Don't cry, its just your spaceship!

Shocku watched the emptiness of space through the lens of his camera drone. The Storm of Intent, a Tempest class battleship, hung motionless within the protective shield of the Control Tower just off a moon in the O-9 solar system of the Paragon Soul region of the galaxy. His ship was fully manned for station bashing operations, but a Goon fleet had been sighted in a nearby system so Shocku's fleet was regrouping.

Staring at the infinite reaches of mostly empty space around them, he suddenly zoomed in on a region of space near the shield. A Pilgrim class recon was dropping out of warp right at the edge. Shocku heard other pilots cursing over the neocom that the pilgrim managed to warp before they could do any significant damage. He pondered for a moment, then gave an order to the his edgy crew, "Load short range Quake ammo in all artillery guns!". The short range high damage ammo was seldom used as the ship was fit for sniping from range. Shocku carried a thousand rounds of Quake within the hold anyway in case he was engaged on a stargate while traveling.

Again the overview lit up as the Pilgrim descended out of warp a second time just outside the shields of the alliance station. The Fleet Commander called for tacklers and Shocku thought of his Minmatar slave girl and her Rifter. Unfortunately her duties had kept her in station in the TPAR system this night. Shocku cleared his mind and double checked the range settings programmed into his navigation computer. He initiated auto pilot instructions as his the support ships made short work of the Pilgrim. The lumbering Tempest seemed to almost groan as it fired thrusters and began to move to the edge of the shield. Soon the prow and the guns were outside the shimmering shields as thrusters kept the ship just on the edge.

As he had expected would happen, his overview suddenly lit up with a ball of red Goon ships just a few short kilometers from where his own battleship sat exposed outside the edge of the shield. This was what he had come for. The Fleet Commander called out primaries and neural commands flew at the speed of light from the implants in Shocku's skull to the gunnery centers aboard his ship. The guns went hot and the instant the targeting computers locked the enemy battleship, his tempest shuddered as 6 massive 1400mm rounds flew with incredible velocity from his ship to the enemy, shattering the elecrocrystalline barrier of its shields almost instantly. Shocku smiled at his decision only hours earlier to request Vince bring an additional gyrostabilizer. Now it made all the difference.His ship would rely on the station shield bubble rather than hardeners the gyro replaced.

Shocku saw multiple targets locking him as volley after volley of 1400mm artillery rounds pounded gaping holes in the enemy ship's armor. He grimaced in slight irritation as the Fleet Commander repeatedly queried the status of the enemy ship, and replied..

"Enemy armor 50%"...
"Enemy armor depleted, in structure..."

Shocku glanced at his own shields, which were holding strong despite at least half a dozen targets locking him on the overview.

"Enemy in deep structure..."

The aperture of his drone camera lens automatically contracted as the shattered enemy antimatter drive went critical and detonated, flashing dark space to white light. The Goon's pod was also quickly eliminated seconds later.

Chuckling, he looked through the local com logs for early comms from his victim taunting the alliance fleet commander. He copied the Goon pilot's own words and transmitted them to the clone facility where they would surely be read when the goon's clone was awakened, "Don't cry, its just your spaceship!"

Captured in Space

The news spread through the stations like wildfire, screams of joy rang out all about and as they did so did the pandemonium as thousands of slaves heard the news of their release from the oppression of the Amarrians.

Simploria looked to her friends, her jaw dropping as the news registered. "We are freed?" "Yes!! FREE!!!" They screamed and hugged each other tightly and danced and cheered. Then, suddenly, in the midst of their celebrations and reverie of imaginings of what is to come, the thought of the injections occurred to her, a spreading dread overcoming her as she sunk to her knees before her friends. "What to do? The shots!!!"

For years they have been injected as a form of control, with a virus that would be fatal if they were not continuously injected with antidote by their masters.

Though she was still in the very beginning of her training, Simplora and the other new slaves were injected with the virus early on and told what would happen to them if they did not comply or if they were to run away. It was the ultimate form of control and to ingrain the message into the new slave's heads, one unfortunate slave was taken from each of the new groups and subjected to the virus and denied the life-sustaining serum. Behind the glass partition, the new slaves were forced to watch their comrade die an unspeakable death, strapped to the bed screaming out in agony for days. It was unbearable and the new slaves found themselves praying for death to come swifty to their friend and for release... but it never did. It was a lesson they would never forget, one of many to come.

Quickly, they sprung to action and were running to the medical pod, their hearts pounding as they imagined the panic that would ensue when the thousands of slaves converged on the pod for vials of the precious antidote. Surprisingly, they were first to arrive and quickly scooped up as many boxes of vials as they could carry, running to the nearby ships and hurrying back and forth loading the cargo holds.

Soon, the rumble of thousands of slaves was upon them; Simplora and the others knew what would follow in the panic as sure as they knew that this station would no longer be safe. "Hurry!" her friends called out, as they each slammed the cargo holds closed, knowing what they had to do as there was no time and soon the clamoring, panicked hoard would be upon them fighting for the precious vials as well as for the few remaining ships.

Panic gripped Simplora as she only had a rudimentary understanding of how to fly the rifter, having only just started her training. Soon she managed to lift off with the coaching of her friends over the neocom, she trembled as the station disappeared beneath her, the constellations coming into view as she tried to get her bearings, not having taken the orienteering classes yet she soon found herself separated from her friends and hopelessly lost without direction.

The beginning of the journey proved to be a nightmare as she could not tell which stations had freed their slaves and which had not. She desperately did not wish to be enslaved again but needed to resupply and work for the ISK needed for food, fuels and supplies. As the days passed into weeks, Simplora was able to assimilate into the crowds and pick up small-time mission running contracts, learning as she went by constantly listening to those about her, the once foreign lingo becoming slowly more understandable as she progressed in her learning. When her shields failed and the monitor flashed its warning as the heat permeated the outer hull, she was able to afford her first upgrade. She had watched other pilots perform this countless times by now and was able to complete the job herself, she found herself almost dancing as she celebrated this small victory. She was on the road to being independent and was growing bolder in the contracts she accepted as well, earning more and more ISK with each success.

Learning to inject herself had been a challenge, but a must, and soon her thoughts were constantly revolving around the supply of antidote in the cargo hold. She found herself dreaming of the consequences of running out and when she sat in galley with the other mission runners she soaked in every piece of news about contracts involving courier services to medical facilities and tidbits of information about what might be transported without appearing too interested. After one night of hearing such news and the coordinates, she quickly set her autopilot and lifted off with hope in her heart that she might be able to secure additional supplies of the antidote, not considering at the time what the penalties might be for such an act. Nearing low-security space, her heart jumped as she orbited the gate several times. It was not her boldness but her desperation that fueled her now as she approached the gate and entered, quickly settling into course to dock, relief sweeping over her as she found herself remarkably in the right station she accepted the contract without further investigation and set course to the pickup location, driving deeper into the low-security zone, her mind focused on one thing and one thing only: getting the antidote and quickly disappearing into the solar system, if possible.

With the box loaded into cargo, she quickly left the station sure that she could find her way out she quickly became lost in the maze of stargates, warping from one dock to the next as she sought to hide herself as best she could from the other pilots and overseers the neocom startled her as it crackled, a voice on the other end identifying themselves and inquiring as to her course and why she had detoured from her destination, having missed a gate. Silence. She knew they were waiting for an answer, as her tongue became thick and her head reeled. A tracker! Of course! A tracker had been placed inside the cargo! How could she have thought such valuable cargo would be given over without tracking its progress as well as the pilot who held it. She covered her mouth and gasped scrambling for an explanation she silently cursed her stupidity as she explained she had become disoriented, glad that she had only missed one gate. The neocom once again cracked as the voice from the other side gave clear, concise instructions as to how she was to proceed and that she was indeed to proceed immediately. There was no question or query in the voice, but a steady and calm reserve that left her with no doubt that she could and would be destroyed at the push of a button. Quickly she set her course and followed directions to the letter, confirming her progress each step of the way as she found herself now hopeless approaching the dock to the destination station.

"You are first to pick up a marker from the jet can outside the dock," came the instructions over the neocom, "and then proceed immediately to station." Quickly, she approached the jet can as her ship connected briefly with it and picked up the marker through the hatch, her radar lit up with a quickly approaching ship behind her and she yelped as her screen flashed red as she was targeted. She slammed the button to dock and found herself inside the station where she spent a considerable amount of time after releasing her precious cargo, tears streaming down her face as she watched it disappear, even despite the fact that she received a hefty reward for her endeavor, she was hopeless. She tried to scan the surrounding area but was unable to do so within the confines of the station, she soon heard instructions that incoming ships needed her space and she must depart. Trying to steady herself, she readied to once again launch into the low-sector zone and try and sort her way back out to Concord space.

Her ship glided smoothly out of dock as she quickly scanned, breathing a sigh of relief as it seemed clear... on first glance. Approaching the first gate, her heart racing with the thought of her freedom before her once again for as long as her precious vials would last her, she set course but was quickly intercepted by a larger ship. Not knowing what to do, she proceeded on course as a demanding voice cracked the neocom, "You are to stop your ship immediately," came the instruction barking over the neo. She did not reply but acted in panic, engaging her afterburner and activating her shields as she attempted to activate the stargate before he could react. He was three steps in front of her as he enveloped her in the webifier and rendered her ship immobile. Again came the instruction, "You are being enslaved. You are to stop your ship immediately!" "NOOO," she screamed through the neo, setting her ship into warp as she tried in vain to escape, she cried out as she, for the very first time ever, engaged her weapons system on another ship. The first hit to her ship was shattering, as she felt it shake with the power of the strike, she returned fire over and over again, trying desperately to release herself from the hold he had on her. Again and again she failed.

Once again the voice, this time maddeningly calm, through the neocom, "You are instructed to stop your ship immediately. This is your last warning!" "NOO, I completed my mission! I'm done!" She screamed through the neocom as she tried everything she could think of to escape, firing over and over again, his voice angering her in its calmness as if he were merely toying with her! She fought with everything she had until the final blow came, her pod hurled out into space, she never even knew what hit her as she glided helplessly, towed in by his tractor beam, once again the voice in the neocom, calm, cool, maddening! "You are hereby enslaved. You will do what you are told. You will speak when spoken to. Am I clear?" "Yes, Master," came the programmed reply, her body shaking with fear, followed by anger and outrage! How could she have thought she could enter this zone and remain unscathed, she screamed in rage as she was helplessly towed into station.

Silence. She remained in station for what seemed an eternity. She cared not now what happened to the once-precious antidote. It mattered not to her now. Surely her life was over, at least as she knew it. Once again she would return to the mind-numbing hoard, blindly following orders and grinding out missions for her soon-to-be slave masters. The neocom in the station blazed to life, the voice of the woman who had assigned her the contract surprisingly enough, informing her that her new master's paperwork was on the desk and that she was to familiarize herself with it." Her mouth opened for a million questions as the neo once again went dead. Silence. She hurried over to the paperwork, her nimble fingers flipping through the pages as she encountered a photograph. She sucked her breath in as she beheld him, examining his features, as she found her slender finger reaching out and tracing his profile, the neocom startled her once again as she dropped the papers and hurried to gather them together as she, for the first time, heard his voice...

He told her she was his and that he would protect, guide and instruct her as he saw fit and that she was to obey in all ways. There was no question in his voice. As he spoke, she found herself drawn to the voice, her cheek pressed against the neocom as she listened to him wide eyed, wondering about him. The voice gave no indication to her that he would tolerate anything but absolute obedience. It was a self-assured voice and rich with confidence, and as he spoke she found herself coming to the realization that indeed she would serve him, unquestioningly and without reservation. Quietly she spoke the words, sure that he could not hear her, "my Master..." as he continued to tell her of her fate.

She was his.

Fleet Battle

Shocku queried the navigation computer for the 3rd time in as many seconds through his neural link to the ship's control systems. The cruiser class Rupture's was sitting within optimal range of the stargate, its projectile turrets were hot, combat drones deployed, and electronic warfare systems activated. The neocom was quiet, but Shocku knew that the other pilots in the fleet were in the same state of readiness. The scout had already signaled that the enemy fleet was in warp to the other side of the stargate.

Suddenly the gate flashed once, and the fleet knew that an enemy ship had come through and had a maximum 30 seconds of cloak time remaining. It was probably an enemy scout assessing the fleet. Within seconds the gate erupted in a strobe of flashes... the enemy was upon us and thought they could take us.

The navigation overview suddenly overflowed with targets as the enemy blob of ships materialized around us. Shocku listened as the Fleet Commander called out primary, secondary, and tertiary targets. He selected the primary, along with several other smaller ships that were close to his own. Two seconds later the primary target was locked and Shocku called out, "Point on Primary!" His electronic warfare systems were disrupting the target's warp engines so that it would not be able to disengage.

The cruiser's heads up display now showed target locks on two other cruisers within a few kilometers. Shocku instantly initiated an orbit around the closest target and activated his autocannons. The commands were issues to the gun commanders at the speed of light, their acknowledgments returning to him only after he saw the shields of the enemy fragmenting under his onslaught. Remembering his latest training in thermodynamics, Shock ordered the rate of fire increased beyond safe levels, knowing that the heat would damage the gunnery systems but that it could be contained if he was careful.

Suddenly overview indicated that an enemy battleship was targeting his cruiser. Shocku fought panic, remembering how earlier recon ships under his command had been blown to pieces seconds after being targeted. He had to remind himself that this was not a lightweight recon ship designed to avoid targeting, but a combat ship loaded with tungsten armor plating through which veins of adaptive nanites coursed. They flooded any breach and instantly hardened into new armor plating.

By the time his shield collapsed, Shocku has shifted his guns and EW systems to his fourth target. He kept a wary eye on his armor systems as they slowly turned red. Shocku locked the Drake and assigned all his cannons onto the Caldari ship. He then locked his navigation computer onto the first planet in the solar system and began aligning his ship towards it. If his armor systems began to fail, he would initiate the warp drive and disengage. Suddenly the Drake exploded into fragments under the combined fire of his fleet, and Shocku breathed a sigh of relief.

The battlefield was littered with wrecks, and he queried his engineer and crew commanders for damage reports. Shields were regenerating and armor was at 52%. 142 crewmembers were injured beyond capacity to do their jobs, and 19 had lost their lives due to accidents and catastrophic subsystem failures. 2 of them had gone out to the surface of the ship to repair a malfunctioning armor plate nanite system, and been swept off when the cruiser had turned abruptly to align its warp engines. Shocku saved off the list of families he would need to contact, the hardest part of his job.

Approaching the nearest wreck, his crew salvaged a number of tech level 2 components and specialized faction ammunition. There was enough value in salvage to pay for most of a new ship loadout. The battle had cost the enemy dearly, and hopefully demoralized them. If things continued to go so well, Shock hoped that eventually his corporation might claim sovereignty of these systems.

As the fleet began to reform, Shocku signaled the logistics pilot, "Armor Repair Needed!" Another pilot called out, "That was orgasmic!" and Shocku wished Vince could have been part of that battle.

Frustration

All is not well in Quer. Vince is getting frustrated. The CEO has talked about 'something in the works,' a big move that may be happening soon. Are we getting kicked out of the alliance? Why would this be, when we are the best darn fighters out there? Vince has continued ratting, hoping to take advantage of the millions in bounty, just sitting there. But ratting gets tedious. Sunday, he jumped down to low sec to help with a roaming mission. The officers basically said he wasn't needed, an Inty is now too slow, they wanted battleships. Well, there is another war on, making travel through Empire unsafe. And all the heavy iron is stuck in Quer or the Front Line. There presently isn't enough cash for 3 fully tech II fitted battleships, one in each location. The fractured, spread out nature of the corp is frustrating.

In A New Space

Shocku smiled as the image from the camera drone went white for an instant as the Blood Apostle battleship exploded under fire from his massive artillery cannons. He ignored the chime of his neocom for a moment as he ordered the drones in and set the navigator computer to warp the ship to the next belt. As his Maelstrom began slowly aligning, he ordered the crew to reload the gun magazines from the cargo hold. He wasn't sure if it was the hull or his ears that still resonated from the last volley of artillery, each shell almost a meter and a half in diameter.

As the warp bubble enveloped the battleship in null space, he relaxed for a moment and glanced at his neocom. It was a message from Avi, "Everyone doing well?" He quickly sent back, "Yeah, everything is great... killing Blood pirates for bounty to pay for ships". Shocku tried to remember a time when his last CEO had made such an inquiry, and came up with a blank. That man had been too absorbed in his own T2 industrial work to pay any attention to those filling the coffers.

The last week had been quite a ride, with lots of information to absorb. His screens were covered with windows and comm channels for corporate and alliance information. The Maelstrom dropped out of warp 70km from another group of Bloods, and the artillery fired with another bone jarring shudder only partially dampened by the massive gyroscopes. Shocku heard his new corpmates on the neocom chattering about the latest kills against the Northern Coalition. He couldn't wait for the day he could join them. He was determined to contribute to his new clan's fighting force.

Shocku watched fragments of the Blood ship scatter amongst the asteroids and smiled. Another bounty toward the purchase of the Rapier he had trained for so long.

A life of service.

The docking platform shuddered slightly as the shuttle completed the docking maneuver and deployed the grapples. Titanium pins dropped and metal pressed against cold steel. The metal door dropped to the deck with a hiss, and two platoons of armed guards deployed in long rows within the giant airlock, stretching out from the hatchway. Already, water vapor from within the space station was coating the exposed shuttle hull in a thin layer of ice. Its mother, a Typhoon class warship was still awash in heat from the maneuvering thrusters, and loomed in the center of the great station bay. Out of the swirl of mist stepped Vince Konruk. With an easy stride he passed between the columns, eyeing their uniforms and weapons with a critical gaze. As the main doors opened ahead, the contingent ran before him, marking time with each stride, all the way to the secure officers' quarters.

Konruk gazed out at his battleship being serviced in the great starbase bay. Thick ripples of blackened metal protruded in places, showing deep scars in the armor that almost penetrated to the very hull. In other places, gaping wounds could be seen, penetrating deep into the ship. The holes were black, except for the occasional spark that illuminated the depths. The wicked Amarr lasers had done that work. A crew of metalworkers were busy starting the repairs already, bringing their plasma torches to bear. One of the great projectile guns below the ship was so badly damaged, it seemed to crudely hang from its fittings. Farther to aft and topside, a missile launcher was venting thin jets of plasma, its access port jammed open with a melted hunk of twisted titanium, likely a piece of debris from an exploding Amarr wreck.

The weary captain almost shuddered, thinking back to the battle. He could still smell the stench of burning flesh in his nostrils. There is nothing as fearsome as lasers in a space fight. When in phase, they will shine right through shields. At the right frequency, they will melt armor like a hot knife through butter. When they touch the hull itself, they will burn right through, cooking and vaporizing the occupants in an instant. It had been a terrible battle. Immediately, as the ship dropped out of warp, multi-colored lasers reigned down fire from all sides. The great autocannons went to their gruesome work immediately, the missiles were given fly, but the Amarr ships were tough. Their disgusting slaver captains were determined. So determined, in fact, that not one of them left the deadspace pocket alive. But it was a costly battle, in lives and property.

Vince Konruk was becoming very well known among the Republic Security Services Corporation. After a long career of service in the Republic Fleet, his reputation was such that he could pick any private mercenary job he wished. When the Security Services recruiters came calling, it was just a matter of finishing the last tour. Vince was ready for a new post. The enemies were the same, but the post was deep in Caldari space. The pay was also much better in a private corporation. And the better his crew performed, the more enemies they destroyed, the more gold flowed into the coffers.

Now Vince muttered angrily as he pulled the steaming coffee from the autochef. No hot SynCof for him, only the pure juice of the Gallente bean, descended from those consumed in ancient France. This snobbery was almost shameful to him, an inexcusable cultivation of taste for a Minmater captain, picked up from friend Captain Platinum. Platinum's extensive trade connections made such luxuries possible, and he was worth keeping around. Vince had just gotten off the Telecom with his RSSC agent. The ugly man excitedly went through the details of the next mission, acting like it was a great new adventure, and a great chance to serve the corporation. This time the Republic was going to pay RSSC some big coin. What a chance! "Well, guess what?" Vince asked himself as he slammed the beaker down on the table. "The same damn mission I've done a hundred times!" This war is stagnating. The missions all seems the same, as if they were taking off of some master roster. The final win never comes. The money is usually a little more than the losses, he mused, but there was that time when an Amarr laser nearly cut the hull in half! Further, the loss of life is unending. It is a constant battle to learn the names of all the new crew that come, eager and willing to take their turn dying on his ship.

A new direction is needed, Vince realized, as he took a long draught on the hot coffee. It may be time to return to the badlands, the wild systems of the Outer Planets. Slowly, he stood up at this thought. Striding to the window, he gazed at the black curtain of stars beyond.

The Night Shift

Steky waved her hand and the lights came on in the corporate offices. As usual, she was the only one in the large brightly lit office. Approaching the monitor, she saw that two blueprint copies she had been working on had been finally printed by the sophisticated equipment out in the lap bays of the corporate station. She would have to fly a shuttle out there and pick them up at the end of her shift.

She opened the secure blueprint vault labeled "Ships and Weapons", knowing that very few people had access to such a huge array of blueprint originals, and that Shocku fought hard for his agents to raise the funds to pay for it. Unfortunately, most of the ship blueprints were for those of other races. Shocku had specifically asked her to find things that they could use themselves as well as sell.

Steky muttered as she flipped past the BPOs for Minmatar frigates. Slamming the vault closed in frustration, she opened the adjacent vault that had a vague name. There was file after file of tech 1 modules. The boys never used tech 1 stuff anymore, and didn't have time to play the markets, so most of it was pretty much useless. That and ships cost almost as much or more to produce as to buy on the market, with the cost of minerals. Perhaps she was in the wrong line of work, and the team's efforts would be better spent elsewhere.

As her slender fingers neared the back of the fileview, it took a moment to register what she was seeing, then her eyes widened. There were dozens of blueprints for rigs. Wiggin's words replayed in her mind, "Nobody uses tech 2 rigs!" That meant there should still be a good market for t1 rigs, and Shocku had just fitted 3 of them on his typhoon at 15 million isk apiece. Her fingers slid over the vault viewer, rapidly sorting the datalist. There they were! "Thermic Armor Pump I", "Kinetic Armor Pump I", "Nanobot Accelerator I", and many more. Tapping on the blue button, she opened the bill of materials for one, "90 charred circuits, 40 contaminated nanite pumps." She whistled through her teeth, so THAT was why they always got a good price on salvage. The market for these things was definitely alive and well.

Steky pulled selected the BPOs, deposited money into the corporate wallet, and initiated several copy jobs. Noticing they required datasheets, she put a buy order on the market and borrowed some from the corp. Double checking everything was in order, she walked over to the launch bay where her shuttle was waiting. It was time to pick up the blueprint copies from out at the corporate station. She lifted her hair and pressed her thumb against a button at the back of her collar. Her jumper immediately fell loosely to her slender ankles. Stepping out of it and into her pod, the pilot waited as the plasma filled the small space before suddenly inhaling and drowning herself. Her hair floating gracefully around her head, she engaged the controls to undock from the station.