EVE Fiction

Alton was late getting back to the ship. The lift seemed to be taking forever to descend to the docking bay. He had talked his way into a 12 hour station pass and if he wasn't back soon he be out of a job, blacklisted, and owing the Corp for finding his replacement.

He had sent a couple recorded messages to family, checked his insurance policy with Corporate, and caught up on news he could while station side. He also indulged his one guilty pleasure - gambling. He'd won a little under 450K ISK once all the taxes, levies, and fees had been paid out. It wasn't much to anyone else, but it paid better than Senior Salvage Cargo Supervisor, his current position on the Caldari destroyer Vulfnur2. "Just numbers moving from one column to another on some accounting clerk's finance report." his father used to say.

"Docking Bay Bravo." the lift speaker chimed. Alton hurried out into the corridor. The old injury in his left leg was acting up again and he walked with a slight limp. He cursed under his breath that he hadn't been able to afford a better repair all those years ago - What was it now? Twenty? No Twenty one. Had it really been that long? Twenty one years since that first Op on the mining frigate Dawn Runner had left him injured when a support beam fell in a pirate attack. He'd been a Junior Ore Hold Lift Operator then, just hired by the OMerCron Corporation. Like always he promised himself that he'd have his leg looked at as soon as he got back from this next Op.

Alton reached Docking Bay B-291 and saw the Vulfnur2's Lieutenant, a tall muscular man named Mucullster (though everyone called him Mac), and the Fitting Foreman locked in an argument on the other side of the glass. Mac was waving his arms about like he did when he was furious. The foreman, a short fat little man whose coveralls appeared ready to burst, kept shoving his data console at Mac.. Alton thanked his good luck again as the argument meant he'd hopefully be able to slip aboard without disciplinary action.

As the hangar doors opened Alton heard the shouting. "The orders were to fit this ship with 200mm rolled tungsten armor plating! You think I can't tell the difference between 200 and 100?" Mac roared. "I already told you we ain't got no 200mm plates. All we got is the 100. The fit was adjusted and verified. The refund is already done, see!" the foreman said still waving the console in Mac's face. More numbers and columns Alton thought.

Alton saw the muscles in Mac's shoulders tense up. If he didn't act quickly Station Security would have them all in the brig and the foreman would be passing teeth for a week. So much for Lady Luck; good thing he left the casino when he did.

"Problem Mac?"Alton said catching both men off guard. They hadn't noticed him enter. Mac kept his eyes locked on the foreman, but Alton saw the tension in his shoulders release. Alton wondered if the foreman realized how lucky he was? Probably not.

"This here fancy brass pin wearing lummox thinks we trying to skim ISK by fitting the wrong armor plating!" the foreman said before Mac could speak. He shoved the data console at Alton, who took it and started reviewing the order. "We fit that 100mm like was agreed on. We couldn't fit no 200 as the shipment from Arnon is a week late. Bad contract or some nonsense..."

Alton found the armor fitting change and re-auth quick enough, but he had stopped listening. He didn't like what he saw on the console. Amongst the normal maintenance were more specific things. A new Shield booster and amplifier, tracking disruptor. Three new 125mm rail-guns in addition to the three existing 75s? Then he saw the warp disruptor. All paid upfront by Corporate.

Alton looked up at Mac. The foreman was still droning on. "What the hell kind of Op is the Corp sending us on Mac?" Alton blurted. "Alton, you know I'm not supposed to discuss it until we undock. You're late too." Mac replied. "Look Mac, we both know whats on that fitting order and who paid for it. Cut the officer crap and tell me what the hell is going on here!" Not many people talked to Mac like that and got away with it. Alton was pushing his luck.

Mac just looked at him. He and Alton had been friends a long time and deserved to know. Alton blurted out "Dammit Mac, I want to know what the hell is going on!"

"Alton do you remember the incident in Sansen about 5 months back?"" Mac asked softly. "Well sure, two of our Hulks ripped to shreds by rats..." Alton started. "It wasn't rats. Corporate traced it back to the Vimex corp. OMerCron is assembling a fleet. We're at war. Our task is to be anti-frigate and salvaging." Mac said.

Alton knew from the fitting it was bad, but not this bad. Vimex was no small time player. A corp the size of OMerCron pulling a WarDec on them was sheer madness.

"It's a suicide mission Mac! Corporate can't really mean to go through with this can they? They're bluffing right?" Alton stammered. "I sure hope so," Mac said "but you know corporate. The Captain doesn't care about the orders. Guess I wouldn't care either if I knew I'd wake up in a new body someplace too." Alton could only stare at Mac. "I don't have to remind you what Corporate will do if you aren't aboard when we undock." Mac said.

"I know." Alton said softly. His employment contract, just like Mac's and the rest of the crew, had his decision already made for him. Go or stay; either way he was a dead man. "Let's get this over with then." he said as they both boarded the ship's airlock.

Alton knew by this time tomorrow, He, Mac, and the crew of the Vulfnur2 would probably be dead, the Captain would be readying a new ship, and insurance credits would be sent out to the families of those lost. Alton couldn't help but think that there was going to be a hell of a lot of numbers switching columns on some accountant's finance sheet in the near future.

“Bugger.”

Lieutenant-Commander Paran was not impressed, not by a long shot.

And if he wasn't impressed then it wouldn't be too long before…on cue his subcutaneous comms implant beeped and a small image of his captain was projected from his retinal implant, overlaying the control panel in front of him. Accepting the comm with a visual cue he braced himself. The simulated voice of Captain Vesna was an eerie replication of the capsuleer’s real one. It had all the requisite changes in tone and modulation, but it just didn't quite fit the man once you’d met him in person.

“Problem Paran?” asked a voice in his head. It had taken him a couple of years to get used to not responding to that disembodied voice out loud. It was a source of some frustration to him that he would still occasionally talk in undertones when using implant communications. Friends, or more accurately the people he had graduated State Naval College with, had been quick to give him a moniker to memorialise the failing. So he was known by many officers in the Caldari Navy as Mumbles Paran.

Mumbles replied to the enquiry from the commanding officer of the Drake-class battecruiser Acheron. “Aye Captain. We’ve been led a merry old dance and it looks like we’re about to get a bit of a spanking.”

The pause in response was enough to put Paran on edge; but the response, when it came, was enough to replace anxiety with shock.

“I seriously doubt that Commander.”

Paran blinked. “But Captain, we’re way outside Empire space and we've been chasing the rabbit’s tale for six hours only to find ourselves in a system with the out-gate camped and we’ve just picked up 10, no, make that 15 rabbit lovers on scan that followed us through!

Again, a pause. Paran was nearly sure the captain and owner of the Acheron did it on purpose. His pilot, capsuleer and personal ticket to promotion and wealth was an infuriating man. The seemingly laconic manner in which he dealt with everything in front of him, and the almost disdainful manner in which he dealt with the majority of his crew and employees should have made him a failure as a capsuleer, and a poor one to boot. But for some unexplained reason that Paran could not identify, the Acheron functioned to a standard so close to perfection that she and her captain were frequently requested to perform missions for the State that the Navy was incapable of or unwilling to undertake. This would not have been hugely remarkable were it not for the fact that the Acheron’s officers and crew were for the most part thieves, liars, cheats and borderline lunatics.

His own career in the Caldari Navy had come to an ignominious end courtesy of a disastrous operation that had resulted in the loss of three Navy Issue Raven-class battleships, including the one he had been serving on. While he was lucky to be alive, the resulting investigation had found against the bridge crew of the ill-fated vessel following evidence from the capsuleer captain. Paran had been drinking his way through the entire contents of a station bar when his morose reverie had been interrupted by a group of extremely loud crewmen having something between a conversation and an argument. Matt black jumpsuits with a dark red trim on the shoulder boards and a patch on the arm showing a weaving blood red line over a white background. Paran didn’t have a clue who they were, and had no intention of finding out until his elbow was jostled by one of the enthusiastic crew-members collecting a large array of violent coloured drinks, one of which Paran could swear was melting its way slowly through the plexiglass of its fluted container.

"Sorry chief!" was the reply from the crewmember, who turned to reveal an intricate set of Matar tattoos over an amicable yet deeply angular face.

A deep blue drink in a short glass was put in front of Paran.

"Here, try one of these, it might cheer you up...or possibly make you blind.

The Matari thought a little more, squinting at Paran.

"Or it might tempt you into making some questionable life choices that you may one day regret, but have a right old time until that day.

"er." Paran gulped.

"Exactly" replied the Matari. "Come and join us while you ponder that particular decision. You look like a fine upstanding citizen, maybe you'll rub off on us a little..."

---

That had been three years, and countless drinks of dubious origin ago.

The calm voice spoke again, somehow managing to imply that Captain Vesna had rolled his eyes, sighed and was explaining something to child.

“Oddly enough commander I'm aware of the predicament you just outlined. Without resorting to that peculiar slang of yours I can confirm that I had, in fact, noticed the significant number of Gurista faction vessels in this system. What’s more, and this may come as a shock to you commander, I anticipated this occurrence and had actually rather counted on it to take place."

"You did sir?"

"Yes Commander"

"oh."

"Oh indeed Mr Paran. Now, would you be so kind as to activate the offlined module I had installed just prior to departing dock yesterday…"

Another blinking symbol for his attention appeared on Paran's implant. He activated it with a flick of his eye, and was presented with a couple of very pleasing options.

The bridged comms channel squawked in his ear "Heavy tackle by three, correction four hostiles. Scans showing 10-plus bogies inbound. Mass distortion probe sweep indicates probable hostile capital support."

Paran grinned.

"Cyno up sir?"

"I think so Commander, some acquaintances of ours from Navy Security want to have a little chat with these naughty bunnies..."

"If an injury must be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared"

"Commander, we have another volley in t-minus two seconds."

"I am aware of that lieutenant, everybody brace yourselves. We are about to get rocked nice and heavily," commander Graesyn shouts. He braces himself against a bulkhead just as the 2400mm round pounds into the side of the ship, causing it to rock violently and throwing several men into the opposite bulkhead. Blood, an uncommon sight with the new advances in technology oozes out of their cracked skulls. Poor fools, didn't brace themselves properly. These rookies are not accustomed to combat on a battleship Graesyn turns to a large screen, flashing red in several parts.

"Damn! The captain isn't going to be happy about that one. Get the containment fields raised in sectors B, C, and F. Hull breaches everywhere. This might be a tough one to come out of in one piece boys," he shouted. A blaring alarm violently filled the air, overwhelming the sound of work. Another section of the ship turned red and the ship computer rang out Danger: Decompression in 15 seconds. Evacuate sectors A, B, and C immediately.

Thick blast doors descend slowly from the ceiling, closing off passages to the sectors in danger of decompressing. I do not know at this point how we are going to survive this. Engineering is being torn to pieces by those projectiles. He raises the bridge on the comm system.

"Captain Fyresong, you have 5 minutes before we have to close down engineering. We are being torn to pieces down here. Several sectors are decompressing. Hull breaches are appearing everywhere and the containment fields are being stretched to their limits down here. The capacitor is going into melt down as well. I am giving you everything the Bloody Skies has got left. Either take out that tempest or get us out of here. It is not going to cheap to replace the fitting on this ship," he said. The comms were silent for a moment before the captains gravelly tone rang out of the console.

"Commander, I need more than everything we have. The fleet is en route, if you can hold her together for just a little bit longer our mission will be accomplished and you will have several shiny new quid in your pocket. We are being payed well for this assignment and I have no intention of backing out now. Overload the modules if you have to, we can take the module damage for the bonus. Remember what I told all of you when you signed onto the Bloody Skies," he asked.

"Aye captain. You told us that you would do everything in your power to ensure we came out of the missions alive, all of us. But to remember that the mission came first, that we should all be ready to make a sacrifice to complete the mission otherwise there was no point in staying on board," he paused for a moment.

"I am concerned however that we have bitten off more than we can chew this time, this is the worst beating the ship has ever taken and there is not much more that we can do to hold her together. I will overload everything but it is only going to buy us another minute, maybe two," he said.

It was silent and the ship rocked again as another volley slammed into the side, the ships computer rang out Warning: Hull breach in sector D. Evacuate the area immediately. A hissing sound filled the air as a crack opened behind the commander. Several men were sucked into the vacuum of space screaming before the containment fields cut off the vacuum.
That is not good... not good at all. It is a tad bit chilly in here too, I think life support is beginning to fail. The captains voice came over the comm again.

"Alright commander, do your best. I suggest moving into the secondary control area. I am detecting a hull breach from that last hit in engineering. Were there any casualties," he asked. The commander had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing sarcastically. There is always casualties in this type of conflict. It is an almost absurd question to ask , especially with the damage to the ship.

"Yes sir, lieutenants Gonzalez and Erickson were lost before the containment fields stopped the vacuum of space. I will evacuate main engineering and return to the secondary control station. We will have a little bit less control but the system we need right now are able to be controlled from there. Also, the temperature on board is beginning to drop, I believe that life support is beginning to fail," he replied. Graesyn turned to the seven men behind him and felt pity when he saw the looks in their eyes.

"Alright boys, you heard the captain. Evacuate to the secondary control station. I am closing main engineering down and transferring all control there. Move quickly," he ordered them. Without a moments hesitation they ran for the door. Graesyn bent over the console, typing a series of commands into it. The ship computer rang out again. Main engineering evacuation in progress. Please report to the secondary control station on deck 6 immediately. Control transfer sequence initiated. He stood up and pressed a flashing yellow button on the console and the blast doors fell slowly. The containment field over the hull breach flickered briefly then re-established itself. He sprinted for the closing doors, stopping briefly to turn back to look at main engineering.

"Come on girl, I know you can hold together for just a little bit longer. Give us your best," he said to the empty air, ducking under the door.

...being decided. ;-)

As Tali above suggest, the competition is now over. I will be back with the winners very soon.

Well done everyone.

Woot! I'll take second place, as I didn't spend that much time polishing the story. I am glad you enjoyed the concept, and thanks for providing the impetus to get me writing again.

Indeed, congrats to winners and participants alike. Lots of good reading in here. And thanks, Targh, for putting on the contest. I put words together for a living, but don't dabble much in fiction, so it was fun to exercise a different brain muscle. Especially when it's inspired by actual in-game events ><

Congratulations to the winners. I may not have taken a prize but heck, I enjoyed all of the stories before my own entry. They were all extremely good, fiction is my specialty in writing but it requires a little bit more time put into it than some of the others. Especially when it is based around something like EVE where you have to know the ins and outs of the game in order to have proper fiction that works within the lore.

I kind of want to see some continuations of some of those stories, I for one shall be awaiting the next contest hosted by our friend Targh D'yer

Cheers

Dael.