EVE Fiction

Amid the tabletop clutter and piles of old manuals stacked high upon the floor, through the veil of stale smoke that hung in the air like a dense, acrid fog, that which he had come back for glinted in the harsh light suspended over the corner of the room. As he approached, stepping gingerly over the scrap electronics and empty cans strewn about, both the object and his memory of the day he acquired it grew brighter and brighter. The screens around it flickered. Machines buzzed.

The badge had lost none of its luster, but the luster was no longer appealing. Once in his grasp, it took him a moment to realize that. And when he did, it required no more than the most minimal effort to turn his hand over and allow it to slide away and drop to the cold metal ground.

Ground.

No recollection of that at all.

As he peered down, the thick, bold letters "ISSN" stared back up at him, mocking him from the distant and long forgotten past. And as he looked away and around the room, he began to realize that this dank little cubicle in the depths of space was exactly where all of this... garbage... belonged. Ancient relics of some forsaken empire.

A banner. "Huzzah Federation". Bright green letters.

A broken recording labelled "Goinard".

An ore sample peeking out of a box with "Phoenix - Tenal" crudely written upon it with a thick pen.

A pack of cigarettes with one left inside. Next to it, a stack of reports titled "ATUK/5", all stamped "Confidential".

An old, red jacket. Guristas logo on one sleeve. A large, bold, white "X" on the other.

That one made him smile a bit.

A painting of a Coercer. A real painting. Done by the one and only man he had ever met who still painted things.

He picked it up and turned it over.

"Welcome aboard. Cadman".

Cadman...

Next to it, a promotional poster proudly advertising the services of Mercenary Coalition.

Crumpled up beside it, a textbook bound in the old style. "Grid-fu: A Practical Manual".

Plans. Schemes. Logistics protocols. Stolen goods. Twisted metal. Bad ****ing mojo... all of it... every last inch of it.

As he looked up toward the ceiling to his left, he knew exactly how what he was about to see would make him feel. Indeed, his stomach cramped up slightly, and he rolled his lips back, grimacing and looking away from the portrait almost as soon as he laid eyes on it.

Dark... Elf...

"The only ****ing thing in this room that hasn't aged since the last time I saw it..."

The door slid open behind him. Carter made his way into the room, kicking debris out of way and pushing over a small stack of boxes. Couldn't blame him. He was a big man with limited patience. Not exactly the graceful type. He looked up at the portrait and furrowed his brow, then looked around at the chaos with a smirk on his face.

"You ready?"

The words lingered in the air like a rotten smell.

"Ready."