“It’s deplorable, a complete abuse of power. All them Capsuleers are like that. They think they’re so much higher than the rest of us. Elitism, plain and simple. Every time I watch the holos one of them is fouling something up. I think he needs to be made an example of.”

“I’m still in shock. I just can’t believe it. It’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I mean, he’s a Hero of the Republic. My kid has his action figure. No way did he do anything wrong. It has to be a setup.”

“Me? I couldn’t care less. Doesn’t affect my life either way. I go to work, I come home. Life goes on. People need to get over it already.”

“Opinions vary across the Republic, as the trial of Colonel Roc Wieler continues. Love him or hate him, he has become the very symbol of Capsuleers throughout all New Eden. Regardless of the final verdict in this hearing, a new level of awareness towards pod pilots has been raised, and it’s one of strict accountability and consequence. This has been a Scope News exclusive.”

—

Maleatu Shakor turned off the holovid in anger. Things were not going according to plan. He had designed the trial of Colonel Roc Wieler to have a twofold purpose:

1. To humble the arrogant soldier into a more pliable tool for the Republic.
2. To serve as a distraction from the sad state of the Republic’s war effort against the Amarr.

He had intended for the Colonel to come through this unscathed, to learn and grow, to live up to his full potential and become a driving force against the Amarr.

Instead, he had been blind-sided (pardon the expression). In the years he had now known Roc, the man had been infallible, following a strong moral code without fail. Shakor couldn’t imagine him having dealings with any Amarr let alone a slave trader. Someone had taken advantage of the situation. He himself was using Roc Wieler, but for a noble purpose. Someone else doing so at Shakor’s expense, for unknown gain, didn’t equate to irony in his mind; it had the potential to bring complete devastation to the morale of the Republic.

He looked over the records on his desk once again. He had obtained a full copy of the evidence submitted by the prosecution, the accounting dockets of Philip Wessam. Shakor’s finest fraud specialists had been over the records thoroughly, and could find no trace of inaccuracy or deception. They were legitimate.

Roc Wieler had been responsible for the selling of fellow Minmatar as slaves.

—

“Of course not. I would never do such a thing.” Roc Wieler said to his attorney, Shiaz Starr. Starr didn’t know what to think anymore. The damning evidence was there, yet still his client cried innocence. He didn’t know Roc Wieler from a hole in the wall, but he did know that everyone in prison was innocent, at least according to them.

“Listen.” Starr began. “The records are crystal clear. Your broker, one Minara Dawn I believe,” Starr paused while referencing his notes for clarification, “Yes, Minara Dawn, your broker. She’s been handling all your funds and investments for almost three years it shows here, from even before your time in the military.”

Roc nodded in agreement.

Starr continued. “Well, she’s the one that’s been employing this Philip Wessam. On your behalf, she’s been dealing in slavery for your profit! And since you signed off on it, it’s your liability.”

Roc shook his head. “I’d never sign something like that. Ever. Get Minara here. We’ll sort this out.” Roc sounded a little shaken. Granted, he’d primarily spent the last few days in this cell, cut off from the rest of the universe.

“There’s nothing I’d like more than to get here and put her on the stand! The problem is, she’s gone underground; nobody can find her. And we’re dead in the water if we can’t debunk this.”

Roc Wieler rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped with his chin on them, deep in thought. He was thinking to himself about whom he knew that could help him in this situation, if anyone. His first thought was Mynxee, or one of the Bastards, but he rebuked himself for falling into old thought patterns.

Clearly his mind had faltered if his first thought for assistance was pirates. Where had he gone wrong? When did he cross that line, if only mentally? He needed to set things straight. He needed to get through this and prove to himself more than anyone, that he was still worthy to serve the Republic.

“Show me what I signed.” Roc said finally.

Starr quickly fumbled through his attache case, finding the appropriate document, and pointing to the signature of his client at the bottom of it.

“Is that your signature?” Starr asked.

After a moment’s inspection, Roc replied. “Yeah, it is.” He leaned back against the wall of his cell. “I’ve never asked her what all the stock exchange short forms were; I just assumed they were all legit, as I always specified. She always delivered.”

“Never asked?!” Starr nearly screamed. “Yeah, I can certainly go in there and tell that to the Tribunal! ‘Oh, your honours, my client claims stupidity and ignorance, placing billions of isk in assets into the hands of his broker without thinking to ever read the fine print or get the details.’ Yeah, THAT is going to go over oh so well.”

Roc sighed.

—

Shakor sighed. There had to be a way to get around this. He wasn’t going to let things go sour because of one man, no matter how much he liked him personally.

Maybe he was going to have to do what he had been pretending to do all along. Maybe he was actually going to have make an example of Colonel Roc Wieler.

Shakor rested his hands on his desk, leaning his weight on them heavily. “Forgive me, my friend.” he said to nobody.

I have always believed isolation and time are a deadly combination.

Every moment I wasn’t before the Tribunal for my hearing, I was manacled securely to a concrete bunk in a secluded, empty cell. The guards outside were on a twelve hour rotation. The first morning guard had one leg slightly shorter than the other; I could tell from the rhythm of his gait. They never came near my cell. I was told the solitary confinement was for my own protection; I somehow doubted that.

My defence attorney, some hotshot lawyer, visited me often, but I never said much. I simply had nothing to say. I had done no wrong. I knew it, and though nobody else might ever know that truth, my integrity was intact. The lawyer had finally given up on me, telling me if I wanted to hang myself, feel free; that if I wasn’t willing to help him, there was only so much he could do.

In the end, it wouldn’t matter. What would be, would be.

The cell was cold, but I didn’t care; I had done extreme weather training as a cadet. What was gnawing at me, frustrating me, consuming my very soul, was the loneliness.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle being alone; I had been alone most of my life, physically and emotionally. I enjoyed my own company. I wasn’t the needy, social type. All ‘friendships’ proved to be liabilities in some way or another, and yet we all had them, even me.

The loneliness and inability to do nothing was the lethal combination for me. On my own, I had many hobbies and obligations that kept me busy most every hour of the day, but being here, in this cell, unable to do a bloody thing … was maddening.

I was left to dwell within my own mind, and anyone left overanalyzing a situation would eventually drives themselves to depression. After depression would come resignation. After resignation, nothing else mattered. It was a dangerous place to be mentally, especially when your entire future hinged on others interpretation of your mental state.

My mind thought about Mynxee, and how very wrong I was to ever have trusted her in any way. Thankfully, my emotional walls had been thick, and she had never actually cared about me enough to break them down. I guess there had never been anything between us beyond the physical, the anticipation itself the euphoric high we shared. She had been using me from the get-go. Fortunately, I had a rule about keeping business and personal separate. Things could’ve have gone much worse.

I thought about the Sanmatar (funny how I couldn’t think of him as my friend Maleatu anymore), and of how utterly disappointed he was in me. Surely he knew I could never have done what I had been accused of. Yes, I was a soldier, trained in both hand-to-hand combat and piloting, and yes, I was capable and authorized to use lethal force on a daily basis, but he must’ve seen the surveillance recordings. I looked up towards the corner of the wall outside of my cell. There was a camera there, but no power light indicating activity. Maybe it had been the same for Mynxee’s cell. Maybe official policy was to have no record of the ‘interrogations’.

My chest was heavy. The Sanmatar had placed so much energy into me, so much effort, and I had failed him, failed myself.

I was brooding, self pitying, self loathing. As I said, too much time left with one’s own thoughts could be devastating and permanently scarring.

I willed myself to think on more pleasant things, and Daul immediately came to mind.

I remember the first time I met the kid, on the Highway of Heroes, I remember telling him to contact me if he wanted more from life, and he had, less than a week later.

He had proven so eager, so adept, so hungry for approval and acceptance. In many ways, he reminded me of myself; maybe that’s why I pushed him forward so. Maybe that’s why the Sanmatar had encouraged me so.

I took Daul out for a drink after his first promotion under my command. We drank, ate, and laughed, and it was the first, and one of the only times I had ever seen the kid relaxed and open.

A much needed chuckle sprang to my lips remembering the story he had told me on that occasion.

—

“So we’re out in the jungles of Kulheim, in the Pator system.” Daul began, his demeanour significantly lightened by the continuing amount of alcohol we was enjoying. “It was beyond humid in that jungle, there wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t covered in sweat. I’l tell ya, people think a yellow sun is bad, but an orange K5 will kill ya.”

He drained his glass. I tipped my head to the waitress, indicating a refill for my friend.

“Anyway, we’re dug in, trenched up good, Slam and I. Oh, Slam was my buddy from basic training. Big oaf, strong as an ox, you’d like him. So we’re firing our rifles into the jungle, covering fire, trying to keep the enemy from advancing. I don’t remember who we were fighting exactly, some insurgent movement against the local Tribal Leader. But there we are, sweating our asses off, neck deep in jungle, when something bites me, hard, right on the … you know.” He pointed his hand downwards towards his lap.

I cringed inwardly at the thought. I liked to think I was beyond vanity, but if I had to choose, anywhere but the face or groin please.

“I tried to stifle myself, but man it hurt! I whimpered enough that Slam could hear me. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, and I told him ‘Something bit me!’

‘Where?’ Slam asked, suddenly concerned.

‘On my fucking cock!’ I said.” Daul said, a bit too loudly, gathering some scowling glares from nearby pub patrons.

“‘Oh shit!’ Slam said, trying not to laugh, the bastard. I bet he wouldn’t have thought it so funny if it had happened to him. ‘Seriously,’ I said, ‘It burns like hell, and I’m starting to feel a little dizzy. Get me the medic.’

‘I gotta examine the wound first.’ Slam replied.

‘Ah hell’, he continued, ‘You’re lucky I like you, Wick.’ he said, undoing my pants, dropping them to below my knees. I’ll tell you one thing, Colonel, there is no worse feeling than literally being caught with your pants in the middle of a firefight!

‘Well, you’re not exactly my first choice for this either, Slam.’ I snapped back.

So there’s Slam, moving my, you know, around, me still firing at the treeline, the pain growing more and more unbearable. Finally, he let me know what was going on.

‘It’s a snake bite!’ Slam said.

‘Well it fucking hurts! Get me the fucking medic!’ I replied.

And man, did it ever burn. It was like someone was roasting skewered hot dogs on the BBQ, except it was me!” I made a mental note of a potential new recipe to try in the field.

“So Slam goes scurrying off, keeping his head below the trench line, and I’m left there alone, my manhood swelling, and not in a good way, while trying to stay conscious and focused enough to keep shooting at the enemy.”

He laughed then at the absurdity of it, and I chuckled, enjoying his story. We both finished our drinks and ordered another round before Daul continued.

“It felt like he was gone forever, but finally Slam came running back.

‘I got bad news and worse news, Wick, which do you want first?’ Slam said, a total look of fear and sadness on his face.

‘Gimme the bad news first.’ I said, starting to panic at seeing my friend reacting this way.

‘Doc says the only way to remove the venom is to suck it out.’ Slam said, his tone even and factual.

My eyes widened. I didn’t want to die in the jungle from a snake bite with my pants down!

‘What’s the worse news?’ I asked, starting to panic.

‘You’re gonna fucking die.’ Slam replied, a smile stretching across his face. ‘No way in hell am I removing the venom!’ he laughed.

I broke into a smile myself.

‘You sunuvabitch!’ I said, relieved that he was just yanking my leg. Wait, that sounded wrong.

‘I got a shot here for you, Wick.’ Slam said as he jammed the self-injecting needle into my leg. ‘Now pull your goddamn pants up before anyone else sees us. I’ll cover you.'”

Daul couldn’t continue on, both us with tears streaming down our eyes. It was one of the most hilarious basic training stories I had heard. True or not, the kid spun a good yarn. My ribs hurt from laughing so hard.

—

I sat alone in the cell, my entire life on hold, but at least I still had a life to hold onto.

“We are gathered here today to pay our respects to Spear Lieutenant Daul Halwick.” the clergyman began. The turnout had been more than expected, a testament to the warmth and good hearted nature of the deceased soldier. Many held back tears while others cried in outrage, some holding each other in shock over the entire situation, the reality of it having not yet sunk in.

It was always a tragedy when someone so noble was taken from us too soon.

—

“We are gathered here today to show, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the traitorous intent and actions of Colonel Roc Wieler.” the prosectuor began. The turnout had been more than expected, a testament to the strong response of the very public incident. Many held back tears while others cried in outrage, some holding each other in shock over the entire situation, the reality of it having not yet sunk in.

It was always a tragedy when someone so noble fell so far.

“Colonel Wieler, a good man in his own eyes, will tell you that his motives in this murder were pure; that he is innocent.” the prosecutor continued. “But what I will show you is how both his actions and in his lack of action over the previous several months led to this shocking and unnecessary end.”

—

“Daul Halwick, a good man in all of our eyes; a man of pure motive and innocence.” the clergyman continued. “Those that served with him these previous several months will attest that he was a man of action. To all of us that knew him, this is a shocking and unnecessary end.”

The clergyman paused for a moment, looking at each and every one of those present.

—

The prosecutor paused for a moment, looking at each and every one of those present.

“Colonel Wieler was a slave to the Amarr. While many of us know this isn’t an uncommon past, what is uncommon is the tale of his ‘escape’. A lone man, able to overcome the medically proven and irreversible addictive nature of Vitroc; a lone man able to overpower dozens of highly trained Amarr centurions while suffering from malnourishment; a lone man able to pilot Amarr technology with no previous training; a lone man able to escape Amarr space without incident, to elevate himself to the rank of ‘Capsuleer’, to earn the rank of Matar Colonel within weeks of joining the military; a lone man, whom is obviously not what he seems.”

—

“Daul Halwick was a slave to his past. While many of us know this isn’t uncommon, what is uncommon is how he took charge of his life and overcame his circumstances. A lone man, from the streets of Tanoo in San Matar; a lone man able to generously share food to other unfortunates while he himself suffered from malnourishment; a lone man able to overcome the limitations imposed on him by society and happenstance, a lone man who did better for himself, enrolling in the 105th Minmatar Infantry Corp, earning the rank of Spear Lieutenant within weeks of joining; a lone man, whom was obviously not what he seemed.”

The clergyman cued a cam droid to begin.

Video playback of Daul Halwick filled the room.

—

The prosecutor cued a cam droid to begin.

Video playback of Roc Wieler filled the room.

“I think I’m finally starting to be accepted by them, being treated as an equal.” the recorded voice of Roc Wieler echoed. It was a personal log from several months ago. “It turns out we all have our own prejudices. They haven’t been anything like I expected. I figured they’d be all business, gruff, unkept, without a lick of morality or humour in any of them, but I was wrong. They’re like a family; caring, supportive, there for each other no matter what. Isn’t that something we all want?”

—

“I think I’m finally starting to be accepted by them, being treated as an equal.” the recorded voice of Daul Halwick echoed. It was a personal log from several months ago. “It turns out we all have our own prejudices. They haven’t been anything like I expected. I figured they’d be all business, gruff, unkept, without a lick of morality or humour in any of them, but I was wrong. They’re like a family; caring, supportive, there for each other no matter what. Isn’t that something we all want?”

Another video clip played. This one featured Daul laughing with his platoon mates, enjoying some mischief in an unamed pub. He had a beautiful woman on his arm; she was tall with luxurious brown hair. He looked happy, his eyes glowing with a contented warmth. “To the 105th!” he shouted, a smile on his face. They all lifted their glasses, repeating his toast, then more laughter, more happiness.

—

Another video clip played. This one featured Roc Wieler laughing with the pirates he was assigned to infiltrate, enjoying some mischief in an unamed pub. He had a beautiful woman on his arm; she was tall with fiery red hair. She was later identified as the leader of a known terrorist organization labelled “The Hellcats”. He looked happy, his eyes glowing with a contented warmth. “To the Bastards!” he shouted, a smile on his face. They all lifted their glasses, repeating his toast, then more laughter, more happiness.

Spectators wept. Some began to voice their strong emotions. The prosecutor waited until they quieted before continuing.

Another video played, this one a ship’s camera drone.

It showed a small group of ships, overlayed with identification codes, engaged against a small fleet of the Tribal Liberation Force, the defending force of the Minmatar Republic. The vessel of Roc Wieler was clearly identified, and was easily seen to be shooting upon friendly military ships.

—

Spectators wept. Some began to voice their strong emotions. The clerygman waited until they quieted before continuing.

Another video played, this one an artillery unit’s camera drone.

It showed a small group of soldiers, overlayed with identification codes, engaged against a larger enemy force. Daul Halwick was easy to recognize, seen storming the enemy in a battle frenzy, cutting down his opponent without mercy.

“There is no doubt of Daul Halwick’s bravery. There is no doubt he was a man of honour. There is no doubt he will be missed.” the clergyman said.

—

“There is no doubt of Roc Wieler’s treachery. There is no doubt he is a traitor. There is no doubt he will be found guilty.” the prosecutor said. “The question remains, What do we do now? Do we forget what he has done? Do we turn a blind eye to his despicable acts and continue on naively? No, of course not. There needs to be finality; closure. There needs to be punishment fitting to the crime. An example needs to be made; a warning to those who might follow in his footsteps.”

—

“There is no doubt that Daul Halwick was loved. There is no doubt he was a good man. There is no doubt we will find our lives emptier without him in them.” the clergyman said. “The question remains, What do we do now? Do we forget what he has done? Do we turn a blind eye to his noble acts and continue on naively? No, of course not. There needs to be finality; closure. There needs to be remembrance befitting his life. He has set a high example for any who wish to follow in his footsteps.”

The clergyman closed his eyes.

“I pray that we never forget Daul Halwick, taken from us far too early. I hold true to my pledge that we will uphold his memory with dignity and honour befitting this proud Matari. I encourage each and every one of us to look in our hearts, and to challenge ourselves to live a better life, remembering all the lessons we can learn from Daul Halwick.

Be at peace. Fly safe. Amen.”

—

The prosecutor closed his eyes.

“I pray that we never forget the actions of Roc Wieler. I hold true to my pledge that we will uphold justice and truth, as befitting any proud Matari. I encourage each and every one of us to look in our hearts, and to challenge ourselves to live a better life, remembering all the lessons we can learn from the criminal mistakes of Roc Wieler.

How can there be peace? How can any of us fly safe with a man like this allowed to be free?”

The prosecutor took his seat, his opening monologue to the trial of Roc Wieler finished. He allowed himself a small smile, knowing that not only was he going to win this case, but that he was going to become famous doing so.

—

The clergyman took a seat, his opening monologue to the guests of Daul Halwick’s funeral finished. He allowed himself a small moment of sadness and anger, knowing that not only had they lost a truly pure soul, but that the murderer responsible would never be held to a suitable level of justice for his actions.