Picture credit: Wotlankor

Jaret Kosh’t, now safely placed in the gunship, gazed onto at the organized chaos that surrounded him. Propping himself on his elbows as he lay on a makeshift cot, he watched as the gunship’s medical team tried to save what was left of his company. Medics huddled over the wounded and the dying, desperately trying to save whom they could. He watched, as one medic desperately tried to revive Prashesh, trying to prevent the Grim Reaper from claiming another soul. Medical drones impassively floated in the air scanning the patients and forwarding their medical data to the orbiting hospital cruisers.

All of sudden one Caldari marine, his armor unstained and unmarked, a clear indicator that he had yet to face death, nudged Jaret, and motioned to the transparent steel, that was the gunship’s windows. A tattoo on the nape of the man’s neck, identified him as a Provist, an admirer of Tibus Heth. He leaned forward and shouted above the noise that reigned in the passenger hold of the gunship.

“Behold! See the glory of the State!!” the man shouted into Jaret’s ear and pointed towards the sight. Jaret glanced towards the indicated direction and his lips curled into a grimace at the sight he beheld.

Through the transparent steel, Jaret watched as Tibus Heth, self-declared leader of the Caldari State, brandished the flag of the Caldari State and planted it on top of the Gallente Legislature building. The flag, unfurled by the heavy winds, proudly displayed the symbol of the Caldari State. As the Marine beside him cheered, Jaret slowly lowered his head and quietly relapsed into unconsciousness.

For this company of the Pathfinder legion, even as their brethren fought furiously to liberate their former home, the Battle of Caldari Prime was over.

Three Year Laters

Jaret Kosh’t, the former captain of the Pathfinder legion, introspectively inspected the spicy, golden amber liquid in his glass. He carefully swirled it around, each with each swirl chanting the names of those he had loved and cared for. Tears filled his eyes, as he imagined and remembered what their final moments must have been like. Men and women, whom he had been proud to call brothers, sisters and comrades, lay buried on planets faraway, their cold corpses slowly returning to the earth where they lay.

Jaret Kosh’t however did not join in their sentence of death. For his crime of failing his comrades, he was to live out his life among the cold emptiness of space. For his failure to adequately adjust to the situation, he was cursed with immortality. Forced to walk among the stars, Jaret chose to lived a lonely existence, his closest friend being his Hawk; The Justice. Apart from letters, Jaret had never seen his family after the Battle of Caldari Prime. Were it not for Mordu’s Legion pod training, Jaret would have ended his life a long time ago.

Pausing after reciting the names of the former comrades, Jaret took a deep, slow drink of the liquid. As the spicy, amber liquid slowly burned its way down his throat, Jaret slowly began to chant the Pathfinder’s Psalm. Soon a voice, in the bar, filled with pride and grief and in an old tongue filled the empty silence of the station’s bar. Jaret ignored the stares from the bar’s patrons as the former Pathfinder sang the battle hymn.

“…And together we charge over the hilltops,
bearing in our hearts,
the Caldari flame,
Brothers all,
and glory, eternal glory,
we shall bear its weight together,
drenched in blood we may be.
Together with my army of brothers,
we shall all fight,
through the Darkness of Death,
through Hell…”

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!

Vengeance of the State – Epilogue

Picture credit: Wotlankor

In an innocuous forest on Caldari Prime, a strange sound can be heard. It first starts of with rumble that slowly grows to roar. Trees are knocked aside and vegetation is crushed as the roars rise to crescendo. An MTAC steps through the brush, swatting aside an ancient tree. It scans the area and then gives an all-clear signal. Squads of elite Gallente Security Force Kommandoes, push through the vegetation, their rifles sweeping the area around them. Behind them more MTACS and Kommandoes work their way through the forest, carefully making their way to reclaim the Orbital Cannon Control facility.

Admiral Jorus Fringer, watched the progress of his troops courtesy of the command implant that was buried somewhere in his temporal lobe. Safely cocooned in the command room of a gigantic armored command vehicle, he organized and controlled the squads as they made their way through the forest. Responding to an alarm raised at the facility, he had been distressed to find no response to his queries to their status.

However what troubled him even more, was the fact that no one at High Command seemed to respond to his alerts. He had contacted his fellow officers and they too confirmed what he was experiencing. It seemed that none of the command staff were available.

Tucked away in the hallways of High Command, a normally busy room was filled with dead silence. Instead of the hustle and bustle that normally filled this room, there hung the aura of death. At a table at the centre of the room, 10 bodies sat slumped in their seats. All the corpses on them had a variety of expression that ranged from shock, rage and fear. Some of their hands clutched at their necks, others gripped the handles of the seats, in a desperate bid to escape the room of death.

A young lady, dressed in revealing clothes that proclaimed her beauty, moved through the room. She was fitted with a re-breather mask, and hidden behind it her lips curved into a deadly smile. In her hands she gripped a handgun and with it she walked up to each body and put a round in its forehead. A small tattoo at her delicate nape of her neck identified her as being one of Heth’s provists.

She had been the ‘surprise’ for the generals. A large cake in the center of the room, gave a clue to her arrival. When she had burst through the cake, she watched as the surrounding generals expression of lust and desire soon gave way to shock and horror, as she triggered the release of the poison gas. Were it not for the boosters she had taken and the re-breather mask she wore, she would have joined the generals in their death.

In her former life she had been a stripper, desperate for cash and drugs that would ease the pain and trauma. That was before she met Heth. The man, through his words and actions had inspired her to join his Provists and since that day she had never looked back. With the Provist,s she now worked for something that was bigger than her, bigger than her life nay her very soul. True there had been times they committed acts that the State would have frowned upon. True there were times when they worked with pirates, thieves and murderers. But it had all been for the moment when they could guide the State towards greatness and power. Caldari Prime was only the first step and soon the entire world of New Eden would soon rue the day that they ignored the State.

Captian Prashesh Kobai, watched through his scope as the Gallente Security Force Kommandoes moved through the underbrush and approached the facility. While their camo suits would usually render them virtually invisible to the naked eye, on thermal view they showed up as bright as day. With a near silent whisper, he ordered his lieutenant to activate the mines.

Without a sound a thousand packages of death and mayhem activated, their sensors now primed to detect human or mechanical movement. While landmines were officially banned under the Concord Convention of Warfare, the Pathfinders felt that point was moot. They had already executed any Gallente wounded, so detonating a few thousand landmines really wasn’t going to make a difference.

A Gallente MTAC, at the head of the formation, marched through the forest. Durasteel legs pounded through the forest, as its sensors corrected its placement for the curvature of the forest floor. Gatling guns, mounted on its arms, sweeped, the area in front of it, in 90-degree arcs. It operator, thanks to his implant, was fed a variety of sensory and tactical information. Dull green armor plates, covered the mechanical behemoth, protecting vital components.

As the MTAC approached the facility, a corner of his mind registered a small, innocuous click. While normally he would ignore small sounds like those, since a MTAC operator would be usually be barraged by the full spectrum of noise, which ranged from the stomp of metallic feet to the whine of its motors. Whether or not he would have done something about that click would remain unresolved, as a mine was detonated by the presence of the MTAC.

A surge of heat and pressure radiated from the mine, smashing through metal support structures, crushing armor and burning electronic circuits. Suddenly bereft a leg, the MTAC flailed helplessly as it crashed into the ground, its control cabin crushed by the fall. The surrounding Kommandoes were incinerated by the blast and heat that radiated from the mine. Formerly silent comms, were now suddenly filled with the screams of the wounded and dying, and desperate requests for medical aid. Medics ran to their comrades, desperately trying to stave off the Grim Reaper from claiming more souls.

Captain Jaret Kosh’t watched, as the first wave of the Gallente attack force was ripped apart as the mines unleashed their deadly packages. He winced as he saw another MTAC fall to the ground and crush an unlucky Kommando that was nearby. He grimaced as he saw another Gallente soldier, lose both his legs as a landmine ripped them from underneath him.

He had positioned the remainder of the assault team in the surrounding forest. The overall plan was to buy time for reinforcements to arrive. Medium Assault Rifles (MARs) and shotguns were now wielded. A few members of the assault team carried with them rocket launchers. Every third soldier wielded an under slung grenade launcher. Camo suits were activated and the Pathfinders had complemented these suits with sticking part of the surrounding foliage into the seams of their suits. Every man and woman waited with baited breath, all waiting for the signal to unleash hell.

Jaret watched as the remnants of the first wave of Gallente soldiers were reinforced with the second wave of Kommandoes. He quietly watched as discipline was quickly re-established and as the dead and wounded were brought to their rear. He quietly watched as the second wave carefully passed his position, the Kommandoes scanning their surrounding. With a silent signal, he motioned his assault team to attack.

With flick of his hand, he now wielded his combat knife and in a smooth motion grabbed a nearby Gallente. Clamping his hand over the unlucky soldier’s mouth, he pulled the knife across the man’s neck and in an even stroke severed the man’s jugular artery. Blood gushed forth and covered his hands, as the man suddenly collapsed from lack of the blood. All around Pathfinders were repeating his actions, as they rose up like specters of death and claimed their victims.

Selecting another victim, Jaret carefully stalked him and began to position his knife. He was almost prepared to deliver the killing stroke, when in an instant the soldier whirled around. An instant passed, when killer and victim started each other in the eye, connected through that moment of death. Then it all went to hell.

In the hallways of the Gallente High Command, a team of Gallente Spec Ops soldiers carefully made their way through. Their eyes darted and scanned the hallway, noting the unnatural silence. CQB rifles were hefted and Night Vision Goggles pierced the darkness and gloom that now reigned in the hallways. Rebreather masks and HAZMAT suits prevented them from inhaling the toxic gas that now filled the corridors.

Their goal was to retrieve and rescue the Gallente High Command, whom were undoubtedly cocooned in the command room. Rated to withstand all manner of attack from the outside, it was a virtual fortress. Without the Gallente High Command, all military forces on the planet were virtually leaderless, the nearest command centre being located on Gallente Prime.

With a quick hand gestures, the spec-ops team investigated each room, noting the bodies that lay in odd postures. As they slowly approached the command room their pulses began to race as each soldier prepared for what they might find. Approaching a hidden console, the leader of the team entered in a code that granted him access to the room. With a whirr the blast doors slowly opened. A special forces soldier chucked in a flash-bang and for a moment a bright flash of thunder and light erupted from the room.

In a well polished maneuver the team streamed into the command room, rifles scanning their designated sectors. Night vision goggles pierced the darkness as each soldier registered what they saw.

CRACK! A shot rang out, and one soldier was thrown back, his armor sparking as it struggled to compensate for the slug, which smashed into it.

In a honed maneuver, driven by years of training and experience, another soldier raised his rifle, spotted the figure, a young attractive female clad in revealing attire and clutching a pistol, and fired two rounds into her forehead.

CRACK! CRACK! The young female suddenly had two extra eyes drilled into her forehead and she fell to floor in an almost graceful motion, her fingers firing the pistol in a final death spasm. The flash from her pistol illuminated the room and for an instant revealed the full scale of what had happened.

One by one the operators checked the slouching occupants of the room for any signs of life. Each corpse yielded no sign of life, as the pallor of death was fixed upon each of their faces.

The leader of the squad broadcast a quick terse message to his commanding officer, which revealed that almost everyone in the command centre was dead.

Jaret leapt the distance between the soldier and him, his knife flashing in the light of the rising sun. The soldier fired a round, which barely missed the Pathfinder. Almost in response to that lone shot, a thousand more shots rang out as the Gallente soon realized that they were being quietly ambushed. Jaret sunk his knife into his victim’s neck, his eyes locking onto the unfortunate man’s eyes, as his lifeblood drained from him.

Nearby another Pathfinder hefted his rocket launcher, aimed and then fired. A flaming explosive projective, was propelled towards its target an MTAC, whose operator had just opened fire. The unfortunate Pathfinder was immediately thrown backwards, as the heavy rounds slammed into his chest, blowing away armor and parts of organs. The rocket continued on its deadly path and it slammed into the MTAC. Armor plating was ripped apart and the operator was vaporized as the rocket unleashed its deadly payload and converted the former mighty MTAC into a bright red explosion.

Jaret whipped out his MAR and instantly opened fire. Rounds tore through foliage, armor and flesh. The silenced roar of his rifle, soon became louder, as his silencer overwhelmed by the fury of the unleashed rounds burned out. Around him the cries and clamor of battle reached a crescendo as the Caldari Pathfinders and the Gallente Kommandoes fought and grappled with each other.

Rockets flew threw the air, creating bright red explosions that consumed both man and machine. Soldiers fell to the ground, some clutching at their wounds and other continuing to fight where they lay. The formerly green foliage and trees was now caked with on odd mixture of engine oil, shrapnel and blood. Rifles, which had expended their rounds, were now turned into impromptu clubs, smashing skulls and breaking necks. Grenades exploded releasing their deadly waves of heat, pressure and shrapnel. Mines detonated impaling both friend and foe alike.

Sniper fired, their rounds flying at impossible speeds to their targets. Camo-systems overwhelmed by the surrounding chaos desperately tried to work, as platoons of half men, half phantoms engaged in a deadly struggle with each other.

Jaret desperately ordered a fighting withdrawal, and with ragged discipline the Pathfinders slowly withdrew back to the facility, making the Gallente pay for each inch they gained. Wounded were dragged or carried by their comrades and the dead were left where they laid. Hoisting one of his wounded brethren onto his shoulders, Jaret slowly inched his way back to the facility, trusting that the snipers would cover the remnants of the assault force.

The snipers fired, desperately trying to protect their comrades. Magnetically charged steel slugs flew through the air, striking both man and machine in the critical areas. Mechanical joints were shattered, leading to MTACs toppling to the floor, their Gatling guns still firing as they fell. Soldiers lost their throats and heads, as the steel slugs smashed and tore threw flesh and bone.

Admiral Jorus Fringer snarled as he saw his casualties mount. While they were slowly advancing they were taking horrendous casualties. He had lost entire battalions, their formerly proud warriors now reduced to the silent dead or the moaning wounded. MTAC divisions were ripped apart as explosive rockets, precisely aimed railgun rounds and deadly mines took their toll.

Any logical tactician would have immediately called off the assault, but Fringer knew that he didn’t have that option. If the Caldari still retained control of the orbital cannons, any invading assault possessed a potential advantage.

An alert over the command network, revealed by a fellow officer, that Gallente High Command was dead. Chaos soon reigned over the command network as officers argued over what to do. Soon reports began to stream in of Caldari Naval vessels moving through surrounding solar systems.

Fringer, realizing that he was the highest ranking officer on the planet, immediately took command. Fringer now more aware of the importance of retaking the facility, immediately ordered in more reinforcements. One officer, responded that he was dispatching a regiment of shock troopers. Another officer added that he was detailing a team of heavily armed tanks to support Fringer.

Out in the dark-emptiness of space, the Caldari Navy approached the planet, as the heavily outnumbered Gallente Defense Fleet attacked the immense formations. Every man and woman on those ships, knew that they didn’t stand a chance against the immense Caldari fleet. All they were able to do was buy more time for the ground forces to retake the orbital cannon centre, which would almost certainly reduce the Caldari to bits and pieces.

As the Caldari Navy approached the planet, a stream of missiles and railguns rounds erupted from the formation and flew towards the Gallente fleet. Majestic Caldari Chimera carriers and Wyvern
Motherships disgorged their streams of nimble fighters and heavy bombers. Heavy armed dropships streamed towards the planetary surface, escorted by the hordes of Caldari Dragonfly fighters. Wings of Caldari Navy Hookbills, covered by Harpys and Hawks opened fire on Gallente frigates and cruisers.

Missiles tore through durasteel plating and exploded, ripping apart the orbital cannons. They exploded in impressive display of fireworks, their deadly charges of cruise missiles and bombs detonating. Waves of thermal and electrical energy spread out from the wrecks of the orbital cannons as the Caldari Navy set to work at demolishing the orbital cannon network with impunity.

A flight of gunships flew straight towards the orbital cannon control centre, filled to their capacity with Caldari State Marines. Eager to rescue their brethren, the Marines made final checks on their equipment. The lead gunship broadcast a coded message to the Pathfinders, indicating the help was on it way.

Captain Jaret Kosh’t was thrown to the ground as a Gallente tank round tore through the foliage and exploded right in front of him. The wounded man he was carrying, was thrown away from him, crying out in pain as his injuries were worsened by the blast.

Jaret slowly pushed himself upwards and painfully crawled towards his comrade, each movement sending a wave of pain through him. As he reached his comrade, he noticed that the man had in fact died on impact. He flipped himself onto his back and prepared to make his final stand. Whipping out his pistol he started firing, noting that with every Gallente tank round fired, the stream of slugs and rockets erupting from the Pathfinder’s position seemed to lessen. Time seemed to slow down as he watched as a Gallente Kommando, step into his field of vision and raise his rifle.

Prashesh Kobai, watched as his close friend collapsed to the ground. With a roar he continued to fire his sniper rifle, his rounds continuing to leave their mark on the Gallente. The snipers continued to fire their rifles, desperately trying to hold off the enraged Gallente Kommandoes who seemed to ignore hail of slugs and rockets the Pathfinders put out. Prashesh, aimed carefully at the Kommando who was now aiming at his comrade and in a single motion fired a round that removed the man’s head from his shoulders. However, in the corner of his vision, he could have sworn he saw a tank’s turret swivel, aim and fire on his position.

Prasheh Kobai, slowly watched as his vision blossomed into fire and destruction, as the tank rounds blew him and the nearby snipers off their perches. Prashesh, slowly watched as his vision darkened into blackness. In a testament to his warrior spirit, Prashesh’ last words was the chant of the Pathfinder code, as the darkness claimed him.

In orbit, a Caldari Navy commander noted the huge concentration of Gallente military around the orbital cannon facility. While normally, he would have ordered a bombardment of the facility and its surroundings, the fact of the matter was that there were comrades defending the facility. Additionally high command wanted the facility intact, something about useful intelligence hidden there. However he just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give, the Gallente Defense Forces, a black eye and so ordered an orbiting battery of artillery cannons to fire on his marked targets.

The commander allowed himself a slight grin as the rounds sped through the atmosphere to rain hell and destruction on the unlucky Gallente below

Admiral Jorus Fringer slumped forward in his command chair, as he registered the destruction of the orbital cannons. Despite all their best efforts, despite every maneuver they tried, it was only a matter of time before Caldari Prime fell. But what they could do was vanquish those bastard Pathfinders, whose numbers were dropping steadily by the minute. With a roar of rage, he threw all his forces onto Pathfinders, ignoring the officers who protested such suicidal orders.

In retrospect, that would be Fringer’s undoing. Having thrown all his available forces, he had in fact made them all an attractive target to the orbiting Caldari artillery ships. Fringer barely had time to glance at the nearby photo of his dear wife and child, before the artillery shells incinerated and destroyed him and his division.

All that Jaret do was watch as the tank blew the snipers off their perches with explosive rounds. His legs failed to respond to his will. His rifle and pistol having expended all their ammo, now lay at his feet. A MTAC stomped its way towards him, its feet sounding like thunder. Jaret slowly began to chant the Pathfinder code and prepared to join his comrades in death.

All of a sudden, like the wrath of an angry god, thunder and lighting erupted from the sky, as artillery rounds slammed into the assaulting Gallente Defense Forces. Man and machines were ripped asunder as the artillery rounds swept through the formations. Tanks were smashed into pieces, MTAC’s exploded and men were simply vaporized by the rounds. The forest, having long now been destroyed by the fight, erupted into flame as the shells ignited the streams of oil and blood that flowed through the forest.

Jaret slowly massaged his eyes open and gawked at the sight that greeted his eyes. Less than two feet from him lay the broken body of an MTAC. The charred corpse of the MTAC operator lay halfway through the broken windscreen, his burnt hands still clasping the ripped controls of the machine.

For the first time in hours, silence reigned in the forest. Jaret could hear thunder and lightning and felt raindrops on his skin. The rain started slowly first and then became a downpour, as if nature itself wanted to wash away the scars of this battle. The streams of rain that blanketed the charred remains of the forest soon washed expended rounds, blood and oil away.

A steady thrum of plasma engine soon greeted his ears, Caldari gunships landed and emptied their load of Caldari State Marines. Marines rushed to their positions, checking for any survivors and executing any Gallente wounded.

In a corner of his vision Jaret, saw the Marines stream into the facility, carrying out wounded Pathfinders out and marking the dead. Jaret saw one Marine Corporal approach him and say something. As Jaret was hauled to his feet, with two Marines supporting him, he regarded the full scale of death and destruction that had been unleashed in the past hours.

The corporal’s HUD registered the man as barely alive and the commander of this company of Pathfinders. The Marine Corporal, truth be told, thought he was talking to a corpse more than anything else. The man was pockmarked with wounds and blast marks. The man’s legs barely supported him. His eyes, were lifeless and they slowly moved from left to right.

The Marine would have thought the Pathfinder dead, if the man hadn’t suddenly started to cry, tears descending from his tired eyes, down his dirt-stained face and onto the blood soaked earth.

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!

Vengeance of the State – Part 3

Picture credit: Wotlankor

Goresh Forsan, senior commander of the orbital canon control facility, watched as reports flooded in detailing excessive damage to the facility and mounting casualties. Through a implant in his brain, he had access to live feeds from cameras located in the forest, and watched as one by one the camera blinked out. Another implant gave him top command of the attack drones and he ordered their deadly swarms to find the snipers. Around him officers barked out orders and updates pertaining to the situation

Without a pause for thought, Forsan declared a code red, alerting the nearby garrison for support. He was ready to order the MTAC’s to continue their advance into the forest, when a priority alarm was broadcast over the speakers.

“They’re inside!!” A voice screamed over the comms “We need backup, sector 22…”. Forsan flinched as he heard a shot ring out over the comms. Quickly accessing the database, Forsan started to sweat as he looked the thermal scans of operating rooms, that would be usually be warm with the body heat of technicians and soldiers, instead registered cold corpses.

“Dear God…” He murmured “those bastards are inside”

__________________________________________

At the rallying point for the GSF forces, instead of the quiet discipline of an assembled regiment rang out the roars and cries of battle. The Pathfinders carved their way through GSF forces, using assault rifles, shotguns and even knives. Soon the heat of battle gave way to the cold stillness of death, as the wounded moaned and the dead remained silent. The surviving Pathfinders, quickly restocked their ammunition, counted their dead and killed the wounded Gallente. One Pathfinder sergeant noticed that their leader, Jaret Kosh’t was missing. The odds of him fleeing the battle were low, as the Caldari honor code forbade leaving one’s comrades behind.

Mystified as to where Jaret could be, the sergeant surveyed the corpse littered zone, taking note of a hole in the wall. As several Pathfinders surveyed the area, they knew that they had to regain the initiative. They were ready to press on their attack, when out of nowhere they heard a loud bang.
__________________________________________

As Jaret’s vision began to blacken, in a move borne out of desperation, he whipped out his knife and started to stab furiously. Cold Caldari vibrosteel punctured skin, slashed flesh and yet the giant Brutor still maintained his grip. As Jaret looked into the Brutor’s eyes, he noticed blue streaks the ran through his eyeballs, as a portion of the Pathfinder’s mind ascertained that the giant was high on some cocktail of combat boosters and drugs.

Desperately, Jaret started clawing at the giants immense arms, desperately trying every possible technique to gain some release from the giant. Instead the giant’s deadly grin grew even wider, as he became amused at Jaret’s feeble attempts.

Deciding that he was out of options, Jaret’s arms clutched at his combat vest and he activated a grenade and shoved it at the giant’s face. As the world around him flashed bright white, Jaret’s managed to croak a final insult.

“Suck it.”

__________________________________________

Blinded by the amazingly bright light and load noise that assaulted his senses, the giant released the Pathfinder with a howl of pain. Ironically, the Brutor’s cocktail of stims and drugs, which had been designed to boost his senses, now worked against him. The already bright light and loud noise, generated by the flashbang, were now magnified a hundred times more, as his mind reeled from the barrage of sensory information. Pain and noise now dominated his mind, as he staggered back from the Pathfinder

Swining his Khuumak his circles, the Brutor sought to kill that slippery Caldari, whose head was only inches underneath the giants arcs. As he slowly regained his senses, he noticed in the corner of his eye, a soldier clad in camo gear, slowly take aim and fire. Times seemed to slow to crawl as the magnetically charged slug tore across the space between the soldier and the Brutor giant. The slug slowly twirled through the air and with the force of a ten-ton hammer, penetrated his skull. All the giant was able to was let loose a final roar of defiance, as his vision turned to red, black and then nothing.

__________________________________________

Prashesh and the Pathfinder sergeant regarded the Brutor giant, who was now missing his skull, thanks to the fact that both soldiers had fired at the giant at the same moment. With a silent nod, Prashesh took the lead, as the sergeant quickly pulled Jaret to his feet. The woozy captain, managed to sputter out a sentence, in a somewhat shocked tone.

“What?” he gasped, as the sergeant quickly gave him a shot of adrenaline “I’m not dead?!”

Prashesh, who had slung his sniper rifle behind his back, now wielded a shotgun. As he led the troops through the facility, he grimly assessed what his HUD was telling him. Their strength had been now reduced to three quarters, the act of fighting a numerically superior force and one with overwhelming firepower had started to take its toll on the Pathfinders. Yet they had to press on, failure was not an option.

Yes, Prashesh thought, as he blasted an unlucky Gallente into oblivion, Failure is not an option.

__________________________________________

The control centre was an example of organized chaos, with officers barking orders over comms. Forshan snapped concise commands over the comm network, ordering his attack drones to enter the facility, an operation for which the machines were not designed.

Over the network, a Gallente admiral contacted Forshan and confirmed that a regiment of the Gallente army was on its way. Soldiers armed with assault rifles and machine guns, backed up with MTACs and tanks were on their way. Still, Forshan knew that it would take them fifteen minutes to reach his position, and he knew a lot could happen in that time.

As he furiously tried to realign his forces, he noted that his sensors, which had registered the deadly progress at which the invading forces had made, indicated that they had come to a complete stop. Perhaps fortune had smiled on him finally.

However these would Forshan’s final thoughts as a hole was punched underneath him and he noticed in the corner of his vision, a rocket soar through the gap, pause in midflight and then detonate. A wave of heat and pain crawled up his legs, his arms, his head and finally there was nothing.

__________________________________________

With the help of rappelling lines, the assault team ascended into the main control room. As they surveyed the control room, they took in the carnage that had been unleashed by the lone rocket. Pieces of armor had been tossed around the room, shrapnel laced bodies hung at every possible angle. Officers, many of whom had died where they were, lay all over the place, their hands clutching their sidearm at a desperate final attempt to fight death.

Prashesh, quickly redeployed his snipers, along the rooftops of the facility and the surrounding vegetation. As he rushed to his new position, he noted Jaret slowly approach the central console

Jaret woozily approached the central console, pushing aside a corpse that had definitely seen better days. He carefully extracted a disk from his combat vest, inserted it into the central console and began to pray.
__________________________________________

As the program slowly inched its way out from the disk, it quickly began its purpose. It primary purpose was to “update” the central computer’s security network with the “latest” definition of computer threats. After the central computer ascertained the nature of the program and deemed it ‘friendly’, the program quietly went to work updating the threat database. After it finished its task, the program than shut itself down, having deemed its task done.

While the program itself did no damage, however what it had unleashed would be the digital equivalent of telling a city’s police forces that the mayor was the head of galactic terrorist, serial killer, megalomaniac conspiracy. Almost immediately, the drone brain registered these new threats, as they suddenly numbered in the thousands, and quickly sent out hunter killer programs to destroy these new threats to its existence.

__________________________________________

As the Pathfinders watched, the drone brain slowly tore itself apart, as its own hunter killer programs began to destroy key components of its own infrastructure. Finally the drone brain shut down, as it own support was destroyed

This of course would have been the moment when the Pathfinders would have celebrated, when they heard the buzzing of attack drones.

__________________________________________

Flying through the corridors at speeds unimaginable, the drone’s sensors began feeding their brains information. Thermal scanners noted the warm trail of blood and gore that marked the progress of the Pathfinders. Imaging sensors fed them pictures of expended rounds and broken bodies. Combat control system began to spin their razor sharp chainsaws, as they approached their destination. With jet black insectoid bodies, glowing red eyes, spinning chainsaws and measuring almost the size of human, they were death incarnate.

As Jaret Kosh’t spun around, it seemed that once again the Grim Reaper had marked him for death. As the swarm of drones entered the control room, time seem to freeze. His eyes registered the spinning blades that these drones wielded, their blood red eyes and the terrifying visage. His hands, borne out years of training, yanked his pistol out of his holster. In a smooth motion, he drew the pistol and began to fire.

All around him the roar of shotguns and rifles erupted, as man fought machine. Sensors exploded, limbs were lost as the deadly Pathfinders and the cold attack drones fought each other. One attack drone grabbed an unlucky soldier and began to rip into him. His partner, desperately fired an anti armor grenade, the resulting explosion engulfing all three of them. Jaret kept firing his pistol, as he desperately tried to avoid the deadly blades of the drones.

One Pathfinder sergeant, having been, tackled by a drone, desperately raised his shotgun to deliver the blow. It was for naught as the drone, smacked it out of his hands and began to move in on him. The sergeant, a grizzle veteran, pulled a specially marked grenade from his vest and detonated it. Waves of heat and electromagnetic interference pulsed out from it destroying both the sergeant and his robotic attacker.

The official policy on usage of EM grenades was to never use them in close proximity to human beings. This was due to the fact that the EM pulse, while designed to render electronic and mechanical equipment inoperable, could cause damage the human nervous system. Many soldiers who had been exposed to EM radiation suffered nervous twitches, damaged brains and scar tissue.

This point was rendered moot to the Pathfinders, as they desperately began to throw EM grenades at their attackers. Waves of EM radiation spread through the room overloading circuits, destroying computer systems and breaking down the attack drones. One by one, the attack drones began to fall to the ground, their circuits overwhelmed by the barrage of Electromagnetic interference.

For the first time in hours, the control room was finally silent. The Pathfinders quietly regarded their dead robotic foes and then went to work. Wounded were attended to and the dead were pushed aside as Jaret struggled to reorganize his team. As he quietly regarded the corpse of his sergeant, Jaret ordered a young lieutenant to dispose of the drones. Jaret ordered another lieutenant to contact the snipers and organize runners. The EM grenades had knocked out the assault team’s electronic equipment, which included scopes and comms. While some of the equipment could be reset, Jaret knew that for now they would depend on the sniper’s equipment.

“Captain” the lietentant he had sent to contact the snipers breathlessly reported “Prashesh reports enemy advances towards our position”

“What is the nature of this advance?” Jaret queried the shaking lieutenant. The EM pulses are already starting to take their toll on her, as Jaret noticed her hands were shaking.

“Infantry divisions, tanks and MTACs” The lieutenant responded “And a shitload of them too!!”

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Vengeance of the State – Part 2

Picture credit: Wotlankor

The magnetically charged slug burst out from LDR sniper rifle and charged across the vast gap from hunter to the hunted. Despite all this energy expended, there is only muffled crack that could be heard.

The slug, propelled with immense energy, pierces its target. The ballistic impact of the slug alone kills the target. However the slug is not finished. As it penetrates the skull, tiny explosives implanted in the slug, detonate. The result, needless to say, is immensely effective. The buffalo immediately keeled over, sans head, its corpse smashing the ground with the force of a miniature earthquake.

Jaret’s eyes focused; as he watched the buffalo herd begin the move. Without their leader, the herd wouldn’t know what to do. Any creature that had just watched their leader have its head removed would start to have doubts about the safety of it current position.

Prashesh, Jaret’s right hand man and close friend, fired another round. Another buffalo collapsed, this time missing a leg. As the sounds of the animal’s excruciating pain rang out through the forest, the herd collectively decided that enough was enough.

With what started with a few individuals, soon spread to the thousands. Soon, the thousand strong herd of buffalo began to stampede through the forest. Trees, bushes and even predatory animals were crushed in their path, as the herd sought to escape the hand of death that had so clearly killed their leader.
_____________________________________

Within the recesses of the control centre, within the banks of computers a program stirred. In a matter of seconds it registered information from sensors that something very large was moving towards the facility. With blinding speed, it quickly compared the mass of the object to data gleaned from the immense rows of databanks it had at its disposal. Confused, by what it found, it immediately sent out an alert to the operator.

One tired Gallente technician, who was looking forward to his warm bed, was annoyed at the insistent beeping his console gave out. With a snarl of annoyance he glanced at the readouts. What he saw puzzled and confused him. The readouts indicated that huge, swarming mass was approaching the facility. Activating one of the cameras, he was stunned by what he saw. A large, teeming mass of Striped Buffalos was fast approaching the facility.

________________________________________

You are completely insane a part of Jaret’s mind drily noted.

To anyone else, would have considered Jaret was truly insane. Instead of staying clear of the mighty striped buffalo, as any sane individual would, he was leading his team after the herd.

As part of the assault element of his company, he had loaded his Medium Assault Rifle (MAR) with explosive rounds. Light enough to be carried into battle and close combat; it had enough firepower to blow through 5 layers of durasteel. While usually Jaret avoided using explosive rounds, for they had a nasty tendency spew out shrapnel at the shooter, he knew that the first moments of the assault would be key in order to overwhelm the guards. The respective squad leaders of the assault element had armed themselves also with explosive rounds.

It was in complete silence, that the assault element of the Pathfinders charged towards their objective, under the watchful cover of their brother snipers. There was no roar of aggression, no furious flag waving, as the holo-reels loved the depict it. Instead there was silent mass of half ghost, half human creatures that charged towards the perimeter. At approximately ten metres from the facility, they dropped to their knees and placed round black objects to the ground, in a circular pattern.

Jaret sought cover behind an old tree. After quick glance and having deemed the assault elements of the company secure, he detonated the explosives.
________________________________________
Prashesh, watched all of this through his scope. He watched as the assault element charged through the forest. He watched as Jaret detonated the explosives. He watched as the assault team dove into the immense hole that had been created. Then it was time to stop watching and to start shooting.

As members of the Gallente Security Forces Kommandoes charged to their posts, Prashesh selected one unlucky soldier. With a move borne out of years of training and experience, he adjusted his aim and in a smooth motion pulled the trigger.

CRACK!!! One Kommando had his head removed.

CRACK!! One unlucky officer, who had been screaming instructions into her headpiece, also lost her head.

CRACK!!! One of the mini-sentries burst into pieces as the slug tore it apart, through sheer force alone.

CRACK! CRACK! Two more GSF soldiers fell to his deadly aim.

In distance, Prashesh, saw platoons of soldiers rally for a counter attack and MTAC operators rush to their machines

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! A flurry of shots from the snipers, ensured that four MTAC operators never reached their mounts.

The foliage around his position began to snap and break, as a GSF soldier had undoable zeroed in on his position and had begun to open fire.

With a snarl Prashesh, swung his rifle around and in one smooth motion fired a deadly shot.

________________________________________

Jaret’s heart pounded as the assault team charged through the corridors. Splotches of blood and corpses marked their path, a testament to the ferocity of their assault. As they surged through the corridors, the Pathfinders, never paused for a second, blasted anyone unlucky to be in their path. Gallente soldiers, officers and even unarmed technicians fell to their wrath, as the State finally exacted its vengeance for the occupation its homeworld.

Rounding the corner, the Pathfinders slammed into a stunned assembly of GSF troops, whom were undoubtedly rallying for a counter attack, against the Caldari Snipers outside. Responding within seconds, a fact that would have made their instructors proud, the Pathfinders opened fire with a barrage of fire.

WHAP! WHAP! Without thought or remorse, Jaret selected an unfortunate GSF soldier and fire two rounds in their head.

WHAP! WHAP! Another enemy soldier received two rounds in the neck

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! One GSF officer, received three rounds in the stomach, collapsing to the ground as his entrails bled out.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Jaret continued to fire, lost in the heat of battle, firing rounds and taking cover every couple of seconds. Leading his comrades, they slowly advanced down the corridor, pouring death and destruction into the unfortunate Gallente soldiers. The defenders bravely held their ground and soon both sides met each in hand to hand combat.

Grenades flew through the air, releasing bursts of searing heat and deadly shrapnel. Rounds slammed into their targets, as both sides began fire into each other. Slugs ripped through armor and flesh, maiming or killing their targets. Armor systems pushed to their max, pumping biofoam into open wounds, as even more rounds smashed into them. Knives were wielded and plunged into the necks, armpits or groins of unlucky soldiers. Wounded warriors, continued to fire and fight where they lay, determined to drag their enemy with them into the abyss of death.

Blood splattered onto the nearby walls as soldiers all around him, shot and grappled with each other. Within seconds Jaret’s HUD indicated that he was down to his last round. As if fate had conspired against him, Jaret came face to face with a very large and very angry Brutor.

No doubt a mercenary, the Brutor giant smashed an unlucky Pathfinder with an immense Khuumak. The giant’s blood red amour had ragged holes that had been punched into it. In his enormous hands, he held the Khuumak, which was caked with blood. With a snarl the Brutor, a mere half metre away from Jaret, surged towards him like ravenous predator eager to devour its prey.

With a smooth motion Jaret aimed for the giant and fired his last round. But it seemed fate had marked Jaret for death, for in an impossible move, the giant swatted the round aside as if it were a fly, with his Khuumak.

Desperately Jaret reached for his knife, but a part of his mind knew it would be too late.

“Oh fuu…” Jaret managed to mumble, before the giant smashed into him and propelled him through a wall. The impact alone sent stars twirling into Jaret’s field of vision. Were it not for his armor, Jaret’s internal organs would have been liquefied by the impact. The giant, then picked Jaret up from the floor and lifted him up to regard his face

The bastard wants to choke me to death Jaret’s shocked mind managed to piece together, as he looked onto the grinning battle visage of the Brutor. The giant’s tattoos seemed to pulsate, as the giant’s grin became even wider. With a slow but gradually increasing pressure, the giant began to increase pressure on Jaret’s neck, and the Pathfinder’s world began to gradually darken.

________________________________________

Were it not for his HUD, Prashesh would have lost track of the number of kills he had rung up since the start of his operation. For the past hours, he had settled into a pattern of selecting a target and firing at it. All around him his fellow snipers, created chaos, confusion and death for the enemy. In the air, hung the smell of death, as GSF squads struggled to flush out the snipers and paid dearly for it. Gallente MTAC’s crashed to ground or into the nearby trees as railgun rounds smashed through their leg joints or into the operator’s hatch.

Prashesh, had ordered his snipers to change their positions every couple of shots to prevent the enemy from getting a fix on them. The end result was that the Gallente were desperately clutching at straws, in order to catch an invisible but deadly enemy.

However, that was not to say it was easy. Prashesh had seen his sniper’s forces reduced by a quarter, as overwhelming Gallente firepower reduced unlucky comrades to shreds. Then of course there were the battle drones.

Like a creature that had been unleashed from hell, these battle drones were a nightmare on the battlefield. Possessing an array of weapons that included auto-cannons and deadly disturbingly chain saws, these drones were truly the robotic specter of death. Possessing an appearance, that could only be described as both insectoid and disturbing, their optic clusters glowed red, as they floated through the air. Prashesh had seen the drones rip through his comrades with a robotic determination. The chain saws ripped through foliage and flesh, reducing both to slivers in a matter of minutes.

Only a few seconds earlier, could only watch helplessly as one of his comrades, a young lady became the target of a drone. As he watched helplessly, she had done the only thing possible and detonated her grenades, destroying the drone as it grappled with her and mercifully ending her agony.

Prashesh, therefore did the only logical thing at that moment. He ordered his remaining snipers to dive into the hole that had been created by the assault team. He could only hope that the cover afforded by the facility would help to protect them from the overwhelming Gallente firepower.

Without a word, the snipers quickly abandoned their positions and charged towards the hole, leaving mines and claymores in their wake. As Prashesh dived into the darkness, he prayed that he hadn’t made a rash decision.

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Vengeance of the State – Part 1

Picture credit: Wotlankor

He slowly made his way to the bar, brushing past a small group of chatting pod-pilots. With a hand that trembled with experiences that threatened to overwhelm his senses, he motioned to the dour faced bartender for a drink. With a face that’s had seen too many tragic experiences for one so young, he ordered a strong Intaki rum, with brown sugar and hot water.

Jaret Kosh’t scanned the room around him as he waited for his drink, he noticed in the corner of the room a new holo-reel showcasing the grand military parade that circled the planet of Caldari Prime. He listened as the newscaster babbled some nonsense about this being the day being the third anniversary of the liberation of Caldari Prime. He listened for some time as the newscaster continued to list the ‘technical’ malfunctions that shut down the Gallente orbital planetary defense system.

I guess that’s what they call it now, Jaret thought as he accepted he drink from the bartender

As Jaret stared at the golden liquid that was in glass, his mind went back three years back in time and space, back from the dark bar on some dingy station low-sec space to the forests of Caldari Prime.

__________________________________________

Three Years Earlier

Within his camo suit, Captain Jaret Kosh’t, of the Pathfinder Legion of the Caldari State Marines, slowly made himself more comfortable. He had positioned his company of elite Pathfinders throughout this forest on Caldari Prime. In the weeks before they had quietly infiltrated the planet, usually under the guise of being students, business executive or in some cases Scope News reporters. When they arrived on planet, they would usually link up with one of the Caldari Provists that were sprinkled throughout the populace.

Many members of the Caldari Navy had an opinion on the Heth’s provists. To some they were merely undisciplined thugs or maniacs, capable of doing more harm then good to the State. To others they were patriots, who were willing to do anything for the State. Jaret, in line with that of the military leadership, viewed these provists as nuisance, since they were more than likely to screw up a mission for some misplaced act of patriotism.

In the days and weeks since Tibus Heth’s ascension to power, these Provists now became commonplace. They now sprung in positions of leadership or power. They sprung up in the most unlikely of places as well, with the rank and file of office workers, factory workers and the Navy.

Caldari Prime soon became a focus of Heth’s efforts. Lost to the Gallenete Federation during the Freedom Wars, it now was a vassal of the Federation. Positioned behind the Tripwire sensor system, that protected the Federation from any aggressive moves, the Navy had put aside any dreams of liberating the planet. With Heth in power now, that all changed. Soon rumors circulated among the military leadership that there was a way to disable the Tripwire system. However that was not why the Pathfinders were on Caldari Prime.

What concerned the Navy’s leadership even more, was the fact of the orbital canons, which circled Caldari Prine. While, usually, human hands would control these orbital canons, however the Gallente decided on a different approach. The Gallente’s advanced knowledge with regards to drone technology made these canons were more precise, more accurate than anything a human being could hope for. Hence the Gallente had decided to control all the orbital canons via a control centre that was located in an innocuous forest on Caldari Prime.

The Gallente were so confident in their system that they had decided to move a majority of their fleet from the orbit of the planet. They had good reason to. Capable of launching a variety of ordinance, that included bombs, railgun rounds and cruise missiles, the orbital canons in a matter of minutes would shred any hostile fleet to bits. Many a Caldari Admiral had spent sleepless nights worried about the presence of these orbital canons.

These canons were controlled through a drone control system, located in a formidable control centre. Hidden in a remote forest on Caldari Prime, the fortress was defended by crack Gallente Defense Force Kommandoes guarding it whom were backed up with battlefield MTACs. What made it even more difficult was the fact that there was an additional garrison at edge of the forest, no doubt filled with even more Gallente soldiers and armor.

While it was largely intended that the hidden fortress was to remain from prying eyes, the Caldari Navy had found it. By using data collected from capsuleers who had made cargo runs to the planet, they had found that a significant amount of plasma gel was earmarked for a small resort.

What made it even more interesting was the fact that the resort, had been shut down for past three years. Knowing the Gallente, a pleasure resort shut down for more than a week was very odd. What made it even more interesting that the was that thermal scans later sureptiously conducted by contracted capsuleers, revealed that a portion of the resort was far cooler than the other areas, including the forest.

This could only mean, that there was something more to the resort than what meets the eye. Hence why a company of Pathfinders was hidden in the forests surrounding the ‘resort’.
__________________________________________

The Pathfinders, represented the finest fighting force available to the Caldari State. They were trained to operate with a variety of tactics that included jungle warfare, zero g combat and covert operations. They were harbingers of death and destruction to the State’s enemies, be they Gallente spies or Minmatar terrorists. They were the bane of the Guristas, the terror of the Sashas and the nightmare of the Serpentis. They were the wrath of the State, the guardians of the Caldari and the sharp tip of the Caldari State Marines.

However what made the Pathfinders truly elite, was the pool of knowledge they had their disposal. Many Pathfinders had graduated from some of the finest Universities in the State, only to turn their back on a corporate career and join the Caldari State Marines. If they passed the requisites and the grueling training, they were then accepted into the Pathfinder Legion. Hence each Pathfinder not only knew how to effectively create mayhem and destruction, but potentially had knowledge on other matters such as accounting or engineering.

Jaret Kosh’t, as a Pathfinder, wielded some of the finest equipment the State could afford to provide his men. The Pathfinders received training and equipment from all the mega corporations that made up the Caldari State. Some of them wielded the MAR (Medium Assault Rifle), complete with optics, manufactured by the Ishukone Corporation. Others wielded the LDR (Long Distance Railgun), a sniper’s rifle, which shot rounds of dense, magnetically charged permasteel. Every one of them, carried knives that were forged with cold Caldari steel. The Lai Dai Corporation manufactured their armored camo suits, which now reflected the environment surrounding them. They all had received training from the finest instructors within all the mega-corporation’s security forces.

For the past two weeks they had quietly observed their target, a large sprawling resort set close to the forest. They watched as the supposed ‘construction’ crews, which were oddly made up of military age men and women, entered and left the facility. The previous years of peace had made the Gallente forget how to properly hide a military facility.

However tonight would be different. According to his Provist contact, the Navy planned to strike in the early hours of the morning, in order to minimize civilian, primarily Caldari, casualties. Hence they had only that night, to secure the command centre and hold it before reinforcement would arrive. Jaret, suffered no illusions if they should fail.

Over two and half kilometers away from the facility, Jaret and his partner Prashesh, lined up their targets. The plan was that the Pathfinders, would insert into the facility, by moving through the nearby forest. While undoubtedly there would be sensors system hidden in the forest, the Provists had suggested a radical plan to counter the sensors. They would force the nearby herd of Striped Buffalo to stampede.

Weighing in at about a ton and with a height of five meters and a length of four meters, the striped buffalo were not to be trifled with. In fact when the Provists had suggested the plan, Jaret almost laughed it off. But the more he discussed it with his comrades, the more it made sense. If they did manage to force the herd to stampede, it would mean that the sensor operators would be overloaded with a barrage of sensory information, thus giving cover for his Pathfinders to infiltrate the facility.

Hence, this was the reason why Jaret Kosh’t ordered his best sniper Prashesh Kobai to aim the finest piece of military equipment, that there was, at the head of a dumb buffalo. The digital scope fed the sniper information regarding wind, elevation, temperature and angle. Despite all the technology, it still came down to the skill of the operator to aim and pull the trigger.

Thus the opening shots of the Battle of Caldari Prime, were fired from by a Pathfinder at the head of a buffalo.

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Vengeance of the State – Introduction

His Zealot’s shields were completely gone, and lasers were nibbling at the edges of his armour when Alistair’s comms crackled to life.

‘Hey, Al, would you do us a favour?’

‘Good to hear you, Syl. You’re not back in Dal, are you?’

‘Our tower in Ebodold. We’re going to step this up a bit. Open the door for us, would you? We’re too chunky to squeeze through the gates.’ Sylar sounded gleeful. Alistair started to grin.

‘I did warn you about the food there, didn’t I?’ The Amarrian pilot reopened his fleet comms. ‘Commander Hatthro, notify the fleet, I’m lighting a cynogen, could use a bit of defense.’

‘You’re what?!’

‘Captain Starke, you are go in three, two, one…’ Alistair activated the generator, the load of liquid ozone in his cargo hold burned up in an instant as the miniature wormhole appeared beside his ship.

‘Avion! What the hell…?’ Tiia demanded, just as the jump portal flared twice.

Two looming shapes the colour of dried blood appeared in the midst of the battle, massive hulls scattering smaller ships which hadn’t got out of the way in time as they claimed the space. Cherry’s blade-shaped, monolithic Naglfar, towering above the furious battle, turned with a terrible purpose, turrets rising and settling back as she acquired a target-lock on the Amarrian fleet’s dreadnaught. This was going to be a slugfest.

‘Let ‘er rip, sister, I got your back.’ Sylar felt the deadly hum of his new ship’s systems building up around him, awakened by the adrenalin flooding his body. The shriek of Cherry’s gleeful laughter was the sound of immense autocannons unleashing their full force upon the enemy.

Tiia’s voice echoed in his ear, filled with an odd mix of relief, surprise, and anger. ‘Why didn’t you tell us what you had planned, you bastard?’

‘It was a last-minute idea. We didn’t know if we’d need these or not; I was only going to use this girl to lift the colonists out. ‘ With a thought, Sylar commanded fighters to launch into the fight, instructing them to focus on what remained of the Amarrian support as he brought heavy energy neutraliser batteries to bear on the closest ship: the Reclamation fleet’s carrier. ‘Why so surprised? Just because we specialise in wolfpack doesn’t mean we can’t field anything bigger.’ His Hel-class mothership locked onto the Archon, and Sylar asked Hatthro, ‘You got enough left to take out the carrier and dread, or are we gonna have to do it ourselves?’

The Ammatar fleet’s commander swore at him. ‘Next time, I trust you’ll let us know before you pull a stunt like this. I’ve lost half my men; we could have used your caps a lot sooner.’

Instead of retreating, the Amarrian ships seemed to throw themselves at the mixed Minmatar fleet with a frenzy borne of desperation to remove the threat of the Matari capitals before all else. Draining the capacitor energy from the smaller carrier as fast as the Amarrian Guardians could replenish it, Sylar felt his shields begin to prickle from lasers and a peppering of missiles as the remaining Amarrian fleet focussed fire. Two of his fighter pilots went down, felled by Amarrian drones, and he recalled the rest, launching a fresh group as soon as the first had docked.

The Archon’s armour passed its peak, and the enemy fleet had redoubled their efforts to defend it. Someone somewhere was probably cursing as the mistake was realised: the defense fleet was better-prepared than they had expected, and with their fleet already decimated, it was only a matter of time before their own capital ships fell.

A volley of torpedo-fire struck the Archon from the sky like the hand of an angry god; before the blue-white glare had faded, Sylar was already focussing his mothership’s massive energy neutraliser batteries on the Revelation which was pounding down on Cherry’s armour. ‘Let’s see you use those lasers without any cap, mate,’ he muttered, unaware that his words went out over the open comms. The Archon’s fighters, disoriented by the carrier’s destruction, drifted about the field, and Starke ordered his own flight to focus fire at will amongst the remaining fleet.

************************************

In the caves on the planet below, Nareen huddled under her father’s worn old jacket. It was cold in here, and damp seeped through the rough stone walls and floor, leaving a chilly slick on her skin. The girl glanced around at the gathered mass of her people, all crouching or sitting on blankets on the floor to avoid the low ceiling. The adults had said they couldn’t make fires because the heat would be seen by the slavers, and Nareen was starting to wonder how her great-grandparents had lived this way.

A scuffle toward the entrance brought several people upright, ready to stand. Someone cracked the shield on a lantern, revealing Scall staggering in, the woman somewhat blinded from the change from light to darkness, her hand on the ceiling to prevent her banging her head.

‘They’re here! On the radio, I heard it. They’ve destroyed most of the Amarr ships, and the slave carrier. Come on!’

Stepping blinking into the sunlight filtering through the trees, Nareen felt someone take her hand; she turned to see Komar looking excited and terrified.

‘It’s Space Capt’n Starke, ‘Ree. I tol’ you he- he could do anythin’.’ He tugged her forward and up the hill towards the treeline, following Scall into the open.

The middle-aged woman pointed up into the sky, away from the low morning sun, ‘Look, you can just see them!’ Against the sooty blue, flecks and glimmers of light could be seen. It was impossible to tell what was happening at this distance, but as they watched, a flash brighter than the others appeared, then again, then–

Everyone gasped as something lit up, a small second sun flaring in the sky. Scall began to yell with triumph. ‘They did it! They did it! Do you see?!’

Nikitta appeared at Nareen’s other elbow. ‘What do you think’s happening?’

Komar released the taller girl’s hand and ran forward, waving his toy Rifter about in the air. ‘Capt’n Starke blew ‘em up! Boom! Like that!’

The colonists hung back cautiously among the trees, uncertain what would happen next as Scall returned to the wrecked Apocalypse. After a while, five dark shapes appeared in the air, descending carefully to the fields just beyond the limits of the houses. A few minutes later, Scall returned with a wiry Sebiestor man dressed like a soldier following closely.

‘I’m Corporal Vahann, I’m in charge of the drop you see over there. Those ships will take you and your possessions up to our mothership for transport off-world.’ He looked around the gathered crowd among the trees, taking in homespun clothing, rough animal leathers and hard-worn yet determined faces. ‘This is a hazardous system for an undefended colony like this, but whether you choose to leave or remain is up to you.’

************************************

SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE strides through the halls of his mothership, running a hand over his new short-cropped hair. Guarded by the Ammatar and renegade TLF fleets, he feels safe enough to park the ship in empty space and leave his capsule.

There is business to discuss.

He is followed by TIIA EDGRIET and MIRITHAK HATTHRO, along with the Nefantar commander’s small honour-guard. The trust between the Matari forces and the Ammatar is still thin and laced with suspicion, but HATTHRO has the authority of his tribe’s leaders and EDGRIET has been contacted by THE GENERAL to endorse the opening of diplomatic relations in this backwater system.

The group enters the assembly bay, a cavernous room usually used for mustering ground-forces near the dropship hangar. Something buzzes through the air and strikes STARKE’s leg before tumbling to the floor with a whirr; he stops with a puzzled frown to pick it up. A smile forms on his face as he turns the clockwork wooden Rifter over in his hands, recognising the hand-painted sunburst design. The captain looks up to see three terrified children staring up at him from behind a pile of bales and boxes, all the Ubtes colonists’ worldly possessions.

STARKE: (still smiling)
Is this yours?

EDGRIET peers curiously at the toy, then grins and looks out across the room at the ten thousand worried people gathered there. HATTHRO looks calculating, then looks to EDGRIET and nods. The TLF commander, her rank restored and gleaming at her collar, returns the nod, then steps forward.

EDGRIET: (in a clear voice which carries well through the room)
My people… my family. (she smiles) It’s been far too long, and I truly wish the circumstances were better. (she sobers) We have lost our home. The land we have worked all our lives, the houses we have built with our bare hands. We are orphans of the cluster, as our grandparents and great-grandparents once were.

As she speaks, the people begin to cluster around, hushing children so that the woman can be heard by all.

EDGRIET:
We cannot go back. I wish we could, but the Amarr know about the settlement now, and will return. This leaves you with a choice. The Republic will welcome each and every one of you: rehome you, offer you jobs, education, medical care. It’s an easier life than what you’re accustomed you. There are better opportunities.

She glances to the side, then waves her hand to indicate HATTHRO.

EDGRIET:
This man has a different offer for you; he represents the Nefantar tribe. The Ammatar have an interest in becoming a part of the Republic once again, and in good faith, they are willing to offer you places on another planet they are already colonising. What they offer is much like what we had on Ubtes VIII, working alongside Nefantar volunteers. You will be offered equal standing with their people, with respect given to our own customs; and the world is closer to the centre of their domain, and much better protected.

A ripple of voices runs through the room as the refugees look to one another, seeking guidance. HATTHRO steps forward.

HATTHRO:
The offer is genuine. Your skills and experiences will greatly benefit our own colonists, and the Nefantar will not reduce you to the slaves your ancestors once were. No ill will shall be held if you choose to return to the Republic.

A man steps forward from the crowd; it is RISGA, NAREEN’s father, who was elected speaker for the refugees before they boarded the dropships. He stands tall, proud in his rough-woven clothing and hand-made leather boots before the Republic and Ammatar representatives.

RISGA:
I speak for all of us gathered here. We would prefer to remain on our world, if such a thing were possible, though we realise the extent of the danger. A life in the Republic would be comfortable, yes, but we do not want an easy life. Some may choose that for themselves, and the rest of us wish them well. But as a whole, we will accept the offer of the Nefantar, provided that we are permitted contact with the Republic at any time.

The Nefantar commander nods.

HATTHRO:
Of course. The planet we offer you is Abha VII, and not much different from Ubtes VIII. You will be given tools and equipment, as well as a modern communications system…

As he speaks, STARKE murmurs to EDGRIET.

STARKE:
Is this what you expected from your people?

EDGRIET: (nodding)
Charity is not something we accept easily, Captain. Better to be granted only the barest necessities so that we can make our own way.

The Brutor captain nods, then glances over to where the three children still watch him. Crouching, he holds the toy Rifter out towards them. NIKITTA, NAREEN and KOMAR approach shyly, and KOMAR accepts his toy back without removing his eyes from STARKE.

EDGRIET: (smiling)
Unless I’m very much mistaken, you’re my nephew, Niki, yes? You were very small when I last saw you.

NIKITTA nods. Smiling, STARKE holds his hand out.

STARKE:
Nice to meet you. Who are your friends?

NIKITTA: (shaking STARKE’s hand)
Nareen and Komar… sir.

STARKE reaches out to shake the other children’s hands, too.

STARKE:
It’s great to meet you guys. I guess you watch the show, huh?

The children nod. The captain smiles broadly.

STARKE:
Why don’t you go ask your parents if you can meet the rest of the Nova Elite while you’re here? Tell your friends, too.

NAREEN squeals and runs back towards her mother, SAPHA, who is standing to the side as her husband and HATTHRO negotiate. NIKITTA also hurries away, but KOMAR hangs back, staring at STARKE solemnly.

KOMAR:
I told them you could do anything.

STARKE smiles proudly.

STARKE:
The Nova Elite always fly to defend our people.

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!

Space Captain Starke and the Refugees of Ubtes

The wrecked battleship, though wing-clipped, was anything but dead: over the years, the escaped slaves had worked to restore and adapt its systems to meet their needs, and the soft rumble of pumps and generators had for decades been a comfort.

Scall was particularly proud of her work on the sensor and communications arrays. After taking the Republic University’s distance-learning courses on starship electronics and mechanics, she’d dedicated her hours to bringing the systems back up to near-perfect functionality. It was her pet project, and her husband had long bemoaned that she spent more time in the ship than she did at home.

There were still a few bugs to work out, though, and Scall had decided to open up one of the consoles and find out why it wasn’t lighting properly.

Something pinged unpleasantly as she pulled a wire free of its contact.

‘Crap.’ She plugged it back in and the ping sounded again, then again. She started sorting through the mass of fibreoptic spaghetti, then realised the sound wasn’t related to her work. The noise was becoming repetitive, and urgent, and the stocky woman spun to see several sensors lit up at once, points of amethyst, amber and ruby flickering across the boards.

‘Oh no… no, no, no…’ Hurriedly, Scall woke up the display they’d jury-rigged into the capsule trunk-leads in order to see the command overview. Multiple pilot signatures filled the system channels; a bit of fiddling with the spliced-in controls revealed the fleet transponder codes.

Heart in her throat, the specialist sprinted for the comms chamber above, sandaled feet pounding the metal steps, and slapped her hand on the alarm.

************************************

Coiled in the guts of the metal beast, wires excised from other parts of the ship and grafted in to modify the functions of other parts stirred with current for the first time in generations. Even as the improvised alert system blared a warning across the rooftops of the colony, the focussed-band FTL transmitter fired off a pre-set message.

The Republic communications relays were not the only ones to receive it.

************************************

TIIA EDGRIET stalks through station halls filled with men and women in uniforms hurrying this way and that; the legend in the lower-right corner reads Dal I: Tribal Liberation Force Assembly Plant. The commander looks tense and anxious, a datapad gripped in one hand as her secretary struggles to keep up with her. Rounding a bend in the hall, she spies SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE and ALISTAIR AVION and changes direction to meet them.

EDGRIET:
Starke, where the Hel have you been?

STARKE and AVION exchange a look.

STARKE:
The clone bay, updating.

The Brutor captain presses back against the wall to let a group of pilots hurry past.

STARKE:
What’ve we got?

EDGRIET tosses the datapad at him over her shoulder as she leads them toward the lift to the capsuleer hangars.

EDGRIET:
Emergency signal, not encoded or anything. Straight from Ubtes, contains a snapshot of what was on the scanner when they pushed the button.

The smaller woman halts and turns suddenly, nearly causing STARKE and AVION to pile into her. She stares up at STARKE with the intensity of a solar flare.

EDGRIET:
Your staged informant scenes aside, there’s no more time to waste. Are your pilots ready, Captain?

SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE studies her for a moment, then nods.

STARKE:
We’re at your command.

The Sebiestor commander studies him a moment longer, then nods sharply.

EDGRIET:
To your ships, then, gentlemen.

ALISTAIR AVION watches EDGRIET leave, then cranes his neck up and around to eye his commander.

AVION:
Try not to do anything stupid in order to impress her, will you?

STARKE is frowning at the datapad.

STARKE: (muttering distractedly)
I can hold it together, don’t worry about me.

He hands the ‘pad over to his Amarrian second in command.

STARKE:
We’re not going to make it before their fleet’s in position.

************************************

Watching sunlight glimmer off the cloud structures far below, the Reclamation fleet’s scout almost missed the appearance of a new signature on her local grid. She frowned as it winked out before identification could be made. Was that…? ‘Command, scout. We may have company, What’s your ETA? …Five minutes, understood.’

Small points of gold began to appear at the edge of the atmosphere fifty kilometres away: support ships followed by a group of five battleships, gleaming in the refracted light. The signal was given, and the shimmering whirlpool of a cynosural field lit up, heralding the arrival of the fleet’s primary component, an Archon-class carrier filled with dropships to collect the Matari settlers.

The beacon collapsed suddenly, and comms descended into a mass of confusion as the pilot of the generator frigate lost both his ship and his life in rapid succession. The Retribution-class assault frigate which had destroyed the generator under the nose of its own fleet was quickly torn apart as the Amarrian forces obtained targeting locks, but the space around them was beginning to flood with unaffiliated ships. Alarms blared as the Reclamation fleet struggled to restore order and reorient towards the unexpected threat. Lasers began to cross the sky, searing and crackling in the high-level atmosphere.

The Ammatar had arrived, and they were not happy.

************************************

‘Everyone form up on the gate. Libbies, you with us?’

”Libbies’. Starke, you cheeky bastard…’

‘With us or not, Tiia?’ Sylar grinned to himself, feeling his assault frigate responding easily to his commands. Alistair has his recording equipment running at peak performance; this fight might easily be more desperate than any they’d ever been in before, but that was all the more reason to get every moment into the show. A Reclaiming fleet was not the sort of thing most Minmatar would ever see, let alone the rest of the cluster. People needed to know this was still happening.

‘You know better than to ask that.’ Tiia’s Tempest and the rest of her squadrons formed the bulk of the fleet; the Novas in their smaller frigates and cruisers appeared fewer in comparison, though their numbers were about even.

Sylar chuckled. ‘We all need to loosen up here. Riva, whatcha got in there?’

‘Ubtes is hopping, sir. Looks like there’s a fight going on.’

A fight? ‘Who’s involved?’

‘Lemme actually get out of warp, huh? …OHH! Cap’, we’re missing the fun. Looks like the local Ammatar have decided to let the Amarr fleet know they’re no longer welcome out here.’

Tiia’s voice cut through the comms. ‘Nice to know they’re serious about making their peace with the Republic.’

Mind racing, Sylar asked, ‘Riv, what kind of opposition are we looking at?’

‘There’s wrecks all over the place. Looks like an Amarr carrier and standard support fleet versus a varied Ammatar fleet. No cynos up, looks like their generator frig got popped. Field looks balanced, the carrier is holding off drop pattern.’

‘That’s because it’ll be vulnerable to attack with the drops down. Locate the Ammatar commander, I want a word with him before we get involved.’

************************************

‘Scall, let’s go! Everyone else is out, what are you still doing in here?’ Aoli tugged at the communications specialist’s shoulder. The older woman flapped her hand impatiently.

‘You go. Someone needs to listen in. We need to know what’s happening.’

‘And if the slaver ships land?’

Scall held up the small laser pistol she’d liberated from the Apocalypse’s armoury; it was an antique, but it worked still. ‘They won’t take me alive.’

Aoli slapped the back of Scall’s head. ‘You be careful, dammit.’ Scall was right, but the younger woman still worried as she hurried from the battleship wreck towards the treeline and the hills to the south. When the ship had first landed, the escaped slaves had hidden among the woods, fearing the ship would be found by rescue parties. None had come, however, and the hidden caves had lain abandoned until now. Again, they would shelter the colonists… hopefully.

She paused at the edge of the village, glancing up at the sky above. Bright flashes had been seen; they could only hope it was Captain Starke holding the Amarrian fleet off.

************************************

Realspace coalesced around the Matari fleet as they dropped out of warp, vivid bursts of missile impacts and laser-fire filling their overviews.

‘Good timing, Captain,’ the Ammatar commander, Mirithak Hatthro, said. The Nefantar tribesman’s deep voice threatened to overwhelm the communications link, resonating with a richness better-suited to a holo-performer than a thirty-year career officer. The incoming fleet had disbanded and re-formed as squads under Hatthro’s command, putting them into the same comms frequency. Tiia and Imkara had been less than fond of the idea of joining the Ammatar fleet, but it was the only way to coordinate. ‘We’ve got the carrier pinned down, but there’s a lot of logistics being used, Starke. We’ve been picking off the little ones, but it’s slow going.’

‘You focus on the battleships, we’ll take care of the support,’ Sylar responded. The Matari ships surged forward into the mess, squads peeling off in different directions as leaders called primaries.

Amarrian pilots’ signatures began to wink out one after another as the balance shifted. As he came around for another pass on an enemy Guardian-class cruiser, Sylar spotted a lone Amarrian frigate moving toward the Ammatar fleet, guarded by destroyers. ‘Riva, get me a scan of that Punisher, fast! I don’t like it.’

‘I’m too far off… oh, just brilliant.’ The Vherokior pilot cursed as the Punisher activated another cyno beacon. ‘Now what?’

A blinding flash announced the arrival of another Amarrian capital ship; as the glare faded, the menacing, pointed prow of a Revelation-class dreadnaught turned with terrible purpose toward the Ammatar ships, turrets larger than a cruiser rotating smoothly around to focus on the enemy fleet.

‘All battleships, evasive manoeuvers! Don’t make an easy target of yourselves!’ Hatthro ordered hoarsely. It was the worst possible situation the battle-scarred veteran could imagine, and he gripped the arms of his command chair tightly. Only the presence of the capsuleers in his fleet stopped him from calling a retreat. ‘Someone take out that cyno frigate before anything else comes through.’

‘On it. Cherry, cover me,’ Sylar responded tightly, his assault frigate banking gracefully towards the stationary target.

‘Syl, you back the fuck off, those are destroyers–’

‘Al, trust me.’ Sylar settled into a tight orbit alongside Cherry’s Hound, autocannons and missiles tearing the Amarrian frigate apart, their own shields beginning to buckle as the trio of Coercers turned their guns on them.

‘I’m webbed! Gonna try–’ Cherry’s transmission cut off as the destroyers’ small lasers broke through her shields, melting quickly through armour and hull; one of the ships got a lucky lock on the outlaw’s capsule, and the egg-shaped craft imploded under a fat volley of laserfire. Sylar Starke’s Jaguar and capsule quickly followed.

‘No!’ Tiia cried, seeing Sylar’s overview icon redline and vanish. ‘Shit! Shit! Al, you’re in charge there, keep the fires burning. Swap targets!’

************************************

‘Ugh!’ Sylar surged upright, shaking cloning-vat fluid from his head, instantly missing the feel of his dreadlocks; those were gone, now, part of a body he would never wear again. In the next vat over, he could see Cherry struggling to unhook herself from the input wires, looking strange without her tattoos. The Caldari cloning bay attendants looked alarmed.

One of them stepped forward, regaining most of his composure. ‘Welcome to Ebodold Kaalakiota station. I’m Doctor Mi–’

‘Spare us the speech, we need to be flight-ready ten minutes ago,’ the captain grunted shortly. ‘And set us up for fresh clones, we may be seeing you again today.’ The attendants hurried forward to remove the wires the pilots couldn’t reach, handing them towels as they emerged, dripping translucent blue fluid on the cloning-bay floor.

The captain reached over and slapped the younger woman’s shoulder. ‘Let’s saddle ‘em up. You ready?’

The former pirate grinned broadly up at him as she wiped vat-fluid from her generous curves. ‘I been waiting for this since the day I bought her. Those suckers won’t know what hit ‘em.’

************************************

To Be Continued Next Week!
Same EVE Time, Same EVE Channel!

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!

Space Captain Starke and the Slaver Fleet of Amarr

The quad was quiet, a steady rain pattering down to flatten the straggly grass and form tepid puddles in the hollows. From the surrounding buildings, the chatter of conversation could be heard, muffled by the thick transparent panels which had been cannibalised for use as windows from the wrecked Apocalypse. Its golden bulk, rain-slicked and still shining despite generations of exposure to planetside elements, loomed in the centre of the village like a massive beached whale, half-submerged in the soft earth that had been ploughed up when it landed. Over time, the tailing furrow had filled with water, forming a long lake which was sustained by groundwater pumped up by the refurbished ship’s generators to irrigate the community’s agricultural works.

A Rifter bearing the sunburst logo of the Nova Elite arced through the sooty sky, rain streaming from its rust-coloured hull. An explosion of silt and mud rose as the ship crashed down into the damp soil, its engines spluttering as the craft settled into the muck. Splashing across the field, Komar hurried over and retrieved the painted wooden toy, peering into its clockwork mechanism and blowing the water out.

Wading back through the mud, the short, skinny boy returned to where Nikitta and Nareen sat under the portico outside the school building. Most of the other children had opted to remain indoors out of the damp weather during the midday break, but Niki had been troubled by the sudden appearance of his mother’s sister in the children’s favourite holo-serial. He’d spent most of the last week worrying over it, and his sudden pensiveness concerned his friends.

Nareen hunkered on the swept flagstones with her chin on her knees, absently chewing the end of one of her long dark braids. ‘I wonder what she wants Capt’n Starke to–hey!’ She and Nikitta both yelped as Komar landed feet-first in a large puddle at the edge of the overhang, splashing them.

‘’S easy! She’s gonna ask him to- to help blow up th’ Empress!’ he babbled excitedly. He pulled a key from his shirt pocket and began to wind the toy Rifter’s engine again.

‘Don’t be dumb,’ Nareen retorted, wiping murky water from her shins. ‘You remember how many guys she has?’ Footage from Jamyl Sarum’s coronation had been used in one of the last year’s episodes. The amassed ships of the Imperial Navy had made a grim impression on the children; some had since had occasional nightmares wherein that sea of deadly gold had arrived to reclaim their families.

‘I bet Capt’n Starke could do it—‘

Nikitta glanced up from the patternless whorls he’d been scratching on the flagstones with a twig he’d found. ‘He can’t. The entire R’public can’t kill all the bad guys. If that was really Aunt Tiia… Ma says it was. She must be planning something else.’

A mechanical judder caused the puddles to ripple and brought the children to their feet with alarm. The high-to-low sliding moan of something spinning down, followed by raised voices, drew them around the corner of the school-buildings to where they could see the workers scrambling over the pump-housing rigged up to the wrecked battleship. The constant low hum of the mechanisms and generators had ceased, and the specialists at work seemed calm. The children stood watching a moment, then Komar tugged Nareen’s elbow.

‘They shut the water off?’

The tall girl nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘But we… we need the water…’

Nikitta wrapped his arms around himself, feeling cold from something other than the raindrops trickling down the back of his neck. ‘Something’s going on.’

************************************

The scene opens on the office of THE GENERAL, unchanged from STARKE and AVION’s meeting. A holo-projector is flashing a loop of tactical information into the air above the desk; it is largely ignored by the two women standing on either side of the desk. THE GENERAL and TIIA EDGRIET are arguing fiercely, and from time to time their vehement gestures indicate one item or another in the projection.

There is no direct audio, and all the colours in the scene have been washed nearly to greys, indicating it is a flashback to an earlier event.

EDGRIET: (voice-over)
The day you arrived, Captain, I had a… disagreement with the General. Some intel arrived which… well, it’s kind of important to me. There’s a colony of sorts, just outside Republic space. It was started by a group of escaped slaves whose ship couldn’t go any further. The Amarr have finally noticed this colony and intend to reclaim the inhabitants.

The scene changes to show EDGRIET seated on a munitions crate in a hangar; from the paint-work on the Jaguar in the background, it’s clear the hangar has been allotted to SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE, who along with ALISTAIR AVION is seated on another long metal box labelled ‘Warrior II’. The Sebiestor woman is scowling fiercely.

EDGRIET:
The General has… made it clear… that she will not permit me to take a task force in to rescue the colonists. The planet lies in Ammatar territory, if you could call it that. You can imagine the fuss they’d kick up with the Republic if we dropped carriers into their space.

STARKE frowns thoughtfully and glances at AVION; the Amarrian looks back before closing his eyes under raised brows, lips pursed. The Brutor nods and turns back to EDGRIET.

STARKE:
We can understand why you would want to rescue these people, but why is it so important that you be the one to do it?

The woman looks down at her hands.

EDGRIET:
Because that colony is where I grew up, Captain. They aren’t just our people, they’re my family.

AVION leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped as he looks up at EDGRIET.

AVION: (appearing to already know the answer)
So… why not hire mercenaries to rescue your people, if the General won’t allow you to do it personally?

EDGRIET: (nodding)
This is exactly why I’ve come to you. Your Elite are only marginally associated with the Republic. I want you to help me.

STARKE: (looking thoughtful)
Won’t the General be angry? Or the Thukkers, for that matter?

EDGRIET: (glaring)
Do you think that matters, Captain? My people are in danger. What would you do?

She reaches up and removes the rank pins from the collar of her jacket, smiling at the stunned expressions on the men’s faces.

EDGRIET:
I’m resigning my commission in the militia. I’ve talked things over with my squadron, and they’re all with me, one-hundred percent. So what do you say, Captain? Will you help me out? Or do I have to hold you at gunpoint first?

STARKE and AVION look at each other, then share a slow grin.

************************************

The room was silent for a long, heavily-pregnant moment. Then, like an ocean tide, a roar of voices rose as people turned to one another, confused, worried, frightened.

Leaning back against the wall, Scall’s mind raced, torn between glee that her assessment had been right and numbing terror that it was too little and too late. This is Ammatar space? Why all the Thukker signals, then? The signs of moving caravans had been noticeable for as long as she’d been in charge of the communications setup. That they’d been living so close to a potential enemy without discovery was a miracle in itself; she was grateful that they’d been spared for so long.

Havah sat still, her eyes fixed on her sister’s face in the projection. Perhaps to viewers elsewhere, this was simply an exciting build-up to the end of the season, but to the refugees living on Ubtes VIII, the new development was a hidden message.

Prepare to run. We’re coming for you.

Up at the front of the room, Komar, Nareen and Nikitta knelt in silence, heedless of the commotion around them. They watched transfixed as Tiia presented her rank pins and all those of her pilots to the General with an impassioned resignation speech; as the Nova Elite and former TLF forces prepared for what might possibly be the fight of their lives. The usual drama happened: a hangar tech was caught sending a message to the Amarr warning them of the fleet’s preparations; he was imprisoned but managed to escape, leaving three security officers and a shuttle pilot badly injured.

Not until the final closing scene – where Starke, Avion, Tiia and her second, Imkara Vash, seated around a desk covered with tactical readouts, came to the realisation that they would need to move faster – did any of the three children say anything.

‘The slavers are coming,’ Komar said quietly. Nikitta nodded. The worst nightmare of any Matari child was coming to life.

Would Space Captain Starke arrive in time to save them all?

************************************

Tiia Edgriet was overseeing the refitting of her Tempest-class battleship when one of her hangar security officers approached and murmured something in her ear.

‘What? Of course. Let him in.’

The petite Sebiestor turned a minute later to see Alistair Avion crossing the open hangar floor, deftly sidestepping the techs and maintenance drones that scurried this way and that. The Amarrian was dressed, as he did for the show he helped produce, in traditional Brutor captain’s garb. Somehow, the Matari uniform failed to look awkward or out of place on its wearer; perhaps it was the way he carried himself.

‘Commander.’

‘Mister Avion. What can I do for you?’

He smiled warmly. ‘I was hoping I could ask you a bit about this colony. About how many people are we talking about?’

Tiia frowned and folded her arms, considering. ‘Could be as many as ten thousand by now. There are elderly and babies; they’re not starving down there, and the medical facilities have been maintained well.’

‘On the ship that brought your predecessors there?’

She nodded. ‘Our grandparents kept the ship functioning smoothly, so a lot of their technical skills have been passed down.’

Alistair smiled grimly, knowing all too well the uses of slaves aboard Amarrian ships. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘If you don’t mind my asking…’

‘Go on, then.’

He pursed his lips momentarily. ‘If you and a few others left for the Republic—‘

‘They came and picked us up when we applied to the various universities. The Republic knows the colony is there.’

‘Right, right. But if you could leave, why is the rest of the colony still there? Why not request a full-on transport back to civilisation?’

Running her hands over her head to adjust the clips holding her hair back, Tiia frowned. ‘Good question. I think simply because it’s ours, you know? We were stuck there, but within the first two years they had a functioning agriculture setup and had adapted the ship’s working systems to their needs. It’s very backwards… you might call it primitive. But it’s ours, we worked hard for it. It’s something to be proud of.’ She shrugged. ‘We’re a hard, tenacious lot, Mister Avion.’

He chuckled. ‘You certainly are that. Will they know they’re in danger?’

The tiny woman nodded. ‘The kids watch your show, if the sensor array we put in stationary orbit hasn’t already picked up the recon operations. They’ll know.’

************************************

On the outskirts of the Ubtes star system, Nimambal gate flashed. The scout-ship decloaked, its bulky form vanishing almost immediately under a covert-ops cloak as it angled towards the eighth planet. Slipping her craft into orbit between the atmosphere layer and the closer of the two moons, the pilot frowned; the signals she’d been told to pinpoint weren’t there anymore.

It took her a solid half-hour’s work running multispectral scans to locate the faint electromagnetic signs of the wrecked Apocalypse’s generators.

‘Command, scout here. Location pinpointed, awaiting further instructions. …Acknowledged.’

The scout moved into a stationary orbit, aligning to provide the fleet with a good warp-in position, and settled in to wait. The Reclamation fleet would arrive soon, to fulfill their holy duty and return the Matari colonists to the Lord’s flock.

************************************

To Be Continued Next Week!
Same EVE Time, Same EVE Channel!

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!

Space Captain Starke and the Pride of Matar

Picture credit: EVE Online Ships

In retrospect, he was a fool to think otherwise. Did he really think that no one would disturb him, while he explored this deadspace complex?

“No plan survives contact.” The dark voice inside his head told him, “You know this to be true.”

Jaret snarled his shields took another hit, buckling the entire ship’s frame so much, that even he, deep within the recess of his pod, could feel the impact through the seat of his pants. With a simple thought he simultaneously reloaded his missile launchers and swung his Hawk around. With a mental twitch he unleashed a hail of missiles towards his formerly confident attacker.

Not content with just missiles, he cycled the ship’s lone pair of railguns and let loose a burst. The electromagnetically charged rounds shot across the vast reach of space between the two ships and smashed through the enemy frigate’s armor and tore a gouge in its hull.

However, the target was not going to go down without a fight. Almost akin to a defiant roar, the enemy Retribution, unleashed a barrage of molten red lasers that sliced through both space and time to smash into his shields. The impact was immense enough, that he could almost hear his ship scream in distress as the shields already pushed to their max, struggled to handle the new barrage of electrically charged ions that now threatened to destroy the already shaky frigate.

Deciding that enough was enough, he triggered an ECM burst that for a few precious seconds blinded the enemy’s sensors to his location. Within seconds the target, a formerly confident pirate, saw his turrets report a negative lock. A heartbeat later, all the pirate was able to glimpse were two immense, magnetically charged slugs come hurtling towards his ship and smash through his shields, armor and shred his hull. If he retained consciousness a second longer he would have noticed the screaming missile that converted his ship into an explosion of components, parts and human tissue.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jaret scanned his ship. What he saw would send most pilots into tears. His pride and joy, his baby; his Hawk was venting plasma. Shields sputtered back and forth; as the ship struggled to charge up its shields, while trying to keep its frame together. As he scanned out further he saw bits and pieces of his would be attackers.

No doubt they would now be waking up in a freshly furbished clone, their last memories being that of their target ripping their ships into pieces.

He then approached the wreckage that remained of the pirate’s formerly proud frigate. When the Hawk’s sensors picked up what he was looking for, Jaret extracted debris with a gentleness one reserved for small child, and deposited with it within his cargo hold.

With a start the onboard computer announced that four new frigates and a cruiser had entered. His mind reeled in shock, as his sensors screamed that four, very angry, pirate frigates were charging towards him.

Putting a hold on the panic that threatened to reduce him to a whimpering wreck, he shunted all immediate power he had to his warp drive. With an almost deliberate tone, the ships warp drive began to warm up as his computer started a countdown.

“Come on, Come one!” he willed his ship to make the warp jump. With a triumphant tone, the computer beeped and the Faster Than Light drive tore a hole through space and time and shot his ship through the hole.

As his ship went though the warp tunnel, almost absent-mindedly he reloaded all his weapons, in a habit that never left him since his former military days.

The welcome sight of the station, as he approached for docking, received a silent sigh of relief. Almost absent-mindedly he crooned to his frigate, The Justice, “We’re home, baby.” If one listened closely, one could almost swear that the ship warbled in response, as its engines quietly cycled down.

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!

Fan Fiction: Ambush

‘What do you think’s going to happen?’

‘Did a spy tell the bad guys Capt’n Starke was there?’

‘Why did Capt’n Starke make his guys go through the gate ‘steada fighting?’

‘What d’ya think’s gonna happen?’

For the rest of the week, the children could talk of nothing else, peppering the adults with unanswerable questions. ‘Space Captain Starke’ had never ended on a cliffhanger. It was the talk of the village.

The teachers could barely get the younger children to focus on their lessons until one of the older students suggest they relate the lessons to parts of the show (If Alistair warps from planet 14 to planet 2 at 6AU/second and Captain Starke warps from planet 2 to planet 14 at 8AU/second, where will they pass each other if the planets are 20AU apart?) It was frustrating to rework lessons, but it kept the kids on-task.

At the community meeting that week, several parents raised concerns that the obsession with the holo-serial might not be such a good thing.

‘I can barely get them to focus on their homework.’

‘I had to suggest that Space Captain Starke would go collect firewood because he would understand the importance of keeping the house heated. We shouldn’t have to do that!’

‘It’s a good thing we only have the one projector here in the hall. Imagine if there was one for every house, we’d never get them outside.’

‘Two of the kids came here asking to watch old recorded episodes. I had to remind them that the projector is used for other things.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Scall, the chief communications analyst, piped up, ‘The last week or so we’ve been picking up an increase in Amarrian comms traffic nearby.’

‘How near?’

‘This system. It could just be militia fleets passing through…’

‘This is Thukker space. They would be mad to base here.’

‘Still, I think we ought to cut our broadcasts and recall all but the receiver satellite.’ Scall glanced around at the suddenly worried faces, knowing that what she was suggesting would reduce the colony’s contact with the Republic to nearly nothing. She hadn’t thought it possible to feel homesick for a place she’d never seen, but the thought of bringing the comms array in made her heart ache.

‘You think they’ll notice the array and find us?’

‘In a word, yes. It would be difficult to miss in a system this quiet.’

‘We’d be cutting ourselves off from the rest of the cluster, Scall.’

‘There’s still the focussed-band FTL transmitter on the ship here. It’s been refurbished, we can use it in an emergency.’

After debating options, the community council decided it was for the best. Scall and her team spent the rest of the night recalling the comms satellites. Aoli from the engineering crew started running through the numbers to reduce their electromagnetic signals to a minimum while still maintaining power to the water pumps. Once the satellites were stored, the ship’s refurbished generator was dropped to the barest trickle.

************************************

Space, the final battleground. The stargate floating above the small moon flares; once, twice, so many flashes they seem to occur simultaneously. As if on cue, the space around the stargate floods with ships.

STARKE: (voice-only)
Scouts, keep an eye on Local, tell me if it spikes. Everyone pick your targets and engage; this is a free-for-all. Warp out or jump if you need to.

STARKE’s Jaguar assault ship banks down and left, falling into a rough orbit around an Amarrian Omen-class cruiser, autocannons spitting fire as he kicks the afterburners in.

EDGRIET: (voice only)
Captain, we need to wipe these guys out fast.

STARKE: (voice only)
I hear you. Nobody pod these guys, it’ll take them longer to reship.

Bright explosions blossom as two enemy ships go down; the Amarrian forces, outnumbered, are dropping rapidly. The view shows for a moment STARKE’s piloting interface: shields fluctuating as boosters pulse, speed hovering at three-quarters as he turns for another pass, enemies bracketed yellow and red, the primary target highlighted by spinning arrows. Around him, ships sweep past; missiles, laser beams and blaster pulses flare. The stargate flashes as someone leaves the system, and the view switches to AVION’s Retribution. His control panel displays the list of pilots in their squad, STARKE highlighted at the top. Half of the Nova Elite’s names are flashing, damage display bars showing varying amounts of red. The alerts fade one by one as Amarrian ships die or flee under the onslaught. The Nova Elite and TLF forces move to a dead-space in between planets, where they are joined by those members of the fleet who had to leave the fighting.

STARKE takes stock as the fleet recuperates. Two frigates and a cruiser have been lost from EDGRIET’s squads, the pilots warping their pods to safety and returning to base. The Nova Elite have lost drones and an interceptor is smoking, its hull held together through the pilot’s sheer force of will until one of the other pilots can bring a remote hull-repair unit online.

STARKE: (voice only)
Commander, your boys ready for the assault?

EDGRIET: (voice only)
Are we ever. Vash, head on over to the control point near planet five, wait for the Captain’s signal to attack. Warping squad to control point near seven.

As one, the four squads enter warp, descending upon LORD GRIMLOK’s base like avenging demons, a coordinated attack upon the sentry posts first cutting off communications to the rest of the Amarrian Empire. Before the embers have even faded, SPACE CAPTAIN STARKE calls for the fleet to regroup, leading his Nova Elite and the TLF forces against LORD GRIMLOK’s base of operations

They are met with fierce resistance: LORD GRIMLOK himself, commanding his dreaded flagship, the Righteous Blade, brings his entire fleet to bear. The infamous Holder chooses to attack the invading force rather than make his escape; he is confident and assured, knowing that this time his nemesis is on Amarrian ground. The scene shows LORD GRIMLOK seated in a non-capsuleer captain’s chair on the bridge of his Armageddon battleship.

LORD GRIMLOK: (shaking his clenched fist at his adversary)
You won’t escape this time, Starke. This is the last time your Matari filth will taint my stars! Amarr Victor!

The battle is joined, furious and dizzying; where the earlier fight was a deadly dance, this one is a slugfest. Primaried frigates on both sides vanish in bursts of superheated gas as the gap between the fleets narrows, and then the Nova Elite and TLF are among the Amarrian fleet, the heavier ships unable to track the lighter wolfpack at close range.

STARKE:
All ships, focus fire on Grimlok’s ‘Geddon! Take that sonuvabitch down, then worry about his support.

Under the combined firepower of over thirty ships, the golden battleship melts quickly, its captain unable to reach his escape-pod in time. The support put up a token resistance, but most flee the system while STARKE’s forces take out their next set of targets. Voice-comms protocol has already collapsed; the pilots are cheering, laughing and chattering amongst themselves, and it’s all STARKE can do to get their attention and remind the pilots that they’re a long way from home in hostile space.

…………………………

STARKE steps off the gangway from his Jaguar, hair still damp from a post-pod shower. He turns to run loving eyes over the battle-scarred hull before slipping a pair of shades on and turning to leave. His way is blocked by COMMANDER EDGRIET, who has appeared as if from nowhere.

EDGRIET:
That was some good work today, Captain.

She eyes him appraisingly as he reacts with surprise.

STARKE:
I’m certain it’s no more than you would expect of your own men, Commander. We owe you for your help today.

The Commander smiles at him.

EDGRIET:
It was a pleasure, Captain. I’m wondering if I could call on that favour now, rather than later?

************************************

The community hall erupted with a wave of cheering. The final shot of Lord Grimlok’s flagship exploding filled the room with a nova-bright flare before fading to dark red and then nothing. Among the children, Nikitta and Nareen were hugging while Komar did a wiggly victory-dance on his seating cushion.

Behind the rows of youngsters, the adults watched. Many were grinning at the children’s excitement, but a few looked puzzled or concerned. In the close-knit community, most had known Tiia Edgriet before she’d left for the Republic, and even five years on she was still recognisable.

Havah looked up at her husband. ‘If that’s really my sister… how real is this?’

Elaqh shook his head. He’d been wondering the same thing.

************************************

Sylar Starke sat with his feet up in yet another station-side bar. Alistair had joined him, and they sat talking quietly, sharing stories of their early days as pilots. Al noticed her first; Sylar turned to look.

‘Commander Edgriet. Have a seat.’

The tiny Sebiestor woman smiled and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. ‘Thanks. That was bloody clever, staging the final fight like that. Where’d you get the Amarrian ships from?’

Shrugging, Sylar took a sip of his beer. ‘Stole most of them. The pilots are ours, we’ve staged setpiece combat before. The ones I called primary after the ‘Geddon blew up were all empty of crew members, only a pilot in the pod.’

‘Very clever.’ Edgriet looked impressed, then thoughtful. ‘I’m glad you let me add the favour request into the script. I need your help, Captain.’

The two men sat up straight, looked at each other across the table, then at the Commander. ‘We were wondering about that,’ Alistair said.

‘You’ve still got some of that makeup on, you know.’

‘Yeah, I’ve not properly washed it off, yet.’

Tiia Edgriet leaned forward on her elbows on the table, long, delicate fingers interlaced before her. ‘You may recall that I have a bit of an ongoing disagreement with the General.’

At their nods, she continued, ‘This is because our intelligence has discovered that the village I grew up in has drawn Amarrian attention. Slaver attention. And the General – much less the Republic itself – can do nothing.’

‘Why’s that?’ Alistair looked keen; his expression had sharpened, his eyes taking on that look Sylar recognised all too well.

‘It’s in Ubtes. Thukker territory. We have no jurisdiction to go in and bring my people out, and while the Amarr don’t have any more right to operate there than we do, they have fewer scruples about it.’ Tiia looked severe. ‘I need to get my people to the Republic, or they’ll end up with the same fate our ancestors so narrowly escaped, and the slaver raid is planned for sometime next week.’

The CEO and the XO of the Nova Elite looked at each other; they could read each other well enough that speaking was unnecessary. Sylar turned back to Tiia. ‘What is it that you need us for, exactly?’

She smiled a little. ‘Leave the TLF. I’ve talked this over with my own men, and they’ve all agreed to this course of action. We’ll leave with you, form our own operating corporation. We’ll be operating as independents, and because even the Thukkers can pick up your broadcasts, we’ll have evidence that the Republic isn’t involved. …Just tell ‘em I bullied you. What do you say?’

************************************
To Be Concluded Next Week!
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Space Captain Starke and the Tribal Renegades