EVE Fiction

Chapter VI: Reflections

The next morning, Justian was eager to check-in on Jazz. After a quick breakfast in the galley, he headed straight for the medical bay. The area was sizable, looking white and gleaming like most sterilized healing centers he had seen before, and was separated into different compartments. The ones reserved for empyreans were located near the back, and looked far more high-tech than those for non-pilots. One of the nurses directed Justian to a particular room, and there he saw Jazz covered up to her chest in white sheets, her eyes closed but breathing softly. At her side was Casalia. The drone appeared to be taking a great interest in the monitoring equipment stacked nearby. Her many tentacles were twitching, as if she was anxious to do something more to aid her mistress’s recovery. At the foot of the bed was a gruff and stout pilot with a fierce gaze that was clearly Amarrian. His head was nearly bald save for a few surviving tuffs of wild, white hair, and he wore a dark grey flightsuit that looked very expensive and elegant, adorned on the trim with small Amarrian runes. He seemed old and worn, but also focused, and as he looked up to regard the recruit, his eyes halted Justian in mid-step.

“She’s had enough visitors already today!” he barked angrily.

“It’s ok, Mario,” Jazz said softly as her eyes opened. She then turned her grateful gaze to the young pilot, and Justian felt himself on the verge of blushing under her eyes. “He was the one who led the rescue party.” At this, Mario’s stare eased somewhat.

“I see,” he said at last. “Well, just for a little while then, young man. Don’t tire her out. She needs to rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jazz insisted as she placed a caring hand onto the old man’s own. “Casalia’s here and I’ll call you if I need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Mario sighed as he rose up. Looking at her with pained eyes, his voice was but a whisper. “I should have been there.” Then with a grunt he cleared his throat and left the room, giving Justian a warning glance as he passed.

“Don’t mind, Mario,” Jazz assured the recruit, “He’s a bit over-protective of me sometimes, and he was in the Amarr System dealing with family affairs yesterday during the op.”

“He’s not a Holder, is he?” Justian asked with a worried expression. Jazz shook her head.

“Not anymore. He gave up his lands and slaves when he became a pilot, but he still has some dealings with his House on occasion. He handles communications for the corp. His comm protocols are the ones loaded into you Atron right now.” Justian breathed a sigh of relief. The thought of a slave-holding pilot was abhorrent to him as a human being, not just a Gallentean.

“Have a seat,” Jazz offered with a gesture to the chair next to her bedside. Justian made his way over and sat. He felt a bit awkward seeing a superior like this, but Jazz didn’t seem to mind it at all.

“I wanted to offer you a proper thank-you for your help in getting me out of my ship.” Justian had to clear his throat.

“I was doing my job, ma’am.” The woman suddenly gave him a warning look. “Jazz.” Justian corrected himself quickly, and the Caldarian woman smiled.

“That’s better.”

“I’m just glad you made it out,” Justian continued with a slight smile. Jazz’s gaze suddenly seemed more distance and her voice became lower.

“I did… but others didn’t.” Suddenly, Jusitan remembered her distress call, and that she had used the term “we”. His relief evaporated and was replaced with a sickening sensation.

“How many?”

“Twelve,” Jazz stated solemnly. “The whole ship was on fire around me. I’m sure there was nothing left for the Raiders to get their hands on.” Justian was almost disgusted with himself that he found some measure of comfort in the knowledge that the other members of the Malachite’s crew had been turned to ashes rather than letting their corpses become a part of the Raiders’ unspeakable rituals.

“Packlid has informed their families,” Jazz continued. “But I will have to send a message of my own as well. I was their captain.” She suddenly looked ashamed, and Justian could guess at the cause.

“They accepted the risks,” Justian offered gently. “We all have. Space is a dangerous place.”

“And yet for us there is always a hope,” Jazz countered sadly. “Always a decent chance we will awake in a new body with a new chance at life. But the others die, and never return. I sometimes wonder if potential immortality has robbed us of upholding our fair share of the risk.”

“Then honor them,” Justian said with a sudden conviction. “Show the others what they mean to you… to all of us ‘immortals’.” Jazz then smiled again as she turned to regard the recruit.

“We will… as soon as we can.”

“Your vital signs are jittery, mistress,” Casalia spoke up as her tentacles tweaked some of the monitoring controls. “You need to rest.”

“You’re worse than my mother,” Jazz said with a sigh, but her eyes betrayed the weariness she felt. Even as her eyes began to close, she breathed faint words as her gaze rested on the young pilot.

“You’re a good man, Justian….”

The Gallentean then heard a shuffling and looked up. Shynlea had entered the room, the blonde woman looking a bit embarrassed at the timing of her arrival, but her gaze had a purpose in it.

“Justian, Packlid needs you to come to his office.”

“Oh,” Justian said with a frown. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not seen Packlid’s office here in the Misha station yet, and had no idea where it was. Shynlea guessed at his thought and motioned to the door.

“Come on, I’ll take ya there.” Justian thanked her graciously and the two departed the medical bay. As they left, Justian shot a final glance over his shoulder, and saw Casalia adjusting the sheets to make her mistress more comfortable.

I think I can see why they all care for her, he thought fondly.

Archuran, he thought, not surprised that another of Sern’s people should lead whatever kind of religious function this was. Sern himself sat not far away, looking a bit anxious. Upon his right was the Amarrian woman, her eyes closed in what looked like meditation. The mat to his left was empty, and as Sern turned at the sound of the lift doors and saw him, the stern-faced pilot gestured to the space. Justian took his prepared place obediently. Glancing to his left, he started. There was the woman with the cascading flow of tight, red braids that he had seen talking to Packlid back in Vourrassi. Again, she gave him a mischievous wink and a warm smile, but as she looked about to speak, a sudden ringing stirred the still, perfumed air; gentle but harkening. At the sound all eyes were drawn forward, where the Archuran woman had struck the small bell beside her, and she sat erect as her eyes scanned the modest gathering.

“Greetings and a warm welcome to all,” she said in a smooth, dark voice. Unlike from Sern, Justian felt a warmth and compassion in the words, and he was relieved that not all Archur were as stoic as him, or as exacting as Distance.

“A blessing to both the Archur and their friends gathered here today,” the woman continued, and as Justian also took a moment to look over the group, he could see that save for himself, the redhead, and the Amarrian woman, they were all Archuran. Their eyes looked upon the woman in front with reverence, and Justian guessed she was a spiritual leader of some sort. His conclusion was quickly confirmed.

“And a special blessing to you, Justian, our newest guest. I am Sesena, the local Guide of the Archur stationed here with EEG.” She gave an endearing bow with folded hands, and not knowing what else to do, Justian returned it as best he could. Sasena smiled at this briefly, before her face became more serious and she again addressed the group as a whole.

“We gather here to heal and to seek the meaning we thirst for. Tomorrow we say our farewells and look forward to what shall be. Today, we look inward to observe what is.” With that, she closed her eyes and assumed a meditative posture. Justian noticed everyone mimicking her, and he tried his best to follow suit, although the position felt a bit heavy on his ankles. Then, Sasena began a chant, a sort of call-and-response that the gathered faithful took up in turn. To his surprise, Justian could not understand the words, and he realized that his translator must not have the lingua-codes for Archuran, a tongue still rarely heard across New Eden. As best he could, he sought to simply listen to the words rather than try and understand them.

“Amalathiel dorenamen,
Qorvan, welnyen, shumah,
Non giel, non juvien,
Hanathia…”

Again and again the chant repeated, and as he listened Justian’s eyes closed and felt his thoughts melt away, until only feelings and the swirling visions of his mind’s eye remained. The sound of the bell rang somewhere far away, the notes clear and pure. And at last, by some overwhelming compulsion, he felt his lips part and speak the chant himself. He felt strangely naked but unashamed, alone yet unafraid, and in that space a light seemed to wash over him, and as a wave it swept away all concerns and weights upon his heart. For some indefinable time he rested there, until the sounding of the bell changed in tone, the chanting ceased, and Justian felt himself float back up to his usual awareness. His eyes opened and he saw the people gathered around him looked peaceful and content. Sasena was regarding him with a knowing smile.

“This is the Centering Chant,” she said to him softly, then a final time she spoke it, and Justian heard the words flow in fluent Gallentean:

“The deepest, beyond worlds,
Healing, knowing, perceiving,
Never judging, never fearing,
The Innermost Light…”

Even in his own tongue the chant seemed to cast a spell upon him, but in the next moment Sasena rang the bell again and the recruit felt both alert and refreshed.

“Go in gratitude, serve with humility,” she said to the group as she raised her arms in benediction, and the crowd replied in kind.

“We are the mirrors of the One, True Thought.”

It seemed then that the gathering was concluded. The Archurans stood and began to fold the mats with great care. As they rose to their feet, Justian turned to Sern.

“That was…” he started, but wasn’t sure how to put the experience into words.

“Yeah,” the redhead spoke up at last, “That about sums it up.”

“The Centering is one of our shorter and more regularly-held rites,” Sern said, and Jusitan could hear even in his cold voice an echo of the feeling that was even now fading from his own memory. “But it is also performed after times of great stress or adversity.”

“Thank-you for inviting me,” Justian said with a smile. “I never gave much stock into religious matters, but… well, I’ll have to think about this one.” He then turned to face the woman with the braids, who upon closer inspection now seemed to be of Matari descent.

“Kira Tanalon,” she said as she offered a friendly hand. She shook Justian’s vigorously, and the pilot figured she was stronger than her petite frame would suggest.

“Kira… Tanalon?” Justian asked with an uncertain look, glancing sidelong at Sern briefly.

“Yep, Sern’s my brother,” she said as she strolled over to the rigid Archuran and threw an arm roughly over his shoulders. “I was taken into the Tanalon clan twenty years ago. Sern has the smarts of the family, but I still got all the best parts.”

“I would contest that,” came a firm but friendly voice, as the Amarrian woman came to Sern’s other side with an appraising look at Justian. Then she gave a slight bow. “Well met, Empyrean. I am Almayah. I am bound to Sern, and he to me.”

Chapter VII: Crystal Memories

The rest of the evening was blissfully low-key. Justian spent most of the time in the lounge talking with Kira. He found it unsurprising that she was in the marketing division of the corporation. Her expression exuded a sincere interest in everything he had to say, and her questions were probing but tactful. The topics changed often, meandering casually from politics, to old academy stories, and at last to Kira’s piloting years up to the present day.

“But, I’m a businesswoman at heart,” she admitted as her fingers absentmindedly toyed with one of her many red braids. “I’m not really a pilot. Of course I love to visit new places, but the actual traveling is a bit unsettling to me. That said, I’d love to someday climb aboard one of the Matari caravans. I’ve always had an interest in the nomadic life of my birth ancestry.”

“Thinking of running away with the Thukkers?” Justian teased with a smile.

Kira shook her head. “It’s just a crazy dream. I have too many interesting things going on here with EEG already. We just finished up a major deal with Ishukone, and some new Amarrian agreements are in the works for the sale of exploratory equipment. I have to wander all over the galaxy as it is just to keep up my meeting schedule.” She suddenly looked up over Justian’s shoulder and grinned. “And speaking of longing to wander… I think I’ll turn in for the night. See you around, I’m sure.” Standing, she gave him her patented wink before heading to the nearby lift. Justian looked confused at her departure until he turned his head and saw Khythera. She approached with some hesitation, which looked a bit out-of-place to Justian, whose only impression of the pilot up to that point had been anything but hesitant.

“May I join you?” she asked tentatively. Justian nodded, looking concerned.

“Are you ok?”

“Mostly,” she replied with a sigh. “The last mining op shook me up a bit, I guess. I apologize I missed our date last night.”

“That’s ok,” Justian tried to assure her, feeling himself caught between wanting to be polite and reluctance to acknowledge their planned meeting as a “date”.

“I was in the mining barge next to Jazz’s,” Khythera stated with distant eyes. “The sight of it getting turned into scrap before my eyes has stuck in my head. I haven’t had much sleep since.”

“I understand,” Justian offered, “When I closed my eyes last night I spent hours still trying to evade Blood Raiders through the asteroids. I think we’ll handle it better in time.”

“I hope not,” Khythera said sharply, making Justian start. “I don’t want it to ‘get better’. I never want to ‘get used to it’ as so many of the pilots here have claimed. I don’t want to become the type of person who numbs herself over time to such pain. What kind of human being would I be then?” After a moment of consideration, Justian looked at the pilot with a newborn respect.

“I guess I never thought of it that way before…. Maybe you’re right.” Meeting his gaze, her expression gradually softened, and the mischievous light he was accustomed to seeing was rekindled in her eyes.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” She had timed it perfectly, just as Justian was finishing up the last few drops of his drink. She waited patiently for him to stop coughing.

“I… uh… well… I’m… not… sure?” he managed at last. Khythera smirked as she kissed her open hand and placed it on her breast in what Justian assumed was an Intaki-style oath.

“No naughtiness, I promise.” Justian did not look convinced, so she continued. “I’m sorry, it’s just that everyone else here has already made up their mind what they think about me. Half of them would outright refuse me, and the other half would assume I was trying to seduce them no matter how much I denied it. I just don’t want to be alone tonight: not in a cold bed and not swimming in pod fluid. I just want to feel the real warmth of another person lying next to me.” At her words, Justian began to feel a bit ashamed at his prejudgment. At last he nodded.

“Alright… why not?” Khythera seemed relieved at his answer, and as she stood up she offered him her hand. He took it with a smile and rose.

“I’ll get a few things and meet you at your quarters.”

Justian felt a bit light-headed as he made his way back to his rooms, and wondered if it was due more to the drinks or the night to come. He had had his fair share of relationships back at the academy, to be sure, but experience had not served to rid him of some of his awkwardness around the opposite gender. That was bad enough, but Khythera had an aura of self-assurance about her most of the time that seemed to unsteady him even more. Simply having her lie next to him somehow felt a bit dangerous. Still, he had agreed to the arrangement, and in the end he did not truly doubt her word about what she wanted.

Reaching his cabin, he had just enough time to change into his loose-fitting night clothes when his door chimed. Bidding her to enter, he turned and felt his jaw hanging open. Khythera was adorned in a beautiful flowing nightgown of a shimmering blue material. Her feet were bare, but her ankles were each wrapped in a delicate lace. Her head-piece was gone, allowing her long black hair to cascade down her shoulders and back. The neural leads that ran from the back of her head to her upper spine were now deliberately arranged to encircle her neck. A part of Justian’s mind marveled at how she was able to take even something as purely technological as empyrean implants and transform them into a work of fashion. Seeing his amazed look, she gave him a knowing smile and curtsied slightly.

“An overnight guest must show gratitude to her host as her talents allow,” she announced with an official tone. “It is the Intaki way.”

I need to visit Intaki someday, Justian resolved at once.

“Are you ok?” Khythera asked after Justian still showed no signs of life. He suddenly blinked and shook his head.

“Thank you, all. As you were.” Justian seated himself again and regarded the CEO’s face. It looked like he had aged a bit since a few days ago.

“Friends and comrades,” Packlid began, “We are assembled here today to pay final respects to our honored dead. In the current age, we pilots can be tempted to regard death in a casual way that seems almost perverse at times. Many in New Eden refer to us as "immortals", and perhaps in some ways we are. But in some ways also, I think, such a title diminishes us. As humans we value self-sacrifice, but can such an act bear as much weight when done under the comforting knowledge of a near-instant rebirth?” Packlid let the question hang in the still air for a few moments before continuing.

“With that doubt appropriately placed in our minds, the empyreans of EEG give our deep gratitude to those who serve without any such guarantees. Pilots may be the face of our corporation, but we stand on many shoulders to be seen as we are. Let the names of our truly dedicated be heard once again.” With that, Packlid read off the twelve names of Jazz’s doomed crew. The reading made Justian feel a tinge of regret that he had never known them, and Packid’s words about real sacrifice began to gnaw at his conscience. He felt a bit of relief that he could pilot his frigate solo. When the reading was concluded, Packlid spoke again.

“The empyreans will now approach.” Justian stood along with the other pilots, and they silently formed a processing line past the monuments. Some pilots saluted, others bowed. Jazz came last in the line. As she came to each wooden pillar, she kissed it gently and placed a small wreath over it that was covered with bright flora from a world Justian did not know. Packlid then returned to the podium as the pilots retook their places.

“These memorials will be sent by me to the families of the deceased. May it bring some small measure of comfort and closure to them with the knowledge that their kindred served their duty, and their friends, with passion…. We are lights in the dark.”

“And the darkness cannot overcome us,” replied the gathered host. Jusitan joined in the response, well familiar with the Space Travelers’ Creed that had come to be taught as a secular blessing at every flight academy across the cluster. Packlid’s expression then grew a bit lighter.

“On a happier note, we are also gathered to honor those who risked further danger to save a fellow pilot in a time of crisis. To them we bestow the EEG Red Star for extreme valor and quick thinking in combat.” Jazz wore a warm smile as she produced a set of medallions and pinned them to the breast pockets of each pilot on the stage. She gave a friendly wink to Sern when his turn came, and Justian thought he saw the ghost of a smile pass quickly over the Achur’s features. Justian was last, and hesitant to meet her eyes, he looked at first to the medal. It was a deep crimson star-shaped jewel with a gold border hanging from a ribbon of blue and gold stripes. When he looked up again, Jazz lightly kissed his brow.

“Thanks for the assist,” she whispered. Justian wore what he knew must be a very goofy-looking grin.

“A pilot flying solo is a pilot soon dead or ruined. We fly true only when we fly together. Congratulations to all of you.” The deck erupted into applause and Justian felt his spirit soar. As he gazed over the host stretched out before him, he noticed Khythera sitting down off to the far side of the gathering. She had replaced her head-piece along with her uniform, but was now holding a strange object in her lap that looked like a musical instrument. The elegantly curved exterior was shaped somewhat like a harp, which silvery strings stretched across it. At the top of each glittering thread was a small crystal that was carefully and smoothly cut into a variety of geometric shapes. As the applause died down at last, Packlid gestured over to where she was sitting.

“As part of her duties as Event Coordinator, Khythera will now close the ceremony with an ancient Intaki ballad.”

Justian did not know what to expect, but he was certainly not prepared for the hauntingly beautiful tones that sounded from the strings as Khythera began her performance. The crystals seemed to resonate with the sounds, adding their own harmonics on top of them. Then Khythera’s voice rang clear throughout the hall:

Upon distant shores I cast my lot,
Islands in the black sea have called my name,
Yet across world and gate, I’ve longed to turn,
Back to the lands from which I came.

There my ancestors rose in might,
And mighty they fell in turn,
Still I wonder what they have left behind,
Both wisdom and folly yet burn.

Still we go on, children of a distant blue crescent.

Each of the following versus also carried the same sense of wonder and longing, and each had the same final line. Justian had heard about the beauty of Intaki ballads, but had never gotten a chance to hear one before. By tradition, they were never recorded. They were only permitted to be performed in person. In his mind, the music conjured up an alien world to his mind, a world of vast oceans and forests full of sad memory. The planet in his mind’s eye was no doubt purely one of his imagination, yet it felt like home. As both the music and the image faded away, he glanced about him, and guessed that many of the others had experienced a similar desire to visit that world they had never seen before, and of which no record or firm recollection now remained.

After a brief round of applause, Packlid dismissed the gathering, then approached Justian. They shook hands.

“Thank you for the honor, sir,” Justain said with a quick glance at his new medal.

“No,” Packlid insisted with a grave look, “Thank you. Are you still up for your escort mission today?”

“Yes, sir,” Justian replied without hesitation.