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A Story Challenge 2 : 50 million isk prize!
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Targh D'yer
Patient Hunters
#1 - 2012-10-08 14:52:17 UTC
Hello all!

Some time ago (ok it was quite a long time ago!) I ran a competition.

It was fun, lead to some great stories, and and now I want to do it again.

~

This time first prize will be 50 million isk!

So get your creative caps on, and lets see some more great stories.

~

The prompt this time is something that crops up in EvE lore debate all the time. Spaceship crews! It's generally accepted that all but the smallest of our ships do have a crew although numbers vary depending who you ask.

I want to see a short story from the perspective of one of these crew members!

Perhaps they're a veteran of capsuleers crews, perhaps it's their first time aboard an immortal's ship. Perhaps the capsuleer is an evil dictator, or a kind and protective employer. Your main character could be a trusted lieutenant or just a bilge cleaner. Who and what, how and why are all up to you.

~

But wait, before you get typing away I do need to insist on a few rules. They haven't changed since last time except for the last rule :

> I am the judge, decisions are final, and not open to argument.

> The word/character limit is one post in length. Go no further.

> The subject material, quite obviously, is to come from EvE. All entries are set in the EvE universe as we know it, with all major facts as we know it. However, this isn't something that will be too harshly judged. So long as the basics are present, and it is believable, I'll read with an open mind.

> One entry per person only.

> English only please.

> Spelling does matter. Grammar doesn't matter as much. There are obviously many different nationalities on these forums, I don't expect perfection, but please do your best.

> Prizes will be payable to the character_name that posts the entry. I won't take alternative names, so make sure you are logged into the right character.

> Keep it to the rules of the EvE forums, which means (amongst other things) to keep it relatively child-friendly.

> New stories only for this competition please. I know there's some extraordinarily good stories already out there about this topic. But I'm looking to drive creativity not be a place to repost old work!

~

The competition is open for 2 weeks - closing at 5pm EvE time on Monday 22nd October.

Non-competitors please feel free to add your comments and appreciation of our authors. But please no unconstructively critical comments.

I end by saying good luck to those who choose to enter. The word limit is tough, and the topic restriction makes it tougher, it may challenge you as a writer. But those things that challenge us, make us better, so I hope that won't put you off from entering.

Happy Writing.
A'Nae
Pator Tech School
Minmatar Republic
#2 - 2012-10-08 22:33:52 UTC
Four years.

Four years left.

Four years left until the end of his indentured servitude. The end of his seventeen years was almost up. More than a slave but less than a man. The only light at the end of the tunnel.

Thirteen years ago it started, under considerable debt his only option was to sign on as crew to a ship piloted by a capsuleer. The only way he could keep his family with an income that would save them from the debt collectors. He was always faithful, but in a society that always needed new workers that wasn't necessarily enough. Serving on a crew could buyout his debts and keep his family under a roof and fed. His paycheck, what little of it that was, went to his family....he hoped. Little could be done if it didn't.

Seventeen years of indentured servitude onboard a capsuleer's ship. His capsuleer wasn't harsh or kindly, she was a god among mortals, neither seeing them nor ignoring them, they were part of the ship, the biological part of vast machine that was hers nothing more, nothing less.

It was a close call, wormhole space had many dangers, not least of which was other capsuleer’s wanting to move in on what others had. In this case the op was to make sure that those others wouldn't want anything to do with anything she had. Their opponents had surprises of their own. Surprises that almost ended in the destruction of the ship he currently served. It was tight but his capsuleer's skill had pulled them through. It had resulted in his injury, the sudden impact of a 425 mm shell caused him to lose his footing and bounce his head off a bulkhead.

Now sitting on the medical bench in the limited medical bay of the battle cruiser he stared. His thoughts were taking him over, would he survive four more years under the capsuleer. She was indifferent, to the lives of her crew, only caring in the material costs. There was trillions upon trillions of isk to be made in the relative 'void' of a wormhole. His life was cheap by comparison. Even after his time would be up that didn't ensure that there would be a window of opportunity for him to be able to leave. Such was the way of life for mere mortals. Mortals bound by the rules of life and death, he grew old capsuleer’s did not.

The med tech moved over to him now, shinning a flashlight in his eyes and running a portable scanner. "Concussion, cracked wrist. Nothing major." She was curt crisp, someone that was obviously used to the comings and goings of crew. A common occurrence it seemed. Some came on barely more than slaves like him, looking out at the years ahead, others signed on with good pay and privileges, they were the task masters or skilled laborers such as the med tech. Others finished their servitude and saw nothing of their old lives and signed on full time, there was little need for anything in-between in his view. Then there was the last group, the dead, those that saw the end to the incredible nothingness that was their lives on-board an immortals ship.

"Here take these, you'll be fine." The med tech handed him some pills.

Staring down at them, four pills, four years. The first a white pill colloquially known as Vitamin-M the original drugs name lost in antiquity, a mild painkiller that wouldn't interfere with his ability to perform his duties. Another, one the purple, he recognized as a mild narcotic, most likely something that would make the long interminable time pass by. The last two he didn't recognize probably what was supposed to make him better.

"Swallow them and bottoms up." She said handing him a bottle of water. "In front of me so that I know you won't sell them."

"Would I do that?" He smiled without any emotion crossing his face.

"New regs, after they caught Merkesh, and his little ring."

"Whatever happened to him anyways? I haven't seen him for over a month and we haven't left the 'hole.

"Spaced."

"Ah, couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." The news was no surprise; the one thing the immortal capsuleer ever seemed to care about was matters amongst the mere mortals that put her investment, her ship in danger.

"Well you're clear, and I will give you two days to clear your head. Call it a birthday present." She smiled as she turned away to another patient.

His birthday, was it truly his birthday again, has he really turning 37. That would make his daughter 18, 18 years old how would he recognize her. Would SHE be able to recognize him? She was barely four when he left, four years. Four years, four years to go before he could see her again, it was the only thing that kept him going.

He walked to his berth, one he shared for five others. Events and emotions suppressed in the walk, damage control teams were out repairing the damage from the battle. He hardly noticed there would be plenty more work to do when he got off of his doctors prescribed rest.

He entered his berth, his berth mates already there save one "What happened to Thomal?"

"Decompression. The one that knocked you about.....the rook never made it out." Kanz replied. Another death nothing to write home about, nothing to spend time caring about.

Four berth mates, four more years.

"Jennings, placed us on Charlie crew," Kanz said as the new question started to form "we're to get as much rack time as we can so that we can get the ship ready for more ops.

"How long?" The question came before he could hold it back.

"One week." The skinny man in the back, Greggor answered.
Walking to his bunk and laying down he stared, four years and it was over, thirteen years down only four years to go. His eye filled and a tear rolled down the side of his face, the first tear he had since leaving his family.

Four years left.

Four years.
Targh D'yer
Patient Hunters
#3 - 2012-10-10 08:27:55 UTC
Our first story arrives, and we're underway.

Great entry, A'Nae.

Muad 'dib
State War Academy
Caldari State
#4 - 2012-10-10 15:03:31 UTC  |  Edited by: Muad 'dib
Another quiet night in station, me, private Jim Sandlewood, devoted husband, father of 2, and my team, the guys from turret bay 3, who man the 720mm artillery cannon installed there. We are sitting down playing cards, getting into a nice game when, like a badly timed bully in the lunch hall pouncing sending a pulse through our spines of familiar attention, the siren fires up and the capsuleer voice, our captain muad 'dib, crackles over the sounds system, "Alert, all personnel to battle stations, prepare for station undock in 30 seconds".

Our captains voice, once loved and praised, now grinds against our tired, disciplined ears. Sure we'd follow him anywhere and he's never steered us wrong, we would do anything for him, but could this be the day the crew of this cynabal class angel ship, bites the dust. We trust our captain, but we have lives and family's, hes the only lucky bastard safe in his clone capsule, we only have what is left from the insurance money for our family's if we die.

almost no time later the sound system crackles again, this time with our ships computer "undocking procedure initiated, brace for station clamp release", with a sharp familiar clunk our ship heads for the stations main hanger doors, a firm jolt as the internal stabilizers come online.

Once more the sound system springs to life with our esteemed captain, "We are heading out just a few systems to chase out some hostiles spotted in the area. We do not have reports of any friendly vessels in the area with us so we are on our own, we wont be looking to fight just to chase them out, but if we get tackled, we are going to need your best work to lay down some serious firepower from those arty's and to the propulsion guys; we need to milk every meter a second we can and be ready to put out some fires we may need some overheat to get this done."

This is always the worst part for the turret monkeys, thats what the rest of the crew like to call us, we never get to see whats going on, dont have any of the main displays they have on the bridge, we just load and fire our cannon. We prey the captain and the navi guys are getting us some good transversal to hit, every time that cycle is up and another shot rings out, we know we did what we can, we just hope they did their bit too.

We hit the two system gates in what seems like no time at all, never seems to take us long to get into trouble and today was no exception.

Almost as soon as we were in the destination system, we were like a lobster in a pan of boiling water, we couldn't see what was happening from our turret bay, but when the captains voice crackles over the comms again "OVERHEAT ALL MODULES, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY" - thats just never a good sign, clearly we had just landed right on the hostiles, perhaps they might have been waiting for us, no matter, still following orders, we crank up the power on our turret and hope for the best.

"If we dont survive this, i hope this voice blog is found and my family knows that i love them, we are likely about to try and move back to the gate and try to escape" i quickly record into my jackets voice recorder, "god be with us".....

*diary blog ends*

Cosmic signature detected. . . . http://i.imgur.com/Z7NfIS6.jpg I got 99 likes, and this post aint one.
Persephone Proserpine
Caldari Provisions
Caldari State
#5 - 2012-10-10 16:45:14 UTC
Fedge has officially hit the fan.
"Yelena! I need that rep overheated, and I needed it Yesterday!" her voice booms over the comms.
I Yell to my crew "Shield's at 23%! Overheat that module Blake! Must I do everything my Frelling self?!"
A charge hits the ship, like a sandworm from the home world hitting a small dwelling, leaving us all clinging to our stations.
"Status Report!" I scream.
"Shields holding at 19%!" Frost replies.|
I pray that our captain has a tactic in mind, otherwise we're all dead... and Not coming back.
I push Blake out of the way and overheat the Shield booster myself.
"If you're not going to pull your weight, get the frell off my deck!"
Blake stammers... n00bs.
"Do what you can to get that drain off the cap! Simmons, keep an eye on warp capability! Valek, Keep a continuous upload of all stats to the captain!"
For the captain it's easy. Give an order, and expect it to be followed. Down here it's chaos, raw and Primal. It could happen at any time, on call 24/7. All to give our lives to this being's whim.
I feel it, deep within my chest. I could die today.
I hear the whir of the MWD humming... and It's music to my ears. I feel the gentle rocking of an explosion.
"We're in the clear, everyone stand down for now" comes across the radio.
"Salvage teams, prepare to embark" and I know we've won. We've lived to see another day... of the same chaos we just lived. Day after day. Social relations are moot. We could die tomorrow. We aren't even relevant in the big picture....
De'Veldrin
Republic University
Minmatar Republic
#6 - 2012-10-10 20:05:10 UTC
David Chan stood in the airlock, gyrojet rifle held loosely in both hands, and waited. In his helmet speaker he could hear Illystra, the newest member of their crew, muttering a prayer to whatever deity she worshiped. David, on the other hand, put his faith in their Captain, buried in her clone pod deep in the bowels of the ship. He always referred to her as the Captain - an archaic nomenclature, perhaps, but it suited her. Capsuleer always seemed so inhuman.

He heard the autocannons fire, and the shock waves rattled the airlock so violently, he teeth chattered. Then a second, ringing bang of a missile hitting the hull. The ship shifted "left" in a maneuver so violent he had to grab the handhold over his head to maintain his footing. Sometimes he wished the Captain would remember that the boarding crews were only human.

"Ten seconds," came the soft, almost whispered voice of the Captain from his headset. He knew, rationally, that it was simply the computer echoing her thoughts, but the voice was different enough from the ship's own computer voice, that he thought of it as her own. He had never met her outside the ship, had no idea what she looked like, sounded like - crew and pilots didn't mix.

"You heard the Captain," David barked, checking his rifle, and readying the airlock controls. "Michael, get that burner up here and get set. The rest of you, lock and load." There was another staccato bark from the autocannons, and then a hard thump as the ship bumped against their target.

"Softseal established," came the more mechanical voice of the ship's computer, and David worked the airlock controls furiously. As soon as the door was open, Michael started cutting, slicing a hole through the other ship's hide and into, what David hoped was, something worth all this effort. The cutter disengaged, his team fanned out into the hallways beyond the armor plated side. He had no idea what kind of ship this was, or how many of her own crew there would be.

"Two minutes, David," came the quieter voice of the Captain, on what he knew was his private comm channel.

He was halfway to the objective - the cargo hold of their target - when he ran into the first resistance. Crew from the ship they had boarded were taking cover ahead in the passageway and started shooting as soon as they came around the corner. Two of his team went down in the first round, including Illystra, vast craters left behind in their bodies from the weapons that had killed them. He tuned it out, tuned everything out, and tossed a grenade around the corner, the rest of his team following suit. The explosions went off like a series of drum beats, more felt than heard, and they charged the corner, catching the survivors with weapons fire before they could regroup.

"One minute," came the warning as they entered the cargo hold and started loading the pallets onto the ejection bay. Sealing off the bay, David fired the cargo into space, and sent his team scrambling for the airlock they had entered by. They met no more resistance as they ran, and the ships had stopped shooting each other. The rounded the final corner and crammed back into the airlock. He worked to close the airlock while calling into his mic, "We're back, cargo is jetted."

"Acknowledged, cargo teams prepare for loading." He stepped out the airlock, his team dispersing to their berths for some rest before the next engagement, and he heard the autocannons spooling up again as they prepared to eliminate the evidence of their activities. He tried not to think about the crew members of the other ship, and he knew the Captain didn't care a jot for them. They were parts of a ship that had lost its last battle. "We lost two Captain - Illystra and Lynch. We'll need to bring on a couple of new crew before we run another engagement."

There was a momentary pause, then, that same soft even voice. "Noted. We'll stop for resupply in Konora. Thank you, David."

David shook his head and trudged wearily to his own berth - resupply. That was a hell of a way to think about human lives. But when you were immortal, he supposed, lives stopped meaning much.

De'Veldrin's Corollary (to Malcanis' Law): Any idea that seeks to limit the ability of a large nullsec bloc to do something in the name of allowing more small groups into sov null will inevitably make it that much harder for small groups to enter sov null.
Anslo
Scope Works
#7 - 2012-10-11 18:05:31 UTC  |  Edited by: Anslo
Farrin stood on the observation deck looking out the wrap around viewing blister with restrained annoyance. The station interior slid by and reflected onto the black polished metal of the deck. The light of advertisements and passing vehicles cast illuminated ghosts of pastel across the deck and bulkheads. His cybernetic eyes adjusted to the unusually bright environment outside, but the scene nonetheless made him feel physically uncomfortable. He hated docking. Stations and planet activities were actively avoided by all onboard, not due to legal matters, but favorability for life between stars and planets. Much like the wandering independant caravans of old that flung themselves to and fro in the darkest parts of space, so too did the crew and ship. That independence was the very reason they joined.

Those who joined wished to leave behind something and never return to it. Whether memories of a love lost, the death of a family member, or a simple seething disdain for a bounded life, they had all wished to leave in favor of permanent life in space. Captain Vyrit was more than obliging granting wishes of would be crew. She asked only one thing in return; absolute loyalty.

Farrin had met a representative of Vyrit when his employer had brought him along for a trade. Farrin had always been fast with numbers and calculations, which made him a valuable negotiation asset. But despite knowledge of his own value to them, Farrin still felt only disgust for both employer and corporation. He saw them as boot lickers, fawning towards their financial masters, begging for scraps. It made him sick. Sick enough to crave a remedy at any cost.

His actions, in his perspective, did not constitute gross betrayal to colleague and corporation. A few accounting mistakes that, while dangerous to any business and favorable to another party, were mistakes anyone could make. Sometimes mistakes even had certain rewards, lessons learned, and benefits. Benefits that, when utilized, resulted in a new career, such as Trade Councilor aboard a capsuleer ship.

Farrin had smiled during undock procedures while reading news headlines of a company’s crushing bankruptcy.
It’d been fifteen years since his “remedy”, and since then he could live life as he wished. While discussion in the physical presence of baseline humans could not be avoided, he was now able to execute them in space, on his terms, and in skin he felt comfortable with. No more suit and ties, no more trimmed hair and beard, no more hiding himself in favor of corporate approval. He could look as he wanted. While some of his modifications were considered mildly disturbing to baseline humans, it was nothing that limited profit. They actually helped, in a coercive sort of way. Fifteen years of good work, pay and unhindered lifestyle.

Why Captain Vyrit suddenly desired a contract that demanded in station activity, when so many other more profitable offers were available, was beyond Farrin’s comprehension. The “cargo” in question was a single unit, payment was hardly bounteous, and the client’s history was inaccessible. Such a contract sent red flags off in Farrin’s machine laden mind as it calculated and weighed pros and cons of accepting such a contract.

Even after accepting the contract, the cons were winning.

Farrin watched as the colorful environment of commercialism rose above the blister as the ship landed. Unease set in as the rumbling of systems settled into passive activity. He had grown so accustomed to the sounds of the ship that hearing its subsystems silence themselves was concerning. He could feel the mutual unease of the crew as their linked implants echoed anxious internal pleas for a quick takeoff.

Farrin breathed deeply as he turned on his heel, joint servos whirring, and walked towards the exit archway. It split apart almost organically allowing him passage to the spartan hexagonal corridor leading to the elevator. He stepped in and, with a neural command lasting no longer than a tenth of a second, willed the elevator to begin its trek to the vessels embarkation deck as his mind raced with possible scenarios. But he knew he would do his job, despite any misgivings. The doors to the elevator soon snicked open, allowing him into the gun grey interior of the deck.

To Farrin’s surprise, three individual’s already stood at the rectangular entry way of the embarkation deck, conversing quietly before two of the three turned towards Farrin. One was a middle aged man who wore a simple black suit, tie, and slacks with hair cut short. He was as non-descript a baseline human as one could imagine. His indistinct facial features were a stark contrast to the second individual, a young girl no older than twelve. Whitish blue eyes stared right into Farrin, as if scanning to find what made him tick. She had no hair to speak of, and wore a simple navy blue outfit. Farrin began to regret not pursuing further protestation with the Captain regarding this job. Regret became surprise when he saw the third individual as she turned to look at him with black eyes and a pleasant smile.

Captain Vyrit stood there, fresh out of her pod. It had been years since she’d left the confines of her micro universe. Her body suit was still wet with the ectoplasm of the pod and her long black hair was slicked back behind her to reach down to the curve of her hips. Her feminine figure hid well the cold and calculating pilot lurking beneath.

“Hello Councilor Farrin,” she said with her glass like voice. “I’d like you to meet our new passengers, Ms. Sei and Mr. Duvoul”

Farrin bowed to Vyrit before turning to the guests. “I am Trade Councilor Farrin Gesault. Welcome aboard,” he said. All the while he could not shake the feeling something was wrong with the two.

“Thank you Councilor Duvoul,” the young girl said in a voice of a child, but with something that betrayed years of experience and knowledge.

Something was very wrong with this girl.

[center]-_For the Proveldtariat_/-[/center]
Targh D'yer
Patient Hunters
#8 - 2012-10-11 20:57:37 UTC
A slew of great entries have appeared - and so quickly. Very nice!

We're up to 5 stories, if/when we get to 10 there will be some additional prizes on offer, including 25 million for second place, and 10 million for third.

Keep it up folks!
Nyancat Audeles
Center for Advanced Studies
Gallente Federation
#9 - 2012-10-11 23:00:52 UTC  |  Edited by: Nyancat Audeles
Once upon a time, Bob was in a Retriever, ready to fight some Minmatar pirates in an L4 by mining away their armor (he knew that bumping them would have the same effect, if not worse, but he got brand new Strip Miner II's, so there you go...).

The Minnie pilots were never heard from again.

The End
Jake Lanks
Caldari Provisions
Caldari State
#10 - 2012-10-12 14:46:15 UTC
Constellation MK7-AO
35-RK9 IX - Moon 4
Intaki Syndicate Bureau

The thirty-year-old smuggler pilot of the Kestrel ‘Hawk’ had just lost his last isk in a pre-doomed roll of dice. He downed the wine from his glass and thumped it hard on the table; then stood up smiling ironically and bowed to the other smugglers in the ‘Full Moon’ bar. Bumping constantly on tables and chairs, he staggered towards the exit. With difficulty, he managed to cross the raucous room, which was packed to the gunwales with smoke, hammered mercenaries, pirates and whores. Whores that helped the lightheaded from the booze pilots empty their pockets in a matter of minutes, without them realizing a thing. A simple lascivious smile was enough, which promised a lot but gave back nothing in the end.

The pilot fumbled on the wall and pressed the exit-button. The small green light flickered momentarily and the heavy door opened; he stepped outside and the rush of the night breeze on his face somewhat helped him to recover from the dizziness of the drink. Darkness had fallen, grey clouds were travelling across the starry sky, and the airfield was deserted. His blurry eyes fell on the few docked spacecrafts. Damn! No sight of ‘Black Eagle’ yet. Which means I’m gonna have to spend a third night in that shabby inn. This is not my lucky day.

He walked hurriedly now, as the rain that had started falling became relentlessly heavier. He tightened his ragged, dark-coloured flight jacket and put his hands in the pockets, trying to fight the biting cold. He glanced fleetingly towards the airfield once more, in case ‘Black Eagle’ showed up –a forlorn hope– and turned right in a narrow alley, vertical to the infamous Beam Street, with an expression of disappointment on his face. As he moved on, a feeling of being followed overwhelmed him; one that he had had since he had left Atar’s bar, the ‘Full Moon’. Gradually, he slackened his pace and gripped carefully his gun. He took some more steps forward and suddenly turned around, determined to confront whatever emerged from the darkness. Then the pilot burst into a booming laughter, that reverberated throughout the streets of 35-RK9 IX. The enemy he had to face was a drenched brownish puppy, wagging its tale playfully. He kneeled down and stroked its head.

‘You must be the only creature in New Eden seeking my company,’ he said.
‘You ‘re too hard on yourself, smuggler! We love you too.’
The pilot turned his head astounded to the direction where the harsh voice had sounded from, while the dog started barking like crazy.
‘Who said that?’ he asked nervously, unable to make out anything through the gloom and the heavy rainfall.
‘Your conscience,’ the voice answered. At the same time, a flash of lightning tore the sky, illuminating the alley for a few seconds. The pilot’s experienced eyes managed to distinguish three hefty men, armed with guns.
‘Who are you? What do you want of me?’ he shouted, incapable of seeing their faces, merely their shapes.
‘You own your life, smuggler! Recon says your debt comes to almost thirty thousand isks; and unfortunately for you, you must pay up now.’
‘I know that, you scumbag. But I’m a man of honour and I’ll pay my debt soon as I return from my journey. Recon didn’t have to send his goons to scare me.’
‘Shut your trap, *****! I’ve had enough of you. Pay up right now and I might spare your pathetic life. Just don’t forget, we know you’re mixed up in affairs of no concern to you.’
The pilot did not answer, just lowered his head and smirked. So that’s why you want my head, you scumbags. Very well. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get! He seized his gun in one hand and his knife in the other. Then, ducking abruptly, he threw the knife towards the figure he could see more clearly. He got him right to the heart. The tall man bellowed a choking cry, reeled backwards and collapsed on the ground.
‘Goddamn you! Tonight you die.’

He turned like a flash to the direction of the shout and fired a shot in the dark. Luck was on his side, for the bullet struck the stranger’s head. He regained his balance and raised his gun again. One more and I’m free. I haven’t lost my skill. At that moment, he heard a faint creak and looked suspiciously from the corner of his eye at the building towering next to him. The next instant a shot was heard. The pilot felt a warm pinch on the chest and stared at his jacket, which started to become red from the thick blood. He fell on his knees and the gun dropped from his hand. For sure, this is not my lucky day.
The puppy came out of its hiding place, an old piece of some machine, and approached reluctantly the dead pilot. It sat down next to him and started whining. Then, two strong arms picked up the little animal and it found itself in a warm lap. ‘You are the only witness, boy. You better come with me.’

Angels...are never far
Staleward Ad'mraa
F-I-N-K PROPERTY
#11 - 2012-10-13 03:18:21 UTC  |  Edited by: Staleward Ad'mraa
"Captain on the bridge!"

An medium size man in a well kept uniform with an clipboards tucked under his left arm slowly walks pass an dozen ensigns that eagerly want to be part of his crew. They heard of the stories, the legends about a man and his crew that lead the assault on a Gallente fleet that threaten the safety of Caldari's home world. To the man, the stories were half true and the rest was blown out of proportion. But his home wasn't Caldari's home world, his home is upon his ship he was born and grew up in. He didn't fight to defend Caldari's military drive, he fought to defend his home from Gallente invading forces. This is the kind of man he is, he could care less about the wars fought in the name of Caldari military might.

The man finally stops at the last ensign in the row, raising an questioning eyebrow at the manor the young man presented himself in. His whole entire showed personal touch, one that required years of taste regardless of what others thought of him. This entire was not even close to Caldari's dress code that the rest of the ensigns wore.

"Can you tell me why you are not in dress code Ensign?" The man bellowed out.

Timidly the ensign response, "Well sir, I feel the clothing restricts my movement and is uncomfortable."

Seconds pass before the captain comments on the ensign's response, "That is good enough for me, your part of the crew..." He glances at the clipboard in his hands, "Ensign Lasital. Grab your things and welcome aboard S.S. Bleeding Edge."

Ensign Lasital gathers up his things and hurries after the captain. As he starts to walk up the ramp towards S.S. Bleeding Edge, he stops and glances back at the other ensigns. They look disappointed that they were not chosen. He then turns his gaze towards a middle age women with two kids that were waving at him.

"I will write everyday mother, I love you!" Ensign Lasital yells over the loud humming that accompanies the hangers. His mother yells in return, "I love you too! Be careful and fly safe son!"

With his heart beating in his chest, he turns back towards S.S. Bleeding Edge. He then takes his first step towards the life he chose, among the stars and part of a crew that is known for their heroics. Not only will he become part of this life, he will become part of the legend that will prevail against the grains of time to be written in the history books. Young Ensign Lasital has become part of the prevailing universe known as EVE.
William Faulknerd
University of Caille
Gallente Federation
#12 - 2012-10-13 19:28:17 UTC  |  Edited by: William Faulknerd
Well, we ain't dead, thought Jax as he looked out the viewport of the Hurricane-class battlecruiser Venture.

Not that looking did him much good. The distortions crawling over the outer tritanium surface of the transparent port obscured the view. And those told him the ship was good and webbed. His ears told him still more: no high whine of the MicroWarpdrive meant it must still be scrammed, too. But no tick-tick-tick of the autocannons. No gut-rumbling churning from the neutralizers, nor hum of the thrusters neither. All stop, no fight. Yet here they were.

“We're dead,” said Carlisle, who, with Jax, comprised the entirety of the Venture's Ninth Maintenance Division, Non-Essential Systems, Delta Shift. Just two of some hundreds of souls aboard. Truth be told, the unseen, nigh immortal pilot whom they all called the Boss did all the heavy lifting via neural interfaces wired to and through his capsule amidships. Guns, jumps, drones and all else controlled by thought. Jax, Carlisle and the rest just kept the bugs out of the system, really. Or maybe, to the Boss's thinking, they were the bugs. Such philosophy was above Jax, and no one really knew the mind of the Boss -- not even Miss Brinkley, the XO.

“We ain't dead, else we wouldn't be having this here conversation,” Jax replied with a matter-of-fact confidence reserved for the truly inept. “They's in parlay is all.”

Carlisle spit.

“That's fer yer parlay. We're dead.”

Nothin' and less, that's what you know, thought Jax, who figured it better left unsaid. Carlisle was thick, never burdened with an overabundance of schoolin' as it were, but he could run a mean streak like few others.

Of course Jax had heard veteran spacers of mining, salv and even combat ops tell of how this kinda thing would go down long before he signed on with Venture for Class-2 wormhole living eight months back. A Boss might sometimes burn just to burn, they'd said, but all a Boss really cared about was ISK. And ships were just ISK made solid to their lot. That Boss over yonder and all his buddies with their webs and scrams would demand some ransom, sure, but Jax knew his Boss would pay up. More's the profit both ways, Jax reckoned. Not that his reckoning much mattered on issues financial. Or any issues otherwise, to be sure.

Still, he'd heard no comms from Lonnie, Sher or Cabot, nor any of the boys down in the galley. They always seemed more in the know than anyone, even the bridge crews or the XO her own self. Come to it, there'd been no comms from anyone since the hubbub died down.

It'd been maybe two minutes since the battle proper, such as it was. The Venture had landed on an inbound hole from another worm system with an allied battlecruiser, a Drake, in fleet. They'd been a mite surprised to see two ornery hostiles uncloak and two more come through in tow. All fancy strategic cruisers, wouldn't you know. And most like crewed by eunuchs, Jax mused, not without some bitterness.

The Drake had turned tail, no doubt back to the safety of the tower force field in system. Jax didn't hold that against him. It weren't death that one was scared of, nor loss of his crew neither, he thought. Just like his own Boss, all the one in the Drake cared for was ISK. Jax had no idea what a Drake must cost, but he imagined it'd be enough to feed the entire population of the stormy moon he'd once called home. Heck, maybe even buy the whole darn soggy thing in the deal.

With the Venture bumped and locked, no retreat possible, some token shots had to be fired. But even the likes of Jax knew how this was going to go well before the guns got hot. “Sure as showers.” That's what they'd say back home, he suddenly remembered. Sure as showers, they'd all bought a one way ticket to The Endless Void, and on a Hurricane to boot. That's barring the Boss, of course, who'd just wake up in some clone vat somewhere, spry as a morning mist maid.

Except it didn't go down that way. It all stopped. And here they were, so far from that simple, stupid and stormy moon Jax hadn't thought about in years. Just how many, he couldn't say.

A jarring thump pulled Jax out of his reflection. It was a familiar jolt, but entirely out of context, so it took all of two seconds for him to realize the Boss had split his pod from the Hurricane, just as he so often did swapping ships back at the tower. Looking out the viewport and through the distortion, Jax just barely caught a glimpse of the tiny capsule as it entered warp in the direction of that tower, the same as the Drake had done.

“Huh,” he said, making it a statement.

“He... a'jected?” said Carlisle, much more question-like, having no idea his perplexity was mirrored throughout the ship – and on hostile comm channels too.

Suckers didn't see that comin', Jax thought in triumph, now resolved the Boss must be going for bigger guns or some such.

Minutes passed. Still staring out the viewport, Jax saw the webbing fade as the enormous wormhole flashed. Seconds later, another tiny pod emerged and, after a moment's pause, began heading toward them.

“Zis wessel 'as been surrendert und vill be commundeert,” came a crackling voice over shipwide comms as a new Boss hooked into the Venture, bold as you please. “Remain aut jor stahshunz.”

“Well, jump me in Jita with a hold fulla PLEX!” cursed Carlisle, as though he knew what it meant. “Seems we're in fer a change a' scenery.”

“Nah,” said Jax as he gazed at the pulsing maw the ship's sensors had reported led deeper into unknown space, seeing a blackness there darker than any storm. “We're dead.”
Telegram Sam
Sebiestor Tribe
Minmatar Republic
#13 - 2012-10-15 22:03:44 UTC  |  Edited by: Telegram Sam
Less than five percent... less than five percent... less than five percent.... That statistic must be for null sec frigate crews. Survival rate has to be higher for frig crews just on high sec missions like this one. Right? Depends on the pilot though. Like this guy in a Rifter trading punches with two destroyers. And I'm so smart, for my first crew job, and I ship out with a raw rookie. Dad was damned right when he said I'm dumb. Well, you proved it once again, didn't you? "Master Station Mechanic pay vs. frigate crew pay-- I'll roll the dice on that, just once. Just once, pay some bills, then go back to swinging a hammer." That's what you said to yourself, didn't you. Five percent: one in twenty chance of hitting the jackpot. Nineteen in twenty chance of everything suddenly over. End it all as floating organic space junk. Betting on big pay or obliteration, at long odds.

There's the alarm, shields down to a quarter! And capacitor down to just 11 percent! But functioning just fine, he just drained it, nothing I can do. Come on, podster, cut off the afterburner! Did you forget you have it engaged? You're taking on two Angels destroyers at long range, with 200mm autocannons. And burning around on afterburner. Is this some special cryptic tactic pilots learn in navy school or wherever? Kind of doubt it. Even simple dumb arse station mechanic math says this Rifter can't keep hold up long taking constant hits from two destroyers. Ah crap, there goes the armor! So damn quick, once shields down! Warp out, sockethead! Warp! Oh gods, oh my psychic telepathy powers, tell him to warp! Wait, we're changing course -- is he aligning to something? Damn, multiple impacts on the hull skin! We're done! I'll just close my eyes, put blind faith in the escape pod. Damn cursed escape pod, I've installed those cheap arse things. Well, if I don't open my eyes again... I just don't.

Aaugh, warp! Ah crap, I'll never get used to this. Stay down guts, stay down. Don't puke. Ah gods, it's all over everything. Ha. Why am I caring about that? We are warping! Maybe capsie got us out?

Out of warp. Hyoo. Come on, no time for muddling, get your snap together. Ah, my lunch is everywhere. Damn, sockethead did get us out! "Docking permission accepted." He's docking at station for repairs! Alright, little man, you're home. I want to just get off this thing. Should I just get off this thing? Is the rookie going to try it again after repairs? Yep, confirmed, he is going back out again after repairs. To try the same thing again against those destroyers? Or to try out some new different tactic? Did he learn a lot a hell of a lot in the last two minutes? Who knows what the hell he'll try this time. Maybe I should just get off and quit. I won't get paid. Well, to hell with the pay. Walking out would mean I'd never be put on a crew list again. Who knows, they might even take away my station mechanic license. Yeah, the bastards would probably do that. Well hell, if that happens, I'll just go planetside and fix bulldozers or whatever. Paint bridges, shave goat bellies, whatever-- whatever it takes to live. But to hell with pod ships. It's decided-- I'll never get on one again. Well, looks like you broke even, little man. No pay, but you're not dead either. Good-bye podster and your one in twenty odds. I'm going to the bar.
Ms Mudd
D I S C O R D
#14 - 2012-10-16 13:01:16 UTC
The light of the Ashmarir sun was struggling, penetrating the void when one of the moons of the seventh planet chanced over the path of its rays, leaving the scene of the accident subtly glowing against the sparkling galactic background.

The CONCORD frigate „Zinn“ orbited the debris field in tandem with the refitted mining cruiser of Caldari markings. The cruiser „Omennon's Gold“ had a neglected feel about it. The CONCORD frigate was, in contrast, shiny and new. The debris field indicated the demise of a merchant ship, probably run-of-the-mill Amarrian Industrial, perhaps a Bestower class.

Lieutenant Cham Parsi was inspecting the readouts of his scanners. Cham was a veteran, ex-Khanid Navy, a gaunt and serious man. His face was dark and sharp while his eyes spoke of mixed origin, the kind that did not imbue many opportunities in Amarr. His career hit a dead end and all that was left was transferring to CONCORD, where he hoped his race would not be a hindrance.

The debris field, already elongating in the planet's orbit consisted of larger and smaller modules, metal shards, clouds of vapor and chemicals and particles of whatever the unfortunate ship had carried. Cham used the frigate`s computer to identify damaged modules and cargo. Twenty or more corpses floated in concerto among the wreckage, most belonging to the members of the Hoyt family and their slaves, hailing from the Throne Worlds. The Hoyts were a small clan operating a ship business, small time merchants not unlike thousands of others seeking their fortune among the stars of the Khanid cluster. As far as Cham's data revealed, the CONCORD had no previous info on the Hoyt operation, the kind of wares they peddled or the clients they worked for.

„Long way from Agil to suffer a reactor malfunction, how unfortunate“ offered the dark and fat Gallentean named Omennon, the owner and commander of the Osprey class mining cruiser that discovered the wreckage. „Traders always obsess over their bottom lines, their margins and incomes, never paying attention to real issues .“ Omennon rambled.

Cham responded shortly: „And what would those issues be mr. Omennon?“

Omennon and his crew were the prime example of the local fauna, Cham thought. The kind of rough frontier types frequenting the bars on the lover decks of Agil station or the Badivefi Concourse. There was something about these types that made Cham uneasy. Back in Khanid Navy, he often overheard stories of bloody and savage encounters with the frontier crowd, both in stations and in space. Yet here he was, this Gallentean black ogre, almost too big for his jumpsuit, chatting him up about the explosion his ship detected and the wreckage found at the source, and how his ship just happened to be there to respond, sadly not being able to find any survivors among the crew. The crew whose corpses littered the debris field in mostly dismembered state.

„Duty of every ship captain inspecting his ship. Test his hardware. Flying through space, jumping and warping need repairs. These ... traders don't care. Imagine they skipped the regular service intervals a few times, used cheap replacement parts...this is the price.“ Omennon droned on. Cham closed the channel and returned to inspecting his computer readouts.

Cham's computer was busy analyzing the wreckage. So far no traces of weapons fire has been detected. There were no expended munitions, shells arching into oblivion, no chemical traces of warhead explosions nor micron-sized crystal shard residue indicating energy based weapons. The radiation of the nearby gas giant was interfering with the last analysis, but preliminary results indicated no particle weapons have been discharged either. What if it really was an accident, and the „Omennon's Gold“ was really just passing by on its way to a nearby asteroid field?

Cham never liked coincidences. Space was too large and to sparsely populated to allow coincidences. His eyes focused on the salvage drones orbiting the wreckage, carefully maneuvering among the debris, zipping left and right and up and down while manipulating flotsam with outstretched hands reminiscing of robot monsters from children's books.

„Computer, focus instruments on salvage drones. Search for bio residue.“ Cham ordered. The results were in momentarily. The scan showed a presence of hemoglobin and plastic fibers used in crew jumpsuits and spacesuits. Cham opened a channel to the mining cruiser.

„Omennon's Gold“, turn off your engines and prepare for inspection. "

„Negative, CONCORD. What you want from us? We done nothing wrong.“

The cruiser started turning sunward, and Chams computer indicated a power surge in the FTL drive.

„Mr. Omennon, stop or you will be fired upon.“ Cham locked the cruiser scrambling its warp engines. The cruiser continued its alignment. Cham armed the weapons and fired a warning shot.

The cruiser locked back and fired a trio of light missiles. Powering up his afterburner Cham put some distance between himself and the cruiser. Particle blasters assaulted the cruisers shields, punching through in seconds. The armor was ruptured next, and then the hull.

A signal light chimed on Chams console, the pirate cruiser's captain wishing to speak. Cham did not respond. He knew. The pirates murdered the survivors, strangled and dismembered them with salvage drones without using weapons. Probably sabotaged the ship back in port. When the merchant was out in space, Cham speculated, they took over remotely and sent it to this wasteland, where it could blow up to be sacked. No one would now, just another missing ship among the hundreds. Had they been less greedy, they would have recalled the drones earlier. He would never know.

Frontier justice. Cham kept firing.
Targh D'yer
Patient Hunters
#15 - 2012-10-16 13:53:52 UTC
... and there's the tenth entry! (Sorry Nyancat, I wasn't counting yours Roll )

The extra prizes are now activated, and there's still 6 days to go. Plenty of time to join in.

Happy Writing :)
Anslo
Scope Works
#16 - 2012-10-16 15:09:13 UTC
I'm trying to get into more professional short story writing for contests and such. If anyone could read and provide feedback on my short story above, I'd be very grateful. Be as brutally honest as you can. I can't get better at writing with nothing but kudos!

[center]-_For the Proveldtariat_/-[/center]
Telegram Sam
Sebiestor Tribe
Minmatar Republic
#17 - 2012-10-16 15:42:23 UTC
Anslo wrote:
I'm trying to get into more professional short story writing for contests and such. If anyone could read and provide feedback on my short story above, I'd be very grateful. Be as brutally honest as you can. I can't get better at writing with nothing but kudos!

You're a brave man, Anslo! Smile I'll be reading the story this evening and will send comments.
Sunfang Armer
Doomheim
#18 - 2012-10-16 18:16:57 UTC
The gel in the cloning vats was cold.
"Cold" he wondered. Then his mind was assulted by numerous thoughts and feelings that he did not understand, until he came upon the most confusing... "I?"

"Sir, It's awake" said the research assistant.
A large man walked up to the vat's biosigns monitor and made somes notes on his holopad "Good, get it out of there and prep it for immediate transport to the military academy"
The assistant hesitated "But sir we don't even know if the intergration will hold. Infomorph technology has never been used like this before. We need to keep him under strict observat..."
"Which is what the military is for" Interupted the professor "We have done our part, now let them do theirs"
Knowing he was right, the assisant reluctantly began the procedure while a team of doctors entered and stood ready to transport their patient to a waiting shuttle. The vat was quickly drained of it's fluid and there was a loud poping sound as the chamber opened. It's occupant immediately fell face down on the floor.
"Is he Ok" asked one of the doctors
"He's proberbly having a hard time reajusting his motor skills to work his muscles" lied the professor "But he will be fine for transport" The Doctors placed him on a strecher and quickly examined him. "He's Ok but uncounsious" Said one of the doctors "I've never heard of a capsuleer waking up unconsious before, have you?" said one of the other doctors
"He probably knocked himself out when he hit the floor" Said the profesor "Now get him out of here"

The desert was hot and unforgiving. The harsh wind seemed to cook everthing in it's path like a giant fan forced oven, but the mission was too important for such minor setbacks. He took a swig of water from his water bottle as he watched the ship land inside the hidden base. "Flithy pirates" he thought as his comms came online.
"Sunfang! Is the bird in the nest?" It was his commander. The 1st week out of Minmatar bootcamp under this man's command and he had already decided to hate him. But there would be time for fisticufs later, now there was a job to do. These pirates had hindered their work for long enough.
"Yes sir, becon is in, light it up" he replied
"Don't tell me what to do maggot" screamed the commander "Just get back to the ship for debrief"
He didn't wait around to watch the fireworks. He'd seen pirate cloning facilities nuked before. "Filthy minmatar traitors" he thought as he took one last look at the hidden base before entering his pod an blasting off.

The young psychiatric nurse walked into the room. She was small and slender for a minmatar, but had a right hook that could deck a man 5 times her size and knock him clean out. He knew from experience.
"So how are you feeling Sunfang?" she asked
"What is it with you and feelings?" he said "The doctors checked me out, I'm fine"
"I meant mentally, you are a special case after all" She repiled
It was like a flash in his mind, that word again. "Special" He knew that the exsistance of this ship was kept secret, even from the some of the republic's highest officals. He also knew that soon the ship would be flying into wormhole space, but he didn't know why, or where he fitted into the picture.
"Yeah, what special thing about me do you like the most?" he said smiling, prodding for answers
"Your Brain" She said coldly "Have you remembered anything about your past yet?"
"No" he said. The last thing he could remember was waking up in a military hospital a year and a half ago with the survivors of a pirate attack. He was told that the Orca he was working on got amushed and over 15000 people died, The capsuleer that saved them said he only found one escape pod.
"It's most likely your conscious mind protecting itself from a truamatic experience. Subcounciously though, your still the techno-wizard you've always been" she said
The ship intercom interupts "We have found the wormhole entrance. All crew report to battle stations"

His headache grew stronger "Sir, scanners are clear" sunfang said.
"Good" Said the commander "You let me know the second you see any capsuleers or drones on that thing"
He had been scanning for several days before they had found the shipwreck. It's was of unknow origin, proberbly Jovian. When the salvage crew returned with the data core they would know more.
"ARGHHH!" Sunfang screamed as he grabbed his head
"Whats wrong. are you o..." The comms faded into oblivion as the pain in his head intensified, It was like billions of voices crying out to him all at once, then he saw them... drones. The door opens and a security team walk in.
"SLEEPERS" he screams, rolling around on the floor clutching his head. The security team pick him up and help him out. They took him in into another room and place him into a chair. The commander walks in.
"Hook him up" says the commander. "We don't have a lot of time and we only get one shot at this"
A strange device was place over Sunfang's head and his headache subsided. He could see the Sleeper drones begining their attack on the ship. The salvager had already been destroyed and fighter/bomber squadrons were being ripped apart.
"Listen here maggot" Said the commander "I want you to order those sleepers drones to cease their attack"
He didn't have to, the drones stopped.
"Sir, they're hacking our systems" said the flight assistant
"WHAT?" screamed the commander "FIREWALL THEM"
It was too late. The sleepers recommenced the attack, having found what they were after, and they proceded to rip the ship apart piece by piece to get at it. Sunfang knew. He broke free from the chair and rushed to his pod. He could hear them all so clearly in his mind now. He needed to get back through the wormhole. This wasn't his place anymore.

The last thing he heard before crossing the event horizon was the sleepers calling out to him...
"MOTHER! WHY MOTHER? DON"T LEAVE MOTHER"

:)(:
Topher en Gravonere
University of Caille
Gallente Federation
#19 - 2012-10-16 21:33:17 UTC
I felt my fingers slip along the hull of the Flux, desperately grasping for anything during a primeval surge of adrenaline. I could feel vibrations resonating through my fingertips as shockwave after unholy shockwave tore through the industrial ship. I didn't dare open my eyes - like a newborn, I was simply too afraid to process the certainty of my current situation. I reach out with both arms, stretched out in front of me, searching for a desparate embrace with a conveniently planted maintenance hook or antenna, anything to stop this sickening slide that I could sense.

It took me a moment before I realised that I couldn't feel the hull of the ship anymore, my arms pinwheeling into the ether, comically spinning like a cartoon character. I kept my eyes firmly shut, especially now as I felt the true gravity of my situation. I didn't need to open them to see, anyway. Every flash of an exploding missile was visible through my eyelids, even if I could no longer hear the thud-fpwang-boom of the strikes. I could also sense that I was now tumbling, out of control as I departed my ship for the last time, the system's distant sun rising and setting across my eyelids with every rotation.

What felt like hours must have been several seconds, my mind processing my imminent death in a painfully slow fashion. The cold of space gripped me tightly, reminding me of my mortality and fragility in this environment. My tumbling seemed to slow down and eventually cease, perhaps caused by the shockwave drag from the repeated blasts. The bright star in my field of view ceased to rise and set, instead sitting somewhere behind me - I could feel it's intense radtiation quite well on my back and shoulders. My mind wanders to the beaches of my favourite holiday destination, the pristine white sand and that carefree feeling of suburn while you sip your carefully prepared cocktail. I fooled myself into believing I could even taste the liquor in my mouth right now.

My brief escape was shattered when I finally opened my eyes, the dream, the wonderful delusion, having fooled me into thinking that I was somewhere else. In front of me, several kilometres away at present, lay the wreck of the Flux, its debris spinning through space in all directions, just as I had been. Fires fueled by the rich oxygen atmosphere were blazing within its bowels, only to be suddenly snuffed out by the cold of space. I continued to hurtle backwards, watching as the green engines of a capsule rose from the ship's armored compartment. My captain! She made her escape, raising above what was left of the industrial and turning a half-circle. Space-time rippled around the egg-shaped capsule as the warp engines engaged - she wasn't fleeing, of course. She would bring help, medical supplies, another ship to save the rest of her crew. She couldn't abandon us here. The nearest station was only minutes away at warp speed - she could return with plenty of time to spare. Her heroism would be forever remembered by her crew. It was true, perhaps, that she hadn't taken the time to speak with her crew. But what capsuleer would? We trusted in her to lead us safely through the blockades we would face. And yes, even if she did make a mistake this time, surely she would return for us. Her faithful crew.

The green pod disappeared within the warp field. Satisfied with my detailed assumptions, I simply smiled as the cold froze my limbs stiff, allowing the unavoidable to finally take hold. I no longer paid any attention to the missiles raining hell down on the broken bow of the ship, as I knew that our captain - as distant as she was - would never leave her crew behind. In utter bliss, the radiation of the distant star causes hallucinations, kaleidoscopic visions on my cortex amongst the field of stars and horror in the surrounds. I never close my eyes again, as my primeval fear has been replaced with logical loyalty for my captain, forever open and always scanning for her return.
Yonis Kador
KADORCORP
#20 - 2012-10-16 23:20:32 UTC  |  Edited by: Yonis Kador
Drenched in the indigo hue emanating from his console, Dax Riggs let out an audible sigh.

“Another day, another isk.”

Serving aboard the Harbinger-class battlecruiser Jericho for nearly four years, Dax hungered for combat. His captain, Yonis Kador, was a distant cousin of Uriam – and clearly shared his penchant for pacifism. Dax turned to the sleeping crewman sitting next to him, a new guy named Percival, and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Are we under attack?” Percival squeaked out with one eye still shut.

“Of course not, Percy. We’d have to take risks for that.” Dax retorted.

“Then I’m going back to sleep. Wake me if anything interesting happens.”

Fat chance. Both men were well aware that the Jericho spent the majority of its time either cloaked or in high-security space, leaving both of them manning a seldomly-used damage control station.

“Just once I’d like to see something….” Dax murmured.

Before he could complete his whine, a single red blip appeared on the station’s HUD. Then another. Two more. Twenty more. Forty-six in all. Estimated time to intercept? Thirty seconds.

“Wake up Percy. The bridge crew is playing another prank.”

Dax chuckled as he stood from his chair and walked over to the viewport in the next room. He stood transfixed for a moment as he couldn’t believe his eyes. A swarm of enemy ships spanned his field of vision and a volley of missiles had already been launched.

“*&%#!!”

As he spun around to rush back to his station, the first impact came. Dax reeled back as the Damage Control station explosively decompressed and watched helplessly as Percy was sucked into the vacuum of space. The internal force fields engaged just in time for him to witness Percy stiffen into a frozen corpse.

“No!!!”

He slammed his fist on the communications console.

“Bridge! Come in! This is Lieutenant Riggs!”

The only response was crackling static.

A second impact shook the ship hard and Dax realized that without damage control the Jericho would not survive this onslaught. His mind reeled. What to do?

The captain!

At this hour, Captain Kador would be in his quarters fast asleep. Dax knew that the captain’s quarters were on the same deck and he had to get to him as quickly as possible. Yonis Kador may not be royalty, but there was no way he was letting these goons assassinate any relatives of the Imperial family. Not on his watch!

The corridor outside was filled with smoke and several bulkheads had collapsed. Screams of fellow crewmen came from all directions but there was no time to waste. As he navigated over a pile of rubble, a hand gripped his ankle.

“Helllp meee…”

Dax unapologetically pulled his leg free and continued onward leaving the faceless crewman to his fate.

He reached the Captain’s quarters and entered the emergency override code into the pad. Nothing. A faint thumping could be heard from inside the chamber.

The captain was trapped.

“Hang on Sir! I’ll get you out of there!” Dax shouted.

The panicked officer doubled back to a storage room nearby and searched for something – anything – that would be useful. He frantically began opening crates. Nothing but commodities! Mechanical parts. Silicate glass. Comeon!

Out of the corner of his eye, Dax spotted something metallic shining from a huge (previously) secure container. Dozens and dozens of canisters containing hazardous chemicals!

The good news for Captain Kador was that Dax paid attention during his courses at Eve University. He grabbed two vials of celadon mykoserocin, a single cap booster, and fashioned a wick out of some industrial fibers he found nearby. It only took a few seconds to transform these components into a homemade IED. It wasn’t pretty but it would get the job done.

As he stepped out into the corridor, a massive jolt knocked him off his feet and his device flew from his hands. The lights flickered and for a second the corridor was drenched in total darkness. Just as hope seemed lost, emergency power kicked in and the Lieutenant was greeted with an intermittent amber glow. Dax knew there wasn’t much time.

Back at the Captain’s door, he warned his superior to stand back and quickly lit the fuse.

KA-BOOM!

The explosion was deafening, but Lieutenant Riggs could see his task was successful. Where the Captain’s doors once stood now was a gaping hole ringed with flame.

“Sir! Hurry Sir! We’ve got to get to the escape pods!”

Yonis Kador emphatically thanked his crewman for risking his life and the two of them began making their escape.
Dax glanced at a wall console that miraculously still had power and informed Yonis that shields were gone and armor was down to less than ten percent.

“This way!” Yonis declared. The captain knew his ship better than anyone and by slipping through a grate, they arrived at the escape pods in seconds.

But there would be no rejoicing on this day.

Several of the pods had already been launched and although three remained, only one was operational.

“Riggs, I don’t know what to say.” Yonis stammered.

“There’s nothing to say Sir. Save your implants and your family’s reputation. We cannot die. My clone is located at Kador Prime I – Kador Family Bureau.”

“I’ll meet you there Riggs.”

“I’ll have fresh coffee dripped before you get there Sir.”

And with that Dax pushed the captain into his escape pod and launched it into space.

He sat cross-legged in the corridor and made his peace using his last breath to utter one final proclamation:

“NOT TODAY GOONS!!”
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