones, as Farris used them as cover one by one to make it into the conveyor room.

EC-547 followed him in with blasters lighting up the conveyor room. Drone parts and cattle remains flew everywhere.

“Tara, any ideas how to stop this thing?” He yelled.

“It’s tracking you by your heat signature.”

He moved toward the central grinding machine. He could see that the last batch of cattle pulp had made its way into the space elevator. The conveyors were slippery from the remains blasted by EC-547. He had to be careful not to slip and end up in the grinder. He dodged a few blasts and landed behind the grinder, hoping his heat signature would be masked by the grinder. Unfortunately, his plan worked. EC-547 moved back into the vat room, toward its secondary target. Damn! The thing was fast.

Farris moved from behind the grinder and fired. He missed. He made his way to the vat room just in time to see EC-547 kill Tara. His training prevented an emotional burst. He moved toward the drone and fired, but it continued to dodge and return fire. He wished he had a heat source that moved with him to keep his heat signature masked. Maybe he did. He activated his barrier shield implant and moved to the office. EC-547’s shots ricocheted off his shield buying him time to slip the heat suit on which he had seen behind the door earlier. He looked at the computer to see what Tara had been doing. He saw two readouts on the screen. One was an unsuccessful attempt to stop the planet’s power plants from overloading, and the second was a scan of his Concord mothership in orbit above the planet.

He stayed still, and EC-547 hovered a bit, trying to find him. Having lost its target, it moved back into the conveyor room. Farris’ last use of the barrier shield had drained his implant to the point where it had only a single use left.

He needed a way out of here and fast. He cautiously moved into the conveyor room. He saw EC-547 heading toward the space elevator. EC-547 apparently planned to leave the planet via the elevator. Farris saw that the space elevator opened and closed in short cycles. He knew these space elevators worked on the same principles of propulsion as the graviton tubes that whisked people and products across planets throughout the galaxy. He timed the space elevator’s cycle and when it next opened, he sprinted past EC-547 toward the elevator. Farris activated his barrier shield one last time and hoped it would hold. EC-547 acquired a target lock on Farris. Though it could not detect Farris’ heat signature, it had fantastic motion tracking. CreoDrone engineers designed their drones with a host of redundancy systems. It fired, but Farris’ shield held its integrity.

Once inside the elevator, he closed it before the drone could follow. A few seconds passed and the elevator started its transport cycle. Agent Farris headed into space with nothing more than his barrier shield to protect him, hoping that one of his ships would see him on scan. The elevator lifted him into space in only a matter of seconds.

The Amarrian commander rechecked his computer scan. First an unidentified frigate class ship left the planet’s orbit, and now one of the space elevators had apparently jettisoned a live human into space. He wanted the pilot of that frigate or rather something the pilot had stolen from him. He moved his fleet toward the system. The Amarrian commander hoped his junior wing commander had been successful in the task assigned to him earlier.

The unidentified frigate hailed his ship. He put the hail on his screen. “Commander Kyoto, a pleasure to see you again. It has been, what? Ten years, since our first meeting at that wormhole?”

“Tyken, or should I say Lieutenant Robert Farris, you have something that belongs to me and I want it back.”

“I am afraid I cannot acquiesce to your request. I am leaving this system and my fleet will be attacking you momentarily.”

“You don’t have a fleet anywhere near here, Tyken.”

“I underestimated you once before in that wormhole, but not this time. I have had a fleet at my disposal for the past six weeks or so. My fleet just happens to be piloted by your men but not any longer.”

Multiple comm. channels began appearing on Aron Kyoto’s screen. The messages stated that several of his pilots had lost control of their Legions. Most of his pilots had at one time or another within the past six weeks used nanite paste purchased in the local trade hubs near NRB-J66 to repair overheated ship components. Little did the pilots know that Tyken had seeded these trade hubs with his own modified nanite paste. The nanite paste had similar dormant programming found by agent Paul Farris and Tara Phelps moments ago in the underground vat tubes on the planet below. Somehow the nanites had allowed Tyken to gain control of Kyoto’s tech III cruisers and ordered them to attack him. Fortunately, Kyoto piloted a command ship, not one of the tech III Legions. Currently he piloted his command ship away from his own Legion fleet.

“Commander, I am in a system one jump away from your current position,” said his junior wing commander.

“Good, I am on my way to you with our own damn fleet in pursuit.”

He jumped his ship into the neighboring system, his fleet close behind him. Technically, Tyken did not have direct control of Kyto’s fleet of Legions, but rather he communicated his commands to the sentient Sleeper intelligence which had spread to the ships by means of the nanite paste. The ships themselves maintained their own free will when they encountered the waiting fleet of Amarrian battleships. Kyota had earlier ordered his junior wing commander to gather reinforcements, which he thought he would need to help him make Concord retreat from NRB-J66 and to ensure a smooth siege of the planet. He had not anticipated he would need his battleship division to engage the tech III Legion cruiser division of his own fleet.

Floating in space, Farris saw the fleet of Legions warp into the system and leave almost as quickly as they came. He did not have much time left before his barrier shield would fail. He still needed to somehow get the Concord fleet away from the planet before it exploded. His subspace transmitter activated. It was the one Tara had given him just before breaking into Tyken’s office, but she was the only one who knew he had it.

“Agent Farris, I have your coordinates and we are on our way to pick you up.” It was Tara. How did she survive?

Back aboard his ship, he ordered his fleet to warp away from the planet just before it exploded. He could do nothing to save his Dust 514 soldiers on the surface. There just hadn’t been enough time to get them back to the ships.

“How in the hell did you survive, Tara?”

“Back in the office there was nothing I could do to prevent the planet’s power plants from overloading, but I was able to reroute both our subspace clone jump paths to clone vats here on your mothership.”

“I’m happy you’re alive. Now let’s get Tyken.”

He entered the bridge of his mothership and issued the standard capture order for Tyken’s frigate. The interdictor ships in his fleet moved toward Tyken’s frigate, and deployed the interdiction spheres to prevent Tykens frigate from warping. His frigate entered the spheres . . . and warped.

“Sir, look at this.” Said an ensign assigned to scanning duty.

Tyken, along with twenty four blockade runners had warped. Farris examined the last scan of Tyken’s frigate before it warped. The scan read, “power grid output – Tech III equivalent.” Among the ship’s various module fittings, Farris saw one of the frigate’s subsystems that allowed his brother to escape, an Interdiction Nullifier. His brother escaped in a tech III frigate, complete with subsystems. Not one of the five empires possessed this technology yet.

After his frigate jumped from the system, Tyken Nelvee opened a communication channel into wormhole space. “Guardian, the first phase of the plan is a success.”

The Sleeper’s response came, “Proceed with the second phase.” The channel closed. Nothing more needed to be communicated. He knew what to do next.

– by DonSailieri

I had always wanted to see the stars. I never had. Not once in my life, until now, had I seen that promising glow of eternity; what I believed to be out of anyone’s reach.

When I was born, almost a century ago, the sky had already turned “blind”; or so I was told. The old folks used to tell us kids stories about the stars. Adventurous stories of the chosen few that were given the privilege to embrace eternity. Some of the elder claimed to remember the stars. My mother said they were lying, no one had seen the stars in a millennium. She found it hard to believe stars existed at all.

–

When she died, they took her up into the sky. Beyond the barrier. I was told she would be among the stars, completely free. I envied her so much. Not that I wished to die right there – I just wanted to see the stars.

They took all the dead beyond the barrier, that dreadful veil that separated us from “radiation and space debris”. There was no hunger, war or disease on our world and we were told this was only due to the barrier. I didn’t believe them.

–

There were others that didn’t believe, either. And there were those, like my mother, that believed everything they were told, everything they should believe. Those who openly refused to believe were swiftly taken care of. They vanished from their houses, overnight, and were never seen again. Even talking about those that vanished could get you into serious troubles.

So, I kept my mouth shut. For all these years. I am not going to tell anyone about what I am seeing right now either, because they would not believe me anyway. Besides… I will not live to tell the tale. That was part of the promise.

Keeping my mouth shut and being the devoted fool I am got me far. I worked diligently all my life, never complaining about the grimmest of all injustices. Keeping my mouth shut. At least that’s what I thought made all the difference.

–

They say you must live life forwards, but that you can only understand it looking at it in reverse. Like looking in a mirror. Looking in the mirror of my life, now that it is over, I can finally comprehend how the strings were pulled, how everything fell into place. I don’t believe in it but it’s hard to find another explanation than fate for it.

Fade, coincidentally, was the name of the man that made all the difference in the world. Before he closed the door to the airlock he confessed to me what promise he had given to my mother on her deathbed. He had given a lover’s promise, one that can’t be broken, no matter how hard you try.

“Make him… see… the stars…”, he said, were her last words. Thinking of her, even decades after her death, pushed a tear down my cheek.

–

“This solar system was once called Old Man Star” he explained to me in the elevator.

“How many planets like ours are there, in this system?”

“None. They have long since vanished”

“Where did they go?”

“They were destroyed. Dismantled to the core, refined, they became part of something else. Something bigger and more powerful.”

Our world had, long before my time already, become artificial: a gigantic superstructure that sphered the sun of Old Man Star.

There was no barrier and there had never been one. But there has never, in my lifetime, been a planet either.

–

When we arrived at the airlock, none was said. Everything was understood.

He opened the door, and I stepped in.

When the airlock opened, I was blown out into space. Into the stars.

And in that moment, albeit only a second or two, that seemed like an eternity, I saw the stars.

Then, there was darkness – the stars were gone. Again.

– by Hortaka

Death has been the ultimate equalizer. One day that changed. No one can remember when it happened. These new gods die and are reborn with a regularity like that of a child losing interest in a toy. Moving between the stars in behemoth collections of steel and nano-fiber with star fire plasma burning inside magnetically stabilized hearts. Seeing the wonders of the galaxy from distant worlds untouched by human kind to fissures in space time. The only constant is that each trip out could end in being re-birthed from a metal womb. Death only an inconvenience.

For the rest of us who toil and struggle to survive on these distant worlds in New Eden these immortal creatures only come up in stories of some grand battle in the remote voids of space. The thousands of worlds we occupy are territory to be conquered and claimed. The capsuleers are like dragons of old, mythic creatures of terrifying power that only impact us peasants when they grow bored with their piles of treasure. Their world and ours, separate universes.

One day that changed. I remember it well. Living on this desolate rocky world that only supports life through the use of atmospheric water collectors and hydroponic domes, has made all of us survivors. Each day is a harsh struggle to maintain a balance of our food production, energy harvesting, and wishes and hopes for the next generation born into our struggle. As tough as life is, I endure, we endure, together.

When they came, the capsuleers, it was almost as if everyone on the planet held their breathe at the same time. Everything stopped as we all crowded to the observation decks and portholes to see these immortal creatures descend from the bleak sky. Their ships ripping red hot streaks in the heavens. All of us watching gripped with the fear and awe of the appearance of a god into our meager lives. Hoping that this new deity brings some compassion to this world greatly in need of new hope.

—-

Our fears are greatly relived after our the initial parley with the capsuleeer. We learned that though she may be an immortal being without the fear of death, she has a shrewd business nature and promises to bring our world a new purpose. Even though her plans seem to be beyond any of our imagination, the gears of progress are turning. A new mine and ore reprocessing facility are under construction. My career experience on this world have qualified me to be a foreman during the construction of the new space port. This new industry bringing enormous wealth and benefit to our world. Now my youngest son is starting to tell me how he wishes to be a capsuleer one day and fly his own battleship. Even my own heart soars to think that I might have the chance to visit a neighboring star system on a vacation.

The work has been difficult, as we’re expected to keep to a rigorous schedule to make the quick deadline to start operations. The visitor has given this world a new life and new meaning. We are now able to import some of the things we struggled to collect and even some things which are pure luxury. The holo-reels from across the galaxy have been eye opening and I’ve even been able to acquire a few bottle of some spiced wine through the new black market. At the end of each day I’m still tired, maybe even more tired than before but, now it’s different. I know that tomorrow will be the beginning of a new era. An era of productivity, of profit, of possibility.

– by MadMuppet

My stuff is packed and the shuttle is here to move us to our new home. I will miss this place, but not the work. No more grass bug bites either. Momma says they don’t live in the area we are going to.

Daddy is smiling again, but I can tell he is still embarrassed with how it all happened…

Huh? Oh you didn’t hear? Yeah, we are moving to a new home by the city…

Yes we can afford it! See those three grave markers over there? Just shut up a minute and I’ll tell you the whole thing.

Four days ago a shuttle landed in the field, its thrusters burned down two weeks of feed hay for the cattle. Oh was Daddy mad at that one! He grabbed his rifle right off the mantle and marched right up to the ship.

That night at dinner Daddy said that the devil himself, with horns, tattoos, and scars came out of that ship and started to raise his hand and speak. But before it could so much as mutter a minor oath Daddy killed him.

The body tumbled down the ramp and hit the ground like a pile of wet dish towels. Daddy buried him under the first grave marker you see…

No! CONCORD doesn’t care about that kind of thing way out here and you know it. Even the town Marshall said it was in self defense of livelihood. Now let me finish alright?

Three nights ago, while I was setting the table, another shuttle landed next to the first one and this time it damaged the water well with its landing leg. Daddy stomped out of the house again with the rifle and stood at the bottom of the landing ramp.

When the hatch opened a head popped out from the corner and yelled “OW! Don’t do tha…” BLAM! Daddy is a good shot. The body fell out and hit the ground with a sickening wet thump.

We ran out to see what the devil himself looked like, but without a head it just looked like one of the Marshall’s hangings gone wrong, again. One strange thing, well at the time it was strange, was all the wires and computer parts that we sticking out of the neck wounds.

Daddy buried him under the second grave marker. The local scrap man came and took the two shuttles. Daddy said the money would buy him a new wheeled hauler truck for market this fall.

Two days ago a third shuttle landed in the field where the first two had landed. Daddy was waiting for them this time though, he said ‘he had a feeling this would happen again’ and was sitting on the lot fence oiling the rifle stock.

The hatch opened on this one and when Daddy saw that face again he fired and the mirror he hit exploded in to a million pieces. The head popped out from around the corner and said “HA! You missed! Now listen friend, you and I have got off on the wrong foot and I would like to…” BLAM! Whack! Thud! Daddy has a double-barreled rifle.

The third body went under the third grave marker you see there and Daddy…

Yes, I was getting to that. Yeah that burnt out shuttle in the field was Daddy’s way of saying ‘Don’t come back.’ That and the scrap man didn’t have anyplace to park a third one yet anyhow.

Last night at supper time a frigate, yes a real warship, landed back in the field over in the dry spot there. One cannon turned and pointed at the house. A second cannon pointed at the barn. The third cannon pointed nervously at some nearby bushes.

A voice boomed from the ship. “Sir! I will pay you one thousand isk if you will please not kill me again! Would you please come out of the house so that we can talk?”

“Always during dinner!” Daddy grumbled. He pushed back from the table and stomped out of the house towards the ship, not even bothering to grab his rifle this time.

The cannon threatening the bushes whipped around and drew a bead on Daddy. It was scary for few seconds and then everything went quiet.

“What do you want?!”, yelled Daddy.

“Just to talk.” boomed the ship. “Oh, and not to get shot again please, my implants are very expensive.”

“I’m not going to talk to a ship, you moron. Get out here and do this face to face or I’m going back to my dinner.”

“Sir, with all due respect, that is what I have been trying to do for the last three days but you keep removing my face before we have a chance to interface about a busin…”

“Interface? Son, what in the heavens are you going on about? You wanna talk or not?”

The cannons on the ship turned away and a landing ramp dropped from the ship.

Daddy just stood there.

A hatch opened and a trembling mirror popped out and scanned the area nervously.

Daddy put his hands on his hips and tapped his boot in the dirt.

A twitchy, tall, skinny, Minmatar inched down the ramp. I think if a dustbladder frog had croaked just then the guy would have exploded on his own from fright. After what seemed like all night the strange man walked over to Daddy and dropped a small bag at his feet.

Daddy starred at the man for a good ten seconds before he picked up the bag. The credit chip inside it flashed one thousand isk. Pocketing the card Daddy said, “Alright stranger, you have my attention.” Daddy had already thought of names for the two cattle he was going to buy with it.

Breathing again, the strange man explained, “Sir, as you may or may not be aware, CONCORD has begun permitting the use of planets under its protection for the import and export of their natural resources. To that end I wish to propose a mutual busin…”

“You want to propose?” Daddy snarled.

Sighing heavily the man started again, “Sir, I want to buy your farm so I can set up a factory on it.”

“Why should I move away from my home? I have fields! I have fifty head of cattle! I have a family! And you come down here and want to just take it all from me!?! I don’t think you could put a price on what I do here!” barked Daddy.

Checking to make sure his head was still attached the man then produced another credit chip and handed it to Daddy. Daddy looked at it, and froze.

He looked at the barn. He looked at the house. He looked at all of us gathered on the porch. He looked at the land around him. It was his land, with its thin struggling plants, the sickly cattle that seemed to sway in the wind. He knew his dinner was getting cold.

He looked back at that credit chip. Daddy started to say, “I don’t know stranger. I have been here a long time and…”

The man handed Daddy two more chips, both just like the last

Daddy swallowed and continued, “As I was saying, I think I can have the family packed by morning, but I need to find a place to live.”

“I will have a shuttle here in the morning with a moving crew. There is a nice large house, 450 kilometers from here, just off the Eletar River that is already paid for and we will transfer the deed to you in the morning.”

Daddy shook the man’s hand and that was it.

So, I’m going to go now, I’ll write to you once we’re settled. Oh, one thing the man told us not to bother ever coming back since once the factory and the extractors are built nothing will look the same and he says a biomass refining station can be kind of smelly. How bad can it be?

– by Nomzi Nomnialli

3

Lush blonde hair blew in waves as she stared across the field of pale blue grass.  Everywhere she could see sprouts of flowers, all colors and blazingly bright in the sun.  Hers was a planet untouched by ruin, a planet of aching beauty.  A planet taken for granted.

She recalled the tale of how they came to be here centuries ago.  A people who sought to live closer to God and nature her father told her.  We who rejected dominance and the pursuit of war in the hopes of living a more pure life.  Over time they lost touch with technology, but they were no Luddites, no in fact they used high technology to ensure balance with their beautiful homeworld.  As she sat in the soft grass watching the trees swaying in the breeze, the deep green sea out further, the soft pastel walls of the village, could any place in this universe be better.  She smiled as she saw him coming from the village towards her, he was a vision to her, the one she hoped to someday marry.  At only fifteen they were both too young yet for such talk but that didn’t stop them from stealing away for time together when they could find it.  Laying in the grass as the sun went by, as the moon and stars went by, as life proceeded ever forward in bliss, her hands slid through his hair and dreams of the future filled her.

2

There were only a few small towns of her people so most knew of each other, if not knowing each other.  It was important to them and a deeply felt part of their spirituality that they all care for each other and the world around them.  So it was strange the day the elected Governor of all their villages came to hers with some documents from offworld.  Despite having long ago given up space travel and pursuit of war her people were not dullards and knew full well they were not alone in the universe and that others passed in the heavens above them.

Papers from the Amarr Empire it was said.  Amarr was pursuing a peaceful resolution for the obtaining of certain minerals from deeper in the planet.  As children of God they sought to find a way to obtain them and maintain the locals way of life in the process.  There was much debate over the subject, while no one here pursued riches, they knew trading in a few goods from offworld would definitely help them.  But they also knew the warning and desires of their founders, that they reject contact with those offworld, that they live in true balance with their world.  No one could read the papers but the Governor and he continuously assured everyone that it was all in order, that they would hardly notice the presence of any offworlders or their machinery.  Days became weeks but in time all the elders of all the villages had signed the papers.

1

The day was marked out on the calendar, everyone knew when it was to be and everyone waited with trepidation and excitement at what it may bring.  Offworlders coming here to their planet.  She hoped it would be as promised and she would never even know they were here.  Going about the chores of the day her eyes drifted up towards the sky again and again until at last she saw the firey jets of a ship coming down to the surface.  They were here.

She moved to the landing ground along with so many others and felt her heart beating as she saw the smooth armored curves of gold.  The ship was truly spectacular and it was opening, doors slid to the side as a ramp came to the ground.  A woman in robes of white and gold strode out with a cadre of armored men to her sides.  If ever she had seen an authority figure this was her, the womans face was stern and her eyes steel, power seemed to radiate from her as she raised her hand and spoke to them.  “Your sacrifice will not go unnoticed by God, your assistance to the glorious Empire will not be forgotten.  Perhaps in time you will rewin your freedom as noted in the documents.”

The Amarr woman motioned to the Governor of her people and he walked up to her handing her the papers signed by her elders.  The Governor turned towards them his eyes filled with tears as he mouthed the words forgive me before turning and entering the golden ship.  She watched all this frozen in shock, what was happening exactly she wondered.  Where was the Governor going, why did the lady say rewin her freedom, she was already free.  It did not take long for her to learn the answers to those and other questions.  The men in armor and bristling with weapons were upon her people and it was over quickly.

0

Her fingers slid through his hair the same as always only this time there was no grass and there was no more life left in him.  Eyes burning with tears she looked across the field at the charred ground from so many landings, at the skeletons of dead trees, at the blackened walls of her village.  Only a year earlier she lay here with her love dreaming of the future but never did she think her future would come to anything like this.  It would not be long before they saw her love was dead and they drug his corpse off.  What point was there left in living for her now.

She mouthed the words of her peoples founders as she stood and opened her arms towards the heavily armed guards across the field.  “Who will have the strength to live as a protector, who will have the wisdom to understand the beauty of life, and who will have the heart to live as one with God and to respect his creation.”  Her vision blurred from the hot tears as she heard shots ring out.

She once again saw the blue grass, the colorful flowers and her love walking towards her.