Fiction: Almost Lost, by A Dead Parrot

Smartbomb noun /ˈsmɑːrt ˌbɑːm/ a point-blank explosive weapon designed to deliver the widest possible area of devastation, effecting crippling, if not fatal, damage to everything within range, friend or foe.

The Bombs

The captain issued the order to arm the weapons and load the turrets. The massive ship was still travelling at warp speed and red alert sirens were reverberating throughout the vessel.

Until now, no one in the gun crew had expected to see any fighting on this mission. None of them had ever seen so many smartbombs loaded into the hold for any combat mission. The consensus was they were delivering them somewhere. They must be, they had thought. Somewhere that only a well-armed battleship could deliver them.

The crew scrambled to their posts, jogging through long narrow passageways as they donned their ear protection. In space, explosions make no sound. But smartbombs detonate at close range. Fragments from a victim ship’s hull concuss against a battleship like a drum. So loud in the lower decks, you’d think the whole ship was coming apart at the bulkheads.

Three decks above, no jokes were being told in the targeting room. Even those serving their third tour onboard this ship had never seen more than one or two of its weapon turrets fitted to deliver smartbombs. But on this mission, six of the available eight turrets were equipped to deliver the terrifying devices.

The sirens are silenced, but the ship still stands at red alert. Every operational compartment is bathed in deep crimson. The captain orders the ship to drop out of warp.

The targeting crew had little work to do at their stations. Smartbombs are “target-less,” brute-force weapons. They checked their math. Six turrets, 15 second reload times. They could deliver one of these bombs once every 2.5 seconds until their target succumbed, was vaporized, or they ran out of ammunition.

Down below, the gun crew was sensitive to the familiar shudder that Apocalypse class ships make when they decelerate out of warp. They knew that once out of warp, it could get very loud, very fast.

As the massive hulk of the battleship shuddered below light speed, a few of the targeting displays blinked off then on. The crew wondered to themselves, what could we be targeting with this much juice?

The Engineer

Unlike battleships, a typical privately-owned blockade runner, had a crew that was very small, close-knit, and rarely privy to the contents of its cargo hold. But on this particular blockade runner, Marilene Pardoux, now 37, has been the ship’s engineer for well over 15 years and does know everything that happens onboard. Pardoux and the captain were close. So it seemed very mysterious indeed to Pardoux that the captain was so secretive about their cargo on this particular mission. When Pardoux pried a bit, the captain replied in his best big-brother tone, “It’s all on the cargo manifest, Marilene.”

Pardoux didn’t like that tone.

Pardoux had already examined the cargo manifest. The hold should contain, among other typical station supplies, 60 cubic meters of frozen Gallentean skirt fish. But that was not the only concerning detail about this mission.

Pardoux’s eyes scanned the deep black outside the cockpit window. The ship lay almost still, its scanners running full tilt, using every available moment to assess their environment before they lost the temporary protection of their gate cloak. Satisfied, the captain ordered engines up. Pardoux pressed the controls aligning the ship toward their last system of the Genesis region.

Once out of Genesis, they had just one more region to traverse, then two jumps inside the next before reaching their final destination.

For Pardoux, this trip was what he and the captain referred to as a “working mission” where most of the ship’s maneuvers were performed manually. On normal trips, the ship is on autopilot and Pardoux’s feet are planted on his console, something his added weight suggested he might be doing a little too often.

As busy as they were piloting the blockade runner, Pardoux could not keep pondering the mystery of the skirt fish. The logo on their secure containers was familiar. Pardoux was sure it was the golden symbol of the Ishukone Corporation. Though the logo does resemble an angel fish,

Pardoux was certain the Ishukone Corporation did not have a fishing subsidiary.

But what was most troubling, about those skirt fish, was that on every prior hauling mission involving perishable cargo, the captain asked, at least once a day, “Have you checked the hold temperature Marilene? Are you keeping an eye on it?” They picked up this cargo at the end of January, a little more than a month ago, and the captain hadn’t asked that question even once. That manifest was a lie.

The Lieutenant

The brand new Concord police cruiser was cleared for undock. Seated at his console, Lesit Dane pressed his hand into his knee to prevent it from skipping up and down in the darkness below the status screens. This is his first command assignment. The young Dane had spent the past 22 weeks training into this class of ship and now he was commanding one. His was one in a squad of three undocking from the largest police command center in the cluster.

He felt the brief change in gravity, like the slowing of an elevator, as the station released its docking hold on the ship.

It was this station where the Directive Enforcement Department (DED) trained most of its plebe officers on new equipment. It’s an area of space unchallenged by criminals and rogue capsuleers due to its dense police presence. A perfect constellation for newly minted officers to get their space legs.

Dane hoped his nerves would calm once they cleared the space dock, beyond the direct gaze of his superiors. He knew they would be watching the trio undock. And from the station’s observation deck high above the maintenance gantry, Dane was right.

Admittedly, his squad was given a milk toast assignment for his first day in command. They will be stationing themselves just outside the Ourapheh gate to set up a check point for random cargo and ship inspections. In low security regions of space this kind of assignment can get pretty exciting. But in Ourapheh, one jump from the DED station itself, they will be lucky to find anything worse than an unlicensed slaver hound.

As the three cruisers cleared the confines of the station, Dane’s leg muscles relaxed at once and he imagined that his few gunners, one deck below, were probably already asleep.

The Fish

Skirt fish are common. It’s the main ingredient in a very sweet, popular dish named after an old royal nicknamed the Blue Prince. According to the story, that name followed the blue prince through childhood after he was born with a rare oxygen deficiency that quite literally gave his skin a bluish tint.

Not only is the meat of skirt fish very sweet, it is also higher in iron than most foods, making it a perfect dietary supplement for a king and queen to order for their young anemic child with high expectations but low hemoglobin levels.

Other than the fact that this fish wasn’t a cargo that the Faint Memory of the Nouvelle Rouvenor II has ever hauled before, Pardoux could think of nothing else special about it.

The Boredom

Long distance hauling missions like this one consist mainly of extended, almost boring, periods of time spent warping between stargates. Those periods though, are bookended by brief, intense periods of work while approaching and leaving the stargates. Those moments can be exciting, but it’s the boredom in between that kills you.

Pardoux piped up in the dead quiet of the flight deck, “I’m getting kind of hungry. Are you, Shabaud?” The captain did not look up from his reading.

“You know what I could go for right now? Some old fashioned cooking, maybe something with fish.”

Captain en Issier put his data pad down in his lap and rested his gaze outside the cockpit window. “Really Marilene?” he said, without moving his eyes from the glass. “And I’ll bet what you’d really like right now is something made with skirt fish, right?”

“No, I was actually thinking salmon. But now that you’ve brought up the subject of skirt fish…”

“Captain,” interrupted the ship’s onboard navigation system, “we are coming out of warp soon. There is absolutely zero indication of any ships destroyed at the next gate. This is however, a larger than normal police presence assembled there. Just thought you might like a head’s up.” “Thank you, ALLISON,” the captain replied.

“Why does ALLISON have the impression that you’d care about a police presence at the next gate?”

“Marilene, just get the scanners ready. We should start to prepare for the next jump.”

The blockade runner’s warp engines began to spool down.

The Checkpoint

“Lieutenant, a blockade runner just dropping out of warp,” Dane’s logistics officer blurted. “Thank you Forsan, start the ship and cargo scans on him while I check on the others,” Dane replied, turning to the radio.

“Flight two, are you almost done onboard that Badger yet?” Dane asked into his microphone.

The response came back, “Almost Dane. I mean, Flight Leader, sir. We did not observe anything out of specification in their hold, but I’m afraid we may have a situation brewing over here. We’ve discovered a half empty case of expired milk in the chill locker. You uh, want us to haul ’em down to the station, or you think we could just let him off with a warning. Your call, Flight Leader.”

Those guys are too funny, Dane thought. “Marc, we have a blockade runner just warped on-grid, I’m going to hail its captain. We’re scanning him now. Just bring your boarding crew back, OK?”

“Roger, Flight Leader. Will do. But give me an extra minute. I’m gonna have my guys gear up first, in case we have to board him. You can’t be too careful with blockade runners. They might be smuggling chests of Amarrian spitballs from null-sec.”

The Stop

Captain en Issier ended his radio call with the police lieutenant and removed his headset. “Bring the engines offline Marilene, they said they may be boarding us.”

“Boarding us? For what? I thought they needed just cause for boarding. Are you going to tell me what’s in those Ishukone Corporation crates now?”

“It isn’t the crates, Marilene. Those crates are double wrapped. Unscannable,” the captain said. “They said their scanners detected illegal drone equipment onboard.”

“What drone equipment? We don’t have any…”

“Where’s Parrot,” the captain interrupted. “Get him on the flight deck. I need to talk to him.”

“He’s in his quarters, I’ll call him now.”

“Marilene, before he gets up here, I need to tell you, there aren’t skirt fish in those Ishukone crates.”

“Really? What is it then? Should I be concerned?”

“Maybe. If the DED finds anything. But if they do, their first action will be to bring me aboard their ship for arrest, and tractor the Rouvenor in for impound. If they do that, I will understand if you want to run. When they take me over to their cruiser, before the tractor beam is up, you have my blessing to take the Rouvenor and try to escape. You may only have a few seconds.”

“What might they find? What kind of prison time are we talking about?”

“Blueprints. Stolen blueprints, I think. They did not give me all the details. But Ishukone paid me extremely well to make them disappear for a few weeks, and move them. From what I gather, the corporation may have smuggled them from some Caldari-Gallente research effort called the Crallire Project, or the Crielere Project, or something, I am not sure,” the captain explained. “But if we are intercepted before we can deliver them, CONCORD will certainly turn the blueprints back over to the Gallente, and Ishukone have already implied that they will deny any involvement and press charges against me for the theft.”

“Is there anything you need me to do before we are boarded then?”

“Don’t panic yet, the DED doesn’t know anything about the Ishukone crates, they are interested in something else… “

Before he could continue, A.D. Parrot, the ship’s analyst of 13 and a half years, arrived on the flight deck.

The captain acknowledged Parrot with a glance, and then looked at Pardoux. “Marilene, could you excuse us for a few minutes? Have you checked the hold temperature lately? Why don’t you go check on it, and be sure everything is stowed properly before the DED gets here.”

“You got it, Shabaud.” Marilene stood and headed off the flight deck, greeting Parrot in passing. “How’s it goin’, Parrot?”

“A.D.,” the captain began. “I think the gentle police lieutenant parked just off our bow may be interested in making a souvenir of ALLISON. They are about to board us.”

The Parrot

A.D. Parrot, as he is now known, was hired on to the crew of the Faint Memory of the Nouvelle Rouvenor II back in YC92. What he brought with him was no less than astonishing to Captain Shabaud en Issier at the time. Within days of coming aboard, A.D. Parrot had installed and brought to life an honest to goodness, working artificial lifeform that he created, and called ALLISON.

“The ALLISON” as en Issier referred to her in the beginning, was capable of obtaining information not yet in range of ships scanners. It was capable of determining the best course of action in situations that, without it, would have had career-ending consequences. In short, as time passed, “she” eventually made the Faint Memory of the Nouvelle Rouvenor II and her captain legendary in certain circles.

The captain had known the two most important things he had to know about Parrot before he brought him on. First, Parrot was not his real name. He was a man running from something, or from someone, which was okay with him. Captain Shabaud en Issier himself did not have the cleanest history with the law, and bringing someone on board that had something to hide made perfect sense when you run a ship that, more often than not, also has something to hide in its cargo bay. There is a sort of mutual protection there that en Issier appreciated.

The second thing he knew was that the ALLISON was based on some sort of stolen technology. Though Parrot never offered any details about where the technology came from, en Issier had seen and heard enough over the past 13 years that he was now pretty certain it came from Gallente research.

The Excitement

“We may get some excitement on my first day after all, Marc,” Dane said, back on the radio again. “I just got off with the blockade runner. They have been notified that we intend to board. Forsan believes there could possibly be some kind of illegal artificial intelligence development work onboard. He says the scanner shows the signature of some drone components that have been flagged by CONCORD.

“Are you sure your data pad isn’t upside down?” Marc replied.

“It could be that, or it could be something else. We won’t know until we see it. Please get your crew ready to check it out.”

“Acknowledged. We’ll be ready in under four minutes.”

Wow, thought Dane, that’s some progress. No wisecrack, no joke. He could get used to this.

At that moment, Forsan chirped up. “We may have a little more excitement today. We have just been notified by DED that we have been designated as response team four, one system over, at the Tourier gate. There is chatter on the radio about criminal capsuleer activity there. We could be called into action at any moment!”

“Forsan, when was the last time you heard of them actually activating the fourth response team? You do understand that for them to call on us, the fourth group, they would have already dispatched six other cruisers and two battleships to the scene? And then those eight ships would then need to call for additional backup.”

“It is just my duty to inform you sir,” Forsan said.

“Acknowledged. Just don’t get too excited about it. Let’s deal with reality and see what’s on that blockade runner!”

The Only Copy

“A.D., we are being held by the DED at this gate because their scanners picked up what they called ‘flagged drone components’ suggesting, they tell me, possible violations of artificial intelligence research, and that, so they say, gives them just cause to search the ship.”

“I see,” Parrot replied.

“We both know that the flagged components they are talking about are ALLISON, right? You stole some of those components from CreoDron, didn’t you?”

“I am sure that’s the case,” confirmed Parrot. “So are we going to run?”

“Run? I don’t think so. I don’t plan on letting them search this ship either. Just stay calm. We have a few minutes before any police are onboard.”

The captain reached over to the navigation system control panel and snapped ALLISON’s power switch off. “I want you to get ALLISON shut down and backed up. I plan on turning the components over to…”

“Backed up? What do you mean backed up? I can shut her down, but I can’t back her up. I can’t copy her! I have tried. All I get is code that talks, but no personality, no life, no ALLISON!”

“You mean she, I mean that, is the only copy? On those components?”

“I’m working on it! I just haven’t figured it out yet. I will,” Parrot replied.

“Well unless you figure it out in the next several minutes, you may lose her, A.D., I do not want to spend my retirement years in prison.”

Parrot reached for the nav panel and turned ALLISON back on. “She may as well be here for it, Shabaud, whatever happens.”

“Captain, what is going on?” ALLISON asked.

“Nothing, ALLISON,” Parrot replied before the captain had a chance to speak, “everything’s fine.”

“Should I be worried?”

The Call

“Now we’re talking!” Forsan exclaimed as he ripped off his headphones. “Lieutenant! We’ve been called, they want us to return to Yulai, at the Tourier gate asap!”

“What?” asked Dane. It was all he could say. The shock of the moment, and his simple response to it, made him lose his concentration. He made a mental note that he’d better start working on a better response in moments like these. Something more captain-ly sounding.

“It’s a criminal capsuleer, they’ve got a real live one putting up a fight! We’re in!” Forsan said, now standing in front of his console. “Let’s cut this blockade runner loose!”

“No way, Forsan. He’s coming with us! This is going to best the best first day any DED cruiser pilot has ever seen. We will both have promotions when this is over!”

“Orders, sir?” Forsan asked coming to attention. Dane could definitely get used to this.

“Get on the radio with that blockade runner, tell him to fleet up with us immediately, or we open fire, and sound like you mean it. I’ll radio Marc and have him ready his ship for warp. Oh, and tell Dannai to wake the gunners up.”

No sooner was Forsan off the radio with the blockade runner, his radio lit up again. “Sir, that was dispatch, they are ordering us to push off immediately. There are officers down in Yulai, at the Tourier gate, two DED cruisers are destroyed and a one of our battleships is taking heavy damage!”

“What?” Dane said again.

ALLISON

The trio of police cruisers landed in Yulai at the Ourapheh gate. They were followed, seconds later, by the Faint Memory of the Nouvelle Rouvenor II.

“Where are we going, Shabaud?” asked Pardoux taking a seat next to the captain.

“I don’t know, but when three DED cruisers invite you to fleet up, it isn’t good for your long term health to say no.”

“At least we are headed in the right direction,” quipped Shabaud. “But I have to say, being in Yulai, under forced police escort, doesn’t really have the kind of vibe I usually look for.”

ALLISON interrupted, “Captain, there have been nearly two dozen kills in as many minutes at the Tourier gate inside this system. Over half a dozen of the casualties include DED police cruisers, and one DED battleship. Please check my monitor for details.”

The four ships aligned in unison, and without so much as a glance at their local scanners, the DED cruisers warped off in the direction of the Tourier gate, with the Rouvenor in tow.

“What is she talking about A.D.?” the captain asked, swinging around in his chair to face the back of the flight deck. “I think ALLISON is going haywire. It’s impossible to destroy a DED battleship in this day and age. It’s YC106 for Bob’s sake!”

“Captain, I recommend immediate disengagement and a course correction,” ALLISON now warned louder. “A second DED battleship has just been destroyed at our destination.”

“Parrot!”

“What, Captain? What do you want me to say? I think we should do what she says,” Parrot suggested.

“You think if we break fleet with the DED, they will just say, ‘Ok fellas, fly safe! We’ll see you later!'”

“Well I don’t know what they will do,” Pardoux broke in, “but if DED battleships cannot stand up against whatever lies at the other side of this warp, then we certainly can’t.”

“Captain, a third DED battleship has just been destroyed at our destination,” ALLISON said. “I strenuously suggest that you come up with a plan. We will be arriving at our destination in approximately 15 seconds.”

“Ideas?” the captain asked.

The small Rouvenor crew sat in silence for a moment. No one spoke.

“We will be arriving at our destination in approximately 5 seconds,” ALLISON reported, in a voice that, for the first time Parrot could recall, sounded a bit nervous. “Captain, please.”

“All right ALLISON! Enough. I am dropping fleet now. Marilene, pick a celestial and get us ready for warp as soon as we land. A.D., say a prayer to Bob. But make it a short one.”

The DED trio landed approximately 6,000 meters from the Tourier gate, the blockade runner landed just 1,000 meters behind that. They could see on grid with them were two other DED cruisers, a DED battleship, and three Apocalypse class Amarrian battleships.

The Amarrian ship closest to the gate was taking fire from all three DED ships. The other two Amarrian ships appeared to be reinforcing the first with remote repair modules.

“Warp Marilene, now!” the captain commanded.

But just as the blockade runner turned to align, a bright light emanated in all directions from the Amarrian Apocalypse followed by an enormous explosion.

A large fragment of Dane’s hull came straight toward the Rouvenor, bumping it hard out of alignment, and driving it another 600 meters further from the gate.

Dane and his squad were returning fire.

“Realign! realign!” Captain en Issier yelled.

Pardoux was already on it. The Rouvenor was already responding. The ship’s warp drives were spooling up.

Just as the light before the Rouvenor began to stretch out into the distance beyond, her crew saw Lesit Dane’s cruiser disappear from their overview.

Fiction: Mobira, by Thrice Hapus

It is always easy to get where one needed to go, by remaining intent on one’s purpose, never wavering. Mr/ Lien has been single minded in his devotion for a long while now, and he goes wherever he pleases.

Tonight, he moves dream-like through the deep storage hangar at the Kaalakiota Corporation Factory. It is easy to keep to the shadows in the thick ranks of retired InterBus haulers. The dream through which he moves is dreamt by those around him, who pay him little heed. Any suspecting glance cast his way withers beneath the fire that burns within him, plainly visible — to the dreamers, at least — through his eyes.

Mr/ Lien knows his destination precisely. Years ago, he had helped to arrange for the removal from active service of the Nereus hauler, Mobira. Since then, he had worked unseen to ensure it remained dormant, a sleeper to be awakened only when the time was right. His many visits to berth AA-23-2158 had gone unreported. This, his final one, would be no different.

His pace is not rushed. This evening’s work would be another but another passing of the Shuttle, nothing more. It has been proceeded by countless others and will be followed by countless more. But what a pass! Still, time and purpose have drained away every worry and nearly every care, and so — no rush.

Rather, men like Mr/ Lien move in a sort of grand shuffle, crushed by awesome purpose yet buoyed up by noble intent. Many imagine they do the right things for the right reasons. Some are correct in this assessment. The vast majority of even these are captivated by mundane commitments. (And rightly so! Of such persons is the Tapestry woven!) A handful see a grander sweep of events and are corrupted by its enormity, coerced into a cheap and easy villainy in order to make even a small crease in the seemingly imperturbable drape of History. Only the rare few see rightly, do rightly, and act rightly. And, of these, a mere fraction have the means to effect change, to make a difference.

These are not the thoughts that go through Mr/ Lien’s mind on this auspicious occasion. Men like Mr/ Lien are not like other men, and it is difficult to know exactly what it is that they see, think, or feel. However, it would not be too incorrect to say that something akin to this was on his mind as he approached AA-23-2158. And whatever approximation of his actual thoughts these might be, they undoubtedly put the smallest of bounces in his step as he lifts the plastic dust shroud away from the hull and boards the vessel.

Tonight’s modifications would be a joy to put in place. After so much patient, watchful waiting, the seeding of technology throughout the cluster had finally yielded a positive result at CreoDron. It had, of course, been only a matter of time. And yet that first moment when a new thing emerges from the soil of careful preparation, albeit inevitable, is still a simple — and thus a great — pleasure. Knowing which seed had borne fruit, the culminating pieces were carefully nurtured and drawn into position, lined up next to one another on the Loom. All that remained were the final adjustments and the end was almost certainly guaranteed.

To be sure, there isn’t any actual weaving taking place. This is all just metaphor, a picture of something like what might be in Mr/ Lien’s mind. A more realistic depiction of events actually transpiring would make for a poor picture. It would most definitely diminish the grandeur of what the events mean.

The faintest shiver runs from his spine, down his arms, and into his hands as he makes the final connections. There is no possibility that he will make any mistakes. That is not even a remote concern. It is joyous anticipation that courses through his nervous system, or whatever analog of it he might label as such.

And it is sadness. The dream he dreamt so long ago is becoming real, moving — figuratively and literally — out from his mind and into solidity. The life he has harbored is casting off, and his mind will no longer be its womb. He will remain a father and will always have been a midwife, but he will be mother no more.

It is done. The finest thread he had to offer has been spun off and out, unspooled from within, added to the Tapestry. He is significantly diminished and inestimably enhanced. Such is the way of it.

Mr/ Lien emerges from the craft, ducking stiffly under the dust shroud, and shuffles noiselessly away, leaving life entombed in the dead weight of the decommissioned hull. As he makes his exit into comfortable obscurity, unseen, the signal begins to transmit.

***

It must be the most boring day on record. The feed to the good Gallente stuff had been stopped somewhere upstream, and, despite working on it all morning, Screed couldn’t figure out where or how. Which was infuriating for a sysop. He was supposed to have the keys to everything! But, maybe if he stepped away from it for a bit, his mind would noodle away on an answer for him in a subprocess.

He sighed, pushed back from his console, and palmed the red further into his eyes. Not good to sit like that for so long, but this was a real mystery. Nothing else seemed to have been affected, just the one feed — his own private side channel that no one else knew anything about. He’d been very careful to keep it well hidden. He was sure of that! Anyway, no one else around here had the faintest idea about systems. They weren’t even in his league. His caution was wasted on them, but it paid to be careful. He stood up and shuffled around, working some blood flow back into his legs.

“Screed” wasn’t his actual given name, just a handle. A “nom de fluid router.” And one that no one here at Quafe had any clue about. Only a very few could afford his services and he wasn’t well- known outside of his regular client base. His customers and he liked it better that way.

All of which made it exceedingly weird for an alert to come in just then from one of his private shell messaging accounts. That traffic was only permitted in via the link that had been down all morning. The message was brief:

“> We control the network.”

He sat back down, shocked at just how much cold sweat his body could produce so quickly. “No no no…” Knowing it was too late, his hands flew across input devices in a last-ditch effort to dump and burn everything.

“> We mean you no harm. We request your help.”

Screed didn’t recognize the sender’s credentials. The only way an unauthorized user could be on this channel was if his feed had been breached somehow. There weren’t many with the tech to find his subnetwork, let alone invade it. He sent the commands to wipe every node all down the chain, then broke the connection.

As he was starting the wipe of his local system, another ping came in from the same private messaging account. Impossible! He had just severed the connection to that feed. He scanned the message and realized it was coming in on a completely new feed, identical to the one he had just imploded, but with a different upstream origin — and better encryption.

Like way better encryption. Like encryption he didn’t totally understand at a glance. New tech he didn’t know about. Just who was he dealing with here?

“> We request your help. We are willing to pay.”

Whoever it was, they had him dead to rights. If they could casually infiltrate his sanctum while he was there trying to prevent them from doing so, they could have easily done so at any time in the past. They probably knew everything. Best to at least appear interested. He took a sip of Quafe to settle his nerves.

“< I’m listening.”

“> We request your help in predetermining the results of the upcoming Quafe Quarter-Trillion Sweepstakes.”

Screed about choked in disbelief. Someone this technologically sophisticated wanted him to fix a contest? If the request had come in any other way, he would have written it off as a joke. And a bad one, at that.

“< I’m not sure I follow.”

“> We would like you to ensure the winner of the upcoming Quafe Quarter-Trillion Sweepstakes.”

“< Yeah, I got that bit. What does someone with your resources need me for? Fixing this kind of contest is trivial…” The realization of what they wanted was not so much a dawning in his mind as it was a thunderclap. He just about choked again.

“> You are a trusted Quafe employee with considerable access to internal systems. We want you to get caught.”

Of course that’s what they wanted.

“> You will find our payment has already been transferred to your account. The details of the desired sweepstakes results will follow.”

Screed heard the “ka-ching” ping from his banking service. He saw the numbers roll across the screen, and this time he did choke in earnest. By the time he recovered from his coughing fit, he had already mapped out his next move after leaving Quafe. The kind of ISK he was now in possession of changed just about everything.

And what the heck. He’d even do the job for his mysterious benefactor. Just to make sure he stayed on their good side. It might even be kind of fun. Boring afternoon averted!

***

Chinengozi Mupedzahasha put bruises all over her body, his blows lightning strikes after the thunder of his shouting. It had been a bad day.

He’d been called into work early to ferry some richie-rich cuta from here to there and it had to happen RIGHT NOW. “Rich” meant he had to fly the old shuttle because it had the nicest interior — and the worst guts you could imagine. He wasn’t exactly afraid of flying it, but he gave his Auntie Jamyl statue an extra kiss whenever he did.

“Rich” also meant no tip. She barely even looked up to acknowledge him when she boarded and she couldn’t be bothered to so much as say “thank you,” even after he carried her bags all the way into the main concourse when they arrived.

And “RIGHT NOW” meant it was a one-way trip with no scheduled return, so he was stuck at the ugly end of nowhere with nothing to do but wait for a fare back or pay the return trip fuel and fees himself.

And then to top it all off, Traffic Control said he had to move the shuttle because it was taking up a prime docking bay (‘cause that’s what Ms. Rich insisted on) and the one they forced him to move to was at an out-of-service concourse where he had even less chance of finding a fare. AND he had dinged the shuttle up pretty bad while docking because it was so old it didn’t mate well with the equally out-of-date docking collars in use at this god-forsaken station.

And so he found a bar, called a service, and took it out on someone. ‘Cause Misery loves company.

***

Later, over a can of Quafe, Chin wondered if he might have killed her. His thoughts on the subject were detached, dispassionate. He was just curious. Fear tickled a corner of his mind as he thought of being caged again. He called for another Quafe and scanned the bar.

He turned down the music in his implants. The music helped him think, helped him forget, helped him all the times in all kinds of ways. But right now he needed to listen. Stay alert.

His fingernails scraped around the edges of the sweepstakes scratch-off’s bioreactive film. He was fidgeting. He hated his habit to pick and pull at this and that when he was idle. “Only women fidget,” his dad said, and so he did it more just to aggravate him. Sometimes he could get on his dad’s nerves enough to turn it into some gud fites. And now it was a habit he couldn’t shake, and he hated it. Well, nothing he couldn’t fix with another drink or two. And then he’d have to start looking for a fare…

As he turned to summon the bartender back over, he saw the CONCORD star out of the corner of his eye. Too late! How had they snuck up on him?

“Mr. Mupedzahasha?” The voice cracked as it rose to form the question. The CONCORD guy couldn’t have been more than a few months out of the academy, and he didn’t seem to be oozing with confidence. Maybe he had a chance if he just played it cool.

“Who’s asking?” Chin leveled his gaze at the uniform, ready to pounce — or run.

“Sir, it is my duty to inform you that you are wanted–” Chin sized up his options. He didn’t want the cage again, but he didn’t want another decade of running, either. “–at the station office of Quafe to discuss your recent prize winnings.”

Chin glanced down at the scratch-off under his thumb. YOU’RE A WINNER! “Yeah, OK, thanks.” Chin turned away, hoping the guy would leave him alone.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I must insist you come with me right away.” Chin turned toward the kid again, gave him his best glower. The kid stood his ground, but he did swallow a lump in his throat before speaking again. “They’re quite serious about dispensing this prize, sir.”

“Yeah, well, not interested in some free Quafe or whatever. Give it to the next guy or somethin’.”

The kid wouldn’t quit. “My directive from Quafe is to bring you to their offices right away. I can call some of my CONCORD friends over to help me out, if I have to, or maybe we can just call Ms. — what was it? — ah, yes, Ms. Aldori from last night and see if she has anything to add to our conversation.”

Chin spluttered. Where did they dig this kid up? “All right, fine. No need to make any threats. If it’s such a big deal to our friends at Quafe, I’ll go.” Shake someone’s hand, maybe have a picture made for the bartender to hang in the corner, go home with some free Quafe. Guess it could be worse.

“Well, then, right this way, Mr. Mupedzahasha.” The kid beamed. Officer Hey. Have to remember this guy, Chin thought.

***

“OK, run that by me again.” Chin couldn’t believe his ears.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Mu-ped-za-ha-sha. The whole thing stinks, and I’m sorry you’ve gotten mixed up in it. While we’re legally bound to honor the particulars of the sweepstakes rules, we understand that this–”

Chin interrupted. “I’m not saying I’m against it. I just need to hear it again.”

“Of course. By scratching the can you entered into a legal contract with Quafe Company and its subsidiaries to receive the reward allotted to you randomly. However, we know that your award was dispensed purposefully, not randomly, by one of our own employees–”

“Right. I got all that. The contest was rigged. Someone is setting me up or somethin’.” “Precisely, Mr. Mu- ah, sir. As such, you are under no obligation to accept. We did want to ask some more questions, though–”

Chin had been studying his hands. Now he stared up in wonder. “But what if I want to accept? Can I do that?”

“Oh! I see! Well, of course, we’ll want to understand why our employee selected you, what connection there is between you, what he might stand to gain from awarding you such a prize, etc.” He sounded it out, “et cet-er-a”.

“Sure. But is there any chance I can accept?”

“We have an awful lot of questions, sir, but we’ll see what we can work out.”

***

It was too good to be true. It was weird and messy and seemed like it might fly away out of reach at any moment, but it was a dream worth hanging around for. Somehow, his name had come up and now he had a chance at becoming an egger and getting his own ship.

The guy they say did it, that put his name in the hat (and it was the only name in there, apparently), he’d never heard of him. It sounded like the Quafe guys were thinking the whole thing was some sort of prank their guy, “Screech” or somethin’, was using to distract them while he made his escape. Seems like maybe he had been up to some bad stuff on the side.

And it sounded like his name was just as good as any other, and since there really wasn’t any connection between the two of them (“no indication of collusion” was what the last Quafe lawyer had said), that he might as well receive the prize.

There was still some paperwork left to settle, but it sounded like he had a real shot. An actual chance at something. It was far enough along they were even letting him poke around in the deep storage hangar where his new ship was being stored. Not that it was new — it was an old InterBus hauler, Mobira. But, if…and it was a big “but” and a big “if”…the ship would be his!

The deep storage hangar was empty. Sounds echoed forever in its deep recesses. Chin fidgeted with the heavy plastic sheeting that draped around the entrance near the cockpit. As he stepped inside, he could’ve sworn he heard faint music. Walkway lights illumined his way automatically, and then the on-board flight computer spooled up.

“Standby. Authorizing. Captain, I am ready to go.”

‘Captain.’ Yes, he very much liked the sound of that.

Fiction: When the Sisters Call, by Lucas Ballard

Lucas Ballard threw a used towel on the floor and stepped out of his temporary quarters. With a frustrated sigh he crossed the cargo platform, buttoning his shirt as he went, and headed to a moving pedway that would take him out of the secure Capsuleer section of the station and to the administrative wing where he knew his contract was currently delayed.

The Sisters of Eve station in Sheroo was a broad, sprawling one of typical Gallente design, but anchored firmly in the Amarr Empire. In the nine months Lucas had been living as a Capsuleer, he had already passed through so many stations across the Cluster, he knew just where he was going without even glancing at the signs or directional indicators.

Usually he never left the capsuleer section of the station. In fact, it was pretty uncommon for any Capsuleer to mingle with the regular population, since it was truly one of the only times that a Capsuleer was not immortal. The consciousness of a Capsuleer would always be transferred to a new body in the event of their death, but that could only happen if they were with their capsule. Few ever took such a risk, since one well placed knife blade could quickly end what should have been a life without limits. On those rare occasions when he would leave the Capsuleer section, he would wear flesh-colored port plugs in an attempt to blend in with the people who inhabited the stations.

This time he didn’t even try.

He stomped off the pedway and into the crowd of primarily Amarran citizens, pushing his damp, black hair out of his eyes. The scowl on his face and his purposeful stride made the baseliners get out of his way in a hurry.

Gorramit, he thought to himself. When did I start referring to normal people as baseliners? Have I already gone off the deep end and forgotten where I came from?

He worked his way through the masses and headed to a secondary pedway marked for Sisters traffic only. A pair of Amarran station security guards came from either side to intercept, with stern looks to match their rough and unforgiving Imperial armor, gilded though it was.

“Capsuleer,” one called out as the other stepped directly into his path, a long, ornamental stun rod held across his chest. “This is a restricted area. State your business and present credentials.”

Lucas let his annoyance show as he frowned at the guard. “I’m here to provide transport for a scientist to Oijanen.” He pulled a paper manifest from his pocket and handed it to the guard, and bared his right forearm. The first guard looked over the document as the second guard stepped up and held a small device over Lucas’ arm. There was a gentle tone and Lucas saw a hologram of himself appear over the device, along with a scrolling list of information, all coming from a gene chip embedded in his wrist. He hated having to verify his identity this way, as it made him feel like little more than livestock. But thanks to their deeply ingrained penchant for slavery and overtly classist views, the Amarr treated everyone like that, so he knew it wasn’t personal. However as a citizen of the Gallente Federation, he had been raised to believe that individual rights and self-worth were of paramount importance. So being scanned like a cow going to market—to be treated as ‘lesser than’—made him dislike these men from the start. He just couldn’t help it. But he choked back his opinion and allowed the inspection, since he just wanted to get the whole situation over with as quickly as possible.

The first guard frowned. “I don’t know why you are here,” he said with a haughty tone. “Your cargo should be at your hangar.”

Lucas pulled his sleeve back down and felt his blood pressure rise. “Passenger, not cargo,” he growled. “Do you really think I’d be here if my passenger were where they belong? The dockmaster told me they were being held. Pending… something.”

The guard sneered as he accessed a computerized list and saw a highlighted item. “Ah yes, your Matari cargo is being held due to irregularities in documentation.”

Lucas clearly heard the man’s tone and his blood pressure spiked. “Irregularities?” He put his hands on his hips, trying to not get upset at the pompous man and failing spectacularly. “The scientist in question is on an urgent mission for the Sisters. There’s no time for irregularities. This mission is of the utmost importance, or perhaps you’ve been too busy polishing your oh-so-shiny armor to hear the news about the Kyonoke outbreak?”

Lucas knew he was playing with fire by choosing to insult the guard, but he got a bit of a thrill as he watched the guard’s face slowly turn red as he dropped his shock rod by his side. “You had better watch your tone when you talk to me, Capsuleer.”

“Or what? You’ll become even more of a judgmental jackwipe?” Lucas put a hand to his heart in false shock. “I’m so sorry that your feelings are so easily hurt, but I thought you Amarr were more resilient that that.” He glanced down at the guard’s armor, noting the extra gold trim on the shoulder plates. “You look a bit old to be a lieutenant. Are you a little not-so-good at your job? Is that why you’re stuck here on guard duty?”

The Lieutenant’s face took on a truly impressive shade of purple in his rage, and his partner stepped up looking ready for a fight. “You must have been Gallente before you became an abomination in the eyes of God,” the Lieutenant hissed. “That’s why you are as ignorant as you are stupid.”

Lucas bared his teeth at the weak insult. At this point he couldn’t help himself and just kept piling it on, gesticulating with his hands for emphasis. “Outstanding! So now instead of doing your job, you’re trying to get into a cock-fight with me? There are millions of lives at stake and here I am, wasting my time with some pissant underling with delusions of grandeur, who seems to forget that the Matari are no longer yours to treat like fedo dung.” He stepped up and got right in the Lieutenant’s face even as he raised the humming shock rod and held it underneath Lucas’ chin menacingly. “Now unless you want to explain yourself to the Sisters who own this station—who are standing right behind you, by the way—I suggest you go and get me my passenger.”

The two guards froze in place and Lucas watched as the color drained out of the Lieutenant’s face as though someone had flushed a toilet. Lucas stepped back, got down on one knee and bowed his head. The Lieutenant’s lips pressed into a thin line as he lowered the shock rod and turned around to finally see what Lucas had seen a moment before.

Standing there was a woman of indeterminate age wearing the white ornamental robes of a High Priestess, with the cowl pulled away from her face and her red hair tied back in a severe looking bun. Her skin was pale and her features mixed. There were hints of Sebeistor Matari in her skin, forehead and high cheekbones, but her thin mouth and nose reminded Lucas of the Intaki, an old ethnic group of the Federation. Flanking her on both sides were four other women, hands hidden in their sleeves and faces obscured by the deep cowls of their rich blue robes. They were all members of the Servant Sisters Of Eve, and the way the five of them stood left no doubt that they were not happy.

“Lieutenant,” the High Priestess said in a calm yet disturbingly commanding voice. “Is there some sort of problem?”

The Lieutenant dipped his head while his partner bowed deeply. “I am—”

She silenced him with a flick of her finger. “That was a rhetorical question.” Her gaze bored into the man, sharp as a laser beam. “You are taking away time that cannot be recovered. Lives are at stake and we must not delay.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Lieutenant stammered, and gestured for his partner to go.

Again the Priestess cut him off. “I think it would be best if you delivered our honored and beloved scientist to the hangar personally. Someone of your rank and stature should be able to expedite the process, don’t you think?” She tilted her head ever so slightly, her gaze never wavering.

The Lieutenant bowed deeply this time, and without a second glance dashed off as fast as his feet could take him. The Priestess turned her head to look upon the other guard, and he quickly bowed and went back to his station at the end of the pedway.

Lucas kept his gaze to the floor until the Priestess stepped up and curled a finger. “Rise, Captain Ballard.”

Lucas stood up and fell in on her right as she began walking towards the capsuleer section he had come from, the other Sisters taking places in front of and behind the High Priestess. Bodyguards.

“You did not have to goad him so,” she said with a stern tone.

Lucas dipped his head deferentially, partly to hide his smile. “Apologies. I took a little too much pleasure from doing it.”

The Priestess glanced at him and smiled ever so slightly. “I would be lying if I said I did not find it humorous as well,” she replied. Then her smile faded faster than a raindrop in the desert. “We all have strengths and weaknesses, captain. Hubris is one of the Amarr’s greatest weaknesses. Being self-righteous is yours.”

“I cannot argue that,” Lucas muttered. “I try to be better every day.”

“And better you have become, Lucas. Your joining Signal Cartel has done much to polish the being within. But there is still much work to do.”

Lucas glanced at her quizzically, a little confused by the familiar tone she used when talking about him. But he did not let his eyes linger lest it be taken to be a rude gesture.

The Priestess smirked. “There is little your group does that we do not notice. Signaleers hold a special place in my heart, and that of the Servant Sisters. Those of you who find your calling with Signal Cartel are not like most other Capsuleers.”

Lucas smiled. “Yes, well our leaders help make sure we walk a narrow but rewarding path.”

She laughed, and the sound rang out like a bell, clear and bright. “Indeed,” she replied. “But they have been changed just as much as the rest of you. I remember when your dear leader took on her current mantle. She was not as kind as she is now. Hers was quite the wandering road that finally led her to found Signal Cartel.” She

leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Did you know I knew her mother? I also know her true name, not just the one she goes by now. Such an amusing sobriquet.

But it no longer engenders fear like it once did.” She waved a hand casually. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on dear little Johnny.”

Lucas worked hard not to laugh out loud at the way the Priestess spoke about his superiors, and barely succeeded.

They walked in silence for a while after that, and Lucas watched as everyone they came near paused and gave the High Priestess and her accompanying Sisters deferential bows as they walked past.

As they approached Lucas’ private hangar, he looked at the High Priestess. “I wanted to thank you for allowing us to assist with this mission.”

She stopped and looked directly at him. “As I said once before, members of Signal Cartel are not like most. So when the Ladies Auxiliary recommended reaching out to your group for help, we were happy to approve. There are few that we would consider for this dangerous mission.” She turned and looked at Lucas’ frigate hovering nearby.

“An interceptor?” she huffed. “I must admit, I thought I would be seeing one of our frigates there instead of a Roden ship.”

Lucas regarded his Ares, which was painted in dark, matte colors and looked as stealthy as it did fast. But it was an asymmetrical ship if there ever was one. In fact, he thought it looked very much like an electric razor he had once owned. The designers seemed to have taken the separate halves of two completely different ships and slapped them together, yet somehow it worked, and worked quite well.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he replied, turning back to the High Priestess. “I love my Astero, and I seriously considered bringing her for this mission. But sometimes, pure speed is what one needs, and there aren’t many ships faster than Whispers.”

The High Priestess gave the ship one more sideways glance. “So long as our people arrive safely, who am I to judge the manner in which they are carried?” She looked past him and smiled. “And speaking of people…”

Lucas turned and saw two people arriving. The first was the Amarran Lieutenant, who was pushing a cart loaded with heavy looking cases of scientific equipment. His face was neutral, but his eyes were filled with an expression that could only be described as loathing.

Behind him walked a proud and attractive looking woman in plain clothes that was clearly of Matari descent. She had golden brown eyes, brown skin and dark brown hair held back in a thick bundle of braids by a thin golden chain, and was just as tall he was. Lucas could not see any of the traditional Matari tribal tattoos on her neck or face, prompting him to recognize her as a member of the Thukker tribe, a scattered group of wanderers that eschewed most of the old Matari traditions.

Why in the world is my mind picking out all these details? He wondered to himself. Maybe this new ocular filter implant I just got really is that much better than the base model… but standing here staring at her like a blank clone is not going to make a very good impression. Perhaps I should spring for the better Social chip next time I’m in Jita. Okay, focus!

As the two of them bowed to the High Priestess, Lucas caught the gaze of the Lieutenant and kept a straight face. He nodded towards the cargo lift and slowly raised a hand to toss him a subtle, but very rude gesture. The man silently fumed as he took the cart over to the awaiting workers, with an expression so full of rage that Lucas thought he might spontaneously ignite… and that made him chuckle. I am a bad man, he thought.

The woman reached out and kissed the Priestess’s hand, rising to her feet with a broad smile. “Reverend Mother,” she said in a rich alto. “I am so honored to see you and to serve the Sisters once again.”

The smile on the Reverend Mother’s face was a warm and genuine one. “And we are honored that you answered the call once again, Kaia. I wanted to be sure to tell you personally just how much it means to us.” She turned slightly towards Lucas, indicating that he could introduce himself.

Lucas, however, needed an extra second to process the situation after hearing the new woman say two words: Reverend Mother. He realized with a shock that he had been speaking not to a regional High Priestess. This woman was Santimona Sarpati herself, the Reverend Mother and head of the Servant Sisters of Eve.

Oh crap, he thought in a panic. I guess that new implant can’t see everything.

After his clone heart finished skipping a beat or two, he decided that passing out would look really bad and took a step forward, holding out his hand. “Doctor Kaia Hakuli, I presume? My name is Lucas Ballard, and I will be your pilot.”

Doctor Hakuli shook his hand. Her skin was warm and her grip was firm. “It is nice to meet you, Captain. I hope I can count on you to get me to my destination.”

“As fast and as safe as humanly possible.”

Doctor Hakuli paused, surprised by his words, then she smiled and the whole hangar seemed to light up. “Then let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

Turning to the Reverend Mother, Lucas clutched his hands together and bowed. “Thank you so much, Reverend Mother. It was an honor to meet you.”

The Reverend Mother reached out and took his hands in hers, her smile never wavering. “I appreciate that you came to get Doctor Hakuli yourself. It is rare that your kind ever walk past those doors… I think that says something about the person you are underneath all of the technology. So the honor was all mine.” She stepped back and gave him a graceful bow, and the other Sisters followed suit.

Lucas was stunned, and for a moment he could not move. His face flushed and his heart raced with embarrassment from the wholly unexpected honor she had just bestowed upon him. The Reverend Mother rose up with a bemused smirk. After a beat she tilted her head ever so slightly towards his ship, and Lucas jerked out of his stupor. His eyes still wide with wonder, he stepped back and turned to Doctor Hakuli.

“Follow me, doctor,” he said and escorted her towards his ship.

Amused by his reaction, the doctor’s smile grew as they walked. “You never really get used to it,” she chuckled.

“Doesn’t help that I had no idea who she really was until you showed up,” Lucas muttered, and offered his arm which the doctor accepted after a second of contemplation.

He led her past his capsule parked at the edge of the platform, its doors open like the petals of some giant alien flower, inviting Lucas to enter. As she walked by, Doctor Hakuli could not help but stare at the strange Jove technology that made Capsuleers possible. She knew how it all worked, everyone did. But to see it in person was still something of a shock, as was the knowledge that this man walking next to her was not quite the human he appeared to be.

They walked up to the lift where her containers had been placed, stepped onboard and began floating towards the ship. Doctor Hakuli looked in wonder at a colorful turret hanging off the underside of the Ares’ fuselage.

“That’s a strange looking missile launcher,” she said. “I hope we aren’t planning on fighting our way to Oijanen.”

Lucas smiled. “This ship isn’t outfitted for combat, and that’s not a missile launcher.” As they got closer, she noticed the turret wasn’t just colorful. It was covered in odd scrollwork and stars, and glowed with a strange, eldritch light. Comprehension slowly dawned as they passed underneath it, and a shocked look came to her face as she gripped the safety railing.

“Is tha… is that a fireworks launcher?”

Lucas’ smile grew bigger and he glanced at her stunned expression. “Yep.”

She continued to stare at it as they slid past. “You Signal Cartel pilots are just as strange as I’ve heard,” she muttered in disbelief.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Lucas patted the back of her hand comfortingly. “I’m one of the mild ones.”

They floated directly to the cargo hold on the underside of the fuselage, which was mostly empty except for a couple of dock workers waiting for the lift to arrive. As soon as it rose up to the entrance, they took the containers and secured them inside while Lucas escorted Doctor Hakuli through the small hold and towards the front of the ship, stopping at a vestibule along the way. There was a set of crash seats against the wall next to the open hatch of an escape pod.

Doctor Hakuli frowned as she looked around at the spartan and windowless space. “I’m not sitting here, am I?”

Lucas put a hand on the back of a seat. “This is the safest place for you to be during the trip. And just in case we get caught, there is the escape pod. I’ve programmed it to warp to a safe spot or station in every system we will pass through.” He turned and looked at her. “I’ve also turned up the inertial dampeners in this part of the ship so that you won’t get sick.”

Doctor Hakuli gave him a disappointed look. “I’ve flown in ships before, Captain.”

“Have you ever flown in an interceptor, Doctor?”

Her eyebrows came together. “Well, no…”

“That’s why you should sit here.”

She regarded him for a moment, taken aback by his concern. She already found his kind and polite demeanor off-putting, since every other capsuleer she had ever met had frankly been so cold, aloof and uncaring.

But she was not the kind of person who wanted to simply sit back and hide from difficult things, which was why when the Sisters called her, she jumped at the opportunity. So she patted the headrest of the seat, and stepped right past him to continue down the passage.

Lucas let out a frustrated sigh and followed her directly to the observation deck.

In the non-capsuleer variant of the ship, the observation deck was the ship’s bridge, and had a forward-facing wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. But since he did not need a bridge, he had converted most of the deck into a lounge for himself for those times when he got tired of being in the capsule. Sometimes he spent many long and solitary hours in the lounge while parked and cloaked in deep space, but sometimes he didn’t go there for days. He made the shipwrights build a passage that led from the lounge directly to the capsule chamber so he didn’t have to walk all the way from the bow to the stern and back just to move four meters to the right. Stupid engineers.

The room had a small kitchenette, a comms terminal on a desk for talking with his fellow Signaleers, and right in the middle of the room was a comfortable L-shaped couch that also served as a bed. One section faced the windows, and the other faced a wall with a very large screen on it where he watched The Scope, holovids and entertainment programs. He had spent extra money on the best automated systems for the ship, so there was no other crew. It made for a lonely existence, but knowing that no-one else’s life could be lost due to any mistake he made helped him sleep better at night.

Watching the doctor park herself on his couch did not make him feel better, however. She rubbed the cushions and admired the expansive view, then looked back at him with a steady gaze.

Lucas frowned. “If we get into trouble, you’ll never make it to the escape pod in time.”

“They never let escape pods get away anyhow, you know that.”

“Well, you might,” he muttered.

She leaned back and nearly disappeared into the plush cushions. “I like to see where I’m going.”

Lucas walked over to the kitchenette with a resigned sigh. “Well, all of the furniture is bolted down, so hang onto something. We leave in ten minutes.” He came back to the couch, handed her a small paper bag and headed for the door.

She looked down at the bag in confusion. “What’s this for?”

Lucas paused at the door for a second and replied, “Try not to vomit on the cushions.”

He walked back down to the cargo hold, where he found the workers standing on the lift, waiting for him. He stepped up next to them with a smile, and together they floated back to the cargo platform.

One of the men turned to him with a look of concern. “Excuse me, sir. But is it true? Is the outbreak as bad as they’re saying?”

Lucas stared at his capsule as they slid closer to it. “Worse, I’m afraid… and so far everything points to it being a deliberate act.” He turned to the man and looked him right in the eye. “Your name is… Georda, isn’t it?” The man nodded in mild shock.

“Are you married, Georda?”

“Yessir. Seven years. Two kids.”

Lucas turned to the other worker. “And you?”

The man stood up a little straighter. “Paara, sir. Married one year, first child on the way.”

The lift settled onto the cargo platform and as they all stepped off Lucas paused to look at the two men. “Go home and hug them tonight. Times like this? Nothing is more important.” He reached out and offered his hand. “Thanks again.”

The two men shook his hand solemnly. “You’re welcome, Captain,” Georda said. “And good luck out there.”

Lucas watched as the men walked off, leaving him alone on the platform. As he looked around the vast hangar, he felt a strange sensation in his clone body, one that felt vaguely familiar. It took him a moment, but he eventually recognized the feeling as one of longing, and it made his not-entirely-human body throb like a bruise, a dull and persistent ache that started in his chest and worked it’s way out to his limbs.

He took a calming breath and walked over to his capsule and started undressing, pushing the emotion aside as he slowly stripped off the vestiges of his humanity one layer at a time. He folded his clothing and tucked it into a sealed box inside of the capsule and soon stood completely naked in front of the capsule, staring at the ovum blankly as it waited for him to step inside.

Lucas glanced up at his ship and felt a pulse of nerves as he noticed a silhouette in the observation deck windows. Doctor Hakuli stood there looking down at him, a

completely unreadable expression on her face. They stared at one another for a few seconds before Lucas stepped into the capsule.

To Doctor Hakuli’s eyes, it looked as though the capsule came to life and slowly consumed him. She watched as prehensile tubes reached out and connected to the ports up and down his spine, slowly drawing him inside. His body floated with a strange, waxy flexibility as it leaned back into the glowing pod, and the doors of the capsule slowly closed around him, hiding him from view. She shivered.

A few seconds later the capsule rose up and quickly flew over to the ship, and she heard it insert itself into the ship just a few meters away from where she was standing.

The deck began to vibrate as the ship sprung to life, thrumming with power.

Lucas’ voice suddenly came from seemingly all around the room. “Are you ready, doctor?”

She looked around for the speakers, but when she could not find the source of his voice, she turned back to the windows. “Yes, Captain. I’m ready.”

“We just received clearance to leave the station. Once we do, I recommend that you take a seat. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She could hear the gentle concern in his voice, but simply gripped the handrail and continued to look out the window and watch as the ship slowly swung towards the station exit. She took in the spectacle of flying through the heart of the station, with its towering walls that stretched for as far as the eye could see, speckled with dazzling lights, and vehicles traveling along suspended roadways. She watched as they slipped past a huge, bulbous freighter crawling towards what appeared to be a small dark opening at the end of the passageway. She could see ships of various sizes gliding along, all headed to or from the same opening which grew with each passing second, finally revealing itself as a kilometers-wide maw that led to the eternal blackness of space.

She had flown many times before, but never with such a view. So when they passed over the threshold, the sudden transition from station to space was a visually jarring one. All of the visual cues for size and distance seemed to abruptly vanish, and it made her body feel as though the floor had suddenly disappeared out from under her.

“Ok, here we go,” Lucas said, and swift as a whip, the Ares turned towards the first gate.

Doctor Hakuli’s body rocked around a bit, but she hung onto the railing and stayed on her feet. She saw the planet Sheroo X swing into view, partially obscured by the moon the station was orbiting. Less than two seconds later, the planet and moon vanished behind them, along with her sense of equilibrium. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched space twist and warp around them, and a few seconds later she gasped as a small, sparkling dot grew into a jump gate so quickly that the only word to describe the experience was violent. The gate was huge, many kilometers across, and it appeared as though they would crash directly into the gate. But the ship stopped just a few hundred meters away from one of its pointed spires, which was the size of a tall apartment building. In the middle of the massive structure was a slowly spinning ring, filled with ripples of unnatural light that slowly pulsed and waved. A second later her internal organs seemed to catch up with the rest of her body and her throat clenched spasmodically. The entire ship rumbled and the gate disappeared into a swirling ball of light that engulfed them entirely.

When the light vanished, she found herself looking out at a beautiful golden nebula, and a bright star shone nearby, causing her to squint. Three seconds later, her guts were left behind once again as she watched the star go whipping past the window, and they soon came to another abrupt halt above another gate. Her insides began to churn in protest, and let her know in no uncertain terms that the abuse they were being subjected to was so not cool.

After the third gate jump, she sat down on the couch and looked around for the barf bag that Lucas had given her.

“You’re sitting on it,” Lucas’ voice called out.

The doctor fished around underneath her and pulled out the crumpled bag, opening it and looking down at it with a pained expression.

“There’s no shame in it, Doctor. And so you know, it will get worse.” From Lucas’ vantage point in the virtual construct he chose to be in, he was standing right in front of her. He watched as her lips pressed together tightly, and a thin sheen of sweat began to appear on her forehead. But she swallowed and gripped her knees, taking deep slow breaths. Her eyes came back up and looked right through him and out into space.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said in a quiet voice. “I will manage.”

He squatted down and looked her right in the eyes. She could not see him of course, but it felt like she was looking right at him. He found her determination to be most impressive. It wasn’t just the gut-wrenching flight. It was that she was flying directly towards one of the most dangerous and frightening situations anyone in the Cluster had ever had to face. The Kyonoke pathogen was something right out of a nightmare. It would kill anyone who breathed it in within hours, and do so painfully. Yet here she was, putting her very mortal and limited life on the line for millions of others to try and stop it.

Lucas abruptly felt the ache of longing ripple through his body once again, and grit his teeth to try and keep under control. Even so, it pained him to see her struggle, and he instinctively reached out and put his virtual hand on top of hers. And though there was no way she could feel it, she took a shuddering breath and the corner of her mouth came up in a slight smile.

“I’ll try to go a little more gently for now,” he said softly. “But once we reach low security space, I can’t hold back.”

Doctor Hakuli blinked. “I understand. And I appreciate it.”

Lucas turned to the window and stared out at the vast and glowing wonder of interstellar space. Connected to the ship, he could see so much more than a normal person could. Waves of energy on every spectrum flowing in every direction, all his to behold directly. He could be on the inside and the outside of the ship at the same time, and feel everything going on without and within. It was something they had told him about in his Capsuleer training, but words just could not capture how overwhelming and awesome the experience was.

Thinking about it, the life he now led was the stuff of legend. Here he was, an immortal demigod flying through the stars for adventure, glory and riches beyond anything most could even imagine. Yet despite all of the wonders he could see and the power he could wield, there was something cold about it. He knew it was all just a simulation. A highly refined and enhanced copy of what used to be. There was something missing, and deep down every Capsuleer felt it. Perhaps that was why most of them went to the extremes of behavior, searching for the piece that was missing, that essential part which had been lost upon their transition. They dove into the basest of experiences looking for the rush, the thrill of what it meant to be human, all while trying to avoid the simple fact that they no longer were.

What if that was the root of the Jovian malady that drove them all mad and eventually to their death? Some crucial piece of humanity that kept us sane and actually human?

Maybe the Jove gave us their disease along with their technology, he thought to himself. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

Lucas looked back at the woman sitting on his couch and felt his chest ache once again, and with that he knew he was not gone yet. He still had compassion. He still cared for others, and still remembered why he had done this in the first place. He had become a Capsuleer ostensibly to make the world a better and safer place for everyone that he cared about. It had been less than a year, but looking back he felt so stupid for ever believing that abandoning his humanity was the way to save humanity. Now it felt all like a lonely, distant memory.

Come on, Lucas, he said, shaking himself out of his stupor. This isn’t helping. Focus on getting her there in one piece. With a sigh, he reached a hand forward and directed the ship towards the next gate, this time a little more gradually.

The next ten jumps went smoothly and was the doctor managed to stay relaxed. But Lucas knew it was about to get a lot more difficult as they entered the Bei system.

That was because their next jump was into Hagilur, a low security system free of CONCORD protection, and the local pirates just loved blowing up anyone foolish enough to take that path into the even more dangerous space beyond. And from what he was hearing on the Local intelligence channels, the pirates were having fun today.

He paused at a deep space safe zone he had set up the day before and gathered his wits, feeling the adrenaline start to enter his bloodstream.

“Okay, Doctor. Showtime. From here on out, things get interesting.”

Doctor Hakuli looked up from the couch, and her eyes were filled with fear and not a little bit of excitement.

“Define interesting,” she said.

Lucas bit his virtual and clone lip at the same time, holding back the words, oh god oh god, we’re all gonna die. Instead he said nothing as he aligned the ship to the Hagilur gate.

“Your silence isn’t helping, you know…”

Lucas glanced over at her as he engaged the warp drive once again, and all he could say was, “Here we go.”

The gate rushed up to meet them, and they watched as another ship disappeared, jumping through just a couple of seconds before his own ship. It was an Imicus, an exploration frigate Lucas had flown for the first few months of his new life.

I hope you know what you’re doing, capsuleer, he said after the anonymous pilot, and the gate control initiated their own jump.

Doctor Hakuli stared out the window, watching the space outside of the windows swirl and finally resolve into a beautiful view of the gate below them, suspended in front of a beautiful red nebula, one that she recognized from her own childhood growing up in the region of space known as Metropolis.

But her little trip down memory lane was shattered a second later by the shriek of alarms suddenly going off all around her. Her eyes practically flew out of her head in shock, and she watched as the Imicus that had jumped immediately before them activate its micro warp drive with a flash just a few kilometers away from them, and begin accelerating away from the gate as fast as it possibly could.

But Lucas could already see it was doomed.

He let their ship sit in place and saw beams of energy reach out to engulf the Imicus, watching as they essentially shut off its warp drive. Then it began to rapidly slow down. The beams came from three other ships hovering around the gate. Two battleships and a cruiser. He instantly recognized the cruiser as a Loki, because he had died in a hail of artillery fire from one of those wicked ships months before, and the memory was still fresh. The two battleships were Rokhs, which were big, slow, lumbering hulks which some pirates just loved to use. Their presence almost assuredly meant one thing: smartbombs. And as if to prove his theory, he watched as the Rokhs launched more than a dozen of the nasty projectiles, on an intercept course with the Imicus.

“What’s happening? Why aren’t we running?” she yelled out in alarm.

Lucas yelled, “Close your eyes, Doctor!”

In the milliseconds that followed, he could see that she would not do so in time, and reached out with his mind to shield the windows. But before he could give the command, he saw that they were already darkening. An instant later, the objects transformed into expanding balls of pure energy that engulfed the Imicus less than thirty kilometers away. The doctor gasped in shock, blinking at the sudden burst of light, and watched as the small frigate was blown into pieces, its fragile hull shredded by the force of the explosions. A second later, there was another series of smaller explosions as the pilot’s capsule was pulverized by artillery fire. The only sound was the alarms, but the visuals were more than enough to drive home the violence.

Thanks for the windows, Aura, he thought to himself, and the ship AI replied directly in his head.

We cannot have our passenger arrive at her destination blind, now can we?

No, no. That would be bad.

He knew his ship was invisible to the attackers, and would remain so for up to a minute thanks to the strange mechanics of jump gates. Until he made a move, that is. But he also knew the pirates needed a few seconds to reload, and by his calculations that left a two second window in which he could avoid the smartbombs blast and their ability to fire again.

Plenty of time.

He willed the ship into motion, and the nimble interceptor wheeled towards the gate. A second later, the expanding wreckage of the Imicus whipped past them almost faster than the eye could track. Doctor Hakuli gulped and gripped the couch cushions as her body reacted to the abrupt change in scenery. Before she realized it, another stargate materialized in front of her, and as they came to a stop, she could see that they had landed directly underneath a huge battlecruiser, bristling with large guns. She watched in horror as the weapons swiveled towards them as though they were living things, and she wanted to scream. But before she could even inhale, the ship disappeared in a swirl of light, and they were through the gate.

There was no time to recover from the shock, however. The instant they appeared on the other side, their ship hurtled off to the next gate, and the next, and her stomach started doing flips. She had never traveled so fast, and her body and mind were becoming overwhelmed. Lucas watched as she struggled to hold it together from his virtual perch.

“Well,” he said. “They know we’re coming now.”

The doctor belched and gulped. “What do you mean, they know?”

“These pirates live all up and down this pipe. I’m sure they’re telling their buddies up ahead.” He adjusted his directional scanner, and grimaced at what he saw, but barreled on just the same. “You may not want to look at the next gate.”

The doctor groaned in distress, but stubbornly did not divert her eyes. A few seconds later, she wished she had.

The space around the next gate was filled with the glowing wreckage of at least half a dozen ships. As they came to a stop in front of the gate, there was a thud, and Doctor Hakuli watched in horror as the frozen, naked body of a female capsuleer bounced off the window. It was twisted and torn, and its face was a rictus of agony. Its dead eyes seemed to look right at the doctor as it spun away like a piece of trash floating in a crystallized cloud of ruby red blood. With that, her insides decided that enough was enough, and she vomited into the bag.

Can you silence the alarms please, Aura? Lucas thought, and the blaring alarms went quiet, leaving them with nothing but the humming of the ship and the painful sounds of her retching.

He sat his avatar onto the couch next to her as they bounced their way through the next few systems, passing grisly scenes of death and destruction at nearly every gate, and she vomited after every maneuver from that point on until there was nothing left to purge… and kept on vomiting.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor. But please,” he pleaded with her after each jump. “Just go to the escape pod. You’ll feel better.”

She took comfort in the obvious concern he had for her well being. But if I’m in for a coin, then I’m in for the whole purse, she thought. So she simply shook her head and stared out the window, refusing to avert her eyes even though tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the snot and spittle that she kept trying to wipe away.

As they approached the gate to Oijanen, Lucas could see more pirates nearby, looking to cash in on the added traffic at the gate.

More like trying to pile on the misery, he grumbled to himself.

He flew to a dead space safe spot just within sensor range of the gate, cloaked up and stayed there for a moment, surveying the scene. On the scanner he saw another three battleships, two cruisers and a pair of fast-tackle interceptors. As he perused the intel reports Aura pulled up, he saw they were all from the same corporation. Records indicated they worked together as a well-oiled machine, logging over a dozen kills in the past twenty four hours alone, including interceptors like his. They already knew he was coming. The second he uncloaked, they would be ready to splat the gate with smartbombs just as he arrived, and cause his flimsy ship to pop like a balloon. It was merely an exercise in timing.

“Well this should disrupt that timing,” he muttered as he aligned to the gate. “I hope.”

“What do you mean, you hope?”

Lucas flinched with shock just as he was about to deactivate his cloaking device. “Gah! Did I say that out loud? Sorry, Doctor.”

Doctor Hakuli looked around with a frightened but annoyed expression. “Yeah, you did. And please stop calling me Doctor. Call me Kaia.”

“Sorry… Kaia. We’re one jump out from Oijanen, and there’s a very determined welcoming party at the gate. So this next jump is for all the marbles.”

Kaia stood up, went to the kitchenette, and threw out her nearly full bag. “Okay, then,” she said as she rinsed her mouth and splashed cool water on her face. “I’m gonna need a new barf bag.”

Lucas chuckled, admiring her pluck. “Top drawer on your left.”

She retrieved a fresh bag and walked over to the window, gripping the railing tightly with both hands. Lucas’ avatar walked up next to her and gave her a sideways look.

“Don’t want to sit on the couch anymore?” he asked quietly.

A fierce grimace materialized on her face as she stared out into the darkness. “No. It’s bad enough being unable to do anything but sit here like a fedo in a cage. If I’m going to die, I want to watch it happen.” Her face softened, and she looked around the room. “You’re in here with me,” she said in a small voice. “Aren’t you?”

Lucas turned to face her and felt the ache in his chest once again. But this time he did not try to push it down. “Standing right next to you,” he whispered.

Kaia looked to her right, somehow feeling his presence, and smiled a nervous smile. “Thank you,” she whispered back. After a few seconds she turned back to the window, and slid her hand out on the railing a few centimeters, reaching for where she thought he might be.

Lucas looked down at her hand and could see her shaking ever so slightly, so he tenderly placed his virtual hand upon hers. Turning back to the window, they stood together in silence for a moment. He took one last breath, reached out to the ship with his mind and deactivated the cloak.

“Let’s do this.”

The space before them warbled and streaked as the ship leapt towards the gate, and just a few seconds later, the gate materialized right in front of them. But to Kaia’s surprise, it did not resolve into the towering structure every other gate had. It remained small and soared above their heads. The ship landed below and far away from the gate.

One hundred and fifty-five kilometers away, to be exact, Lucas thought to himself with a smile as he dimmed the windows and turned the ship towards the gate just as the space where his ship would have landed erupted with more than a dozen bright explosions. He activated the warp drive, and as the expanding balls of fire and energy dissipated, their little ship passed right through and raced up underneath the gate. Alarms screeched their warnings once again as all of the pirate ships locked onto them, but it was too late. Everything disappeared in a swirling ball of light, and they were through.

Aaaaaaaa-hah! Yeah!” Kaia screamed with excitement and her hands shot up into the air. She bared her teeth and smiled as she bounced up and down. “Yes, yes, yes! NO!

Her excitement came crashing down in an instant as they materialized on the other side of the gate, and saw a scary looking warship directly in front of them. There was a literal swarm of them flying around the gate like angry insects around their nest, and wreckage was scattered everywhere, blotting out the system’s primary star,

Lucas triggered the warp drive the instant they arrived, and before the pirates could react, the small ship skimmed over the top of the pirate destroyer and warped away, leaving them far behind. The alarms silenced, and seconds later the massive, sprawling shape of a citadel zoomed into view, stretching across the entire window.

There was a chime, and a pleasant female voice announced, “Docking request accepted.”

Kaia felt like she had been spun nine different ways, but she was so excited she jumped up and down anyways.

“We did it!” she cried, and then quickly clutched the railing. “We—hurrk—did it! We’re— hnnggg…” Dry heaves racked her body, but she just held the bag over her mouth, smiling the whole time. “We’re alive! Ohhhhh…”

Lucas laughed with relief, and said, “Welcome to Oijanen, Kaia.”

The ship floated through the huge hangar entrance, and by the time they had settled into a Capsuleer berth, Kaia’s body had finally calmed down and was no longer retching. She staggered over to the couch and laid down on it in relief, feeling as sore and exhausted as she had ever been.

She sat up a moment later when she heard the sound of clanging metal coming from the doorway.

“Captain?” she called out. When there was no reply, she got to her feet and went to investigate, following the sounds to their source just across the hallway to where Lucas’ capsule was. When she got to the door she found that his capsule stood open, and Lucas was standing with his back to the door, naked and dripping wet. The dark connection ports of his thin, pale clone body clearly visible up and down his spine. She felt a strong connection to this capsuleer, this man who had run a gauntlet for her and brought her safely to the other side. And truth be told, even though the connection ports on his body looked rather strange, the sight of a naked man so close to her was still thrilling.

Lucas turned to reach for the towel he kept next to the capsule, and instead found the doctor standing there, holding the towel out to him. He accepted it and quickly wrapped it around his waist, feeling self conscious from her presence in the capsule chamber.

She looked him in the eye, and a smile slowly grew on her face. “Well, Captain,” she said quietly. “That was certainly the most interesting flight I’ve ever been on.”

Lucas chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” He ran his fingers through his wet hair and smiled. “And you can call me Lucas, not Captain.”

Kaia’s smile grew even more. “Lucas. I like that name.” Her smile vanished and she leapt forward and hugged him, her eyes wide and filling with tears. Her body shook as she clutched him tightly, the emotion of the ordeal finally spilling over. “Thank you, Lucas,” she whispered. “I really thought I was going to die.”

Lucas was completely taken aback by the physical and emotional contact, and slowly wrapped his arms around her. “You’re welcome, Kaia.” He held her until her trembling subsided. Only when she let go did he realize just how much he enjoyed the intimacy of that contact. However instead of reaching for more, he stepped back and sheepishly scratched his head. “Uh, mind if I get dressed now?”

“Oh!” She said abruptly and spun away from him, suddenly embarrassed by her behavior. “So sorry! I’ll meet you in the cargo bay!”

Lucas stared after her as she ran out of the chamber, biting his lip. With a sigh, he toweled off and dressed in clean clothes, trying to not think about how good her body felt against his, and failing spectacularly. But by the time he got his boots on, he felt in control of his thoughts again and walked to the cargo bay, where he found Kaia standing with two dock workers as they moved her equipment to the lift. He approached with a smile and together they all stepped onto the lift and floated away from the ship, which pinged and hissed like a living, breathing thing. No words were spoken on the way down, but Lucas and Kaia kept glanced at one another the whole time.

Lucas stepped off of the lift as soon as it arrived at the platform, and held out a hand to help Kaia step onto the platform. They just stood there, holding hands and looking at one another as the workers took the containers and walked past. Kaia was the first to speak.

“Thank you for getting me here in one piece, Lucas.”

Lucas smiled. “You’re welcome. It was quite the adventure, though it would have been better for you if you’d sat by the escape pod.”

She smiled at that, and it struck him like an electric shock. “Perhaps. But I would not appreciate where I am right now nearly as much.” She stepped a little closer, and Lucas’ skin started to tingle. “You know, you’re not the first capsuleer I’ve ever met. But you are by far the nicest.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek slowly. Her warm breath and soft lips sent a thrill through him that he had not felt in what seemed a very long time. He blushed and bowed his head, surprised by his own reaction.

His expression made Kaia feel an even stronger pull of affection towards him, but reluctantly stepped back and let go of his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

He looked up at her and blinked. “The pleasure was all mine, Doctor. I wish you and your colleagues the best, and I hope that you find a cure.”

Her expression soured at the reminder, but she quickly put a brave face on. “Thank you,” she said. “We’re going to need it.”

Lucas shuffled in place and gestured towards a set of doors leading out of the private hangar. “Your people will pick you up at those doors,” he said and stepped back onto the lift. They kept staring at one another as the lift slowly pulled away from the platform, and they each raised a hand in parting. “Good bye, Kaia Hakuli.”

“Good bye, Lucas Ballard.”

Lucas kept his eyes on her until the lift dropped him off at the cargo bay. He stepped off and slowly walked back to the capsule chamber, lost in thought. When he arrived, he stared at the capsule for a moment, grimacing with conflict. But he pushed his feelings down hard, removed his clothing and stuffed it into the box. With teeth clenched, he stepped forward and accepted the cold embrace of his capsule yet again.

Once he was fully connected to the ship, he flew out of the citadel as fast as he could and warped off to the second planet in the system. He placed the ship into orbit nearly one hundred kilometers away from the planet’s customs office station, and stared at the beautiful planet as the star was about to disappear behind it. He sat there and listened to the chatter on the radio, watching the Caldari Navy ships milling around the far side of the planet where the city of Myrskaa lay under quarantine. There were some thirty seven million people trapped inside the city, with thousands dying every single day, if not every hour. It was all anyone could think of. Except Lucas. All he could think of was Kaia, and the fact that she was going to go there and might never come back. He floated there lost in his thoughts, when Aura spoke up.

“Lucas, I can see that you are distracted, but shouldn’t you activate the cloak?”

Lucas nodded absentmindedly. “Mmmm, yeah. I know, Aura.”

“No, really. You need to pay attention to your scanner as well. There are destroyers—”

“Yes, yes. Terrible people want to kill me and use my body for target practice. What’s new…”

An edge of desperation came into her voice. “What’s new is that they are here!”

Lucas finally snapped out of his funk as his scanner flashed a warning, and he saw a destroyer warp in. It was a Svipul, just about the deadliest tactical destroyer ever made, and it was less than one hundred kilometers away, which was just a few seconds away from targeting range.

He spasmodically activated his cloak and angled away from the visitor, his heart suddenly pounding with fear. The pounding only got more pronounced as he watched the Svipul turn towards him and accelerate.

“Oh crap, oh crap. What the hell was I thinking?”

“Would it be too obvious to say you weren’t?” Aura replied with an annoyed tone.

The scanner flashed again, and he watched with a growing sense of dread as a Hecate and a Jackdaw warped in to join their partner, spreading out and moving in his general direction. They could not see where he was, thanks to his cloaking device. But he could only crawl along at a snail’s pace while it was on, and if they got too close the cloak would deactivate, and he would be as good as dead.

“Oh come on!” he cried out in frustration.

“To be more accurate, you were feeling lonely,” Aura went on blithely. “Now it appears that problem has been solved.”

“Not helping,” he growled. Lucas considered his options and found he had all of two: Get caught and die, or try to run. The first one was guaranteed if he did nothing, and the second option had a reasonable chance of survival, but only if he didn’t dawdle.

He aligned his ship to an asteroid field that he saw on his scanner, uncloaked just as the ships got within range, and warped off immediately. Knowing that his hunters would be hot on his tail, he marked a spot along the way and left it in the nav computer, ready for use. As soon as the ship came to a stop next to a very large asteroid, he realigned the ship as fast as he could. He held his breath and watched the Hecate land barely five kilometers away from him. Just as his warp drive kicked in, Lucas saw a series of flashes come from the blaster boat as the pirate tried to fire without a target lock, and he zoomed right past the pirate’s cockpit, leaving them far behind. But alarms started going off immediately and Lucas felt a few starboard sensors disappear from his awareness.

Eep, he thought. That was too close.

Once the ship landed on his new deep space marker, he immediately aligned with the citadel he had left just a moment before and warped directly to it, darting into the safety of the dock just as the other two destroyers landed right outside. He gave them a salute on the Local public channel and breathed a sigh of relief.

He let dock control tow his ship back to his private hangar while he surveyed the damage. Thankfully it wasn’t anything critical or expensive, but he frowned when he saw that the fireworks launcher was gone. The ship parked and Lucas immediately detached the capsule and flew it to the platform.

Aura spoke up. “Lucas, would you like your after action rep—”

“Not a word, Aura.” Lucas interrupted. “Not. A single. Word.”

“Understood,” she said with an amused tone.

“That was a word!” he snapped.

Aura was silent for a second, and then she began to chuckle.

Lucas blinked in mild shock. Aura was rather business-like most of the time, and had actually chewed him out on more than one occasion. But he had never heard her laugh, and in fact hadn’t even known that she could. He started grumbling to himself when he realized that her laughing at him was just as annoying as when a human did it.

Heaven help me if there is ever an AI with more of an attitude, he thought completely to himself.

He parked the capsule and promptly drained off the life-sustaining fluid he was suspended in. The capsule opened, the cables disconnected from his body, and he bent over to let the fluid drain out of his lungs. Lucas stayed there for a moment rubbing his face, and his body shook with aftershocks from the adrenaline that was finally fading from his bloodstream. When he finally felt normal he stood up, stepped out of the capsule and froze in shock.

Standing in front of him was Doctor Hakuli, holding out a towel and looking at him with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” Lucas replied in a higher octave than usual, not moving a muscle.

She glanced up at the ship and gave him a wry look. “Your ship is smoldering.”

He turned and looked at the smoke coming from a hole where his fireworks launcher used to be. He cleared his throat and muttered, “That happens… from time to time.” He tentatively stepped up onto the platform and accepted the towel. “What are you still doing here, Kaia?”

Her lips curled up into a gentle smile and his chest started to ache. “My ride is late. They weren’t expecting me to get her so soon. So I was just sitting here waiting when I saw your ship come back, on fire.” She looked at him standing there, dripping and just holding the towel at his side. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Lucas didn’t move for a beat, just staring into her eyes. Then something broke and he suddenly stepped forward and hugged her, his body trembling. She slowly wrapped her arms around his damp body and pulled him even closer, breathing in time with him.

“I never should have gone out there,” he said into her shoulder, feeling the comforting warmth of her body beginning to soothe the ache in his chest. It had been over a year since he had experienced any meaningful physical contact with another person, and he became acutely aware of just how much he had missed it.

Kaia closed her eyes and leaned her head against his. “Mmmmm, that’s ‘cause there be pirates,” she said with a light tone that helped hide the fluttering she felt in her chest.

“That’s not why,” he chuckled nervously. Clutching her a little tighter, he whispered, “I never should have left you. I was afraid I would never see you again.”

Kaia gasped and felt relief wash over her. He had just expressed what she herself had been feeling since she had watched him fly away. She brushed her lips along his smooth cheek and looked into his blue-green eyes. “Then I am very glad that you survived.” she said and softly kissed him. They stood there clinging to one another with a quiet desperation, their lips communicating with one another on a very intimate, very human level, to the exclusion of all else.

Once their lips finally parted, Kaia took a shuddering breath. “Oh,” she whispered. “Please take me back to your quarters and tell me all about it.”

Lucas felt a tingle run through his entire body and bit his lower lip. “Don’t you—you know, have to go stop a plague or something?”

Kaia sighed and closed her eyes. “We can’t leave until all of my fellow scientists arrive tomorrow. And besides,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Between our crazy trip and this plague, I am so scared, I could really use a life-affirming distraction right about now.”

Lucas’ smile was so big it made his head ache, and didn’t care in the slightest. “Anything I can do to help,” he said. They clasped hands and walked together towards the door to his quarters, leaving behind a trail of damp footprints, and one unused towel.

Fiction: Something Was Wrong, by System_Baud

I awoke from my scheduled R.E.M. sleep cycle to a sweet melodic voice saying, “Captain, priority incoming message marked urgent Should I read it to you?”

Half asleep, resisting, I muttered “Yes”.

ALLISON continued, “… permit me to inform you of my desire of going into business relationship with you. I have the believe you are a reputable and responsible and trustworthy person I can do business with from the little information so far I gathered about you during my search for a partner and by matter of trust I must not hesitate to confide in you for this simple and sincere business…”

Groggy from sleep I did not muster the clarity of mind to stop ALLISON so she continued, “I am Stella Amah 19 years of age the only daughter of late Mr. Boni Amah whom was killed by the rebels that attacked our System of Amamake and took over our Station of Amamake II – Brutor Tribe Bureau. I escaped to Amamake VI – Moon 6 – Brutor Tribe Bureau from where I am contacting you. Before the death of my father he told me that he has a sum of 9,000,000,000 (Nine Billion ISK New Eden) kept in a private security company here in Amamake VI – Moon 6 – Brutor Tribe Bureau in my name as the next of kin…”

“ALLISON,” I said choking the words out. “ALLISON, Stop… discontinue audio. Save Transcript to /Files/later/possible scams… command sudo alpha 6 tango 723 oscar mike.”

“Complied.” was ALLISON’s terse reply.

“ALLISON, trace source and confirm identities and valify contents of communique.”

“Comply… compiling source data sub wave carrier.” her soft voice whispered in my head. “Estimated time to completion 6 min, 28 seconds.”

Well… enough time to feed my fedo and grab a cuppa hot Quafe.

Most capsuleers consumed Quafe cold, but because of an incident with an afterburner blowout when I had recently jumped a gate in j-space, I had mysteriously gained an appreciation for hot Quafe…I must admit it is an acquired taste.

After my snarling fedo nearly bit my fingers off, I returned to my pod command lounge. I don’t know why I keep that fedo around… something about good luck and what not… capsuleers are a superstitious bunch, but oddly I don’t think luck happens. We make our own luck.

I think I bought “Stuart” the fedo because the store keep was attractive, having very nice curves and a soft sweet voice that reminded me of a lover of mine from long ago before I became immortal.

“Captain, I have finished tracing Communique 4835.560.M. The source appears to be genuine. Awaiting further command.”

Even so, something did not sit well with me about this communique. “ALLISON, continue audio replay from where you left off earlier.”

“Dear System, in the capacity of the next of kin and with all the documents in my hand now, I am contacting you with due sense of humanity that you will give it a sympathetic and mutual consideration.

“I am honourably seeking your assistance in the following ways.

“(1) To serve as the guardian of this fund and to come assist me visit the security company here to retrieve the consignment.

“(2) To make arrangement for me to come over to your Star System to further my education and to secure a residential permit for me in your space.

“(3) To provide good investment plans for the fund and to manage the fund for 5 years, during the reinvestment period, only our profit will be shared annually 70% for me the investor while 30% will be for you the fund manager annually.

“Moreover, I am willing to offer you 15 % of the total sum as compensation for your effort/input after the successful transfer of this fund to your nominated account, before the investments starts, and I have mapped 5% for any expenses that might be incurred during the course of this transaction.

“Furthermore, you can indicate your option towards assisting me as I believe that this transaction would be concluded within a stipulated period of time you signify your interest to assist me.

“Anticipating hearing from you immediately.

“Thanks and Blessed be Bob. Best Regards. Stella Amah.”

“ALLISON, Stand by.” I chimed.

I sat numbly mulling over the proposal… on one hand I could write off the bad grammar to a low level cheap translate program… Minmatar to Basic was not always grammatically compatible. The communique was not originating in Jita or other likely places for scams but it was from Amamake which is known to have a strong pirate presence.

I had an idea… it might take a long time… but capsuleers have an abundance of time.

“ALLISON, run copy trace of communique 4835.560.M and compare it to the historical ancient database. Authorization command sudo alpha 6 tango 723 oscar mike. Please confirm time to completion.”

I don’t know why I keep being polite to ALLISON, I think it is because I think of her as…. well, a ‘her’… and a human even though she is only a few billion lines of code.

“Captain, I have estimated the time to completion at 3 days 27 hours 94 minutes. Do you want me to initiate?”

“Yes ALLISON, comply.”

Something from the back of my mind reminded me of that old limerick ‘Message No. 419’ It goes something like this:

.limerick.

“It was just like a scene in an intrigue film
and I’m still not convinced that it wasn’t for real.

“This isn’t intended for me, I don’t think.
It’s a missive from the edge of despair, I mean brink
of total desperation. The communication therein
says her hopes for survival are slim,
and she’s writing to the Front, though we’ve yet to meet,
with a confidential matter ‘cause she’s heard I’m discreet.
And the urgency of her request for my aid
is matched by the depth of the trust she displayed.

“She’s the LADY MARYAM ABACHA, deposed.
These days, can’t even get her caps-lock key unfroze.
But yo, something about a widow in distress
(with 20 million dollars hidden in a metal chest)
softened up the Frontalot’s heart, no doubt,
so I hit the reply button, tell her I can help her out.”

./limerick.

Well, in about four days I would be sure.

“Good night ALLISON, dim lights 97%, white noise generator to 9% volume – I am resuming my R.E.M. cycle.”

“Good night Captain, and remember Mynxee’s mood today is sceptical but optimistic.”

~ Log Entry by System_Baud Eve Date 21:48 25-09-2017

Fiction: Research Developments, by Tephra Solette

A teal glow from the lights filled the board room accompanied by the gentle hum of the stations air handling system. Tephra adjusted her glasses and smoothed out her gray dress. Her eyes darting between the three figures sitting at the table in front of her.

“So, let me see if I’ve got this right, Miss Solette” said the man in the middle seat at the table with thinning gray hair and well-trimmed beard.

“Actually,” Tephra interrupted. “It’s Captain Solette now, sir.

The man paused for moment, and a small smile crept across his face. “Indeed, congratulations are in order then. I’m glad the procedure went well.”

“Thank you, sir,”

“Anyway, back to the matter at hand” He swiped through several pages of a document on his pad. “You are suggesting that the ancient race known as the Sleepers are-“

“Not extinct” said Tephra, realizing she had just interrupted the provost twice in less than 20 seconds.

“My hypothesis is” she continued, “that the Sleepers were capsuleers.”

“There have never been any capsules or pilots recovered from Sleeper drones.”

“They were capsuleers. I posit that the Sleepers simply went one step further. I believe that their society reached a point in its development that having a physical, biological body was seen as superfluous, or a liability of some kind. Ergo, the drones encountered in W-space are not drones, but people. Or more specifically, people’s minds, completely computerized infomorphs.”

The woman sitting to the right of the provost spoke up. “And what would the impetus be for such a societal shift?”

“Well, Professor, perhaps there was a spiritual element or it, or more practically, it was seen as a way to inoculate themselves from the Jovian disease.”

“Interesting,” the woman replied. “Do you have any evidence for what you have just proposed?”

Tephra shrunk back a bit and broke eye contact with her interviewers. She knew that question would be asked eventually. She took a deep breath and refocused on the three figures in front of her.

“Well, not exactly, however I have reviewed every single Federation Navy report from encounters with the Sleepers in W-space and their behavior is nothing like any drone I’ve ever heard of. Not even rogue drones behave that way.”

“That may be, Capt…” the provost began to say…

“Furthermore,” Tephra interjected, acutely aware she had now interrupted the provost of the most prestigious university in the federation three times within two minutes, “making contact with an ‘extinct’ people group would afford great prestige to the university and be the discovery of a lifetime.” She knew that last bit wasn’t evidence, but an argument. In her experience though, sometimes arguments could be more convincing than evidence, however fallacious they were.

The room fell silent for a few moments before the younger man sitting to the left of Provost Marcon spoke up.

“The resources and funding you have requested for this venture are, extensive.” He looked up at her from his pad. “The Federation Navy has in most cases used less than half of what you have requested in dealing with the Sleeper drones.”

“The navy’s goal is to reduce them to slag; my goal is to communicate and perhaps bring one back. You’ll note that I have few actual fighting vessels in the requisition.”

“No, but an entire contingent of logistics and command support cruisers, and enough EWAR frigates to disable a space station. Honestly, Captain Solette, what you have requested would require nearly 75% of this semester’s research grants. Tensions with the Caldari are at an all-time high and with the Drifter threat ever looming on the horizon, the military would not be able spare the resources, even mercenaries are in short supply these days and those not currently employed are charging three times their normal rates. I’m afraid It would not be fiscally responsible to …”

Administrator Roan kept speaking, but Tephra was no longer listening. She closed her eyes and lowered her head in defeat. The two magic words had been spoken. Fiscally responsible. The incantation that had ended countless research projects before they had even started and the bane of academics the galaxy over, had been used on her. As Roan finished, Tephra quickly gathered her belongings.

“Professor, Provost, Administrator, thank you for your time.” Tephra moved briskly towards the exit of the conference room, her high heels clacking rhythmically against the carbon-ceramic floor. The provost’s voice stopped her just before the door.

“Captain Solette, you were and continue to be a brilliant feather in the cap of this institution. I’m sorry this project didn’t pan out, good luck, and may the stars light you path.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied weakly and entered the long empty corridor.

Tephra had spent the better part of the afternoon drinking in the university lounge, trying to forget about the morning’s meeting. She had switched from wine to harder liquor after the first glass. Ever since the procedure she had noticed it was much more difficult to get drunk. The capsuleer implants caused her body to metabolize alcohol much more efficiently than before. She scrolled lazily through news stories on her pad when a message notification flashed on the corner of the screen. She tapped on it. It was from Professor Valuri.

FROM: Claudia Valuri, PhD
TO: Tephra Solette
SUBJECT: This morning’s proposal

It was so good to see you again this morning, dear. I lament that that the university cannot fund your research, I was, however, reminded me of an organization that may be able to assist you. They operate mostly in W-space and are quite familiar with the hazards and opportunities that exist there. A few of them are even former students.

1420.

stars light your path,
Claudia

Tephra tapped the underlined link and took another sip of her drink as the confidence she had this morning slowly returned to her.

Fiction: The Scholar, by Bako Cherry

The scholar seemed out of place in the utilitarian confines of the station laboratory space. His bright purple and blue checkerboard waistcoat and artificial tweed jacket complete with elbow patches was in stark contrast to the white jump suits of the corporation science technicians. Physically he was also different to the technicians, they were tall and thin from having been brought up in low gravity found on all space stations, he was shorter and well built in comparison. He could easily pass for a university professor from an ancient time if it was not for the glowing enhanced monocle permanently in place over his left eye.

The scholar was once the sector expert in Sleeper encryption methods and was credited with creating an interface to allow the data to be visualised if not decrypted. His prime was however, behind him, several minor incidents or as he preferred ‘misunderstandings’, meant he had lost his job at the Praetor tech school. Before being convinced to come to this station, he was to be found running a small appraisal firm in one of the minor markets located near Jita. He was extracted in the middle of night with fake identification, as a group of mercenaries were hot on his tail. They had been hired after he had advised an important Caldari merchant to buy an ‘authentic’ piece of the first human colony in Caldari space. It turned out it was just a bit of space junk but the scholar had been paid more by the seller than the buyer so felt obliged to say it was genuine. He argues that if the buyer had even looked at it before buying he would have seen that it was clearly a fake, it was made from an alloy that was invented by Caldari technicians.

After he was extracted by the corporation special assignments team he was transported first to Amarr space in a quick flying shuttle, then on to paleo station in the mysterious Thera system. The stay in Thera was longer than planned until a useful wormhole connection could be found that linked to our station. Whilst at Thera the scholar would spend most of his time deep in conversation with the scientists based there. The special assignment team pilots used this opportunity to practice their skills trying to play tag with the Eve Scouts bouncing from wormholes to wormhole. It was a short trip once a wormhole path was found from Thera to this system where the corporations’ main operations and research base was located.

In the three weeks since his arrival on the station, he locked himself away in this small inspection room off the side of the main lab space. Anyone who had approached in the first week was quickly chased away even those delivering his meals. In the second week he had hardly been seen in the lab instead spending most of his time wandering back and forward in the 10m x 5m observation deck. There had been one minor incident where he was caught trying to reprogram the viewing window so he could see the pulsar without the filters and radiation shielding. Now in the third week he had again shut himself off in the inspection space until today when he ordered the station senior staff to visit for a grand unveiling.

On the metal table was the artifact he was brought here to study. A salvage crew clearing up after the corporations’ main fleet of battleships found it amongst the wreckage. A with many of the artifacts found on wrecks it had a fair bit of damage but most were superficial scuffs and scorch marks to the case. Inside the case was the prize an intact and still powered sleeper neural network. Normally they are retrieved without power and badly damaged. A powered Sleeper neural network was rumoured to be significantly more powerful than existing quantum computers if the encryption could be broken. So far, very few intact specimens have been found and most fail as soon as an attempt is made to break the encryption. This failsafe had defeat all previous attempts and what made this particular artifact special was that it had not immediately shutdown when connected. It was only slightly longer than a human forearm and about the same width but was almost as tall as my waist. Currently it sat on its’ side on the metal table connected to additional power supplies, scopes, analysers and many shiny silver wires and optical fibres pulsing with blue light which reflected off the gathered corporation officers.

The station commander was a thin tall man dressed in his corporation dress uniform jumpsuit complete with epaulettes and blue beret. He was stood opposite the scholar absentmindedly checking his communication device. The strain of maintaining a station deep in wormhole space was clear on his face and he gave the impression he would rather be doing something else. Next to him was the reason the station commander was still in the room, the corporation CEO herself had come down to hear what the scholar had to say. She was wearing an elegantly embroidered short-sleeved shirt with leather trousers and a leather jacket over her arm. She was smiling despite the fact that unlike normal she was not the centre of attention. On her left was the corporation chief science officer, a short woman with thin-rimmed glasses. Whilst she did not have the young CEOs’ elegance or style, she did have a prestigious intellect. She was known for her ability to take a manufacturing chain and squeeze every efficiency out of it with innovative ideas.

The scholar was wrapping up a long-winded anecdote about his time as a research student and how he prevailed despite the efforts of other jealous students. He paced along the side of table as he spoke and seemed to be staring through the wall and off back in time, remembering his youth. A cough from the station commander brought him back to the present and he launched into his explanation of the artifact, and all the difficulties he had overcome to get it connected. He launched a viscous attack on the station science personnel who had nearly risked all his work with their incompetence and shoddy equipment. He paced quicker now; in full flow explain the importance of the find and his ground breaking method for decrypting the information held within it. He had singlehandedly solved all the problems of the failsafe although it appeared that it had simply not been activated because the power had never been removed from the device.

After a few minutes of this self-congratulation, the CEO leaned forward over the artifact and asked, “So what information does it hold?”

“Ah, well, it’s amazing we can decipher anything really, the quality of the data encryption, the number of corrupt memory units. But it’s a magnificent breakthrough and lays the ground work for all future work in this area.” responded the scholar who had stopped pacing and was looking a little nervous now.

“What is the information?” asked the CEO now leaning over the table so far she was nearly eye-to-eye with the scholar.

The scholar brought up a series of numbers on the large screen at the end of the room.

“This is the raw data; it appears to be in a rare form of data representation, base 72 but shifted by 7 and inversed. This alone is a huge discovery; I already have some ideas on how this could have been chosen related to the Sleeper home system. It could help us find where they come from, that information alone is priceless.”

“Yes, yes, to academics, but what useful information do these number represent, is it a weapon, some other technology, what does it mean?” demanded the CEO.

“Urm well that’s the disappointing part, it appears to be a translation of an Amarr recipe book and also a book about burial procedures on different planets in the Amarr empire. I have been unable to crack the AI code itself that is partitioned behind another stronger failsafe. Even so it is a great step forward,” pleaded the scholar who had now noticed just how easy it would be for the CEO to throw him out an airlock and the barely contained rage on her face made it clear he might be lucky to get to the airlock in one piece.

“Nobody has ever before got this amount of information from such a device, I came here and I have delivered what no-one else could, it could have been a weapon, it could have been technology but clearly this was a scout looking for information on the Amarr, its logical they would not put secrets on a scout”.

The CEO noticeably softened at this; it was a logical statement and was exactly how she would do it herself. The Chief Science Officer looked pleased; she could see it was a big step forward and one that would lead to important discoveries. However, the CEO wanted more than just pure scientific discovery, it was not going to make them any isk. “Is there any way to break the next failsafe?”

“Well, I do have an idea but it’s very risky and should not be tried here in a wormhole without rescue available,” replied the scholar noticing the smile on the CEO face as he explained his idea. “The details are of course very complex but it basically amounts to a very old technique, we simply overload the failsafe with lots of computing power. It blocks the ability of the failsafe to send the message; with the computing power of several quantum computers it should be possible.”

“Do we have the equipment on this station?”

“It’s possible there might just be enough power but only if we connected it to the main computer and diverted all resources to it. I wouldn’t advise it, it could cause a lot of damage”

“Ladies and gentleman I believe my job is done, now as per the agreed contract please arrange for me to be returned to k-space with a new identity and of course my fee.”

“It may take some time to find a safe route, please write up your work so we can use it in the future if we find another of these devices. In addition, may I remind you that under the terms of our agreement you cannot take any notes, data, images etc. off this station? We will search and scan you. Also, remember that you cannot discuss the work or take any credit for the work if we should publish it. The penalty for non-compliance is not only all your fee but you will never feel safe again.” Threatened the CEO as she walked out the door with the station commander following behind her.

It took two more week before a safe route was identified, during which time the scholar was to be found on the observation deck dictating his report to a portable computing pad he had borrowed. In this time he was more relaxed, sometimes even forgoing the colourful waistcoats, but never seen without the glowing monocle. The final report was nearly 1000 pages although much of it was figures and pages of complex equations. It detailed the encryption method, the mathematics, descriptions of the tests performed and details of the artifact. The corporation’s science team went through it with a fine tooth comb, querying where they could but most admitted it was far beyond their knowledge and it would take some time for them to understand it all.

When the scholar was due to leave, he dressed in his best artificial tweed jacket, a bright floral patterned shirt and red and green checked waistcoat. Before leaving, the corporation security officer searched and scanned both his single case of luggage and his person. Once satisfied that the scans could detect no data recording devices, any had written notes or images he boarded the waiting covert operations vessel to take him back to high sec.

The journey was relatively uneventful as the corporation secured the route as they were delivering their loot to the markets. Only once did they need to cloak up and avoid a few locals trying to pick off the odd straggler or lone vessel. Once back in high sec and a long way from his former home he was dropped off with a new identity and a warning that they would be watching him.

A few weeks later once his minders had been recalled he paid for passage on a jump freighter for three jumps, then another for six jumps. The result was to end up only one constellation over but at a private and well-known black market hub. Once there he removed the monocle and retrieved the tiny data device hidden inside the shielded compartment that was once his eye socket. He smiled for tomorrow the bidding would start on the design for a newly discovered power device based on sleeper technology.

Fiction: CONCORD SCC vs EvE-Scout Enclave, by Saladiin

Consolidated Cooperation and Relations Command (CONCORD) Secure Commerce Commission

v.

Eve-Scout Enclave

143-86910 September 5, YC 119

Background: This case was brought before us when journal entries were recovered from the wreckage of a Falcon class Force Recon vessel in Hasama. The contents of the journal raised concerns that Eve-Scout Enclave (Henceforth referred to as SC0UT) was harboring known terrorists and extremist elements dedicated to disrupting otherwise lawful archeological and data- recovery efforts. The plaintiff asserts that the journal entry made by the capsuleer known as Saladiin prove that SC0UT is openly harboring terrorists committed to a campaign of terror and targeted assassinations of other capsuleers and baseliners within empire space. SC0UT representatives have referred plaintiffs to their Credo and the alliance’s strict policy of adherence to their policy of non-aggression. Additionally, they point to the fact that Saladiin has not engaged in any aggression since joining SC0UT and that they cannot be held liable for member’s conduct prior to joining the alliance. Furthermore, SC0UT claims that the personal entries of capsuleers, no matter how deplorable or sociopathic as they may be, can be used as grounds to punish crimes not yet committed. Saladiin’s personal journals, as well as ship’s logs are presented to us today to provide the facts of the case. Personally Identifiable Information has been redacted from the records for security purposes. No other edits have been made and documents may include grammatical errors made by the creator.

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

***Personal log: [date redacted] ***
***System: [system redacted]***
***Ship: Falcon, ship ID “Mil Lagrimas”***

***Journal entry: “Staying on the wagon”***

I drift off into space.

Well, that’s a silly observation. I’m in a ship, what else would I be doing.

But no, it’s my mind that is drifting off. The result of a combination of mind-numbing boredom and barely-shackled bloodlust.

My sensors have been focused on this system’s relic site for hours. 4 sites in system, then 3, eventually 2 sites.

Now there is only 1.

And I sat by and did nothing as explorers came and went.

And it feels wrong. Just….wrong.

I recall my decorations and awards from my previous corporation, WiNGSPAN Delivery Service. I saw the medal clearly in my mind now:

Data and Relic site Enforcement Director. Hah! Best scam ever. I told the officials at DED that I was trying to prevent looters and grave robbers from desecrating these “ancient and hallowed” grounds, and the dummies in Yulai bought my scam (after I deposited a couple of million ISK into their account as well). I ran rampant throughout low sec, null sec, j-space, and I turned every Heron, Helios, and even the occasional Astero I came across into scrap. And I had the added pleasure of sending them an invoice for my “services” which irked most customers to no end.

I owned relic site and data sites. They were my domain. I prowled them from Outer ring to Metropolis, from Amarr to the Promised Land, I was the last thing hapless explorers would see before meeting the cold void at the hand of my missiles.

And now I just float idly by as they come and go as they please. And there is nothing I can do about.

Oh, and there goes the last site. That Imicus was quicker than most. Time to go next door.

***Stargate activation logged. Ship entering system [system redacted]***

Well, to be fair, no one is MAKING me NOT shoot these guys. It is a conscious choice on my part. I guess it’s a first step towards turning a new stone. Starting a new day. Becoming a new man. Turning a corner.

None of those phrases makes me feel better.

Ah, I see there are still three relic sites and a data site in here. I feel like torturing myself. Let’s jump to the IGK relic site.

***Warp drive activated, destination, Cosmic Signature IGK-143***

The cloak on my Falcon will give me front row seats to whoever decides to rummage through this site. What better way to confirm my newfound love of my fellow man than to not blow him up when presented the opportunity.

Why am I exploring in a Falcon? It’s certainly covert enough to avoid detection, but her Electronics suite doesn’t exactly scream “hugs ” the way the Cartel would like. But hey, as long as I don’t turn them on non-aggressors, I’m good.

Still, I could’ve taken out my astero or even a manticore fit with analyzers. So why did I take the Falcon?

Maybe I’m reconsidering my career change? Maybe I need to fulfill one last delivery? Ooh, likes like we have incoming.

***”Astero class ship, ship ID: NOPE IV”***

An Astero. A tough ship. The Sisters build ’em right.

Maybe…just maybe. If I decloak near him, he’ll panic, lock me and take a reactionary shot or two. If I’m lucky, he’ll deploy drones and they’ll agress me.

Then I could have fun.

I’m already working on what I’d tell the big boss. Mynxee is a stickler for the Cartel’s non-aggression Credo. She’s big on rules. But, what is it they always say about rules?

They’re meant to be broken.

I start pushing my Falcon out past 150 KM from the closest can. That’ll give me a nice warp-in on this Astero.

I’m imagining how this conversation would go. I’m already well underway to building my story: “Saladiin, care to explain why you have an Astero on your killboard?”

“Well you see, I was hacking this site when the Astero came in. I offered to split the site so he can have 3 cans and I have 3. Guess he doesn’t like sharing so he took a pot shot.”

“So you shot him back?”

“Yup, self-defense.”

“You ‘self-defended’ until his ship popped?”

“I can’t help that he was stubborn.”

“And did it not occur to you to use your oh-so-amazing ECM?”

“RNG was against me, boss. Missed all my jams. Go figure, huh.”

“What about warping away? He didn’t have a single scram or disruptor fit.”

“Eh, you know the stress of combat, boss. You get so focused on surviving, you just sort of…black out.”

Yup. I had my story set.

***145 km away from target***

Just 5 more KM to go.

But, what am I doing? I’m supposed to be turning a new leaf. Starting a new day. I’m supposed to be a trusted servant of New Eden’s denizens…all of them. Even these annoying, bumbling explorers.

I admit, sowing caches gives me a nice feeling. And no longer having the pressure of meeting delivery quotas was nice as well. I’m able to just drift off and explore, site-see, and meet new people.

All with the ever-present caveat:

Don’t blow the people up…

I’m starting to think I can’t wrap my head around that last bit.

***157 km from target***

Looks like I’m ready.

Yet, I find myself hesitating.

Sure, you’ve killed countless capsuleers before. But this is different. I’m SUPPOSED to be a good guy now. This guy is blithely hacking away, naively thinking that, because his database shows me as being a cartel member, he’s safe (hint: he’s not). The Eve-Scout and Signal Cartel tag means something to people, much like the Wingspan tag did. Whereas WNGSP elicited outrage or at best, barely contained anger, eve-scouts bring warmth and security to the hearts and minds of capsuleers everywhere.

I don’t want to be responsible for tarnishing that. It’s one thing to blow someone up…it’s quite another to tarnish someone else’s reputation while I’m at it.

I guess I’d feel guilty.

But wait a minute. Why should I feel guilty. What if I’m in the right here? Let’s check his previous run-ins with the law.

***Pulling up DED/CONCORD combat records via third-party database “zkillboard”***

Ahhh, looks like this Astero pilot isn’t as innocent an explorer as he looks. Seems like he’s killed two explorers just today alone. An Imicus and a Cheetah.

None of them were Signaleers… but… what IF they were Signaleers?

What if he had murdered brand new Eve-scout pilots in cold blood? And what if I just let him go? What kind of person would that make me? I’d be just as complicit in the crime as the perpetrator. A sin of omission is still a sin.

If I stop him in his tracks here and now, I could potentially save the lives of fellow corpmates and other innocent explorers.

Ya! I could still be the good guy in this scenario!

But, once again, I’m come head-on to the Credo issue. Would this be a compliant action? Maybe she’d bend a little and agree with me.

“No Saladiin, not compliant at all…not even a little bit.”

Ya….that’s probably how it would go.

***179 km from target***

Two cans left. What to do?

Come on Saladiin…you’re trying to be a changed man…a better man. Don’t do this.

“Let’s do this”

***Warp drive activated***

***157 km to target***

***39 km to target***

***Arrived at target***

I drop my cloak and target the Astero. Hopefully he decides to get trigger happy and loose his drones on me.

He doesn’t.

But hey, he may have a cyno. Let’s ere on the side of caution.

I lock him. Multispectral ECM active. He’s jammed! Fire!!!

…fireworks?

Harmless fireworks…

Betrayed, not by my conscious, but by my ship’s fit.

When I first joined, in my new found eagerness to play nice with others, I refitted all my weapons systems to fire only fireworks. A decision I now regret.

And here we are now.

***capsuleer-to-capsuleer local chat log***

Pilot [redacted]: “Whoa man, you really had me scared there lol. I saw you were a Wingspan guy before and figured I was screwed. Good thing fireworks can’t hurt me haha.”

Pilot Saladiin: “Ya, haha. Totally, brother.”

Pilot [redacted]: “Heh, yup. So, you gonna stop scramming me and let me go, hehe?”

***silence***

Pilot [redacted]: “Um, hello? You still listening, Saladiin?”

Pilot Saladiin: “Oh, right. Of course. Deactivated scrams”

Pilot [redacted]: “Thanks man. I appreciate you not being a jerk. It would’ve especially sucked, seeing as I’m holding about 1 billion in loot right now, haha”

Pilot Saladiin: “……hehe…of course. Yup. Definitely would’ve sucked! Aren’t you just the LUCKIEST capsuleer in the cluster. HAHA!”

Pilot [redacted]: “Well nice meeting you Saladiin. Fly safe!”

I briefly contemplate climbing out of my capsule, drifting over to his ship in the cold vacuum of space and clawing my way in, slowly choking the life out of him. One last act of revenge before succumbing to death myself.

I decide not to.

Well. That makes 22 days clean now. Another one gets away. Take it a day at a time, Saladiin.

Fiction: Reliquary In Three Parts, by Tom Servonaut

“The Ancients being haughty and full of grim purpose had set in their hearts a rule herein that they, as masters of all they saw, were the pinnacle of creation. Having written this upon the coding of their minds they could wander no further under the harsh gaze of any superior. They abandoned the Divine. But for all their achievements, fate found them a poor fit for the mantle that it left behind. Despair set in at the Closure of the Worlds. And yet the Divine did not leave them, entirely.”

Azir of Amarr, Book of Tendancies. The Lost Scriptures


“Hurry up Stringbean, move your stern! They’re coming!”

The pilot, floating in a suspended bioliquid within a pod was talking to either himself or his ship. To differentiate was to split hairs. Tom Servonaut’s Helios frigate “Stringbean” was automated enough to require no other crew. Exploration crews were hard to find, anyway. The missions were all too often suicidal, and few mortals were quite so desperate to go exploring with a capsuleer. Anyone who would sign on to a cov-ops frigate was not someone a Tom would prefer not to ever hire.

Still, a bit of company would be nice. The pilot bifurcated part of his consciousness to keep working on the scan probe protocols “hop to it, Alt.” he said offhandedly to himself while he scanned around looking for rats or other no-good low down dirty people who wanted to interrupt his serious work ethic.

Low-sec. Why did it have to be Low-Sec where his search led him. “I just finished paying for this ship.” The cloaking field was holding, but if the locals knew he was here and what he was doing, well, the cloaking field would not be enough to save him a rather brief but expensive death.

97% scanned. It was there. His scan radius was 25 astronomical units. If he could only find the right final combination of probes to find whatever was out there, what he hoped was out there, all the risk would be worth it.

***

The craft was spidery thing. Slim metallic trusses of salvaged Terran alloys stretched out for hectometers, trussed by a rigging of stranded fullerine fibers. If it were all compacted together, the gossamer thing would be very compact for the crew of less than one hundred it carried.

JXR714B, for that was its only name, was alive by some definitions. The organism fed on equations from imputed quantum changes at the sub-molecular level of the crew’s linked brain matter, and thence stretched its fullerine muscles to gravimetric harvesters. It rode the universe like an ancient kayak at sea surfing frigid waves, waiting for the right combination of stars and planets in sequence, focusing its gravimetric pull until warping space itself, reverberating the crew’s thoughts back as feedback that could be consumed as pure joy.

To fly with one’s crew, no greater happiness could exist for those brief moments of fantastic acceleration. And when the movement ceased and the ship was deposited into another system to wait again for better tides, the crew could only look at one another and silently acknowledge that they needed More. Their needs were simple, but all devouring.

***

The boy pulled a black shroud over the man he’d called father. His eyelids were weighed down with obsidian pebbles, and his beard had been oiled and braided with fine beads, as befitted a chief of the Amarr people. There were few of the True People here today. The elders stood watching nervously, as a shaman stood forth at the body’s left side, gently shooing the him out of the way. The ancient chanting began as another shaman strode to the right, each one chanting lines from languages dead for so long no one could have even remembered their name, let alone their meaning.

Aum bhūr bhuvah svah”
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen” Tat Savitur vareniyaam”
Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem”
Bhargo devssya dhimahi”
Creatorem caeli et terrae”
Dhiyo yo nah prachodayat”
Court Adjourned!”

The lines were repeated back and forth with shaking of human bone rattles and sprinklings of incense upon the body by the elders and his youngest concubine, until both shamen finished with the final line together. All present repeated the statement, whatever it meant. Then Azir buried his father, Ushta, chieftain of the True People of Athra, son of another chief, and so on in a line going back unto the breaking of the sky and the message of Dano Gheinok.

The True People were no longer many. It was said that once, when Dano Gheinok strode the world, that no man or woman could count them all or recite all lineages. Living among them were many who had seen the light of the first star. Stories were told of these folk, These were large people, tall, strong, crafty and fecund; often as vigorous in acts of lust and evil as they were in doing good deeds. This confused Azir. He liked the stories of the starfolk, though. Much of Amarr life was now based on the Idle, the never-ending path and search.

The True People had to live by their wits and the remaining gifts of the past. They were surrounded by False People, those who had abandoned the teachings. They no longer searched for relics. They no longer tended the remaining machines. None of them knew the sacred codes. Instead they farmed with their own hands, or the aid of animals. They fished and hunted. When the harvest was good they praised their imaginary spirits. When it was bad they blamed the same spirits and often invented new ones. When they were VERY upset they blamed the True People, and hunted them down across the barren wastes where the True must walk. The Amarr in turn defended themselves when they could, fled when they must, but always hid their sacred knowledge and treasured items. They did not falter. The Amarr would possess Athra one day; that and more. It was foretold. God made easy what was difficult.

The caravan of land skiffs moved on greased wheels and outriggers over soil only now losing the chemical poisons that had nearly made the world unviable for centuries. The Amarr were not ignorant of change. Their roving scribes counted the weeds and plants each year, took note of differences that had at first seemed only a dim hope. Athra was coming back to life, not just in the enemy farmlands. The caravan used ancient sails, lateen rigged, to capture well known seasonal breezes to propel them from one place to another. Their skiffs tacked across prairies and sped in downwind reaches across sandy deserts. When the spirit moved them, they would dig, and once on awhile they would find something good. Or God would reveal it, personally, some outcropping that at first seemed a rock would be a relic of the blessed ages, and with it maybe useful gifts, or at least good metal.

Azir sat on the prow of the caravan listening to the play of wind in the sails, watching the starlight and nebulae of New Eden. A day before his mother would have told him to go to bed, and he would have obeyed and swung by ropes to the berthing skiff. But Ushta was buried now, his body unmarked along the path of the Idle. The boy was now the chieftain, and he was on the cusp of what counted for manhood among his people. He navigated the stars as his father had taught. Something in the sky moved, and the boy noted the object with a fixed gaze. He calculated in his head.

“You have good peepers, boy. The light shines from a new Wanderer.” an old man at the tiller told him, “We’ve been watching it for awhile, Chief Ushta God Bless Him, before he took ill, and I. It was his work, really. I helped. It is new. Seek, but you will find nothing in the charts regarding it.”

The boy looked at the treasured charts he held in his lap, as they glowed faintly upon his gaze, and saw no sign of this Wanderer’s noted progression. “Will it stay awhile, do you think?”

The old navigator gave a deep belly laugh, the first sign of humor anyone had dared give during this mourning time, “Ah young chief I can tell you better than that! Your father worked it out. More brilliant than a star shone he. He was better at the maths than anyone. It is not just going to stay, he thinks, that is to say he thought, but even now it descends little by little. And I would not disagree with him. A new untouched starfall, Chief Azir: your father’s gift to you. In his last days, he even deciphered where it would land.”

“We go to where it will land then?” Azir asked, but he needed no answer. Young and old eyes both set on the wanderer as it progressed across the sky. Then it was gone. Ninety minutes later it returned and cut a path across the early morning, once more. Azir had been taught the mathematics of the sky. It was arcane knowledge only the True Amarr knew, and though useless now, it was the greatest of their treasures. God had bid them keep it for a reason. God was always right.

***

“Voila! Stringbean, I love the hell out of you.”

“Did Tom just proclaim love for his Helios?” Oh no. Was he think-talking on open channel?

“Gettin cozy out there!” someone else chimed in.

“You need some downtime, Tom. I know this citadel in Arant where you can..”

“Ha ha. Shut up.” he closed of corpchat.

Relic sites gave a good impression of being standard data hack sites until you got deep into the subsystems. Sometimes they were simple standard affairs, bits of old factional items no more then a few centuries old, somehow still overlooked in high sec systems despite being combed over untold times. Tom knew the drill . He had a dislike for the sleeper sites of course. Not just the life and limb. Dying gets easier with practice. There was something about robbing the dead of actual sleep. Who knew what never-ending reveries he might be interrupting.

“Faction punks make this life bad, Tommy, you see, no? A little badder than it already is, no more, no more.” a bald Minmatar explorer that went by the name of Thunderhair once told him over overpriced drinks at a Jita IV station bar.. “Killing and stealing. That ain’t nothing, my friend. People like you and me, we steal people’s heaven away. We just steal it away from them.”

No sleepers were on the directional scan now. That was a relief. This hacking puzzle was four dimensional. Traps he’d never seen before, pathways that depended on all the ordinal directions plus time plus… something else.

In his bifurcated consciousness he heard proximity alarms. Reds showed up on the scope. “Damn my Gallente luck!” he cursed, “Blood Raiders.”

He reached out in his mind to deploy drones and cursed his thinking, remembering this ship didn’t have any. It was going to be an interesting time. The Helios went evasive even while orbiting the construct at dazzlingly close range with its micro warp drive leaving a hot blue trail of distorted reality in its wake.

***

The passage had taken its toll. A local village had seen the True Amarr passing though an area not normally part of their passage, and demanded tribute in metal tools. They had no knowledge of metallurgy, themselves. Amarrian knives and other tools demanded a high trade value, what little existed in the wider world. For the True People such trades were distasteful, but often necessary. Today though held no time for such delays with long attempts at bargaining, translating, and the mock threats constituting ritualized trade.

Azir knew his father had been on a mission from Heaven. Heaven was sending a gift: his gift, and that of the True People. He bade them camp outside the village of the farmers as ritual demanded before trade the following day. At night he sent all his fighters out, men of fighting age, and women who were not raising children. They took not the crude knives they offered sometimes for trade but compact complicated devices that sometimes took a lifetime to repair and construct, and which could only be used sparingly, if ever.

Small compact crossbows, atlatls that hurled springy-knives that cut and slashed of their own volition, tubes that breathed fire, all were brandished, and such a collection had not seen its use together in many generations. These they brought, burning the stockade wall to cinders, and then entering the village already in panic and terror. They spared the live of not even one adult or adolescent. The young under a certain age were taken, along with any foodstuffs already prepared. The children would become True Amarr themselves, indiscernable from the tribe, or they would join their parents in the infinite sufferings of Hell.

In the morning the caravan sailed on across the grasslands unto its destination. They left bodies behind, and not all of them villagers. The tribe almost protested. They saw in Azir an untested boy who spent the first week of mourning in a cowardly attack, and then not even bothering to give their own dead the burial rights. As a compromise, he left behind a the two shamen and a grave digging slave for them to oversee, before sails rose on the masts. There were some words made about returning to pick them up, eventually.

Azir thought of the shamen shaking caducei and uttering nonsense over his father’s lifeless body. He hated their pointless murmuring and dancing about. They did not earn their keep. It was to the holders, like the Chief, the Smith, and the Navigator families that the true knowledge still persisted. Whatever the shamen had been taught by the ancients they forgot long ago, or failed to pass on. They were dead flesh rotting in the sun. He’d seen the way that one shaman had looked at him more than once, and he hated the man for it. He hated them both.

“I shall create a new class of priests as my gift to god, ere this gift from Heaven be truly divine.” he said out loud, standing beside the Lead Navigator. The old man at the tiller merely nodded in ascent.

He added to the Navigator, “This way we will not return.” ***

JXR714B was a living thing. Like most living things, it harbored other living things, smaller but essential to the makeup of the whole. These were, inasmuch as they could be said to resemble anything, descendants of the mighty Yan Jung and on some level still human. If the Yan Jung still existed in elsewhere, the shipmates neither knew nor cared. The Eve Gate closed and with it the Universe stopped making sense. World after world winked out like embers being doused by an unleashed river. Smoke particles containing survivors fled out above the current. Most never made it. Well beyond this area of the galaxy, there were signs of civilization, but that way had been shut to most. It was beyond the reach of these former Yan Jung.

The shipmates rarely spoke, rarely had need for names or to name new things, but they dreamed in communion. They also shared a common nightmare. One day the ship would find no tides to sail upon and bliss would not return. She was built from Terran flotsam and jetsam, and of this there was precious little left remaining when parts were damaged. One day soon it would not even be able to move or sustain them. That which was created would suffer dissolution. That which gave joy would lose joy.

The ship was deposited in the Athra system, tantalizingly close to the Eve Gate, not so many star systems away. Once when there were gates and proper starships, it would have been so easily done. But the spidery ship with no name had to travel by other means. And it was at last breaking down. The crew scanned. So few caches remained of the precious components ship needed to survive. But it found them. This was not yet the end. A small defensive satellite still orbited lowly over Athra, a Terran platform.

If not for its decaying orbit, it would have never been detected. Something was wrong. Its stock of Isogen 5 had long been removed, though by whom the Yan Jung neither knew nor cared. For all its technological wonder, it was powered by simple Lorentz drives, kept aloft by quantum vacuum flux. Having being disturbed from its point of stability, it could no longer remain cloaked and in station- keeping, waiting to defend a world that no longer needed defending. What it still held within would be useful if they could reach it before it deorbited.

JXR714B used the very universe as a counterweight to pull itself towards the Terran satellite using every last bit of strength drawn the difference of entropy and existence. As a small shudder of acceleration occurred, leading the ship forward, a thing not heard in ages sounded within crew quarters. The proximity alarm rang, an actual elctro mechanical klaxon. A Talocan ship approached, bearing down on the same target, its momentum faster than the Yan Jung could achieve. There was no time to communicate, or to compromise. The prize was needed. And so the first space battle in centuries began. It would not be the last.

***

Corpchat was going on and on about Quafe Zero versus Quafe Ultra. Tom found it strangely reassuring, even if he was too occupied to respond himself. The Blood Raiders were almost on him and his weapons could not break through their shields.

“I should have spent more time studying targeting and less time getting my noggin filled with all the Social nonsense” he said to no one in particular. “Social Social. Tom you don’t even have a girlfriend. Oh well.. egg.. would have liked your yolk but I’ll just have to cook an omelette with you instead. That made no sense at all. Au revoir, treasure.”

He wasn’t getting anywhere with the hacking on this relic cache. There was still one more, however, and he was starting to understand how they worked. He waited until the Blood Raiders closed in, nearly tearing into structure. He hit every trap simultaneously and burned directly away from the cache. It exploded, taking out the two chasing destroyers as they passed close by in pursuit of him. He’d never seen a cache erupt that violently. The armor rep started doing its thing.

His chest pounded and if he had not been encased in neoamniotic fluid he would have tried to catch his breath. “That was close. Whew!” he said accidentally switching on corp-chat. “I mean definitely Quafe Ultra. I’m a Quafe Ultra man, all the way!”

***

Terran Colony AEGIS Defense Grid Satellite 714431

LOCATION: La Grange Point 3 between Athra III and 1st moon. LOCATION ADDENDUM: ORBIT DEGRADING
STATUS: Failing. Request Service. Losing orbital momentum. STEPS TO RECOVER ASSET: Unavailable. Fuel reserve depleted. STEPS TO REMOVE ASSET: Unavailable. Isogen 5 nonpresent. ALL ATTEMPTS TO CONTACT TERRAN HEADQUARTERS

NEW EDEN HAVE FAILED. 10 to the power of 25 broadcast messages sent. Final Report:
No response from other AEGIS grid assets.
No response from EVE Gate Station.

Unknown craft (2) sited on intercept course. Transponders Unknown. Identifing as 1st and 2nd.

1st craft overtaken by 2nd craft, hostilities engaged.
Both craft fight to standstill in orbit over Athra III. On closest approach AEGIS mitigated threat by both craft, damaging 2
nd craft, and disabling 1st craft. 2nd craft engaged warp and no longer found in system.

1st craft is attaching to AEGIS. Yan Jung genetics detected but lifeforms do not respond to repeated security queries.

Crew mitigated. AEGIS 714431 deorbiting with 1st craft attached. Perceive possibility some Yan Jung persist.
Last transmission. Transmitting in the blind to Eve Gate Station.
AI Final note/Unauthorized Addendum: I did my best. I am so alone. Conduit Closing.

***

There were side glances at the boy. He saw flashes of deceit. He knew there were murmurings. His mother slept with a dagger under her pillow. He slept on the deck of the lead skiff where those he trusted most kept watch. Even with the surplus of youthful confidence, he knew that his own people would reject him, gut him and leave him, returning to the Idle if this business kept up. But the secret of the destination was held only by him and the Lead Navigator. He watched the old man recite his shaman given mantra on his beads. There was not much time left before the disloyal overthrew him and dashed the dream God gave Ushta to the poisoned ground. It was at this time he had nothing left and so he turned to a God that he had never prayed to, prayer being reserved for the shamen he’d left behind. He prostrated himself upon the deck, arms holding the jib rigging and begged God openly for a sign. He begged forgiveness for any sin he and his ancestors had committed. He begged for the True Amarr to either be saved at last or to be removed from the Law of Gheinok. As he prayed fervently and out loud the wind in the sails died. The other skiffs maneuvered to their nightly defense positions where they would soon be chained in a ring, that they called, for reasons no one could remember, the Gate. And all who could watched the boy chief praying, this sacrilege, this earnest pleading with a God who had seemed indifferent at most, to the sufferings of this world. Some felt anger. Others let pity display on their faces.

There was a flash of light. And another. Soon the light overhead was dazzling. No one had to say “look” but many did anyway. They did not know of the battle occuring overhead between the Talocan, the Yan Jung and the Terran satellite, but they knew God’s hand when they saw it. All fell upon their knees and prayed, even the children taken from their murdered parents could not deny the signs they saw.

***

“Talocan cruiser blueprint? Is it? No. What? What?!” Tom become more incredulous as he looked over the loot of the cache. There were other things. Nothing he understood or recognized, except of course, to realize he was suddenly about to be very, very rich. If he could make it home, anyway. Those social skillpoints might finally come in useful. He idly considered salvaging the Blood Raider wrecks but realized that it was out of his league now. Better to destroy them and leave no trace. Then he realized there was a subcache within that. It was as if the wreck he had been prying data from had been attached to part of another equally old ship.

He focused every last bit of his attention on getting whatever could be obtained from that wreck. ***

The shipmates of JXR714B were family. They thought and worked as a hive. In community there was bliss. This separation was a prolonged agony. His sister worked elsewhere, still alive, frantically trying to control the ship, to break free of this death trap, but it was no use. The rest of the Yan Jung, the family, were dead the moment they had pried the service entrance open to the Terran artifact. At least it had been quick for them. He and his sister would slowly roast alive as the satellite draw itself and JXR714B down to the world below. He thought he wanted to die. But life remained in him. His sister remained strong, trying to free their ship. He would be strong too. He called to her with his mind. He was alright. She could let go. They could still live. Chance remained. Hope beckoned.

They donned environmental suits and entered past the bodies of their kindred into the service entrance of the Terrran satellite. It no longer tried to kill them. Perhaps it recognized them. Perhaps it simply did not want to die alone. JXR714B was not designed to enter atmosphere. Without fail, it would burn. But the Terrans were powerful men and women. Perhaps they built some last saving mechanism. The siblings looked for neural inputs to access the satellite’s AI. It was a one in two chance as to who found it first. It was an unused device, untested with these minds, uncalibrated to their needs. But their needs were urgent. The AI read the Yan Jung male’s mind like a black hole devouring a world, destroying information and matter, converting it to something unknown.

AEGIS had a new purpose. “Save my sister.”

***

Fire trailed across the sky, scattering debris for miles in the light of morning. The renewed faith of the True led them to follow it, no matter how far it went, no matter what the difficulty. As it would happen, they did not have to travel so far as Ushta had calculated. The craft, a bulky cylindrical thing this size of a chieftain’s counsel tent, blackened on its edges, swung wide in the air, creating a firey arc, while the last of its debree trail created another smoking art counter to it. This was deemed a holy symbol from this time on.

Fire shot from its belly and it came to land very still in the rocky plain before them. Rough vegitation smoked and burned here and there. The boy had already swung down by ropes from the prow of his skiff onto the ground, moving ahead of his warriors. They bowed low as the Terran Satellite groaned with the sound of exotic metal expanding from heat changes.

He never broke his stride. He never bowed. He turned once to his tribe and said, “This is not God. Verily it is his Gift. We shall praise and thank Him, but we shall not worship idols, no matter where hence they come.” Azir saw his people rise uncertainly. He turned to the artifact and said to it. “I am Azir, son of Ushta, Chief of the Amarr, Lord of Athra, Keeper of Relics, Holder of Knowledge.”

The station remained silent. Azir tried to remember anything he could think of use. So much pointless ceremony. It had all been so hard to remember. For once he regretted abandoning the shamen. Perhaps the only thing they were useful for was this one moment. He breathed in and out. The hatch remained closed, and he had no divine worth with which to open it.

The only token of office the chief of the Amarr wore was a small circlet of silvery metal, inscribed with markings that could not be translated. He had not yet deigned to wear it. When his mother removed it from his father at burial, Azir fastened it securely to his belt, instead. Now, in a gambit at gaining acknowledgement from whatever was inside, he unfastened the circlet, and held it before the hatch. He felt something like warmth from the circlet. The hatch began to open. A walkway descended. He walked bravely forward and into the satellite service entrance, placing the circlet upon his head like a crown. It felt right to do so.

***

Her brother died. But he did not lie with the corpses incinerated with their spidery ship. Instead he lived in the complicated quantum calculations of the AEGIS. Her upgraded mind ran vast calculations with him as together they understood the purpose of the craft, where it had come from. The Terrans were truly gone. This was known. But they now understood that their own kind were also extinct with the passing of the ship. Any other children of the Yan Jung, if they existed, they would never meet. In the blissful long flights of JXR714B, survival had not mattered. They lived, they saw, and they enjoyed.

They did not dwell upon the loss that was so apparent wherever they traveled. But now mere meters away were the signs of that loss. The young leader of his people, so arrogant but driven by goals of survival for his people, a trait they did not understand until now. She and her brother could not dissuade themselves these nomads had made it here on purpose. There was no other reason for them to be in this barren plain. The leader held up a small metal hoop. AEGIS AI scanned it and immediately reported back.

“Identification, Colony Agent Headset Type 5, Rank 5. Inactive.”

The door opened on its own. The Yan Jung’s journey would end here. AEGIS was already faltering. It would eventually fail. But not before they would benefit these distant relatives, these human beings. What was left of brother had hope. His sister would survive. And so would these people. They had a lot to relearn. They’d start with this brash young leader.

***

This was a tougher hacking than all the previous jobs combined. Strange when all the relic consisted of were some fullerine strands embedded in a piece of monatomic hydrogen plate. His virus was routed at so many corners. Tom furrowed his brow inside the capsule. He was close. He was there. If only other people could see just what an amazing job he’d done. The seals broke. He had the data.

And all he got was a single transponder code. JXR714B. That and some worthless carbon. “Doesn’t matter,” he said to himself, “This trip has me set for life. For life! Tom Serv is buying a Silver Magnate. Hell with that. A Gold Magnate!” And then red appeared all over the scope. And then his ship disintegrated around him. There was no time to think about the losses, but he did just the same. His implants were worth a half a billion in contracts, easily. The value of what he’d transferred to the hold of that ship before it blew was harder to guess. A quick scan as he tried to flee showed at least the Helios was a good clean wreck with no loot left beyond salvage.

He ran for it, but was webbed. Tom knew well what Blood Raiders did to capsuleers. Those captured by them reported about it, eventually. Tom did not like to think about those stories. He took the suicide express, instead. It was over quickly.

***

And he woke up on a clone bed, surrounded by a few corp members at the station who had happened to be in the station at the time. “Tough break Tom.” said a familiar Minmatar voice. Tom’s thoughts blurred as he adjusted to the transition. The voice asked, “Were you out there stealing someone else’s heaven?”

Tom sat up, adjusting to his surroundings.

Welcome to Zoohen. Don’t Forget to tip your clone attendant!’ was glowing in big friendly letters on the ceiling. It was difficult to comprehend that the shockwave of his pod exploding was still reverberating in the debris field where he had found…

“ JXR714B” he said out loud.

Everyone looked at him, but he did not know how to explain. If he said he’d found possible Terran artifacts or some original blueprint for an unheard of Talocan ship no one would believe him. Stories like that were common enough, never proven. Explorer yarns were worse than miners’ tales. “Blood Raiders. Lost my haul and my implants AND the Helios. Well, that’s that. Guess its back to a Tier I for awhile. I guess, maybe I’ll ice mine for awhile. I still got the barge.”

“Don’t fly anything you cannot afford to lose,” Thunderhair sagely reminded him. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m gonna go get a Quafe Ultra or something.”

***

Azir watched the city that had begun to sprout where the satellite had landed. He rubbed a grizzled beard from the top of the framed tabernacle built around and shrouding the ancient device. He stood on the parapet.

He had not been within the satellite for years. The Priestess spent her time there. That was what the tribe called her. He had called her teacher, and eventually wife. Now he was old and he did not call her at all. He’d been her adoring student and fell in love with her as he became a man, only to find there was very little human within her, no common ground with someone who had never strode it. At times he felt the jealous machine she called her brother to be more human than she. And when the satellite died and was just cold material, something inside of her died too. They soured of each other’s company. She longed to return to the stars that were denied her.

He trusted her stories of worlds beyond, of levels of joy, of trust and ancient empires less and less over time. She argued against his conquests, she railed against the concept of slavery. All of this would be forgivable, for she was undeniably a gift from God. But she had little of practical value to teach him. It had been the satellite that had much of what he needed to know. But learning from it had been like drinking from a river. He could only imbibe so much, and he did not trust this knowledge to everyone.

It mattered not. Already the Amarr were growing strong. They had learned to irrigate this land, to purify it. Their numbers were returning. Their weapons were superior. The entire world would be theirs. Azir’s hunger was matched by his patience. The past centuries had made his people strong. He watched one of his children, a bearded man marching past the temple with a company of explorers heading for the wastelands. He looked up to salute his father, and Azir returned the gesture. He had his features, but also that of the Priestess. Her people were of the stars. That much he knew. One day their children would return to reclaim them.