“A few more electronic adjustments and this star gate will be ready, sir.”

The captain nodded towards his sergeant. There has been an increase of Caldari rookie pilots as of late and Guristas’ command wanted to infiltrate and subtly offer employment to these fresh recruits. Quietly building a star gate to warp from Sobaseki directly into Kisogo near the State War Academy would help these causes by avoiding the public routes through the slowly growing trade hub of Jita.

“Tell you the truth Captain, I am a bit surprised we have not had any hostile encounters with Caldarian military search teams, sir.” the sergeant asked nonchalantly as he directed another batch of drones upon the assembly of the star gate’s interior power supplies.

While he had no reason to answer a subordinate, the captain was in a semi-festive, talkative mood. “We’ve had numerous operations in other parts of the solar system - mostly hit and run tactics.” As his ship slowly drifted through the illuminated space, the captain turned his head to look out the port bridge windows. He continued with, “And those asteroids and solar harvesters do not attract attention, especially since every small farmer have them littering space.”

“So will this base be a civilian or a military installation, sir?” the sergeant casually asked, his attention more directed at the finer controls of moving the drones around the star gate.

Unsure himself of what Guristas’ command saw in this site, the captain replied with a potential lie. “Oh this installation will most definitely be a military site.” A small feeling of pride began flowing into the captain, causing him to suddenly stand proud. “The proximity of this location to the primary star in this solar system will mask our operations to all but the most delicate telescopes!”

“Power supply connections: one, two, and three…” the sergeant mumbled to himself.

“What’s was that soldier?” the captain snapped back, quickly realizing his subordinate might not have heard his boastful remarks.

“Nothing, sir. It was just a mental checklist of mine as I was talking out loud, sir.”

“You seem to do enough talking out loud Sergeant!” the captain thought to himself. Retaining a military pose and stature of command, he continued, “So the star gate operations proceeding as planned?” Before his subordinate could answer, the captain’s attention was distracted towards the system’s primary star. Reaching down to a communication’s link, a voice replied from the other end, “Yes sir?”

“Just a few more power connections and then the alignment with the other gate, sir.” the sergeant answered, unaware of his captain’s other motions.

“Sobaseki’s primary star…” the captain slowly replied, unsure of what to ask, “…is it completely stable?”

The voice through the communication link was a bit puzzled by the question but answered, “Every previous experiment and subsequent results performed upon the Sobaseki star were within scientific tolerance ranges, sir. We’ll perform another star shot, sir.”

“Oh damn!” the sergeant mumbled.

“Yes soldier?” the captain inquired, his attention lured towards his subordinate.

“The star gate just burnt out a good many thermal interface circuits!”

“How is that possible when the damn thing is not even on Sergeant?” the captain barked, furious at this setback in progress. Suddenly, an explosion erupted from within the interior of the star gate, scattering worker drones and mechanical parts. The sergeant was frantically attempting to regain control of the remaining drones with negative results. “Sergeant - what the hell is going on?!?”

The communication link buzzed and the captain slammed the receive button down. “Report!”

“Sir,” there was a slight pause on the other end. “Sir, there are major scientific issues commencing and you need to evacuate right now, sir!”

“I want a report - not orders!!!” the captain furiously replied into the communication link. Another round of explosions occurred from within the internal structure of a nearby solar harvester, sending fragments into the bulkhead of the captain’s ship. Emergency red lights and screeching sirens began blaring throughout the ship. Multiple voices started talking through numerous speakers on the bridge deck.

“Engine room damaged… *screech* …warp drive destroyed.”

“Life support ruptured… *screech* …- loosing oxygen to spa… *screech* …” Another explosion occurred somewhere within the installation, sending burning fragments trailed by streaks of glowing light into the surrounding areas. A few large chunks bounced off the metallic frame of the star gate with a sparkling affect.

“Sir, the star is flaring up, sir!” a shaken voice replied through the communication link. ”The installation is… *screech* …was, 2.011 light years from the center… *screech* …star. Currently, the solar flares are exceeding at least twice tha…” The link was cut off as solar flames licked around the bridge of the ship, singeing any external communication antennas while tinting the windows carbon black.

“Attention crew - prepare for star gate warp!” the captain ordered over the ship’s intercom. More explosions could be heard, and then felt, as the ship rolled with direct hull impacts. “But sir!” the sergeant complained, “the gate is not ready!”

“It is NOW!” the captain screamed. “Engine room - move it!” The ship buckled and turned towards the entrance of the star gate. The sergeant was attempting to send electronic commands to the gate for preparation of a launch sequence. More explosions were heard while parts of the outer bridge were starting to turn into a bright dark orange and red hue as extreme heats began burning the ship apart. “Sergeant!?!?!”

“Sir?” the sergeant replied, defeated but still following orders. A soft hum filled the air as the star gate was brought to life. The captain reached for the launch sequence controls and smashed the button down as another searing wave of solar flares ripped through the installation.

There was the sound of a large explosion.

Lonetrek Region — Koichi Constellation
The Sobaseki System — Planet VII - Moon 01
110 Yulai Convention

“Are you sure this area is safe? Looks like a graveyard.”

“Sensors do not pick-up any physical threats and no outstanding environmental issues, save for the caustic gases and floating debris.”

“Let’s just salvage and get out of here.”

“Right.” A salvager tentacle floats out from the Caldarian destroyer class ship towards a charred, floating wreck. As the clawed hand begins probing the wreck, a soft moan can be heard whispering throughout the ship. “What was that?” asks the first, frantic voice.

“Might be a solar wind or … ghosts!” sarcastically replies the second, calmer voice. Attempting to draw attention away from the soft moaning, he continues with “Take a look at that wrecked gate. Too bad we could not rip pieces off that!”

“Yea… what’s that bright light inside it?”

Pushing a few buttons, “Sensors categorize the light as the remains of an explosion residual within the walls of the gate.” the calmer voice replies. Reviewing the data further, “Neither life forms nor much less anything salvageable remains inside that hole.”

“Get anything from the wreck?”

“Yea, some burned logic circuits, a handful of charred micro circuits, and a few fried interface circuits, couple tons of metal scraps, and…” pausing for a moment in amazement, “one scorched telemetry processor!” the calmer voice answers as he retrieves the salvager tentacle from the carcass.

“What do you think happened here?”

“As those fanatical Amarrs always preach, perhaps Hell itself opened its gates for a moment or two…”

“Let’s get out of here!” replied the frantic voice, a bit of worried of impending doom.

“Right” was the reply as the Caldari ship warps away into the coldness of space.

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“God I feel rough as arseholes. I didn’t leave Henry’s till 3am and I’d got there at 8”. I pondered yet again the concept of 3am in a place where no sun rises or sets.

“What the hell were you doing in that dive?”

“It was Grazky’s birthday. He picked it.”

“You went out drinking with that cretin?”

“He was buying all night, flashing around that ludicrous bonus he got for somehow podding that Nexus bigwig. And there were loads of us of there so I didn’t have to put up with too much of his self-righteous bullshit.”

“Comms clear please gentlemen.”

“And there was this dancer there…cost me a freakin’ fortune, but ahhh man. Marakal you gotta see the things she can do with…”

“COMMS CLEAR!!!”

I snapped back to the present. It was 4:30am and I was sitting in my Megathron ‘Betsy’, the brand new 425mm II’s I had just finished training for filled to the brim with charges, holding on the gate to GXK-7F and waiting for the order to jump. Andraxius corp had put up a tower in one of the systems we were trying to take and we were going to knock it back down again. Blue watch had put it into reinforced yesterday and the stront was about to run out.

Scanning over my readouts the nervous feeling began to creep in again. I hated these ops – no armour repper, just piles of armour plating, a couple of hardeners, a damage control and the bloody logistics unit. Some of them were good guys but most of them had this outrageous superiority complex just because you had to rely on them so much. I had never forgotten how they let Urkiot’s Hype pop just because he’d stuck a punch in Ornet’s face when he wouldn’t let that dancer go. For a while we each carried a remote rep just in case, till command noticed we were all a turret short, then we all got a bollocking and fined. But Ornet got booted and the whole logistics unit reprimanded and fined so that was something at least. And they got that mean bastard Zorgen as a commander, which they damn well deserved.

“Jump, jump.” Here we go again. I was one of the first few through and the proximity scanner showed true blue so at least the scouts had done their job.

“Align Planet 4.” The adrenaline began to kick in and my hands moved surprisingly smoothly over the touch displays. The deep satisfying hum of the ion drive rose in intensity and the white blips on the scanner began to move and shift.

“Warp, warp.” My little finger brushed over the small panel that blinked orange to tell me I was doing over 75% maximum speed. It was a constant disappointment that it wasn’t a big red push button that needed a good thump with a fist to send you into warp. The pinpoint stars in the distance streaked into lines radiating from a central void. I could see Marakal’s Apocalypse with the crazy-flames paintjob at the edge of my viewscreen and my scanner showed four others behind me sharing the warp tunnel. I smiled, as I did every time this happened, but seconds later they shot in front or behind me as we dropped out of warp micro-seconds apart and the lines shrunk back to pinpoints again. And there it was – a colossus of a tower, dwarfing our not exactly tiny battleships, bristling with batteries and launchers.

The broadcasts flashed on the scanner showing me what I should shoot at and in what order and I dutifully targeted each in turn and activated the turrets. The new weapon grouping upgrade they had installed last week was a nice touch although to be honest I’m surprised nobody had thought of it before. The extra panel they had messily screwed on spoiled the otherwise smooth and sleek controls and I made a mental note to insist on a brand new deck with the extras built in as soon as I got back.

The dreaded big yellow flashing box caught my attention. Sure enough it was me that the tower had chosen to target first – random my arse, it always seemed to be me. I punched the need armour broadcast and after a few seconds several more yellow boxes flashed on my scanner – but these ones I liked. The tower flashed red and I saw the tiny white bursts on the viewscreen telling me that pain was on it’s way. Another warning light blinked at me as if I needed to be told a warp scrambler was locking me down, but hell I hadn’t planned on going anywhere for a while anyway.

My seat trembled as missile after missile exploded against the shield and the nice clean white bar of the status display rapidly grew more and more red and finally flashed signalling the collapse of the shield. It would be rocky for a while until the tower cycled to another target, unless of course Andraxius got their asses out of bed and manned the guns themselves. In which case they’d stick everything on one target till it popped. The first missile that slammed into poor Betsy’s armour damn near took me out of my seat and I heard the metal far below me buckling under the force of the explosion. I wished I could hear the nanites repairing it but my display assured me that they were and I fastened my harness against the violent rocking.

“Break, break.” Comm silence was broken by a long-range scout. “Three hostiles in H-R, Andraxius corp, Arazu, Crow, Ferox – heading to Z8-8.” Our direction unsurprisingly.

The scramble battery was getting close to incapacitated when they warped into the tower’s bubble shield. Useless gatecamp – I can understand the recon and ‘ceptor making it through but the Ferox? Grazky was in charge there which answered my question. Why is it always the most incompetent that have the biggest opinion of themselves?

”Grazky you moron, those drinks won’t make up for it if my ship pops!” I couldn’t help myself.

“COMMS CLEAR ERSA!” I shut up.

Now one of us would get it all, the whole tower’s force, which was a lot, a hell of a lot. Someone was going to be in trouble and that someone turned out to be Marakal. I zoomed in on his ship to see the Apoc being buffeted around by the missiles, already badly mashed up and the beautiful paintjob gone. I could see the magical effect of the logistics ships repairing the armour, as if giant unseen hands were bashing the dents out and filling in the holes, though unfortunately not as quickly as the new ones were appearing and I wished I still had that remote repper even though I knew it would only buy him a few more seconds against this onslaught. I added Marakal to my watch list and didn’t like what I saw. Disobeying orders I switched my sentry drones from the tower to the scrambler hoping it would incap before the Apoc’s armour gave up. Marakal was already aligning out, leaving behind his sentries still hammering away at the scram battery, as the last scraps of white on the armour status display turned red. The missiles found their way onto his hull creating gaping voids, the oxygen venting out as clear as day then bursting into flames. My brain screamed at me to turn my head away, but I stared, transfixed at the horror unfolding before me. Armour was still regenerating but the relentless missiles stripped it away almost instantly and then came the silent flash of light followed by the scraps of metal careering towards my viewscreen before the camera reset back to the default view.

“BOLLOCKS!! MY SHIP!” It was then that I noticed the Crow streaking out from the bubble and the flash of the light missiles leaving the launchers. Marakal’s last words were simply “Ahh fuck.”

I have no idea how long I sat staring but seeing nothing. Countless riotous drunken nights out replayed through my head, Marakal’s face with that cheeky grin dominating every scene.

“Ecaf……….Ecaf……….ERSA!”

“Uh?…yeah?…Sorry.”

“The scrambler is incapped. Stop shooting at it.”

“Yeah…right….sorry.” My fingers trembled, repeatedly missing the touch panels, but I managed to switch targets. I sat numb as battery after battery fell silent and the tower began to look more of a scrapheap than a giant industrial complex.

“Break, break.” A long range scout again. “Three Andraxius entered XVV from NS2L, Vaga, Ishtar, Brutix – heading toward DY-P – two more, no three, oh crap too many to count now. SHIT! How did they uncloak me?…” The comm broke off.

“OK gents, keep at the task in hand, we have support here and we’re too close to leave now.”

The approaching fleet steeled my nerves and I snapped back to full attention again. This could get messy, very messy. I had no idea we had a support fleet in the area but they rarely tell us much till the last second before we need to know it. In any case these things either go all your way or not at all - either we’d see none of the incoming hostiles or every damn one of them. My luck continued in the same vein it had all night as the list in the proximity scanner suddenly doubled in size flashing an ominous red at me.

“Align Planet..SHIT!” I was struggling to recall any planets named shit when I saw it - the writhing, crackling white lines of a cyno and almost instantly the massive shape of a Thanatos filled my viewscreen. This was followed rapidly by a Chimera, another Thanatos, and another and then, gulp, an Aeon. Chaos broke out, the orders stopped coming and it was every man for himself.

I was aligned to the closest thing in front of me and at about half speed when the fighters began to swarm around me like excited little bees that had unexpectedly found an open jar of honey, panic rising in me and my heart pounding like an 1400mm artillery cannon. My shields had gone and I glanced at the scanner, a sea of wrecks showing where the logistics unit had been. “Warp Drive Active.” WOOOT! Somehow I hadn’t been scrambled and the Mega screamed out of the carnage toward…what was I aligned to? I’d just picked a random icon on the scanner without checking what it was. An asteroid belt…OK…not the end of the world, I can warp to a safespot from there. As I dropped from warp I noted I had just over 10% armour left but of course no way of repairing it.

God damn my luck tonight…Angels! The cruisers locked me first but the battleships would be close behind. I targeted back and activated my turrets ahead of the lock as I aligned again. I was going straight to the safespot this time. Thankfully the shield had recovered a little and it gave me a buffer before the last of my armour was ripped away and I went to warp again. Shame I didn’t quite manage to pop that Angel cruiser, that would have been some small consolation.

But I had bigger concerns right now. Someone had messed up and the fighters had not followed me into warp but if they found me again I surely could not be as fortunate a second time. I spent half an hour constantly warping from safespot to safespot and slowly the all red list in the proximity scanner shrunk until there was just me and three hostiles left.

“Hey Ecaf….still with us I see.” It took a few seconds to realise the voice on the all system broadcast was Orton’s. I knew we should stay silent in these situations but hey I was all alone, who would tell on me? “Get bent you…” but I couldn’t think of a good enough insult. “Well never mind, we’ll find you soon enough.” I refused to let this distract me and continued warping around. Nobody can scan that quickly and the chances of them finding me at random were astronomically slim, literally.

It took another half hour for them to give up and leave the system. But Orton knew I had only one way out to get back home to KDF and if I were him I’d be waiting on the other side of the gate. Alone in GXK I gave the warp drive a rest even though I knew it really made no odds. I gently patted the console marvelling at the ability of these ships to hold it all together with everything still working till the very last few shreds of hull gave up and the whole thing disintegrated. I sent a secure message to command asking for some support but got the answer I expected, they were in disarray and the fleet was pretty much destroyed. Nobody would be coming to my aid, it was down to me and Betsy.

I realised how tired I was when I woke suddenly to the insistent beeping of the proximity alarm, which thankfully I’d remembered to set when I decided to rest for a bit. Orton was back, alone this time, but no doubt his friends were still in DY-P. But it was now 8:20am and hours had passed – had they really waited all that time?

“You awake Ecaf?” I hated that voice, I always had. “By the way, do you like the new Crow I was flying earlier.” He laughed and as I realised what he meant tears began to well in my eyes and the replays began again in my head.

Dead or alive seemed not to matter anymore and I aligned straight for the gate home. I thumped the warp panel with my fist. It worked! How come I’d never tried it before? My glee was short-lived though as the memories flooded back and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

I must have caught Orton on the hop as he didn’t catch me up till I was two jumps from home. I’d activated the gate to 9-8 just as he warped in, having just enough time to spot he was in an Arazu, and I knew this was going to be very close. I spammed the align and warp buttons praying I’d appeared roughly in line with the gate to KDF. The gate flashed, heralding his arrival, but I still needed a few seconds more. Please, please, YES! He failed to complete lock before I shot off, but as I arrived at the gate he was already there, screaming toward me like a man possessed, ramming me before I could activate the gate. My ship bounced off his shield like a damn rubber ball and I was suddenly 5kms from the gate, locked and webbed, with his hybrid charges turning my hull into a meshwork of tangled metal.

As his drones closed in around me I suddenly remembered to turn the damage control on and the line of red marching over the white on my display slowed down but was still advancing all too quickly. I was crawling toward the gate at a grand 32 meters per second and I silently thanked the drive engineers who had discovered how to reduce the effect of webbers even though I knew it would not buy me enough time. I needed a full minute to close the distance and that I did not have. I closed my eyes, welcoming the darkness, and praised Betsy for getting me this far. “Sorry old girl, I tried.”

My eyes opened slowly when I realised the sound of the charges peppering my hull had stopped, wondering if somehow I’d missed the explosion and then the whooshing sound of the pod jetting from the wreck. I blinked and looked again, the scanner showed no sign of Orton but, joy of joys, it did show Pauli, Hurbrig and Gorden ships circling me in an continuous victory fly-by! “Jesus, that was close Ecaf, why didn’t you call for us? Come on, we’ll escort you home.”

As I stepped through the hatch onto the embarkation platform I turned to survey my once beautiful battleship now torn to shreds. “I’ll fix you up good as new tomorrow mate, I promise.” As the maintenance drones scurried around her putting out fires, the flames reminded me of Marakal’s paintjob and the tears came again, my head dropping low.

“Why so glum Ecaf? You made it back!” I span round so quick I nearly fell over, and there was Marakal, large as life, standing right in front of me with that crazy grin spread across his crazy face. I hugged him so hard my aching arms hurt. “Bugger it! I’ll never get used to this cloning lark!”

“I know dude, don’t worry. Drink?”

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!

Needless to say, it was the perfect place to begin a small, specialized manufacturing operation. Just close enough to the hub—just far enough to require its own market. No one, after all, paid attention to Everyshore.

A Gallentean woman—tall, red-haired, lithe in form, and clad in bronze and gold-colored fashion, walked down the industrial corridors that were riddled with grease, exhaust vents, and the flickering lights of half-occupied warehouses. Somewhere, a boy moaned as a girl teased him, her laughs echoing down the metallic surfaces.

Soleramnus turned—listening for a moment—an old memory suddenly interrupting the usually placid surface of her mind. She turned again, clearing the thought, and allowed her footsteps to be the only echoing sound she paid attention to.

At the end of the rust-covered hall the passageway terminated into a large, padlocked door. She stopped at it, looking over the head of the pentagon-shaped entrance where a single symbol hung, embedded in the metal, and unusually bright and polished against the surrounding rust—it seemed to glow with its golden, crescent-shaped form, coming together at the bottom where a circle would join, but then terminating in two, upward-turning segments.

Nearly fifteen years ago an ancient man—a wandering Intaki teacher on Luminaire, whom she met by chance—or, perhaps, by fate—revealed this symbol to her. It seemed to be almost Amarrian in its shape, but was still unlike anything she had seen before. And he confirmed this to her, telling that the symbol—this simple shape—predated any of the four major empires by eons, even the Jove. It had belonged to a different time entirely… a time dating back to the days of the EVE Gate, and possibly even further back than that. Its original meaning now long lost, including its name, the Intaki man believed that only in the right hands would its true purpose be realized—and that, within the spirit of the person who held it.

Soleramnus looked down from omen-like shape to the keypad on the right. She touched it, and the only red light on its surface turned yellow, blinking. She spoke that man’s name:

“Keshatria.”

The light turned green and the door opened. Soleramnus walked through.

As the ceiling floodlights flickered to life the dark space revealed itself to be a massive warehouse, dingy and empty. The only inhabiting containers were huge deliveries of salvage—exploded tritanium bars, fractured armor plating. Burnt micro chips. All waiting to be reused—to be smelted together for custom ship modifications. Rigmaking had become Soleramnus’s most frequent and profitable profession, if taxing at that—she had no workers and often spent the days crawling over electrified capacity batteries that needed a rig install. And now that her corporation had chartered a new system that allowed members to start their own business, Soleramnus was the CEO of her own rigmaking business, complete with her own office in a station that held great manufacturing potential, however backwater it was.

She flipped open her neocom, scanning the various blueprints she had to work with—and then switched to scanning the various contracts available through the Jita network. Eight of them were active, and she was the highest bidder. Tipped off by her corporation’s CEO who knew much, much more about the universe than his calm and comfortable demeanor betrayed, these blueprint contracts were wild gambles. Investments, so to speak, but investments in technology that few knew about—or cared to know about, really—but had the potential to be a market in their own class. Pulling one up, the holographic display showed the schematics for a simple armor repairer. Tech I—nothing apparently special about it. Except that it required ancient relics in the manufacturing process that most people wouldn’t know what to do with—or know what they were worth. Those items, found in locked canisters in the middle of the most remote sectors of space, were the remnants of ancient, forgotten races—space-faring peoples who predated the four major empires, but left their traces in the various technological clues they left behind. Somehow, someone found a way to use these perplexing technologies to modify a rather typical looking Tech I item to nearly match—if not beat—the technological capabilities of its Tech II counterpart. And though not even the Jita item database could track the items, much less the blueprints to make them, Soleramnus knew that there were hundreds of such items—waiting for the right person who truly knew their worth, their possible uses, and most importantly—the arcane, esoteric knowledge it took to craft them—to utilize the creative potential.

She flipped off the neocom. All these parts—the useless junk of salvaged materials in making rigs, pulled out of pirate wrecks and sold for cheap by the pod pilots destroyed them; the miscellaneous blueprints that, for most manufacturers, were useless, and came from abandoned laboratories; the paradoxical artifacts found on the edges of regional space that usually belonged in museums rather than a manufacturing hangar floor. The discarded, and the forgotten in the world. Born again—renewed, into something that no one else had thought possible. It was all reflective of a single pattern—a strange word the Intaki had taught to Soleramnus long ago—‘reincarnation’. But more than just an eternal cycle of reuse and rebirth; the process was compounded by each step so that it amplified itself—the product became exponential over time. Until, finally, it came to a grand, unknown conclusion.

At least, so the old Intaki had taught.

‘Sol’ smiled, and on replacing the neocom into her shoulder harness, looked down. Crouching on the metal, manufacturing hangar floor, her finger traced the line of where she had order the warehouse caretakers to engrave, of all things, the same symbol—a dark, obsidian version of the same crest above the entrance door—into the floor. Perplexed, they did it all the same, as money made men obey any word.

And here, on this manufacturing floor, that symbol laid as a reminder to Sol, and anyone else who came through this hangar, of what exactly she was about. Who she was… and where she was going.

“Nova,” she whispered. Somewhere, that girl’s laugh echoed into her ear again, and it reminded her of words from long ago—which she now spoke with the voice of a woman. It blended with the voice of an Intaki wanderer, echoing from some recess inside her memory:

“To die a violent death—and return again, new.”

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!

***

Luminaire VI, Gallente Prime

“WHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR……”

A siren broke the mountain solitude, forcing the tall man to freeze in his tracks and secure his fluttering cloak from flying away. His training kicked in immediately, and the broad-shouldered man calmly scanned the immediate vicinity, watching the mountain ridges that loomed above him for the source of the constant wailing.

“WHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE……”

Nothing caught his eye. So he raised his head to the orange sky, closed his eyes and resigned himself to the only thing left he could do: he prayed this was going to work after all.

“WHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPP WHOOP WHOOP WHOOOOOOP!!!”

The sirens voiced their disagreement. Yet Maj. Cáel Tredjens knew what he was there for. He knew what had to be done. Finally, the last scream softened in protest, finally conceding to the howl of the mountain wind. The Caldari man tensed up, his eyes glued to red rock and sandstone, when a voice suddenly came from behind:

“State your business.”

***

The young woman in the No. 4 outfit carried herself well. She strolled casually towards the bartender, amidst the howls of male intoxication, and ordered her usual poison. She took a few sips of the brown liquid…

“Hey lady, yer gonna buy me another drink?”

Her head swung sharply to the right, just in time to catch a fellow marine giggling furiously into a half-drunk glass of spirits. She studied the man, who was blowing bubbles into his alcohol.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Oh no, ma’am, no…” The young man banged his glass on the table and grinned foolishly, “Way I see it, I’m the only marine in this god-forsaken pub who has had the courage thus far to talk to someone as beautiful as yourself. Now, I think that deserves some sort of recognition…”

The young man took a final swig at his glass, before shoving it in the lady’s face.

“Don’t you?”

The woman narrowed her brow.

“What’s your name, Marine?”

Slamming his empty whiskey glass against his forehead, he replied, “Corporal Cáel ‘Willy’ Tredjens, ma’am, reporting for duty!”

She smiled, leaned in a little closer to his ear-splitting grin.

“Well, Corporal ‘Willy’… I think you’re going to have to do a whole lot better than that.”

With a proper salute of her own, the lady-in-uniform plunked down a 50-dollar bill on the counter before marching out the bar and letting the Corporal freefall to the ground.

***

“Much better than that…”

The ruffian grinned through his misty mechanical goggles. “You’re telling me that you flew all the way from the Caldari Prime, millions and millions of miles, over all of Luminaire’s god damn mountain ridges, to this exact location… just to buy some ammo?”

Cáel held up a finger.

“Plutonium ammo, actually. I heard you guys sell cheap.”

The burly man with the goggles grunted, as murmurs broke out among the rest of his companions in the cave-like room. It was one of the many caverns Cáel had passed through earlier, but this one had the most people carrying high-powered rifles. The Caldari man felt these Gallenteans looked scrawnier than usual.

“What ship?” the leader of the brigands enquired further.
“I’m sorry? Is that relevant?”

“I should think so. You see, we do sell our ammo cheap, but what’s a simple pilot like yourself gonna do with all of these charges,” the leader gestured to the various boxes stacked about the room. “Especially… if all you’re flying is a little Caldari Velator,” the burly man continued to jibe.

Cáel frowned.

“And… What if I told you I represented the Caldari government?”

Roars of rage. Chairs shifted back and guns cocked, as several men in the room sprang from their seats. But the mercenary leader continued to grate his yellow teeth, grinning calmly back at the seated soldier.

“Just how many ships does the Navy have over there?”
“Oooh, I think you’ll enjoy the number. We’ve got a Titan orbiting the fucking planet.”

Both their smiles widened a little. Cáel leaned in closer.

“I promise. I’ll clean you guys up.”

***

He wondered for a moment, what it would be like to see her cleaning dishes in an apron. So he wondered out loud, and received a playful smack on the shoulder in kind. No one could really blame him though… the dinner she cooked tasted awful, like carbohydrates mixed with poly-textiles left to stew on a stove that ran out of gas midway.

She smiled at the description, and repaid his kindness in the only language she thought he thought she thought he understood: with a tasty kiss. And soon, they were no longer on the kitchen counter, nor the mess table, but sprawled all over some other relatively uncomfortable surface their tiny barracks could contain.

He breathed in deeply. She did the same. Lying across his chest, she asked him if he loved her. His heart told him ‘yes’, so he hesitated and simply nodded. She smiled. It was good enough.

Bells suddenly rung in his head. Church ones. Big, church ones. The happy ones, perfect in black and white. Yet it scared him a little. He preferred the small bells… and he got what he wished for.

The room flooded red with alarm sounds and whistles. They were calling for them both. She was already on her feet, but he wasn’t even in his pants. She shouted, but then whispered and everything was okay.

He unlocked the blast doors. She pulled him back one last time, and said ‘I love you, too’.

He blinked at her and went, ‘Oh, what the hell.’ And shut the doors once more.

***

The scene before them was ordered jubilance. Soldiers and marines stood in straight rows from one end of the room to the other, raising glasses of wine in the direction of the large, televised image of the man they called Mr. Tibus Heth. Live from New Caldari Prime, of course.

“…My brothers and sisters! Today is more than just a day. We mark this day as thousands of soldiers gave their lives for glory, to return glory to what should have long been glorified past. Today shall be remembered, for the millions of oppressed on the surface below, long having lived in such fear but scant hope of such a day ever befalling their pale eyes. Today, my friends! BILLIONS of proud citizens take back their honor! Proud citizens seize pride by the throats, and regain the very reason they call themselves Caldari! TODAY, ladies and gentlemen of State, I am proud to give you Caldari Primus!!”

Roars of approval filled the room. All except for one…

***

Caldari Navy Headquarters, Fleet Actual Orbiting Luminaire VI (Gallente Prime)

“But my wife is still somewhere on that planet!”

Cáel Tredjens fell to his knees in desperation, right smack in the hustle and bustle of Caldari central command.

“Colonel, we can’t just leave her there to die!!”

The frowning white-haired man immediately marched forward, and without hesitation back-handed his officer across the face. Cáel reeled sideways from the blow.

“Pull yourself together, Lieutenant,” the colonel growled as he reached down, grabbed his officer by the scruffs and pulled him to his feet. “She was on a stealth recon mission, and it FAILED. Your wife failed her mission objective, Lieutenant, and now you wish to endanger the lives of the entire Caldari race by breaking this entire cease-fire just to rescue ONE woman–??”

“YES!” the pilot screamed, his voice almost shaking with resolve. “Yes…”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. But I’m not.” The Colonel continued his glare, but calmed his voice. He looked straight into Cáel’s eyes and said, “Wives come and go, Lieutenant. The State remains forever.”

With that, the older man simply turned and walked away, allowing the defeated pilot to sink to his knees once more.

“…united we stand! Together, the Caldari people shall move forth as one entity: unflinching, uncompromising, and unrelenting. Glorious citizens of the State, this future is yours!”

***

The stone corridor narrowed by itself. In front of Cáel marched the bulky leader of the brigands, maneuvering between the cracks and jagged edges with surprising agility.

“So, you haven’t mentioned the ship you fly, Mr. Tredjens.”

“Caracal, Navy issued.” Cáel replied with a little hesitation.

“HA! Such an important job the government entrusts you with, and that’s all yer’ can afford?” his laughter echoed throughout the shrinking tunnel, “You need to find a better job, mate. It’s gonna get you killed sooner or later.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Pleasure,” the large man grinned, before gesturing suddenly to his right. “Ah, here we are.”

A small metal blast door stood where he was standing.

“In you go then. Everything you need is through that door.”

Cáel nodded. “The Caldari government thanks you and your men.”

Cáel gripped the metal handle and pulled. Sunlight blinded him suddenly, and all he could hear after that were high-powered rifles being cocked in his direction. Mountains and valleys filled his vision once more. The large man pulled out a side-arm of his own, smiling a jagged grin.

“Heheh. It’s only a matter of time before your Navy decides to bombard this planet to smithereens anyways.” He spit on a nearby rock. “And that’s what I think of you and your government’s gratitude.”

“What if I told you I didn’t actually work for the government–”

“Well, I like you a little better already.”

“I’m looking for someone who went missing in this area, about 3 months ago…”

The merc leader scratched his chin. “Guessed as much. Who is it this time? In debt brother-in-law? Drunkard father?” The large Gallentean sucked a cigarette between his curled lips, and exhaled deeply. “Or beautiful, tanned brunette? About 5’9 inches tall? Late 20s, liked to tie her hair up like a little bundle of joy. You know what? She came up with the most creative insults I’ve ever heard.”

Laughter resounded from all directions. Cáel’s lip quivered with rage as he found himself totally surrounded on all fronts, the rest of the captain’s cronies popping up mountain holes like dirty bunnies.

“If you touch her…”

The slaver waved off the threat, cigarette still between his fingers.

“Already did, mate… Already. Did.”

He took another long puff and grinned.

***

The roar of engines forced them to shout. So they just smiled at each other.

A loudspeaker added to the din: “BzZz—Attention, pilots. Action stations in 3 minutes. I repeat: action stations in three. –bzZz- For the glory of the State.”

Cáel pointed to his chest first, then both his eyes, and finally to her. She grinned, gave him one long, lasting kiss, then turned and made her way to her ship in the background.

***

BHWAM.

Cáel grimaced and fell to one knee, whilst the pirates’ pistol smoked from the discharge. The men laughed away their sympathies.

“Wha—Where is she…”

“Oh now, don’t worry your pretty head off,” the leader began again, “We liberated her from the crash site, didn’t we boys?”

His followers murmured their approval.

“After that though,” he gave a dry chuckle, “We had our way with the little lass. Rest assured, we cleaned her up real good.”

“Why you little—“

BHHWAMM.

Cáel fell to all fours.

“Not just me alone, lad,” the pirate paused, gesturing to his surrounding mates, “Ooh, I think you’ll enjoy the number.”

This time, the pirates responded with sick cheers.

***

His wife sat in her cockpit, helmet on and ready to go.

“30 seconds to launch. Roger–”

He waved one last time to get her attention, and patted his uniformed breast-pocket. She understood him, reached into her own pocket and pulled out a tiny, white envelope. They grinned at each other one last time—

“Launch, launch… God be with you.”

Her engines roared…

***

“So what’s it gonna be, Caldari man?”

The cloudless sky blinded Cáel’s eyes once again. He managed to sit up, and then slowly, he struggled to both his feet. The pirate leader’s smile was wide as ever as he raised his own pistol, leveled directly with Cáel’s forehead.

“I shoot you now? Or we let the soldiers shoot you later?”

Cáel wobbled on the spot. Gently, he raised his right arm to mouth-level, whispered something inaudible into his watch…

***

XXX

Dear Amanda,

I love my country. But, I guess I love you, a little more.

Best of fortunes,

Cáel.

XXX

***

The clouds turned black… The mountain started shaking… And the pirate’s smirk soon vanished.

Amanda. She was still smiling though.

“Fire on position.”

***

End.

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!

Chapter 1 - Welcome to the machine
A recent graduate of the Federal Navy Academy, in his late teens stepped onto the tribune to receive his diploma. Then just like that he was shoved inside a tiny Velator, and booted off the planet into space. Still confused, and shaking from the killer acceleration, Digital Anvil barely evaded an incoming comet, and plotted a course to the nearest station. The trip didn’t take long, and Anvil soon entered orbit around the station and sent in a docking request.

I was confused. Not was I only recalling my entire life in third person, but I was also thinking what the hell was I doing out here. My thoughts were chaotic. I returned my attention to the consoles. “Docking Request Accepted”, greeted me a pleasant female voice as I entered dock. After waiting outside the hangar, staring at the passing crowds, and realizing that I’m all alone now, I sighed and went to the nearest information panel. “Job first”, I thought. The Gallente Navy sounded like the toughest organization to work for in the region, and I immediately took the nearest turbo lift to the upper level to talk to the agent.

“I’m looking for a job”, I stated upon entering the office, and heavily dropping into a large, black, leather chair. I was tired. Dead tired.

The occupant of the chair across the table from me didn’t even look up. Without diverting his attention from the screen, he picked up a folder from the top of a large pile, and lazily threw it on the table in front of me. Without knowing what to say, or even what to feel about such treatment, I picked up the folder and parted.

It has been less than ten hours after my graduation. Still standing outside the Gallente Navy office, and squeezing the folder tightly in my hand. I was barely holding up on my feet. The faces of hundreds of strangers in the crowded station flew past me. All the sounds fused together to form a distant echo in the background, slowly rising in an angry crescendo. The crowd turned into a blurry river of faces. I proceeded stumbling back to my ship, caught in a dream that was turning into a violent nightmare. The background echo had soon reached its climax, and the calm river has slowly turned into a raging storm. The world around me began to grow darker, and darker…

Chapter 2 - “We’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here…”
I fought for my life. Dark figures swarmed me as I tried to escape. The metallic hallway roared with anger, and started breathing. The gravity failed and the corridor began to roll. I fell on top of a giant window, and as I scrambled to my feet, I felt the entire fury of the red sun, whose flames licked all around me. The sun turned black, and the figures surrounded me. One of them drew a weapon, and ran me right through with cold steel. I screamed…

sitting up in an upright position on the cold floor of my Velator, and smacking my head hard against the edge of a console. I swore, and slowly scrambled to my feet. “At least I made it back, and didn’t end up being a carpet somewhere in the station”, I decided as I went off to make some coffee. I walked back into the coskpit with the fresh coffee steaming in my hand, scooped the job envelope off the floor and dropped into the pilot chair. Throwing my feet up on one of the consoles, I set aside the coffee, opened the envelope and began to read.

The mission was simple enough. Warp to location, kill some pirates, come back, get paid. It was simple… too simple. The pirates practically self-destructed as soon as they saw me, and the payment was a whooping 50 thousand ISK. After receiving my money, without a word, I picked up my next assignment from the pile, and went off.

Minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days. In three days I had gathered an entire hangar full of the most backwater equipment available in the galaxy, including two armed-to-the-teeth frigates, and close to a million ISK in cash. The pay was good, the missions were never fatal, yet something has bothered me. Walking into the office the next day, I realized that the pile of envelopes was as big as always. I picked up the next mission, and opened the envelope.

“Not these freaks again”, I said out loud with a note of anger in my voice.

The agent hadn’t even moved a muscle. I began to shake, and right before I planted my fist in that stupid face of his, I gathered my senses, tore the envelope in half, throwing it back on the desk, and stormed out. I had studied almost my entire life for a chance to find a great life, full of wonders and mystery here in the great unknown, and not work for a moron that works for a moron, who also probably works for even a bigger moron. Why not just put sentry guns up there in Deadspace, and give me something more meaningful to do?

My first experience of this life nearly drove me insane. Yes, I can live here, but is merely living enough? I was stuck in a loophole, a monotone life that would turn me into a robot, just like the rest of these creatures around me. No, I had enough. I’m getting as far away from here as I possibly can. With that I ran back to the hangar, bought a shuttle, and brought up the star map. I started looking for the fastest way to get to the edge of the galaxy, and made ORE space my destination. Without looking back I named my shuttle “Warpten”, and left my dull life behind along with all my worthless assets and ships, sailing towards a better future.

Chapter 3 - Welcome to 0.0. We have to kill you now
Manually following the waypoints, very soon I came to the edge of Empire space. Lawless expanses were right behind this 0.7 system, and I decided to make a clone, and to insure my shuttle here. While waiting for all the paperwork to come through, I relaxed in my ****pit, and decided to study this area a little. This was a steep drop, a vertical cliff that ended with water raging against the sharp rocks, but more alarmingly there was something evil down there. The 0.0 system that I had to go through, right on the other side of the gate had absolutely no stations, yet an alarmingly large number of pilots.

That didn’t bother me. I was trapped inside a mousetrap, and I was getting out of here one way or another. I jumped. I entered lawless space right beside what seemed like a warp bubble, a squadron of ships, and a fleet of drones. Scared, and shaking, I warped to the next gate. The guardians of the gate started violently locking on to me, but I was already gone.

“Yay”, I thought. They couldn’t catch me. I was in no rush anywhere, so decided to warp back and to observe the gate camp. Carefully warping at 100km from the gate has landed me “somewhere”, and then just as mysteriously my shuttle was blown from under me. I had no time to react, and as I ejected in my escape pod, I felt its hull get torn to pieces, and my body freezing before I realized what as going on. I saw a light in the end of the tunnel, and screamed…

As I opened my eyes on a medical table with a bright light shining into my eyes.”Welcome back”, a pleasant voice echoed in my ears. I fainted.As I came back into consciousness, I already had clothes on me, and was being rolled in a wheelchair towards the exit.

“Already?”, I screamed. “I just came back from the dead, and I’m getting dragged out?”

“The universe is a harsh place. Get used to it”, a voice replied as I was thrown out.

I was enraged, but had no choice. I have made a stupid mistake, but had to try again. Jumping in again has landed me right inside that bubble, and decimated in seconds. Hoping that third time’s a charm, I had accordingly named my third shuttle “Warpten mk3″, crossed my fingers, and jumped yet again.

“Pretty please”, I begged in local, while still cloaked, and that’s when I realized that I was less than 2km from the edge of the bubble. So, if it takes me 2 seconds to turn that way, and 3 seconds to transverse that 1.5 km, then in 5 seconds I should be free to jump. That seemed enough time, so I ran for it. Surprisingly only one ship started locking on to me, as I was getting out of the bubble. Very soon I was in high warp promising myself to never do something this stupid ever again. I thanked the campers just in case, and made my way out of this treacherous system.

Chapter 4 - A new hope.
About half way to my destination,my journey was bruptly interrupted. When warping across a system to the next gate, I somehow overshot by 90km. I was very puzzled as I exited from warp just out of reach of a warp disrupting bubble. Confusion slowly turned into fear as I noted all the wrecks and corpses within its grasp. Its owners weren’t in sight, but long range sensors have detected a small number of pilots in the system. Without waiting until they come back from their pee break, I headed to the gate and jumped.

The rest of the trip went peacefully. I entered the system, and stopped to ask myself what was I doing out here. I have ran away from civilization to the far side of the galaxy, and for what? I was lonely, frightened, but comfortable in the chair of my nice shuttle. I couldn’t find an answer to my question, but I knew one thing. There is no way that I can survive out here without a fresh supply of these Gallente shuttles. Why shuttles you ask? Other than the obvious facts of them being extremely cheap, fast, agile, and sexy, they are also the only ships that I can properly fly… for now that is.

With that in mind I have plotted a course to the nearest clone-available station. It was a truly a place hardened by deep space, with mechanical and ship parts scattered all over the metallic floor of this level. There was nobody in sight, and I proceeded to the medical facility for a new clone. The lighting was dark, full of malfunctioning lamps that were either dead, or very close to it. The station’s hull was moaning, and I wondered how soon will this entire place tear itself apart.

As I got back to the hangar, I decided to look for a job. There was nothing available for me here, so I opened the local channel, and demanded for a job. Nobody out of the thirty pilots in the system replied, nor did I expect anyone to. With that I waited.

“How about I send you back to empire for free?” finally came a reply.

Alright, now I was scared. That sounded more like a promise, rather than a question. I have gathered myself together, and let the caring gentleman know that that was the last place where I wanted to be. I also let him know that I have already installed a clone in this system, and that any attempts to proceed with his free teleporting service will be futile.

“Fine, get me some a burger, and some beer while you’re at it”, the voice demanded.

I had no idea where to find a burger in this god forsaken place, unless what he really wanted was a rock solid one. I am a pilot, not a waiter, I reminded myself.

“How about vodka”, I mocked him back.

“Nah. Wiskey?”

“Cookie?”, I replied, giving up.

“Only if it’s double chocolate chip”

“I offer nothing less”, I accepted. Looks like I have just made a friend.
Chapter 5 - The mystery of the missing shuttle.
ZinMichel turned out to be quite a nice person. I chatted with him as I sucked on veldspar, and assimilated any useflul information about 0.0 survival for neutrals. Having gotten enough tritanium to make a new shuttle, I bought a Gallente shuttle BPO, which by the way cost just as much as a single shuttle, and set off back to empire in a shuttle for an Industry skillbook.

I got to empire safely, without bumping into a single soul, purchased the needed skillbook, and remembered that I owed Zin a cookie. Having found no cookies on the market, I filled my entire cargohold with booze, and set a course back to my new home.

Halfway there, I warp to a gate, and what do you know? I overshoot it again, landing very close to the exact same bubble.

“How come I keep missing this gate?” I demanded in local, hoping that someone will hear me.

“How come I keep missing your lock?”, came back a reply, as I noticed a ship closing in on me.

“Because I still have a will to live”, I assured the stranger, as I was fleeing this system as fast as my thrusters permitted.

As I got back, delivering my friend crates of booze, I began production of my new shuttle. By the time production was complete, I already had mined enough tritanium for 8 more. I clicked deliver, and walked into the hangar to compare my two shuttles. The smile faded from my face as there was only one shuttle in the hangar. My trusty “Warpten mk3″ had mysteriously dissappeared.

I may be a noob, but if there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s lose ships. I took on a role of a detective as I scanned through all my logs and assets. After failing miserably in my search, I was left with option- pray, and that’s exactly what I did. I filed a petition to the omnipotent overlords of EVE, and began to wait… which I very soon grew tired of. So without wasting any more of my time, I named my newest prototype shuttle “Warpten Temp Model”, and decided to go for a stoll to have a look at the mining outposts in a nearby system.

Chapter 6 - Ying and Yang
I was almost at my destination, and as I was warping across a system, I was greeted by a stranger.

“Greetings traveler!”

Well, it looks like not everyone in this part of the galaxy is merciless towards neutrals. I brought up his information, and smiled. Vanatoomas was a member of the Exotic Dancers Club, in the Intoxication Alliance. I gladly contacted him back, even though he had a -6.9 security status as well as a 3 million ISK bounty. I told him who I was, what I was doing, and where I was headed, all without the slightest fear of being podkilled.

“Here’s something for your travels”, he said as I saw 3 million ISK deposited into my account.

He assured me that there was nothing to see at my destination, but offered to escort me since he was heading there anyways. I agreed, and he jumped to the next system. I was about to follow, when I saw the gate activate again, and decided to first see who was comming through. A ship appeared. I didn’t have time to find out what ship it was, because it had locked on me very fast, and sent out its drones to take me apart. Drones! Something about that seemed awfully funny, but I couldn’t remember exactly what. Their fire bounced off my shields, and without waiting for their slave driver to activate his guns, I jumped. I let Vanatoomas know of my encounter, and he only laughed.

We resumed our journey, and soon parked right beside a very ugly mining outpost. A command ship exited dock, and started locking on to us. Realizing that my friend has already docked, I decided to follow his example. I right-clicked the station that now occupied my entire viewscreen, and there was no option to dock. I was selecting nothing but empty space. My heart sank as I realized that my prototype shuttle has failed me. The command ship opened fire.

“Dock!” I heard Vanatoomas’ voice boom in my ears.

“Dock damn you!” There was fire all around me as I continued my futile attemps to dock. It was too late. My shuttle was turned into a wreck. After a few more seconds of failure, I finally did what that station was good for. Right-clicked on it, and warped to the nearest planet. I was cursing the interface along with my stupidity, when I was kicked back to my senses as the command ship droppped out of warp right on top of me. I ran back to the station and docked.

“I have something for you”, said Vanatoomas as I was feeling a little down for being shipless.

It was his own shuttle, the xXx.

“Take it, these shuttles are basically free.”

For him, maybe they are…

Epilogue
“Warpten mk3″ was located by a GM; it somehow ended up trashed. Digital Anvil has decided to take a break from his dangerous travels, most likely forever.

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!

“…or you’re loosing your mind!” whispered something deep in his subconsciousness.

“Would you care for another drink, sir?” the waitress asked patiently, standing in front of his table in this circular side alcove.

Blinking a moment, the outline grid pattern of the waitress filled itself into the solid colors of a human holding a serving tray. “Must be having trouble with my ocular implant - nobody can sneak up that easily!” the pilot reassured himself. Without giving it a thought, he tosses down another credit stick towards the waitress. “Sure… and keep the remainder as a tip.” The waitress’s eyes widened in a surprised excitement. There was probably more credits on that stick that what she would make this week, if not this month. For the pod pilot, it was mere pocket change.

After the waitress returned with his drink and departed, the pilot took a small gulp, letting the burn run down his throat. Closing his eyes a moment, he reopened them and then looked towards his right at the medium sized wooden box sitting next to him - almost forgotten during the alcoholic binge. Moving his drink to the side, the pilot gently transferred the box onto the table in front of him. Entering the numbering sequence in the locking mechanism, there was a soft click. The pilot then cracked the lid open, flipping it upward against its well oiled hinges. Without looking, his right hand reached against the alcove’s wall and dimmed the lights above his table. His implant compensated by visually brightening his eyesight. “Not the best time to have better implants.” he told himself.

“You do not need to do this.” whispered something deep in his subconsciousness.

The Caldarian pilot reached into the box and felt the small links of chain. Pulling it out of the box, he grasped the circular stamped plate connected to the chain and read a name, followed by Republic Fleet Midshipman and the name of a destroyed vessel. Placing it down next to his slowly sweating drink, the pilot reached for another dog tag - a rectangular plate and peered at the information - Gallente Navy Command stood out with the pilot’s and ship’s name blurring from conscious view. Dropping the tag on top of the first, his hand repeated the motion: Amarr Navy Midshipman followed by a Republic Fleet Private. An electrum Angel tag, a palladium Gurista tag, and a bronze Sansha tag joined the ever growing pile of dog tags. Soon a cold sweat began to form on the pilot’s brow - just how many people has he killed over his career? “How many were innocences just trying to make a better life for themselves?” whispered something deep in his subconsciousness. Grabbing the box with both hands, he dumps the contents onto the table, letting the tags clatter on top of each other before some run off the table. The onslaught of past victims causes his drink to get shoved over the edge and onto the floor, shattering the glass and spilling its contents all over. As other patrons take notice of this sudden act, the pilot stares at the mound while his eyes staring into nothingness.

TARGETS DESTROYED = 47
TARGETS REMAINING = 03

TARGET LOCKED #01 - Battlecruiser class ship.
TARGET LOCKED #02 - Frigate class ship.
TARGET LOCKED #03 - Frigate class ship.

Enemy fire scattering shield protection - 6928 / 72… “Engage shield boosters, drones engage second target, hybrid gun number one target third target, remaining gun slots and missile batteries engage target number one while moving closer.”

The Caldarian’s ship rocks slightly as the recoil of the hybrid guns fire fiery rounds of death. The sound of propulsion is heard as heavy missiles cruise towards their target - their deadly payloads armed. As sensory images of the first impacts are recorded - sparks of failing shields to air pockets exposed to the vacuum of space, other images of cool grasses suddenly burning are seen. Suddenly, one of the frigate class ships explodes and ejects burning contents with an overriding image of exploding trees and burning winds. Another subtle rocking of the ship as the hybrid guns recoil again as close-up images of armor plates shredding away from the battlecruiser. Another roar of burning propulsion and trailing gases, an image of a bright high-noon sun, the explosion of a sun ship across unblinking eyes. A scattering of auditory and visual overloads before clearing into drifting through the charred and mangled bodies within flaming, ripped wreckage littering the cold darkness of space, the salvager tool finds some useful components and another dog tag. “Just another dog tag… murderer!”

Slamming the box against the table, the pilot violently brushes the dog tags into the gorge before retrieving the loose ones from the floor. As the last are scooped away and the lid comes tumbling down, a fleeting image of the pilot, two years younger and much more innocent, fades into the abyss of dog tags.

“I really need to get this implant fixed.” murmurs the pilot, walking away with the locked box in hand.

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!

* * * *

His running footsteps echoed throughout the night as he ran. He never looked back, all that mattered now, was running, getting away from the darkness that chased him, hunted him to his exhaustion. Only once did he allow himself to look back, unfortunately for him it was this moment that the feral furrier, one of the many mangy gangs emerging all over the city, chose to dart in front of him. The pain of the heavy fall resonated through his jaw as he turned his head back ahead of him. He tried to right himself but swiftly found that his legs were of no use to him anymore, looking down he saw what he feared, the Slaver Hound. Not just any Slaver but that Slaver, the Slaver of the man that hunted him. It was pinning his legs to the floor quite patiently.
Time seemed to drag along, staring into those eyes was unnerving at first but as he began to accept his fate those fears dropped away. Then he heard it, regular yet swift footsteps of his fate approaching down the alley. As the silhouette came closer it took out a half smoked cigar and chewed on the end, without lighting it.
“At last I have you,” said the silhouette.
“So it seems,” he replied.
“I have to commend you on your efforts, you are very good.”
“You are better.”
“Mmm, so it would seem.” As he pulled out his Minmatar made gun and fitted the silencer.
“This is it then, I am ready to face my fate.”
“I know,” he said, then pulled the trigger.

* * * *

5 weeks earlier, in a prison cell….
Power was his weakness. He knew it, everyone else knew it. But nobody knew it more than I. It was his power that let me into his life. How? What would a man with complete control of the drug trade throughout the east want with me? I’ll tell you what; I could offer him more power of course. Had I any intention of giving him any you ask. No. I gave him a little more, a few contacts that’s all, just enough to let me into his life. Enough to get me close. Close enough to try to take his life. I failed of course; I wouldn’t be here if I succeeded. Well, maybe I would. I took his wife though. Don’t look so shocked, I didn’t take her life. I took her will, and then I took her in every way possible. He never found out, that’s what made it all the more ironic.
It doesn’t matter now though. I failed, and that’s the bottom line. And because of me all the security companies are raking it in. But even professional security can be beaten.
If you know how.

* * * *

Kibadan Huorola rose to another day of work among the mining colonies in the dangerous newly discovered Drone Regions. It was backbreaking work, and all he had to do was shift the ore that was dropped while transferring from one part of the mining outpost to another. But it was good pay, one which would pay for an early retirement in the lakes of Cistuvaert VII where he could enjoy his hiking and photography. If he worked some overtime as well, he had worked out, he would be able to buy himself a small one man ship to travel between planets and eventually work up a collection of images of the different worlds surrounding his home planet. He looked forward to that day when he could finally say goodbye to this dirty, smelly work and he could wake up every morning with the sound of the wind and the feel of a Sun upon his face, not this bland routine.

The word came through at about 10 o’clock in the evening, just after the miners had finished work for the day. Each and every man received a message addressed to the masses, it outlined the problem that pirate activity has increased 10 fold in the past week and very few cargo ships containing vital supplies were getting through the blockades.

* * * *

“Some cuts will have to be made Eramoda. Recent drops in profits signify that something must be done. Either an increase in sales or a cut in costs will have to be made. One of the lesser known systems perhaps, maybe in Nullsec. Somewhere where pirates can be blamed for the lack of support coming from Empire Space. Then deal with the workers there, some industrial accident. Blame it on a rogue Capsuleer. Yes, that’s fitting. Pirates, Capsuleers, fuel their hatred for the high and mighty. See to it,” ordered the CEO of the Deep Core Mining Corporation.

“Understood,” replied Araka Eramoda, CFO of the said corporation.

Araka walked out of the office and went straight to his own quarters within the company Station. Once at his own desk he opened a private and encrypted line of communication to his man in the newly discovered ‘Drone Regions’.

* * * *

It would be easy, so easy. All you require is a plan, or at least and idea of how to kill a man. Of course, plans all sound so easy in your own head. Only in other people’s heads can flaws be found. Because of this I would need an accomplice, someone who I could trust obviously. But finding another who would go to the lengths I would is the difficult part. Then contact would have to be established, a meet would be necessary, finally, if everything works out alright, the plan would be executed, and my revenge satisfied. Ah yes, the lust for revenge. You yearn for it, with every atom of your being, you can think of nothing else. It utterly consumes you, the need for the revenge for the deaths of everyone you know, everyone you care about. Everyone you ever heard about even. And then to find out that the very man responsible was none other than your boss, someone you have known and loved for years, the reason for your life as you knew it! It shatters you that someone that with whom you have spent the majority of your life in close proximity to, betrays you like that and leaves you out to die.

But no matter, soon he will taste his own blood.

* * * *

Kibadan Huorola awoke to the sound of sirens wailing and an automated voice informing the habitants of the mining colony of hull breaches. He grabbed a jacket and ran out of his quarters. All along the corridors workers were strewn, some of them not whole people anymore. But still people nonetheless. As he ran towards the shuttle bay, in vain hope that there would be a shuttle left.

‘It’s a long shot in the dark,’ he thought as he ran. The shot missed, all the shuttles were gone but not without a struggle it seemed. There were bodies here as well, but these ones hadn’t been trampled in the rush to escape like the others. They had bullet holes, and neat work to. This didn’t seem right so Kibadan took 3 deeps breaths to calm himself then walked over to the control panel for the hanger. As he over rid the security clearance with his knowledge of electronics, especially that of station controls, the door leading into the hanger whispered open as 3 DCM Guards rushed in to investigate the security override.
“Hey! You,” shouted one of the guards, “get away from there!”
Kibadan continued to see who were the last people to escape in a shuttle.
“Move away from the panel before I shoot!”
“Get out! Get to the safe areas!” yelled another guard.
Kibadan didn’t move. His fingers were a blur over the keyboard to the control panel.
“Enough of this,” growled the only guard yet to speak. He aimed and fired his high tech Gallente made weapon, luckily for Kibadan it was only set to stun. The guards were ordered to use ‘reasonable force’ to ‘help’ stragglers get to the safe areas. Kibadan collapsed as the plasma bolt hit him in the side, just before he blacked out he saw the panel flash the message:

‘Last shuttle undocked at: 01:54
Araka Eramoda, CFO.’

* * * *

“Do you think you could do it?”
“This man destroyed my life, my dreams, everything. I am like you on this, absolute dedication.”

He was a middle-aged man, about 6 foot 3 inches. Yet he had one of those rare talents of being able to blend in, even with his muscular build. He did something on the inside to make himself invisible. He sort of turned something off and when he did so people didn’t seem to pay him any attention at all. He was invaluable to me in that respect, that being that he may be able to get into places which I could not. This, coupled with his humble backgrounds, made him a necessity to the plan. One without which I could not succeed at all. He said his name was Kibadan Huorola.

“So we are agreed then? We will meet once more then execute the plan?”
“That is correct. Although you will need a Slaver Hound for this to work,” I said.

* * * *

“‘Here lies Kibadan Huorola. Former worker of the DCM Corporation.’ He was a good ally to have. Unlucky for the CFO of DCM he didn’t know that he could be a dangerous enemy. Especially when you don’t know that he is your enemy.’
I limped along to another row of tombstones. Stopping every now and then to lean on my walking stick and catch my breath. I hate getting old, even with the advances in medical technology it gets harder to come here every year. It doesn’t help that the treatments also get more and more expensive as time goes by, some, like dear Kibadan, just can’t afford them as the years fly by.
“‘Here lies Araka Eramoda of the DCM Corporation.’”
“He was a bad man wasn’t he granddad.”
“Yes he was, yes he was….” My voice trailed away as I thought about my life, his life and everything that surrounded them. Minutes past until I came to my senses and realised that it was almost time to leave.

As I led my grandson away from the graveyard my communicator buzzed for my attention, “Nanata Eramoda here.”

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!

“Mommy,” her child tugged at her blouse, “where’s daddy? I’m scared.” as another brief explosion flashed before the window, startling them both.

Composing herself and turning to comfort her child, “We’ll be with daddy soon.” The power flickered suddenly, causing the child to scream out in panic again. Looking out the window, the wife glimpsed the buzzing of a mechanical beast - a drone. Further in the distance was the outline of what appeared to be a Caldarian ship idling among floating wreckage. Another flash followed by the power failing, leaving the complex dark. The child cried out again for her daddy. Another whirling buzz slid past the window, followed by the sounds of heavy structural damage to the complex.

“It’s alright - daddy will be here soo…”

****

With the last of the complex fading into gas and wreckage, the Caldari pilot recalled the pack of drones. Punching a few buttons on a side console, electronic and video versions of the battle were sent streaming, claiming the mission complete. A few moments later, a substantial deposit of credits were deposited in some distant account, followed by information of another mission similar to this finished one. Looking over the data, the pilot aligns the ship and warps away.

This article is brought to you by EVE-Mag.com - an independent EVE Magazine, ©2009 EVE-Mag.com. Read more of New Eden's finest writers here!