Have you ever felt so worn down, so beat down, that you simply don’t know what keeps you going sometimes? Have you ever felt that no matter what you might accomplish it simply doesn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of themes? Have you ever experienced such a disconnect from your own life, your own emotions, that when friends and families share there triumphs and heartaches you simply don’t have the energy to empathize or truly care? Regardless of the sunshine or the heavy rains, does every day feel like just another grey and lifeless day?

Some would say it’s a sign of depression, or an indication of mental instability. Others would warn that these behaviours and attitudes could lead to passive/aggressive or sociopathic behaviour.

I say it’s overpriced brain manure and people should stop getting involved in other people’s business so much. Sorry doc, that wasn’t an intentional slight at you, though I suppose it still reveals some issues we’re going to have to work through together. Lovely.

Sometimes life just hands you lemons. There is an old adage that says make lemonade, but what they fail to mention is that it still tastes sour and bitter. Or plant a lemon tree, which to me just creates more sour and bitter.

I say “It is what it is”, and regardless of our own attitudes towards these situations and times in our lives, we just have to keep moving forward and eventually we’ll find ourselves somewhere else on our journey, or we won’t. Not really a lot we can do about it.

—

The Amarr had been pushing aggressively throughout all of our systems, their fleets growing in size, working together, making sure none were caught alone and offguard.

General Mintor had been doing well to direct many of the Tribal Liberation Force’s fleets towards coordinated defensive attacks, as well as small guerilla style strikes into enemy space.

I liked his approach in this regard. He didn’t assign duties based on personal preference, nor rank. Instead, it was through drawing straws. You showed up for assignments, and you randomly selected one.

If Mintor thought you were completely incapable, he would overrule this method of course. The man wasn’t a fool.

I drew my straw and hoped it would give me the chance to kill as many Amarr pigs as possible.

“Colonel Wieler, you’ll be intercepting and destroying a large supply convoy in Ardar. Good hunting.”

I saluted, already relishing the opportunity to eradicate as many Amarr as possible.

—

“Will the defendant please rise.” The Tribal Magistrate commanded. I stood to my feet, the binders tight on my wrists. I had been in this position before; it was never comfortable. I felt trapped, caged, feral, wanting my freedom by any means necessary. I was a spectacle, paraded for a show I couldn’t watch.

My military lawyer stood beside me, looking into my deep brown eyes, trying to reassure me that everything was going to be fine. It wasn’t going to be fine, not as long as a single Amarr still breathed life into their lungs.

“The prosecution may begin.” The Magistrate ordered.

—

There were too many large fleets out and about on my way to Ardar. I was disappointed. No matter how much I baited, or lingered in a system safe spot, I couldn’t lure any single frigates or cruisers out to play. They were following strict fleet activity patterns; they either came in together as one, or not at all.

The Amarr had never been this consistently organized before; something had changed.

Eventually I made it to Ardar.

“Colonel Roc Wieler, beginning my assault.” I transmitted across the fleet comms.

The fleet was to disperse to its individual tasks, then rendezvous at the place of Mintor’s choosing after our individual assignments were finished. It was a sound strategy, keeping the Amarr confused, and should they wish to engage us, they would have to dissipate into smaller wings, giving us a fighting chance. Mintor was definitely nobody’s fool.

“Copy that, Wieler. Advise caution. Ardar is hot. Fleet’s regrouping here. Multiple complexes under fire. More hostiles inbound by the second. Finish up quickly if you can; we’re going to need every pilot we have to secure this system.”

That was convenient. The fleet was meeting in Ardar and the Amarr were coming to us, to me. My Rifter class frigate surged forward as my mind lost control momentarily, revelling with glee at the thought of the upcoming feeding frenzy.

I quickly regained control of my ship, and headed towards the enemy convoy.

—

“This isn’t the first time you’ve appeared before this Tribunal, is it Matar Colonel?” The prosecutor asked me once I was sworn in and had taken the stand. I didn’t like being up here. It was too easy for any of my numerous enemies to get a clear line of fire; too easy for the media to catch an innocent gesture or comment and turn it into another exaggerated performance for the galaxy to see. My career was still recovering from the last misunderstanding I had with the board of ethical conduct; I didn’t need this. I needed to be out fighting the Amarr. While we wasted our time here dealing with trivial bullshit, our people were suffering under their oppressive hands.

Was I the only one that understood what was at stake? Was I the only one who…

“Colonel Wieler, the question, if you please.” the prosecutor repeated.

I had drifted.

“No, this is not my first time defending my actions to the Tribunal; wasted time and effort that could be better spent letting me do my job, letting me free our people from”

“From the oppressive tyranny of the Amarr?” the prosecutor cut me off with dramatic sarcasm.

I nodded, seething inside.

“Yes, Colonel, we’re all aware of the Amarr and your one man crusade against them.” the prosecutor continued on, leaving me confused. One man? The entire Tribal Liberation Force fought against the Amarr. How did he figure it was a one man crusade?

Why didn’t my representative interject? Why didn’t I interject?

The prosecutor had been paid off, that was the only reasonable explanation. The Amarr had bought him. This entire farce was a setup. I wouldn’t let them succeed.

—

The last freighter exploded, defenseless, the Imperial Crusade pilots having warped off as I thinned their numbers with zeal. Aura was going haywire, my overview flickering, sometimes showing numerous open complexes, other times showing none. The system of Ardar read contested, then uncontested, then contested, with dozens of enemy ships on my HUD, then none, then an entire fleet.

The Ripsack had sustained heavy damage at one point during the engagement, leaving me at 4% hull integrity. I had never been that close before, and it wasn’t a feeling I enjoyed.

The nanites were busy repairing the armour plating, but the internal structure would remain weak until I could dock up for repairs, which wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“Objective completed.” I transmitted to General Mintor, already aligning towards the fleet.

Fleet chatter had been busy the entire time I was running my mission. The Amarr weren’t giving up, and kept sending new pilots into the largest of the complexes, slowly thinning our numbers through attrition.

I needed to be there. Mintor confirmed.

“Roger that, Wieler. Get here as soon as you can. Hostiles on the acceleration gate, be ready.”

“Enroute to you now, sir. Wieler out.”

Warp had never felt so slow.

—

“The incident we would like to talk about today occured 4 days ago, at exactly 19:24, according to your ship’s logs. Does that sound accurate to you, Colonel?” the prosecutor spat out from between the space in his front teeth.

I grinded my teeth. I didn’t want to talk to this traitor one more second. I envisioned myself lunging from the witness stand, grabbing his skinny neck between my hands, crushing the life out of him for betraying us all.

Don’t drift, I reminded myself. People get nervous when you drift.

“Yes, that sounds accurate. I would like to note that my Aura unit was malfunctioning at that time, so may not be 100% reliable in this event.”

“Really Colonel? The transmitted data seemed accurate to the technicians. Shame that we can’t run diagnostics against your Aura unit now, seeing as how your frigate was destroyed, but I’m getting ahead of myself.” the prosecutor smiled with pure malice and evil.

I would kill him soon.

—

The acceleration gate was clear. I used it to warp into the complex. Adrenaline surged through my veins; soon I would feast on Amarr blood.

Reverting to normalspace, I could see multiple hostiles engaging our fleet. A Crusader was within 7500m of my position. If I could lock it now, it would be one less for us to have to deal with.

My target acquisition was swift. I urged Aura to overheat the guns and fire. She spat back at me, warning me that this action would be considered a global criminal offence, was I sure I wanted to continue?

Of course I wanted to kill this Amarr pilot. This faulty unit was going to get me killed. I gave the override command and was immediately engaged with the Crusader.

My entire person was consumed with hatred and joy at the same time: hatred for these pigs that were a blight to all civilizations; joy that at least a few more would die by my hand today.

—

“According to those very same ship logs, Colonel, you opened fire on a Crusader. Is that correct?” the prosecutor asked.

Without hesitation, I replied. No more drifting.

“Yes, that is correct. I did my job, as I always do.” My job killing Amarr of course.

“And did anything … unusual … occur next, Colonel?” the prosecutor asked.

He was baiting me. What was he digging for? Where was he hoping for me to slip up?

I thought about the events in question again, detail by detail, making sure I missed nothing.

—

My armor tank was holding, the Crusader’s shields slowly melting beneath the Republic Fleet Fusion ammo. My HUD flickered. There were several Crusaders, then none, alongside several Matari designed ships, then none. Multiple warning klaxons warbled to life, then there was darkness and pain, followed by light and rebirth.

I screamed in frustration and cognitive processing as my mind accepted the new clone body.

My ship had been destroyed. Goddamned Amarr fucking pigs.

While the loss of the ship was regrettable, there was nothing peculiar about the encounter that stood out in my mind.

—

“To the best of my recollection, everything was by the book.” I stated with certainty at my word choices. There would be no manipulating me, traitor.

The prosecutor smiled. “No further questions.”

The magistrate allowed for my defense to cross examine me.

“Matar Colonel Wieler, do you know why you are here today?” the defence lawyer asked.

“No sir, I do not. As far as I can ascertain, it’s to question my integrity in fighting the Amarr, my ability to follow standard protocols, and some administrative lackie somewhere getting bent out of shape at me losing a frigate, which I’m happy to replace from my own personal funds.”

The defense lawyer scowled at me, willing me to shut up, so I reigned in my growing outrage at the entire situation.

“Were you read your rights, or informed of any details whatsoever regarding this case upon your detainment?” he continued.

“No sir. I went peaceably, with nothing to hide, as would any proud Brutor.”

Where was this going?

“And you also declined an attorney, correct?”

“As I said, I’ve got nothing to hide, so no need for someone to defend me. I have a proud service record, several commendations and medals awarded since the war began, and have served dutifully for almost three years.”

“And we thank you for your service, Colonel Wieler. And yet I was assigned to be your defense today, regardless of your personal preference. Do you know why, Colonel?”

I already had said no. Why was he asking me again? Was he in on it too? Had the Amarr gotten to both of them? Was there some higher level conspiracy I wasn’t aware of? I needed to get out of here and get to the bottom of this, needed to prove the Amarr were more dangerous than anyone knew but me.

“Again sir, with respect, I am unaware.”

The magistrate interrupted. “Do you have anything relevant to ask the Colonel about the incident itself, council, or are you simply stalling to waste all of our time?”

At least the magistrate seemed to not be on the take. That was a good sign. I might get through this intact after all.

“No, your honour, I have nothing more.” The defence lawyer sat down, and I was still left in the dark as to what the hell was going on.

There was no media present. That meant blackout. That meant it was serious. How the Amarr had managed to arrange something like this was staggering to think about. The money involved, the planning, the right people in the right positions. We were infected with their disease.

“Matar Colonel Roc Wieler.” the Tribunal Magistrate began.

“This Tribunal finds you guilty of High Treason, for firing on your fellow pilot, Boris, also known as ‘The Butcher’, in direct violation of …”

What? What was he talking about? I never fired on Boris, did I?

—

Fleet comms was broadcasting frantically.

“Stand down! I repeat, Colonel Wieler, stand down! You’re firing on friendlies!”

His shields were melting beneath my Republic Fleet Fusion ammo.

“All nearby pilots, take his ship out from under him, but do not pod the Colonel. I repeat, if anyone kills him, you’ll have to answer to me.”

I could do this. I could kill the Crusader and move onto… darkness, and pain, then light.

WTF?

—

“The evidence is irrefutable, both from the testimony of other pilots in your fleet, as well as multiple ship records detailing the incident.

Why was Boris flying a Crusader? Why would any Matari fly an Amarr ship? What was happening here?

“This Tribunal finds you guilty as charged, and you are immediately relieved of rank and command.”

I would never fire on a fellow pilot. Was it my faulty Aura unit? Say something, Roc!

“Furthermore, you are to be held in protective custody at a secured military institution until such a time as you can be diagnosed as mentally cognizant. Failure to do so within one year’s time will result in your dishonourable discharge from the Tribal Liberation Force without compensation as you are returned to civilian life. Dismissed.”

The Magistrate hammered his gavel. The case was over.

“I would never fire on a fellow pilot.” I said weakly.

“Off the record, Colonel, I’m glad this happened.” the Magistrate said. “Pilots like you are a danger to themselves and everyone around them. And this isn’t your first questionable act in the line of serving the Republic. You’re a disgrace to all of us. You’re lucky you didn’t kill anyone; I would’ve had you executed without hesitation. Now get out of my sight.”

Two armed guards came and escorted me to a holding cell, presumably until transportation could be arranged.

Boris, I’m sorry. I’ll figure out how the Amarr set this up, and I’ll make them pay. I’ll make them pay a thousandfold.

—

[OOC Request] This is a pretty huge moment for the development of Roc as a character. I would ask that if you’ve read this, please post your own blog entry relating to the aftermath of this event, and how it affects your character, or doesn’t affect your character.

I’m sure the news will be made public as quickly as possible, but how does it play out? How do people react? I look forward to reading your posts. Thanks.

NEW EDEN RESPONDS:

• Prano’s Journey – Grapevine
  

NOTE: Please forgive the poor quality images. Someone in my house has misplaced my camera charger, so until then I am stuck taking pictures with my iPhone.

I know, I’m a little slow sometimes, but here is the current state of my office. This summer, I’m laying down some ancient hardwood, unstained or smoothed, and a new antique wooden desk. I think it will look nice, the contrast of old and new.

DAYTIME

TOWER 200

For when you can’t get up in the morning to get to the gym, or squeeze in time at lunch, and feel too lazy to go after work, the Tower 200 is a great pulley gym system to help maintain muscle tone.

REFERENCE MATERIAL

It’s important to balance intellectual pursuits. From comics to alternate history novels to 3D art training and actionscript development to a little bit of HBO on the TV, always keeping the brain engaged is a good thing. In the background, is the EON Magazine EVE Online Regional Map.

ROC’S DESK

They say you can learn a lot about a person by the way they keep their desk. So what do my desk items tell you about me? Collectible lightsabers on top, Serenity Steele’s EVE Strategic Mapbook at hand, DLink DNS-321 NAS, DIR-655 Router hidden behind, self portrait with smaller, personal picture, LG W2753W monitor. I’ll let you come to your own opinions and observations.

RIGS

My two gaming rigs: Firetail (left) and Rifter (right). Oh, and R2D2 on the right.

STAR WARS

Let’s get this out of the way now, I was a day one Star Wars Galaxies veteran, and played for 5 years. Before there was ever Eve Online, there was Star Wars, the greatest science fiction universe ever created. Ever since I was a child, I’ve loved Star Wars; in fact if not for Star Wars my life choices would’ve been very different so far as career, hobbies, intellectual pursuits, moral beliefs, etc, etc. And yes, Darth Vader was at my wedding last year with a full complement of Stormtroopers.

I almost forgot; that’s Darth Tater and Artoo Potatoo on top of the display case.

DARTH VADER

To me, there is no greater science fiction persona than Vader, despite what Hayden Christensen tried to do with him in the newer trilogy. When I had the chance to enter a 3D contest to win this $400 Sideshow Collectible Vader, I was all over it, and the Force was with me. On the second shelf is a collectible pin set of the six movies, and on the bottom shelf is my original Collector’s Edition Star Wars Galaxies: An Empire Divided box set. Such a shame. The original game had so much potential, but Sony Online Entertainment thought they would show how amazing they were at handling the greatest Intellectual Property of all time by not just destroying it once, but completely obliterating it twice.

Be thankful though. If not for that, Roc Wieler might well never have existed.

Also, I apologize to anyone distracted by the reflection of that incredibly handsome and well built man in the image reflection.

STUFF

Yes, that’s a real piggy bank. He even oinks when you put money in him. Up front is the best micro copter I’ve ever seen, the Falcon. It’s worth owning just for the Japanese manual translated into the funniest English I’ve ever read. For example, first troubleshooting tip, Controller power switch is “OFF”. Solution: Turn power switch “ON”. Thank God for the Japanese. Only other interesting item on the dresser is the Tim Horton’s gift card (I don’t drink coffee), and the Cult of Eric Cartman membership card.

THERE BE DRAGONS

When I saw this piece I thought it was very well done, even though not entirely my style. Still, glad I bought it. It’s interesting.

IRON TIDE

One of the single most impressive pieces of Eve Online I have seen is Iron Tide. Thankfully, EON did up a large poster version of this art which I proudly have on my wall. I hope one day I create such a work that people speak of in the same vein. Also, I have a bed in my office. I tend to overdo things and can hardly make it out of the room before collapsing.

FANFEST

Some more excellent Eve Online artwork postcards, and my Eve Online Fanfest 2009 Guest pass. Good times.

100% RECYCLED AWESOME

Two reasons this image made it into this post: 1. Christine Spar was the best Grendel, period. 2. That wood block Obi-Wan Kenobi toy has the coolest phrase printed on the side of the package; made from 100% recycled awesome. I liked it so much, I used it on my blog for a while.

MORE VADER

I get the coolest Christmas presents. My friends and family know not to get me lame Star Wars stuff. Instead, I get fully sentient R2 units, the Force Trainer (coolest toy ever made that you play with your frickin brain!), collectible lightsabers, and Darth Vader’s robotic arm. I mean, c’mon, it’s a great time to be a kid (or an adult that acts like one).

GOTTA ROC

Yup, I have a picture of Matar Colonel Roc Wieler on my desk. Helps me stay in character. I just glance over at him and think “WWRD?” That beautiful woman in the lower corner is my wife. I just glance over at her and think “What would she NOT do and kick my ass for doing?” It’s a good balance for my virtual life.

Below are some night shots, just for fun. I don’t actually turn all this stuff on at night, but figured might as well for showcasing my Eve Space.

Hope you enjoyed.

NIGHT TIME

Lots of pretty lights. Didn’t mention the CyberPower unit earlier. It’s the one in the bottom left.

From a lower angle you can see the lights of the Router in the back. And yes, I really am fond of Windows 7.

Lightsabers rock.

Ok seriously, not enough can be said about Hasbro’s Interactive R2. 360 degree hearing, infrared and motion sensing, flashlight, positional memory, orientation detection, seo services, beer arm, thick treads for plowing across carpet, voice recognition, personality, and the fact that his beeps and warbles start to make sense after a while… R2 really is the coolest.

Sadly, I just found out tonight that Vader’s lights no longer work. Shame really. His saber lights up as well as his chest plate and belt lights. It really is impressive, most impressive. Ah well.

Sony

A single droplet of blood dispersing in the water caught my attention. Its dance in the clear liquid was mesmerizing as it twisted and angled its way into oblivion, neatly avoiding the floating bits of shaving foam. My submerged hand shook in the sink, the coarse stubble from my head pulled free from the straight edged razor blade by the tension of the water.

I looked in the mirror, gently sliding my other hand along the contours of my head. Pulling away from my skull I saw a trickle of blood across my palm. A repressed memory from a separate lifetime flooded to the surface of my mind unbeckoned, unwelcomed.

—

I lift my hand and see a trickle of blood across my palm.

“Good fight, dog.” Master Cho says to me, though I hear disgust in his voice more than pride.

Our relationship had changed lately. He had been spending more of his time with the young boys, and while I felt jealous and somewhat neglected, I was also happy to be away from his beatings.

Ironically, it was those same abuses that had developed the mindset I now possessed; that enabled me to endure a beatdown in the slave arena and still stand afterward. My mind knew how to act when in shock. My body knew how to push aside the overwhelming rush of adrenaline, to subdue the fight or flight instinct, to a degree, and do what needed to be done to ensure I survived.

I put my fingers to my lips and taste the metallic tinge of my life’s essence. My head throbs, though I doubt it is from the injury I sustained in my last fight. Vitoc is still running through my nervous system, poisoning me until I die or get just enough antidote to keep me productive for another day or two. It is how the cowardly Amarr have always controlled us until they break our wills; how they indoctrinate us to their bullshit.

“Three” has been working on an herbal treatment for Vitoc dependency, a method that will completely eliminate the need for the drug at all. That would certainly change things around here. Unfortunately, every one of his volunteers has died from the concoctions, and fewer slaves are stepping forward for his tests. ‘Better to live with dependency than to not live at all’, they say.

“Rest up. You have another fight in ten minutes.” This time, Master Cho sounds genuinely excited, though I don’t think it’s for my continued survival. I’m sure he has a heavy wager on my death.

I have come to realize he has given up on me, and that our relationship will never be as idealistic as I had envisioned it to be when younger. He knows I won’t be turned. And though Amarrian Law prevents the outright killing of slaves without provocation, it’s easy to generate any valid enough reason in the eyes of the regional magistrate. “My slave gave me a dirty look. He had to be put down.” “He smelled of more filth than usual.” “He was breathing too often.” You get the idea.

Through sheer coincidence and greed, the spontaneous murder of slaves had become increasingly rare. Instead, the Amarrians had figured out they could profit from slave deaths through gladiatorial games. Lovely.

So once per week all the “rebellious” slaves were gathered up and pitted one against another, until a single champion of the day remained. His/her reward? To live for another week until the next combatant games, assuming they didn’t piss off their master by breathing too often in the meantime.

I had watched many friends from my caste die in the arena, which was nothing more than a glorified cesspool.

As Master Cho continues to speak I can only fantasize about what I would do to him in that arena if given the  opportunity.

My head throbs again, the Vitoc ravaging my body. My vision starts to blur. I need another shot of antidote soon, if Master Cho is even willing to give it to me this time. He’s been withholding it more and more recently, but I refuse to die.

“309, you’re up.” the guard says, gesturing towards me.

I hate that we are nothing more than livestock to them. I have a name; a name I have earned; a name given to me by my brothers and sisters.

—

“He fights like a rabid dog!” Serene said, as she easily dodged my sluggish attack. “All bark, no bite!” she teased as I missed another swing at her head.

“Enough.” said Three, whom ironically had kept his slave number as his name, a badge of honour as to how long he had endured the atrocity of Amarrian slavery.

“Do you remember your name, son?” Three asked. I shook my head back and forth. I couldn’t remember anything about my childhood. I didn’t know if I had parents anymore. I didn’t know if I had siblings. All I could remember was this wretched life. A feral glean sparkled in my eye, a burning hatred.

I was snatched up from behind in a full nelson by Tiny; lifted completely off the ground. I hadn’t even see the monstrous brute coming. Everyone laughed.

I hated them.

“He don’t give up. Give him that.” Tiny said as I thrashed about, trying to get free from the man tree. I kicked my heel upwards into Tiny’s genitalia, and as he dropped me instantly, bending over to grab himself, I smashed my elbow as hard as I could into the side of his skull. Disoriented, he fell onto his ass, much to everyone’s amusement.

“He is tenacious.” Three commented philosophically. “Hmmm” he muttered absently, stroking his beard.

“There is a legend of a far off planet in another galaxy, from whence all life in New Eden supposedly originated millions of years ago, though what is truth and what is not is anyone’s guess anymore. And on this planet there were animals bred for fighting; proud, aggressive, vicious beasts that were known to conquer foes many times their size. I believe the most legendary of those beasts was called the ‘Rottweiler’, a short, heavily muscled, majestic dog. Do you like this name?”

From the ground behind me, Tiny chimed in. “He’s solid like a rock. I’ll give him that.” As per usual, Tiny’s brain had missed the conversation entirely.

“Rott Wieler, not Rock Wieler, Tiny.” Three corrected with patience.

I smiled. It was a good name.

As I said, I hated them. Then they became my family.

—

“309, front and center!” the guard snaps, and I realize I have drifted. The following minutes are the usual cacophony of noise and anticipation. I tune it out, focusing inwardly on the fight to follow. I am physically exhausted, mentally drained, Vitoc threatening to overwhelm me with every step.

I hate the Amarr for doing this to me. The Vitoc, having to fight other Matari. I detest them in every way.

Their very essence is a blight on civilization, and one day I will make them pay for their wicked ways.

God isn’t with them. There is no Amarrian God, only fat and corrupt slavers creating rationalizations for their immorality so they can sleep at night with a clean conscience.

My heart races. My hands flex. I spit on the ground, ready to enter the arena.

The massive cell doors open, and I step forward into blinding light. When my eyes adjust, I can see my opponent on the other side of the arena, waiting for me, his look of shock and remorse almost as transparent as mine.

It is Tiny.

—

The straight edge blade scraped across the thin skin of my skull once more. I rinsed my head, double checking in the mirror to make sure I hadn’t missed any spots. It was good.

I toweled off, got dressed, and reported for duty.

Today more Amarr were going to die.

For Tiny, my brother, my friend. I salute you.

Arguably, those who perform above and beyond the call of duty are rewarded with rank and recognition. To a lesser degree, I could attest to this.

I had flown with many Valkear Generals in the war, from General Sasawong to General Fist, both very capable leaders and pilots. Each day it seemed the Republic was awarding its highest honour and rank to more and more pilots. It remained to be seen if this was a prudent move or a scenario where there would be “too many chiefs, not enough indians.”

There always needs to be a balance. Too many in charge and you get too many conflicting ideas, resulting in chaos. Too few in charge and poor decisions can be executed, resulting in chaos.

The mandate of the Tribal Liberation Force was to fight chaos, not create it.

I’d done my fair share of fleet command. I’d killed the enemy, captured military complexes, derailed aggressive designs against us, even led our forces into Old Man Star as a demonstration of unwavering commitment to our beliefs.

I’d been harsh and crass as a wing commander; I’d been supportive and led by example. I’d yelled. I’d screamed. I’d gone hoarse giving orders. I’d flown with squads that have needed little in the way of command and resigned myself to calling targets, letting my teams work as an experienced unit together.

Through it all, there had been two constant feedbacks I received:

1. Was an honour to fly with you, Colonel.
2. Why haven’t they made you a General yet?

I had wondered if either comment had been meant in seriousness, or just as friendly jest, and in the end not given it much thought.

Recently, that changed, as I had the privilege to fly with one of the Republic’s most promising new heroes, Valkear General Eran Mintor.

Eran Mintor had been a dynamo for the Tribal Liberation Force. His consistent pushes into hostile territory, his quick organization of resources to secure our defences, his natural ease and demeanour with leadership; it’s no wonder pilots were flocking to his banner, myself included.

I had no ego about command. If there was someone capable of getting things done, let me lend my hand to support them.

I had been flying under Mintor’s command for several hours, producing significant results, routing the Amarr wherever they were encountered. He was an impressive man.

We quickly found ourselves engaged in idle chat about command styles, politics on Pator, my personal life (which came up far too often in conversation with superiors), and eventually why I wasn’t a General yet. Ugh.

“No interest.” was my initial reply to the last question.

“What do you mean ‘No Interest’? It’s the highest honour a pilot can achieve within the Republic. To be decorated as a Valkear General is something of import, Roc.” Eran replied.

I didn’t want to argue with him. I didn’t know him that well. I wasn’t going to preach my stance at him, yet I wasn’t willing to let him dictate his to me.

“If it happens, it happens.” I replied casually, trying not to sound defensive. “Given my recent kill record, though, I don’t see it happening anytime soon.”

“If you were out on the front lines more often, Colonel, maybe it would happen sooner than you think.” Eran replied.

I noticed I was grinding my teeth.

How was I to explain that a shiny piece of tin didn’t make a lick of difference at the end of the day? That the Republic had other, more important issues to deal with internally regardless of the war with the Amarr? That if the war were to end today with Matari victory, we might find ourselves in a far worse situation as a people without this distraction from the real problems?

The answer was I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be the one to shine the harsh light of reality onto this young and rising star. I wouldn’t be the one to let bitterness and regret spill out from me infecting others.

“You’re right, General. I’ll request more rotations in my schedule. Can’t win this war from a dock!” I lied.

He laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit, pilot! Now, let’s clean up here and see what we can find in Ardar!”

Eran Mintor reminded me of myself when I was naive, not to say he was. As I mentioned, I didn’t know him very well at the time.

And maybe he was right. Maybe my own disgruntlement was getting the best of me. Maybe it was time for me to retire and leave the fight to those with greater passion for it, though that sentiment didn’t sit well with me.

I was a firm believer in seeing things through personally to ensure they were done right. It’s not that the universe revolved around me, but mine sure did. My life’s mission was to serve the Republic. Thus far, that had been through fighting in the war.

Perhaps there was a more effective way for me to fight?

It has been said that bitterness rots the soul. If there is truth in that, isn’t it a self-fulfilling prophecy? Think about it, if you’re bitter, and this causes the soul to rot, won’t that make you even more bitter, causing more soul rot? Vicious cycle.

It’s one of the reasons I could never buy into the concept of God. Every teacher/philosopher/holy leader has never been able to produce anything more than vague, common sense answers, fortune cookie platitudes that offer neither specific relative insight or individual direction. Religious answers tend to be “for the flock” as a whole, though the collection plate seems to find its way to each and every congregation member.

But this memoir today isn’t to rant about the various battles I’ve had with religious organizations and figureheads over the decades; no. Today’s entry is in response to a long lost letter I once had received, then lost; only to rediscover this morning by chance.

I was organizing my foot locker, given to me back in my days of basic training for the Tribal Liberation Force, making sure my old officer’s dress formals were still in good condition, though I doubt I could fit into them anymore. It had been a long time since I wore the uniform of the TLF, and I had been feeling nostalgic as of late. While sorting through the various other contents of the trunk, a thin sheet of flimsiplast fell out to the floor, to lay at my feet, beckoning my interest. With genuine curiousity, I read it.

Dear Colonel Wieler,

I’ve been a fan of your exploits for quite some time now. You are a hero to the Republic, to humanity, to me.

I think the Senate was foolish and short-sighted to reject your nomination for a seat on the council, but I think they prefer you on the frontlines where there’s more chance you won’t return to friendly space. You’re too much of an activist for their liking, my friend. You actually want to accomplish things, to produce forward thiking with tangible results. While idealistic and naive, it’s admirable, and I write this in support of your efforts.

Do not give up. Do not give in. Keep at it. I’m not the only one in this universe that believes in you. There are more of each us day taking up your cause. Do not let your bitterness consume you.

On a personal note, if I may be so familiar with you, why are you so bitter? You have everything anyone could dream of, and then some. Be happy in all that you have done. Life is too short.

With appreciation,
Minmatar Loyalist

It’s interesting what we skim over when reading, retaining only the parts that stick out to us, and usually within the last few lines of copy.

Why was I bitter? Did that question even need to be addressed? Was there ever really any doubt?

At the time, the Republic had been engaged in a war for over a decade against the Amarr Empire, failing to make any lasting headway. And instead of the Senate pooling its resources into a stronger military initiative, they actually granted asylum to some ex-communicated, brain washed Matari whom started preaching Amarrian dogma throughout the cities of Pator? There’s a good choice, Shakor.

In addition to political inadequacies and self-preservation, the larger corporation were more concerned with potential profit loss than with understanding that the fate of their businesses at all hung in the balance of whom prevailed in these military engagements. Mega corporations continued to build up their capsuleer staffing requirements, using them as flight escorts and glorified mercenary enforcers, while planets were stripped of their populations having not a single pod pilot to defend them. They were more concerned with retaining personal power than realizing that everything they knew would be stripped away from them should the Amarr be victorious in the war. The egotistical selfishness of some people stupified me. There was no better word for it.

Then there was Mynxee; a love/hate relationship of epic proportions. Sometimes I wanted to kill her. Other times I wanted to kill her after I slept with her. It was a dilemma. Don’t even get me started on the exploits of the HellFleet Alliance.

Billions of personal isk lost in ships and fittings. Thousands of lives lost in crew killed in action.

Complacent attitudes all around towards the realities of this life.

How could I not have been bitter? I saw the downward spiral of society long before it happened. In my gut, I knew what was coming next, and while I fought against it, I was but one man.

It has been said that change can begin with one man. Looking back over recent history, I wish that had been true.

I’ve lost everyone I ever cared for. I’ve outlived everyone that ever mattered to me.

The bitterness I knew then is nothing compared to the bitterness I know now.

And yet it is that same anger that fuels my passion. It is part of what defines who I am, what keeps me moving forward each and every day.

Why was I bitter? Why am I still?

Because the universe needs more people that care, and really there can be no bitterness if one didn’t care a great deal.