EVE Fiction

Waking up was disorienting.

Not for what was, I could see that clearly. The cold blue-grey metal of the Caldari station and the expanse of room that was the captains quarters. A large vid screen was on the wall displaying the current state of the constellation.... ------. The name came to me after only a few seconds. The volume was muted, which had allowed me to fall asleep in the first place.

What was missing was far more dis-concerning. No telemetry on the local system, no engine, shield, or armour statistics. No knowledge about what was surrounding me save for the inadequate information my body's sense's provided. There could be a Titan outside of the station getting ready to destroy the place for all I knew!

Breath. One... Two... Three...

Not better but passable, I stand up and quickly head towards the facilities to perform the necessary functions that both my body and the society demands. After twenty minutes my lack of skill with a hairbrush has me looking like a cheap knock off the halo pic I use for identification purposes while in my pod. I could pay to have my grooming done for me, and would end up looking as close to my id pic as a human could. But that would cost more then simple ISK. It would cost time.

And the Titan is out there powering up it's weapons....

Stop it!

No panic attack. I didn't even have to lean on a wall to steady myself. Good. I'm fully awake now. I hate being station side! But after three weeks floating in wormhole space I needed to update my clone and my ship's modules had passed the point of being comprised primarily of nanite paste several days ago. Singularly, I might have balked at either cause but together I couldn't refute the necessity of a station visit.

I don't pause as I walk through the halls towards my ship dock. I can already see the tell-tale signs of work being performed on my Tengu, Small Tides, and know that despite a heady desire the work crews hadn't managed to complete the work early. A phantom image of a small group of ships flash before my eyes. It's very similar to when I was a child and would stare at a light for to long. The image would be burned into my retina's allowing me to see it even when my eyes where closed.

It's always like then when I get out of my pod. Old telemetry would rattle through my neural system trying to fill the void so to speak. The doctors inform me that I wouldn't have the problem if I would simply get out of my pod more frequently, but I don't have the stomach for it. I would rather deal with the problem then the cure.

As I approach the console overlooking Small Tides one of the workers looks up. It looks as though he is worn, with his brown goatee sticking out at awkward angles and stains on his rumpled company uniform. He appears as though he is going to great me, but turns back to whatever task he was performing before my presence. Either my facial expression or body language informing him not to.

I find the knowledge that I can manipulate a vid-screen image of myself to such a degree as to reassure people past the point many wouldn't consider possible, but lack even the most rudimentary skills at controlling the image my body portrays as interesting before moving on to other topics as I reach the terminal. Checking the repair status I see that the workers are in fact ahead of schedule. At this rate, factoring in a ten percent decrease in productivity they should be complete in an hour.

Good.

I close my eyes for a moment and concentrate on my neocom, which I have ignored until now. The interface appears over my normal vision, giving me full access over... everything. Multiple communication channels open, each one unique in not only it's members, but it's tone as well. Scanning through them, I stop at the first active one I find, belonging to a group of industrialists who have decided to seek their fortune in a C-4 class wormhole.

Normally their conversations centred around avoiding the hunters who make wormhole space there own. People such as myself. But today it's different. Today they're discussing logistics. Apparently they have found a wormhole to hisec two jumps out from their home system and where running supplies.

"Lust isn't that far from either Rens or Dodoxie. So take your pick." The voice was familiar, but I haven't spent long enough in this particular channel to become familiar with all the people yet. They knew what my profession was, and invited me in anyway. In return I had given them tips about combat, intelligence sharing, and a good deal of sarcasim. I'm thinking it's time I paid them a friendly visit.

"Heya heya guys." I broadcast into the channel. I'm unsure if the workers nearby would think it odder if I spoke aloud instead of simply standing there interacting with things they could not see with only my thoughts. Several people offer greetings, though they are all hurried. A short chain to hisec wasn't common enough for them to ignore or take for granted.

They continue chatting largely as though I wasn't there, good enough for now. I waited impatiently for the repairs to be completed, though not patient enough. I had myself fully plug into my pod and waiting several minutes before the work crews finished and cleared the area.With current telemetry flowing through my neural pathways, there was no longer any room for the phantom images that plauge me while I'm station side.

Feeling clusterphobic with all the ships around I proceed Lust---- and my pathway into the unknown.