VI – Honour

Honour – a pseudonym for pride; an influx of conflicting impulses in the diencephalon due to the conscious mind’s refusal of facing reality.

I was tilling the soil while Darth was bathing himself with cosmic radiation – just an ordinary day, or perhaps too ordinary. That morning, I received a letter from an anonymous sender who is interested with my “expertise” and wants to meet me in the location sent in my HHI’s inbox. I thought to myself, since when did I become and expert at anything other than oud playing? I began to think this was either a prank or somebody is in dire need of a funeral band.

But I guess I should pay the sender, whoever he is, a visit.

I came to the rendezvous with just my regular civilian clothing. I had Darth to come along and provide some sniper cover in case things go bad, though I have doubts about his marksmanship.

The place was just a back alley with a door. I went inside and climbed a flight of stairs leading to another door – Ah, an office! Inside was a DED officer and two other men in Legion uniforms. I radioed Darth that it’s safe.

As Darth climbed the stairs and yelled he’s there, one of the legionnaires drew out a knife and threw it at Darth just as he about to enter. I did nothing of course since it’s not everyday that Darth is likely to get killed but too bad, Darth ducked.

The legionnaires were grinning while Darth was annoyed and almost provoked a fight until he recognized their faces – Blake Zacarius XXXVII, the 37th iteration of a long family tradition of dying in every Caldari conflict, and “Rev”, for unknown reasons is just called Rev. Blake being the heavily built bald man and Rev being the man with a large lens protruding in his right eye.

I asked Darth if they knew each other and the legionnaire proudly said, in a heavy and vague accent, that they were sort of a “family”. I really had problems understanding what they were saying even if we were using the same language. They just utter in single syllables and barely having consonants in them. It’s certainly not Matari, Amarr nor Gallente. Must be a coded system. Who knows? But by the looks of Darth understanding what they were talking about, I can see why they’re a “family”. Well, sort of.

After the informal introduction, we were asked by the DED officer to sign some important documents labeled “non-disclosure terms”, the ones that come with a high pay and an unreasonably dangerous mission profile. Ironically, there seems to be no need to have such as we already know each other just by “reputation”, if I had any.

We were then given a ride to the so-called” secret base” and had us briefed. The secret base was just a small rented office in a seemingly abandoned building, albeit neglected. The higher ups took interest of me since I was short, a bit insulting there, and had experience with anything involving sneaking in the enemy’s back door. The two legionnaires on the other hand were the representatives of Mordu’s Legion for this operation, hence the reputation of the entire paramilitary organization is at stake, though the seemingly professional character of the group is nowhere to be seen with these two who can always be seen carrying whiskey and constantly smoking.

The operation, as the DED officer is stressing out, is of great importance as the fate of the regional stability in the outskirts of the Amarr Empire is in our grubby little paws – assassinating a Blood Raider Elder. For this clandestine mission, the DED has sponsored Ishukone to come up with Buzzard that can maintain its cloak even with direct contact on another object and can fit to a narrow passageway. I had no idea what it’d looked like.

The DED officer also told me that the Blood Raider station is filled with EMP generators and metal detectors. This got me into thinking of backing out but sheer number of digits in those ISK’s convinced me otherwise.

They took me to a laboratory just below where I had undergone suspended state surgery. They took my DNA map and had the stem cell go through rapid transdifferentiation with the exception of a brain and a bone structure made of Calcium. Instead, they replaced it with Nanofibres as to avoid detection from the station sensors, however, I’ll be stuck at that size as I’m rendered incapable of growth. My brain was then stripped off of its implants and transplanted in the new body. The neural network were then rejoined by the same method they used to create my new body. My blood had to be transfused and converted to dielectric state – RF emissions from Blood Raider sensors will be absorbed instead of being bounced backed to the sensor array. Only drawback was that every time it absorbs RF emissions, my body will either be electrocuted or get burned. The new body also lacks a universal neural socket – I have to fly the ship manually and once I’m dead, I’m dead for good.

But there’s a good thing that they promised to have my brain returned to the former body with a new set of implants…

though I was told that this would be their 13th attempt on the same operation. Boy, was I bloody confident!

My brain was reactivated after 48 hours and my body felt lighter though my senses and reflexes weren’t as sharp as having implants. I noticed something odd and later found out that I was only 120 centimeters tall, over a foot shorter than I was, but I guess the mission requires me to be that small.

sigh. . .

They took me to a gym where I had to undergo “special physical training”. All they did was submerge me in a pool of mercury while its container is spun around at 30 G’s. A fully cybernetic body can withstand forty times as much punishment and here I am, miserably nauseating. I guess this is how it feels like to be in warp with just a normal body – well almost. But I guess this misery is to be blamed with the Lorentz effect. C’est la vie as those Gallente scum would say.

Then they did their best to teach me some Zero G hand to hand combat. Stretching the arms and legs was eased by the fact that my joints and ligaments were modified; even muscular protein was spliced from insect DNA. Exercises ranges from cutting a sheet of tungsten carbide using bare fingers to squeezing through narrow pipes and fighting your way in those against hexapod drones. Other tests include controlling electric currents in the body while being exposed to high amounts of radiation.

I felt like some sort of nutter experiment by the Sansha’s.

Then some guy decided I was ready.

We were fielded into the Blood Raider system via a cyno from a Widow.

Inside the Widow, we had a last-minute briefing about the “plan”. We stood in the deck looking towards the large screen. Blake and Rev stood at Darth’s side. Before the DED officer started blabbing, he asked for a volunteer. Darth stepped in. That was rather unexpected of him but I saw the two legionnaires smirking while Rev hid the taser in his pocket. I somehow felt a bit smug when the DED officer assigned Darth to pilot a Bustard with a cargo full of blood. They figured somebody had to be bait though he was assured that the ship was equipped with warp stabilizers and the adjacent system had a DED gate blockade with an interdictor bubble running. The target station is constantly rotating and is unstabilized by the Langrange point compounded by intense gravity of a nearby planet.

We were dismissed; Blake hopped on a modified Eagle, Rev in a Buzzard, while I got in the love child of a Buzzard and Scorpion – they took off half of the ship and the wingy bits and just a left the cockpit and fuselage intact. Darth was dragged by a couple of men and forcedly got him aboard the Bustard and fired a couple of warning shots.

The cockpit is similar to a fighter’s except that the triggers were remapped as directional and strafe thruster lock.

Blake warped to the other side of the planet while Rev, his spotter, was cloaked and was observing the station. Calculations predict that they will be able to get a clean shot at exactly 2 hour and 34 minutes.

Darth was automatically warped in and as expected got chased throughout the system. I warped in while cloaked and approached the station. The covert ops cloak is very different from those sold in the market as it’s the module and ship’s onboard computers doing all the work. The ship itself is enshrouded by synthesized dark matter that is contained in a pseudocolloid film, as opposed to normal ones that are freely emitted from the ship that will inevitably lose its cloaking ability once in contact at 2 kilometers. One has to speculate that Ishikone IS the reincarnation of Crielere.

The things the megacorps do to please the Amarrians.

The informants told us that there’s a narrow passage that is barely enough to fit in a ship that’s been chopped off. I soon found it and approached at 20 meters from its maw. I cut off comms channel and turned on the ship’s jukebox playing my oud recording at 240 beats per minute; switched the ship to full manual mode. The right joystick controlling the ship’s direction while the left one for the ship’s strafe thrusters. The throttle can be controlled with the pedals. Since the flight systems are downgraded because the entire computer system has been devoted to the cloaking device, I only have a crudely marked compass with 5 degree intervals in the canopy. I only had to match the ship’s orientation with the constantly rolling station. How hard can it be?

I flicked the joystick and had the ship rolling at 9 degrees per second. My only sense of time was the constant beating of my earlier recording. Then pitched up at 3 degrees then a yaw at 2 and a half each second. I strafed the ship at 13 meters per second. Combine them all and the ship is orbiting the station but is actually in sync with its orientation. Once I had it aligned to the passage, I squeezed the triggers and the mechanical gyroscopes are doing the work. A few nudges on the joystick will cause minute adjustments. I stepped on the pedal and slowly entered then engaged the retroboosters and strafed to the left by a foot. Space is cold but I could imagine myself sweating heavily.

I continued to traverse the passage and found a small hatch just above. I wore a tight insulated suit and carried some paper knives made of graphene oxide and 2 plastic containers. I opened the hatch and found a network of ventilation ducts.

I opened one of the containers which has lime water in it. Once exposed to carbon dioxide, it will form white precipitates which will lead me to the Blood Raider Elder’s room though I had to wear a mask. As I venture through, the intense RF background noise is causing my body to accumulate an electric charge, then I heard some footsteps in the hallway. There are plenty of guards patrolling in the vicinity, either eager to die in the name of the cult or drain an intruder’s blood. What I did notice is that they don’t use firearms but instead use these large halberds and sickles fashioned for decapitating and bloodletting.

Instead of storming through them, why not use the back door as one of the ducts conveniently leads to my target’s room. As I got inside, I saw corpses piled around a bed that is then surrounded by a “moat” of blood. In that bed lies an old man with dark crimson tattoos. The man is somehow sedated heavily as he isn’t aware of my presence. I only have 3 minutes left, I said to myself.

I opened the other container and took the inactivated silicate monopole  from it. I then touched it with my skin to activate it via electric charge and carefully placed it under the Elder’s pillow.

The monopole somehow alerted the guards as it generated a huge magnetic field that can be detected by their sensors. I crept underneath the dead bodies and saw men coming out of the huge doors. They tried searching for intruders by pointing narrow beams that are somehow jammed by the monopole’s interference.

Halfway across the planet, Blake is calibrating the Eagle’s single modified 250mm railgun. Normally, it would fire medium class naval rounds but in this case it only has to fire a 12mm depleted uranium round with a monopole as its guidance system. The round itself was secretly outsourced from the Mataris. In order for it to fit inside the huge barrel, it is contained by 8 fragmenting sabots with a 2 stage MWD booster. The planet’s gravity will provide the firing arc needed to get to the other side while the attraction between the monopoles will correct the round’s course.

Rev adjusts the firing solutions and transmits the locus coordinates to Blake. The round’s flight time will take 42 seconds. Blake mans the aiming device fashioned like a combat rifle and slides forward the helmet mounted display – he has little respect with what automated targeting computers can achieve so he prefers doing it manually.

Blake only has 1 good shot and once fired, the railgun itself is expected to eat up all of the capacitor’s energy. At exactly 42 seconds before countdown, he squeezes the trigger, causing a massive recoil that disintegrates the barrel almost ripping off the entire half of the ship. The magnetic signature will attract the attention of Blood Raider patrols so he initiates the ship self destruct timer and pods out to the extraction point.

At the other side, the guards are still searching the room without disturbing the Elder’s sleep. The room was dimly lit and so is the rest of the station. I reached for my pocket and grabbed the paper knife. It behaves like ordinary paper but once I touched it with my skin, the graphene oxide rearranged its molecular structure to its crystalline form, thus turning the paper into a lethal weapon.

I lost track of time but I just patiently waited for the package to be delivered. Things were looking smooth but I think one of the guards noticed me. He raised his halberd and was ready to strike, then a sudden roar of crushed metal echoed through the ceiling and came down bringing along several debris to the room. The artificial gravity lost power and things started floating. I instinctively kicked the dead body, that I used as a shield, towards one of the guards and threw knives at them. They were easy targets as they floated helplessly. As I looked up, the ducts were sealed off. I took a final glance at the bed and there was dust around. It was a confirmed kill.

I gave a gentle push at the wall moving myself towards the door. The hallway was lit in red emergency lights. I peeked at a corner and saw more guards moving towards me. I looked around and saw some red pipes running along the corner. I only had 1 knife left so I took it and cut it off, pulled it and aimed it at the guards. I moved away and touched the knife long enough for it to be electrically charged and threw it at the pipe while it spews out high pressure methane gas. I kicked hard as I could and reached for the wall, scratching it with my nails and eventually grabbing a vertical pipe. I then went back and had a look. The way was clear I thought and glide through it. I then noticed one of the ventilation ducts closing so I threw a trash bin jamming its door mechanism. It was really narrow but managed to get through it with my head sideways.

My size was quite convenient, I thought. While on my way out, I realized I dropped my mask. The buzzard was sitting only 8 meters away from the hatch. I opened the lime water container and covered face with it. With one final gasp of air, I jumped out and reached the ship’s hatch, entered the code without looking and hastefully got inside. What a relief! The water’s immense heat of fusion somehow protected my face from icing up that would have killed me instantly.

There was very little time so I pulled back the throttle to reverse and stepped on the pedal. It doesn’t matter if I hit stuff on my way out. It somehow peeled off some of the pseudocolloid skin, albeit still cloakable. I warped off to the extraction point where we were cynoed out by the widow.

Everybody in the bridge was in euphoria during the debrief as they are expecting wage increases and promotions. Blake and Rev gladly received their payments with the briefcases handed to them by the DED officer. There was a champagne toast and I noticed something was missing. It felt strange. . .

We docked at an Amarr station where we took separate ways and never to speak about each other again. Several hours later, rumors about the operation was spread across the region. I snooped around and heard that Darth was taken to a hospital where he was recieving medical treatment in the ICU. I guess the insiders figured out that Darth was part of the operation. The higher ups in the joint task force had to turn to a hero figure to satisfy the speculative media. As soon as Darth recovered from severe hypovolemia, he was given by Imperial Navy Honors and even had a hero’s welcome on his way home.

Headlines were all about him. I heard in one commentary, “thanks to this man who single handedly vanquished those bloody bastards, regional security and stability is assured and the cooperation of the state and empire is further strengthened.”

Darth was waving in his float while being escorted by Amarrian military personnel. Posters of him saying, “I want you in the Navy” was scattered everywhere.

I was looking at him across the street with his beaming smile and feeling all smug. I shrugged and was surprised to hear somebody at my back saying, “look at that bastard taking all the glory for himself!”; “bah! whoever thought of makin’ a hero out of that worm is an idiot.”

They were both smoking. I asked them why they’re here.

“Pfft… We’re family remember?”

“How the hell are you two even related?”

“Well, I kinda owe the guy as I would have the same fate as me fathers did if it wasn’t for him. I thought I lost me honour from that and gone merc.”

Rev butted in, “What do you ken about honour? seesh. I lost me eye thanks to them. You don’t get paid as much just dyin’ for a bloody country. To hell with that.”

“Aye. If ye excuse us, we be going lass.” SO they left carrying with them a bag of liquor and smoking as they pleased.

After a week, I was told that somebody who was sleeping on the job lost my other body and to compensate for that, they plugged some half decent implants. Thankfully, I finally have a UNS in my godforsaken body. I guess I’ll be stuck in this cretin of a body for some time.

sigh…

Ivy the midget farmer and Darth the man of the hour

V – Life

Life – a biological phenomenon whereby an organism is able to interact with its environment, sustain its existence, reproduce and function as what they are genetically programmed to do. Metaphysically however, what is life?

I had a good and bountiful livelihood these couple of months. I love what I do and I’m quite contented with all I achieved. Perhaps it was time for me to take a vacation somewhere.

Man – the hunter. Ship – his extension. Man and Machine – a single being, no longer separate entities. My curse is cloaked and is slowly approaching optimal range. The cloaking module requires extensive concentration as the mind attempts to mimic its surroundings with the aid of the camera drone’s panoramic submode. During this process, the ship’s engine is overridden by the module to minimal speed to prevent the pilot’s brain to overload.

The prey is mining in an asteroid field in 0.0 security space. None will suspect me of my activity and nobody will ruin my “fun”. I had my ship equipped with a navy issued IFF canceller so that I remain anonymous.

Just a few meters away…

Tension was brewing as I have to time it right. I only have a few seconds in order to get a successful lock.

Then I heard a loud banging metallic sound. I lost all of my concentration and accidentally uncloaked the ship.

The hulk spotted me and warped away.

Who could that be knocking my capsule in the middle of a hunt?

Darth. . .

He was asking where the toilet paper is. I guess he hasn’t figured out that Amarrians use bidets.

Yet, another failed safari trip. I thought of taking my expedition in space since my last hunt was on a terrestrial planet. It had plenty of game, unfortunately Darth would scare them off firing his autorifle randomly as if he was in a war with the Gallente. Well, space on the otherhand has no air in it, therefore Darth won’t be able to make any sound at all – I was wrong.

I would have jetcanned the guy but I couldn’t.

I decided to travel in a nearby Minmatar lowsec system and call it a day.

As soon as I jumped off the gate, my RWR automatically activated. I searched at the contact direction and saw a Vagabond, the fastest ship of its class in the galaxy. Over the comms, I heard a distorted voice saying that I’m not welcome here. Probably because I’m in an Amarr ship. I thought of returning the favor and responded in a distorted voice saying that it’s none of his business. Very well he replied and cut off the comms. As soon as he gained lock, he disrupted my ship’s warp drive core, preventing me from escaping.

He began orbiting me at blinding speed and started a barrage of nuclear rounds from its autocannons. I instinctively used my energy neutralizers to drain his capacitor.

I was getting hit badly that I activated my MWD and zoomed off, but I can’t shake him off. I released my drones to assist me. He did the same. My drones couldn’t keep up with the agile cruiser. He used his drones to destroy my wave of Hammerhead II’s.

I was left with no choice and ended up overloading my neuts. I managed to get his cap dry, thus disabling his MWD and warp disruptor, although his guns are still firing. I wasted no time and warped to a nearby station.

As I got there, I had to bribe the docking manager to let me in. As I got inside, I docked into one of the ship hangars with secure gates. While the gates closed, I noticed slums just outside. People were looking at my damaged ship as it vanished from their sights.

Before I went out, I dressed in “commoner’s attire” to avoid any unwanted attention. I had Darth to do the same.

Some kind of safari trip, I said to myself as I looked at my damaged ship. I talked to the repair company and paid them handsomely. I was assured that my ship will be fixed in a week. I took some time to scan through a catalog of Matari merchandise and found some interesting stuff. I gave Darth a list and transferred some ISK into his account. I told him to take a shuttle to Rens and purchase what I wrote. One of them is a ship – I felt like I owe him one since I blew up his Drake. He ran away before I could say goodbye.

Well, I’m stuck in a station for a week so might as well stroll along. I unloaded my cargo into a warehouse I rented and later booked in a hotel. I was tired from a long shitty day. Before I slept, I took my HHI and studied the vagabond’s blueprints hoping to see some weakpoints. I fell asleep some time later.

The following day, after eating breakfast, I went to the plaza and checked out what the market has to offer to a girl with a fat wallet. Well, there are a couple of things that caught my attention. Some native medicines and a bunch of plants that I’d like to include in my garden.

I took a rest at the park and saw children playing around with a ball. I was quite entertained with their display as they kicked it then bounced it over. I somehow envy them as I never experienced those during my childhood. I programmed my hovercarts to bring my groceries to the warehouse and approached the children. The ball flew out of nowhere and hit me in the head and fell.

I saw a tall figure step in and lend a hand. He is a Vherokoir, about the same age as I am. He introduced himself as Miru, the eldest among the group of 8 orphans. Their parents died fighting for their safety. He looks after the young ones who are barely 10 years old. All of them have no implants – they were born free Mataris.

I played with them a bit and accompanied them to their house. It was simple yet it was a home. There’s a fairly large metallic table that resemble some sort of broken device and some bunk beds. They all work in a bakery and at their spare time, play in the park with that ball. You can tell it’s old just by looking at the brownish leather with a couple of stitches, albeit still fun.

They were generous enough to even let me eat lunch with them even with what they have.

The Minmatar population in general is impoverished since they have just acquired freedom from years of enslavement from the Amarr. Though, by looking at their innocent eyes, I can tell that they don’t care much about wealth.

They later took me to their bakery where I learned how to make some bread. It somehow reminded me of home as they love what they do. The dough, the product of blood, sweat and tears by the Minmatar, though freed, still reap wheat as they used to from the hands of their Amarrian masters. I then thought if Darth ran away and won’t come back.

Though all of that doesn’t matter as they have smiles in their faces and merrily sell the bread to passerby’s. Their efforts, though considered rubbish in the supercapitalist world I grew up, is their source of pride and contentment.

The simple life. . .

I befriended them and treated me as one of their troupe. I finally felt how it is to be a child amongst it peers. No color, no race and none of the concerns of the world.

On the fifth day, I showed Miru my oud and played it for him. He said that the strings are too sad. I was puzzled. He then asked about who I am. I told him that I’m a merchant and my ship got stranded. He chuckled since it’s unlikely for my age to venture into such. He laughed as he said I’d grow old quickly having to worry about worldly things. He then looked at the large station window and said: “See that Ivy, The Universe is so huge and look at us. We own very little yet we managed to survive with what we have. Ya-know, true wealth doesn’t come from money or riches or roids. Things like those come and go and eventually dry up and no matter what you do, it still doesn’t give you happiness. True wealth comes from the people around and that’s nothing compared to your wallet. My mum and pop used to say that. Well they’re gone but I still have them. Things happen for a reason ya-know”

I felt some guilt within me.

I leaned to his shoulders and rested my arms on his as we watched the orphans play. He then said, “I’m not sure what’s going on but–”; handing down a cactus in a pot with a small flower on top, “I’d like you to take this. I heard you like plants but this one is special I guess. It survives well with very little water yet it managed to bloom. Sometimes we forget about the small things because we’re blinded by problems we see big. It’s something you can’t buy yet even if it dies, the flower itself will still be there – simply because you smiled. Perhaps there’s a reason why we met doncha think? uhm, It’s getting dark and you can stop looking at me like that.”

I never thought I’d hear something as profound as that coming from a child of poverty. I haven’t forgotten those words up to now.

I thought I’d return the favor so I took some vegetables from my stash and ate dinner at their place. They were glad as they’ve never tasted something like those in their lives. It was indeed a home.

Miru walked me to the hotel and asked me if we could see each other the next day and promised I will.

As I walked thought the lobby, Darth contacted me and told me to see him at midnight. I reviewed the Vagabond blueprints and found out that the reactor and crew cabin are exposed at the central structure. I snoozed for a bit and came to the meeting point. We unloaded some ship parts and took it to the hangar. We installed some turret tracking disruptors and heavy assault missile launchers; modified the hull to make it nimbler; loaded some replacement drones with some special ones. The Curse was ready as the repair manager cleared it from the docks.

The real trump card of course will be Darth’s new ship.

During the week, I surveyed the system and found the perfect location for taking the Vagabond out.

As I undocked, the vigilant hunter revealed itself as it emerged from the rear. I warped out quickly to an asteroid field at 20 km distance and cloaked. The Vagabond came in and landed at the center of the asteroid field. It fell for my trap.

The ship has very little freedom of movement while I was positioned at the edge. I uncloaked then started draining his cap and fired some missiles. He retaliated and fired his guns. The asteroid field combined with the turret tracking disruptors proved to be very effective as he kept on missing me. He finally released his drones and chased me. I countered by releasing 3 ECM drones and 2 light attack drones. He lost lock of me and his drones now operate autonomously. The tandem light attack drones did quick work on the enemy wave.

He was then nearing the edge of the asteroid field – just as where I planned him to be. I called on Darth through the comms to warp to my location.

Then, a strange vessel came in, it’s Darth’s Hyena. A fast frigate capable of stopping other ships at their tracks. Darth activates the Stasis Webbifier, a module that distorts space relative to the target ship that it is virtually slowed down.

The Vagabond, though fast, is quite flimsy once crippled. I then sent Valkyrie II’s to finish him off. Ripping off the central section causing the reactor to leak killing the crew members with the exception of the ship bridge.

I opened the comms link and told him in a distorted voice to give up and we’ll let him go. There was no answer. We assumed that he already gave up so we unlocked his ship. As I was about to engage to warp, the vagabond, though wrecked, with its final burst of capacitor energy, dived towards my ship. I had not time to react. It was seconds away from colliding when Darth shot at the Vagabond’s bridge.

I owe my life to Darth that time. I felt bad about saying bad things at his back. Though I treated him bitterly, he was loyal.

I felt tired so we docked in the same station and booked rooms in the hotel.

Morning came, it was like the other day, only that I’m eager to see Miru.

I waited in the park just in front of the large station window.

I then checked the bakery but nobody was there then came back to the park and gave it another hour. I soon decided to go to their place but nobody was there. Just that ball lying on the floor.

I got worried as it’s already dark by then. I walked by myself to a pub and saw Darth there as if he was waiting for me. He told me to let it go. That was my first taste of alcohol. I used to wonder why people drown themselves to it but I guess I found out why.

Just before I left that station, I burried that ball in where they used to play and planted that cactus there. I played my oud a bit and thought about them that while. I just realized what he meant about the strings.

I guess they’re free now.

IV – Dreams

Dreams – manifestations of the subconscious mind that reveals one’s innermost desires, interests or thoughts. It may also be precognitive, hence the popular term deja vu. Modern man is able to biologically map the human brain down to individual neurons though he is yet to tap the very secrets of the subconscious phase. Perhaps it was nature’s way of granting man all the escapism he’ll ever need in his lifetime or perhaps even give him a sense of direction. Who knows?

There was a man I knew by the name “Darth” – an archaic term to connote fear and terror. At present, Darth is the usual alias of mercs from all sides of the Galaxy in case they want their true identity hidden. It is the paramilitary equivalent of “Smith” to say the least.

I inherited a fair amount of possessions from my mentor. All of his savings account was transferred to me. There’s a generously huge warehouse full of all kinds of machinery; a safehouse, which interestingly has a scaled down version of a control room; and a biodome with a 10,000 square meter patch of land – all located in single station. This is where all of his wealth came to be. A lifetime investment for what seems to be the perfect retirement gift for a high ranked intelligence officer – perhaps all the therapy he’ll ever need to let go of his past.

I first went to the safehouse and unpacked all of my belongings. I left my mentor’s clothes hanged in the closet and did some cleaning. It somehow felt he is still there. I took a shower afterwards and thought I’d call it a day. There’s only 1 bed in his room. There, I somehow realized what’s it like to be in his shoes.

The following day I went to the biodome and saw all kinds of plants I’ve never seen or heard before. At the middle was a shack and inside it, there’s a control panel for the automated biodome climate management system. Adjacent to it is a large bookshelf with all sorts of literature related to botany. I found his journal and used it to identify the plants – nearly all of them are vegetables with a handful of fruits.

I never thought my teacher would be like this.

A particular book caught my attention – “Salads”. I went outside where it was very humid and gently warm. Sunlight being regulated by the dielectric glass which astonishingly mimics clouds and even the day-night cycle. I looked for a bright red vegetable and found a label saying tomatoes. I then searched for a short green leafy vegetable and found its label lettuce. I picked both. I particularly liked how the tomato felt like in the hand. After washing both, I sliced them and placed them in a bowl. I took a jar conveniently labeled dressing and placed a generous amount of its content in the bowl, whatever it is.

I tried eating it. I soon found out the reason I had a tongue. I somehow rediscovered taste. It was a sensation I never had before. From that moment, I’m never eating Caldari rations ever again!

Now, I somehow envy my mentor and how he came to know all of these.

I was done eating before I knew it and I somehow forgot about everything.

I resigned from the navy and decided to work in the fields. The automated machinery from the warehouse orchestrated most of the work. A keen human eye for quality and careful hands was a job reserved for me. I took home some of his books and read them before I sleep. I somehow felt revived with what I’m doing. Perhaps this was his dream – a dream without a burden in life, unchained from humanity.

I soon learned that these plants are genetically modified to survive with minimal water and yield as much in just a month. Though another product of man playing god, I was never bothered because somebody has to do it anyway.

Harvest was done and I somehow smell heaps of ISK from it. I thought of selling them in Khanid since there are a lot of wealthy nobles there that would love my rare merchandise.

Now, since I’m an aspiring merchant, I took with me a sling bag. Inside it are: rope, my personal drug case, a navy issued multipurpose pocket knife with tool case, my wallet, handheld hologram interface and nanopaste – never leave home without one.

As I opened my HHI, which is linked to the safehouse console, I searched through the contract pages for a suitable courier and played cheap skate. There was one whose charge was incredibly lower than others. I contacted him and arranged a meeting in the station pub.

I took my forged Navy ID with me to get in the pub since it was “restricted” to children. Little do they know that I was 714 at that time. The bouncers didn’t ask a single question since I was the “authority”. I took a seat and asked the bartender about this man named “Darth”. He immediately asked which “Darth”. A bit puzzled by his reaction, I told him the “Darth” currently docked in the station.

There was a brief silence and I had to butt in, “ahem”. He told me that the man I seek is notorious. His mere name would be equated to death. Fear epitomized by his crew recruitment sheet hanging in the pub bulletin board. In disbelief, I rechecked his records using the HHI and find him clean though there are suspiciously large amounts of nondescript transactions from the Insurance company.

A man entered the pub, wearing an extravagant purple suit, and a brash swashbuckling accent. He glanced at his empty recruitment sheet and sighed. He took a seat a couple of feet away and tabbed in a pint. He seem depressed. I sat beside him and asked him politely if he is the man I seek.

There was a sudden jolt of eagerness in his face. I was surprised to see a sudden mood change to be honest.

As I was about to explain the contract, he dragged me out of the pub and into the docks. There I saw his Drake, a ship famous for its resilience and overall market success.

He asked me to bring along my cargo as if he was in a hurry and so I did with the help of my convoy machinery. He had a beaming smile as he saw them go inside the ship.

He wasted no time entering the capsule and was loaded inside. He didn’t even bothered opening the passenger hatch for the lady. He told me to get inside and so I did only to be greeted by the engine, the reactor, the cargo bay, the shield generators and his capsule – all inside his half baked ship.

Once I got inside, he immediately undocked. I was at least expecting a champagne bottle smashed in the hull. Instead, he hit a drunk homeless man on his way out. I feel like I was almost kidnapped though this is a contract job.

The shipyard where he bought it didn’t even bothered putting in divisions inside, more so a crew deck and quarters.

I was deeply worried as I haven’t seen any Caldari ship like this. Heading to Khanid from where I am will take 32 jumps through high security space with the usual heavy volume of traffic. I got even more worried when he mentioned taking a shortcut to save fuel.

I was in disbelief. There’s no seats around. I decided to tie myself into a tritanium column just in case the artificial gravity generator went out. Travelling will take a while so I decided to take a nap on floor with my bag as a pillow. Sleeping was next to impossible thanks to the reactor and engine thrusters directly above.

Things got creepy as I saw a camera drone hovering in front of me. I wasn’t even sure if I’ll be able to make it out alive in one piece – including my virginity. I threw a tomato and somehow blinded it.

Then what is expected happened. The drake was tackled by a group of Minmatar frigates in low sec. While the captain of the boat was confidently laughing at what he considers pests in rusty trash bins, I wasted no time putting everything, including myself,  in a huge ER armored container.

After he ran out of missiles, he told me to manually load them since his ship has no automated systems. I got out of the container and loaded the ammunition to one of my hover carts. Loading individual launchers takes 30 seconds and I had to load all 7 of them.

I was relieved that he dispatched almost all of them with the exception of 1 frigate, then came a Typhoon. Not the ones you’d find in a bad weather but the rust buckets that turn ships into one of their kinds.

It proved to be too much for the battlecruiser as things almost start to fall apart. I’d be very upset if I died miserably right now.

I took my drug case from my bag. Opened the capsule’s hatch, to be greeted by inhuman odor, and injected almost lethal amounts of all sorts of drugs to Darth’s head. He wasn’t aware of it of course.

The drake, in a far worse condition than a Minmatar ship would be, miraculously regenerated all of its shield, with everything running to breaking point.

I was relieved that the gate guns provided the extra muscle we’d need to overcome the odds.

Both the frigate and battleship exploded and debris flew and gashed a small hole in the drake’s structure. The artificial gravity powered down, including Darth’s capsule. I pulled the rope and maneuvered to reach his capsule.

He was barely conscious and was laughing to himself then suddenly screaming. I took off the neural jack and connected it to myself.

I did him a favor of completing his contract by jumping through system after system of low security space in a ship that’s been falling apart.

Just as we were about to enter high security space, the ship’s engine gave in. It’s done. I ejected Darth’s capsule while he was still unconscious. I attached nitrogen gas tanks with remote control valves, that are linked to my HHI, on each corner of the cargo container using nanopaste. I then suited up and activated the detonation timer of the drake. I ejected the container and hitched with it. I carefully maneuvered the container towards the capsule until both are positioned between the gate and the drake. I got inside the container.

The drake exploded giving the capsule and container enough momentum to reach the gate and jump to the adjacent system.

I was relieved to see black Amarrian ships orbiting us. It is the Khanid naval patrol. Now, I know how it feels to be a damsel in distress.

We got rescued. Onboard, I was interrogated by the officer about the incident while Darth is in his slumber whilst being detained for being suspected of raw grade drug abuse.

I presented my ID and was recognized as a military ally. Hence, I had a diplomatic treatment while admiring the Curse recon vessel on its way to Khanid prime.

I fell in love with the ship that as soon as I sold all of my merchandise, I bought one for myself.

Also to give me a reason not to contract my goods to anybody I barely know of.

I came home and after a week, there was an envelope at my door – from Darth.

As I opened it, it revealed a recruitment sheet, with Darth’s name in the label crossed out and replaced with Ivy. At the bottom his real name. I opened the door and he was there. He immediately carried his luggage inside my house and I was again in disbelief. He tried fitting my mentor’s outfit but put it away since it wasn’t his taste. He then slept in my bed and I was to sleep at night in the basement.

What could a 14 year old girl do?

/facepalm

III – Affection

Affection – a postulate conceived and unanswered by man since the beginning of time. Biology on the otherhand tells us that this is caused by the synergy of our diencephalon and gonads. A genetic program for the survival of the species and an instinct so strong, it doesn’t even involve a conscious mind.

A spark, an impulse, an obsession. A longing so intense, it often leads to insanity. Though considered a disease or even a nuisance in the life of a space farer, it is somewhat inevitable.

The Jovians themselves are victims. No matter how much cybernetic augmentations are incorporated within them, this most basic instinct fuels their craving for knowledge – a fire that will eventually be their end.

Space – a sea of solitude and crossroads that join us all into a common destination.

I never fully understood it until I lost them. The cost of taking things for granted. The pain of witnessing death while continuing to live for eternity. Unnamed – without an identity, without a purpose, without a path.

Perhaps it is the people around us that define our existence.

When I enlisted in the military, Caldari as it is, emotions are just a burden. The state, the most important of all; survival, just secondary. Frontline discipline was enforced – never look back, keep firing, never look at the man beside you. I, of course, never planned to die for a country I never fully understood.

Instead, I was fortunate enough to be the one sending the poor bastards to hell. As fodder, they were given tags – a pact that made them properties of the State. And of course, propaganda would always say that “we” were on the winning side and military service was a “duty” as a citizen. Other than that, people would often enlist as volunteers – most of which are illegal aliens who take the opportunity to acquire citizenship.

Now, I would understand them if they were mercs but it was somehow profitable. The wealth amassed from looting and pillaging was enough of a reason to stay in service. They after all earned it – very meritocratic if you asked me.

I learned my trade, intel, from my superior – a stern, cunning and sadistic man. He was older than me, though I was chronologically 711 by then and him, 27. He was calm at all times. Severe losses were never an issue. He was constantly annoyed by me playing the oud that he accidentally broke it. I never spoke against him.

He had vast information within his disposal yet little did he know about me – I had my identity forged by him since I never had any existing records. Despite that, he placed his faith on a homeless child who had no definite future. He convinced me to undergo cybernetic enhancements back then since it was preferable at an early age. A child’s brain is more adaptable to such modifications.

I was to be his vanguard; and him, my panacea. I had very little care about anything except learning as an apprentice. I focus my gaze on him and the large monitors of men dying. Sometimes I even wondered what would he think if I was the one in the screen. He’d probably sip his coffee and won’t even notice me with my small stature.

I was too little and the battlefield is too big.

I was…

…longing for his attention.

Then, I turned to fighters. I thought to myself that it will raise my chances.

It brought me to a familiar spectacle – perhaps just another dream.

Though I intend to die in a fight this time, I instead was assigned to reconnaissance. I was reluctant at first but I was eventually motivated when I heard his voice on the comms. My voice was trembling, albeit nervous. Perhaps this was because it was also the only time we talked. He teased me a lot for deciding to  die on a battlefield when I had the comforts of a control room. I knew the dangers of being in the field yet I didn’t mind that.

My seat was a bit large yet all the controls are integrated to a small wire connected to my brain. My first launch was unforgettable. I was excited and distracted by his voice. As soon as I was catapulted, I lost control and coughed blood with the varying G-loads. I somehow lost consciousness but recall a loud and deeply worried voice over the comms.

I was his eyes and his astral projection. I had my cranial nerves II and VIII jacked into the secure datalink. He can literally see what I see, and hear what I hear.  Though he can’t feel what I feel.

But somehow, I knew, he’d say I did great even if we were separated over great distances, I feel like he was almost beside me like before. Though our conversation was mostly related to the battle field, he was finally paying attention to me. I sometimes “disobey” his directions and look the other way just to pull him off from distractions. The mere order of RTB was almost a hindrance that I wanted to stay in the field, perhaps even die in there.

I probably know what he’d say if I did.

A month passed and yet, fate accursed me to lose yet another…

…loved one

I was enroute, following my usual waypoints when I heard this disturbing static in the comms. I knew something had happened. It wasn’t a jammer since only the Caldari possess such technology.

Just as my recon ship was recovered from the carrier, I received news that the control center was raided.

This is but one of the regrets of my life. I wish I never left his side and died protecting him. But my foolish selfishness brought his end.

He never had a family. He was alone, yet I was surprised that the insurance company issued me his possessions and the State issued war benefits. I never wanted any of those. I fell to my knees opening one of the boxes. It contained my oud that is fully restored. I guess he wanted me to play it during his funeral.

After the military honors, I never spoke of his name again.

Though I can still remember my first flight in a recon ship. . .

II – Existence

Existence – a vague word that man uses to describe his manifestation. Throughout my years, I’ve seen what and who man is. For all we know, we exist yet we do not fully understand why we exist. The fools who dress themselves in robes and see their selves holy believe that the creator lies in the Eve Gate – who ironically destroyed man aeons before me.

Within my veins run the blood of monks, priests, or whatever people call them nowadays. Achurs of today were born and raised to unquestioning faith. Unfortunately, an Achur such as I, an Achur before them, never learned such foolishness. Yet I regret that I never was a fool for in my veins is indeed of a monk.

Thus as I forever gaze in the sky, the question of existence lingers within me.

Evolution – a biologic process of an organism to be a higher form as a means of survival. Through the centuries, Man seem to be incapable of evolution. Perhaps man is the endpoint of evolution or perhaps it is no longer necessary for man evolves at will in the extension of his creations. Man, no longer bound by time and space.

Perhaps man is the creator of himself. Man strived to be gods. To be in dominion of his kind and desired to be beyond man. Hence, man became immortal through his unrelenting pursuit. In terrestrial worlds, there are oceans where a certain creature thrive that is naturally immortal, capable of being forever young – jelly fish. Though granted such gift, the creature is merely an animated protein, devoid of a soul and left to forever drift along the currents blindly. Man, a similar creature, devoid of a soul, drifts through space, blinded by his will to be a god.

The Eve Gate, a god so revered upon, infested with scavengers. As the scribes tell us, it used to be a passage. A passageway towards Home or more likely heaven. Then that very god decided to imprison us forever in a purgatory known as New Eden. The consensus of which is that Man was seen sinful by the god that he made him accursed. To be undying and forever lead himself to destruction. Man wanted so much to reach further than he was that he fell for he can no longer stand within his two legs. Yet as he stumble, Man as stubborn as he is, tries again. Never realizing that he is no god.

Yet, even if the Eve Gate never closed, I do believe no such god nor heaven exists beyond it. For where there is man, such world will be a mirror image as it is today.

Though I am but of little importance to this world, I would like to believe there is such a God. A God – unwritten in text, unpreached by fools in robes, and of course, wise enough not to commit the mistakes of a man-god. Maybe heaven does exist but at least never in this time nor space.

Though it is sad that man may never know for he is forever bound in this world.

I – Memories

Memories – a long and distant glimpse of yesterday, a yesterday that seemed like forever yet passed by unnoticed. Picture perfect images that outlive sephia holographs and remain unforgotten. The early fathers once believe that it is immortality itself, but I, the embodiment of memories forgotten drift though space the fathers once gazed upon. The only living remnant of a colony that once inhabited a peaceful region of New Eden. Devoid of the warmth of a mother that once held me, now encapsulated in a vast cold sea. A life clinging on a tank of full oxygen and undying in her slumber amidst the liquid nitrogen pool.

This humble speck of a lifeless being wander rivalling the celest, passing every corner that the living failed to reach. Centuries pass by with no companion other than an oud. The silence of the desert mutes its string that longs for a master. A family heirloom, an artifact and a proof of mankind’s genius conquering time. Its body chiseled from fine wood, a rarity thoughout the galaxy, with the distinct mark of the family seal, a birch tree. Tailored from tradition and mortal hands, the oud – now a god treading the heavens.

Chance has its ways of dealing with mortals and the capsule, once an elusive  coffin, has been found – a destiny written in the stars. As the Caldari Arms barge pulls the capsule with tractor beams, the crew was eager to see Gallente tags. To their astonishment and with a frown, what was expected to be a dead Gallente turned out to be a 700 year old infant, still in its long undisturbed slumber.

The child never knew a father nor a mother, yet the memory of their embrace still envelope its body – a sensation preserved in the brain with the help of cryogenics or perhaps a deep longing. As the child was revived, it cried loudly and left the crew confused as all of them are young and unmarried soldiers, that were born and raised by fire. They looked at each other and shrugged. They had no choice but to be the child’s mother. Was it out of pity? Or was it out of the fact that the child was of Caldari descent?

It was simple really. They saw a living being that willed to live despite the odds. They knew the guilt of leaving the child behind when they had the chance. They were no mothers but they did their best to raise a child. They fed her using an empty wine bottle containing the men’s ration that was hastefully processed by themselves into an improvised milk. Crude it is but somehow managed to deal with it. They learned parenthood the hard way that no battlefield would otherwise offer. Before them is the battle of waking in between sleep and the gift of instinctive nurturing.

A decade passed, the girl, not much of a burden as she used to be, is now polishing steel helmets, wiping off the blood from its previous owner for the recruits to reuse. The girl has met plenty of people aboard the ship who came and go and never returned. Despite this, she managed to free her psyche from the cold dark reality under her sphere. She pluck the oud as to the familiar melody of  memories that resound. As soon as her “mothers” return from the battle, she would hastefully bring the medicine kit to relieve the soldiers from their pain and knowing every vial from the ship. An impressive display for a non-enlisted field medic. Thus, named Ivy.

As they return home from every successful raid, the men would drown themselves to a sea of alcohol and the girl, playing her oud, would accompany their merry tales and showing off every tag they managed to snatch. Only the girl   wasn’t intoxicated.

Unlike the previous trip, this one was different. An uninvited guest managed to sneak inside the ship while the entire crew was deeply asleep because of their little merriment. The girl woke up upon hearing what she believes was a thud. She thought at first that it must have been the debris outside. Out of curiosity, she decided to check it out for herself so she got out of her bunk and saw nothing unusual from port holes. The ship was smoothly sailing as it cruised on autopilot. It was silent as this was the space she knew all her life, or perhaps it was too silent.

She came back to the quarters and peered at the unlit room. The room was quiet enough that she began to grow suspicious. She recalled the crew was snoring loudly when she got out of the room but thought to herself that they must be sound asleep.

Anxious, she found it hard to sleep and went to the medicine room and injected a syringe labelled “SH” or sedative/hypnotic. She felt drowsy after a few seconds and sat on a chair. Everything was peaceful and felt a familiar sensation, perhaps a deja vu she thought.

Then the room’s airlock opened revealing a blinding red light and a silhouette approached her. She woke up covering her eyes and focused on a wounded figure hastefully punching buttons to lock the room off. She stood up and knew the man’s face – it was the cook. The man was covering his right arm and knew he was desperately applying pressure on the wound. She tore off a cloth and wrapped it around the man’s arm until it was a proper tourniquet.

The man was able to speak, albeit a bit gibberish as he was panting heavily and she knew he was dying – under hypovolemic shock. The cook, who isn’t a regular soldier, dies in the girl’s arms. She knew the type of bullet the assailant used – a thrombolytic round from a Gallente Elite Commando. Even with the smallest wound, it is already a slow and guaranteed death sentence.

From that moment, her senses are keener than she ever knew. She stood up out of instinct and broke the glass cover of a red box hanging in the wall. There, it revealed 2 boxes. One containing 3 unusual prefilled vials feeding a single syringe with a high gauge needle – meant to be stabbed directly to the heart; the other box containing a red syringe. She reached for her scalpels from the drawer and retreated under the desk.

Her hands shaking, tensely holding the scalpel and sweating heavily. She hears footsteps thumping on the metal grille floor echoing across the corridor and knew it was alone. From that moment, she knew the killer followed the cook’s trail of blood and is now coming for her. She knew that the Commandos are deadly but she didn’t expect them to be this ruthlessly good. The crew she knew were veterans and now she faces death the 2nd time.

As soon as the Commando reaches the airlock, although it was locked , He opened it the same way he boarded the ship. The girl thrusted the syringe to her chest without hesitation and was panting. The commando approached sadistically and smirked at the helpless girl – me.

I raised my head and see a monstrous figure before me. I knew that moment it was the drug kicking in. Before he was able to aim, I threw the scalpel instinctively at his arm and missed me. I lunged in and was met by a kick but wasn’t fazed – I was completely immune to pain. Time was much slower though my mind instructs to evade his attacks, my body was sluggish. It was a painful sight as my conscious mind tells me but the lack of sensation says otherwise.

I have a few seconds before the drug wears off unfortunately I have no sense of time. My body acted as a stand alone entity – perhaps it was my will to live. I was never prepared for this and before I knew it, the red syringe is already in the commando’s jugular vein.

A minute passed or so my mind tells me, I felt my body burning. I just noticed that I was hit by a bullet in the left thigh. I knew I was dying at that time. I reached for the drawer and sealed off my wound with nanopaste – the superglue of that time. Who would have thought I’d live to tell the tale with a simple superglue. The wonders of Minmatar ingenuity I said to myself.

What would have been a sad moment for me is oddly “happy”. I knew I was high from the drug. I walked across the ship and entered the quarters and turned on the lights. There I saw the crew that died in their sleep. I reached for my oud. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Deep inside I wanted to cry but my body says otherwise.

The drug wore off eventually. Out of that induced insanity, I fell to my knees and cried in a corner. I was alone for the 2nd time.

The ship eventually docked on a Caldari Station and the docks officer, who was expecting a hand shake from the ship captain, boarded the ship and saw the aftermath. The rescue team said they found me lying on a corner and was traumatized from the events. I had forgotten everything that happened at that time and only recalled it when I watched the recordings from the black box a few weeks later. The mind has its unique way of coping with terrible things, yet I made a mistake of looking back to it and ended up having nightmares for months.

I resorted to enlisting in the military so that  they could augment my CNS and modify my cerebral cortex in hopes of deleting unwanted memories. Unfortunately, it was all in vain and I learned to accept my past.

During my military training, I was able to cope with my personal problems as if they didn’t mean much. I was eventually invited in the special forces division and focused mainly on psychological warfare. Just as I graduated, I was filled with enthusiasm in hopes of a new life and met people. It was a vast space and as I delved deeper, everything grew colder. Soon, that enthusiasm turned to bitterness.

What was once an innocent child, who cherished her life, is now a tool of destruction with no regard for human life. It was a robotic and unquestioning lifestyle that soon reached its tipping point.

I soon decided to lay off and find a new purpose as to why I exist. I soon realized that the Law itself was the problem. It never brought justice to the people. It is a corrupt pet of the Empire that caused the death to the people I know. They feed misinformation to citizens in order for them to profit out of it. I knew there was another way.

And that is the next step. . .