EVE Fiction

Adapt or Die

Vove Apyson slammed his fists onto the conference table when Stie Alliacis broke the news to him, "The freighter you were waiting on, the Anares, she didn't make it. I'm sorry Vove. It's a big lost, its one that will cross Santimona's desk when she hears about it."

Vove's head hung low over the table, his shoulders hunched, "How did it happen?" he breathed.

"She was tackled at the gate to Ladistier. Then three Cyclone battle cruisers made quick work of her," Stie's voice warbled from the encrypted comms as he continued. "They must have known about her and planned an ambush..."

He followed up with another question, "Who was the corporation responsible?"

"Does it even matter?" snapped Stie. Silence filled in for Vove's response. "Look, the capsuleers act with impunity to their actions, and CONCORD turns a blind eye slapping them with a marginal penalty to their security status. Those capsuleers they don't care. They rarely come into high sec anyway, but know we operate across New Eden in low, null and even wormhole space. Our commerce is dying, Vove."

"The Anares loss is not about commerce, Stie. This is something else and its going to set the entire Sisterhood research back years. We lost a key piece of Upwell data stored on board - that was not easy to get our hands on...damn it..."

Silence again filled the space between them. Then Stie broke in - "I'll send you my report in a few hours. I'm sorry. Aeechee station out."

Vove leaned on the table for another moment, his thoughts were turning cartwheels. He's right. The capsuleers are at war with each other, constantly, and we're in the middle of them. And CONCORD? What a joke...anyone can bribe them so they can look away and let them slaughter each other in high sec. "Legal war, bah!" he exhaled.

Straightening up, he turned towards the observation deck in his office. The view of the red glowing nebula, light years away from where he stood in J-CIVJ VII filled the entire window from end-to-end. Nurseries for the stars.., he bagan to wander in his mind. Then the soft toned chimes preceding an intercom call announced itself, and the sentient computer, Aura, spoke from out of the air, "Mr. Apyson, a secure call from Director Sarpati's office is awaiting you. How shall I respond?"

it was not like Vove had a choice and could have told Santimona 'no,' that he would not be there. Santimona Sarpati, CEO and Director of the Sisters of EVE said it could mean the survival of SOE. Vove knew the introduction of Citadels would shift markets into the consortium's hands, but he didn't think its impact would threaten SOE. He read the internal classified notes that projected capsuleers industrial activities would remain mostly in high security space, and that the null regions SOE controlled would continue to see substantially low activities. Even Citadel construction in wormhole regions like Thera was projected to be minimal. Everything would be bottled up in high sec space like some pressure cooker, and capsuleers would slaughter each other even more. "It's safer in null sec than it is in high sec," he mused.

Years earlier, the SOE sought to change that, "Give capsuleers the tools to explore New Eden and they will go," Santimona said. But no longer does she believe that. The tools discovered and developed from the SOE member corporation, the Sanctuary Applied Gravitation Laboratory in Thera, only fueled their internal destruction. Sure, sales of the SOE Faction ships remain brisk and capsuleers continue dedicating themselves to do needed missions for garnering loyalty points. But SOE is a humanitarian organization, not an arms dealer.

Vove placed his face into both palms of his hand and began rubbing. He turned his chair to the observation deck, and could see the nebula once again, but through his fingers. His 'nurseries for the stars' thought returned to him, as he sat pensively. The destruction of the Anares, the slaughter of capsuleers in high sec, the projections the Citadel construction will only further that destruction, the failed attempt to get capsuleers out and across New Eden, they were all somehow connected. The he realized the problem pointed back to what had happened with the Anares, the gates! he thought. If the problem of the gate campers is not fixed New Eden is going to implode with high sec exploding first. Vove saw the problem clearly now. High security space was like a balloon about to burst and the gates were its only relief, but being blocked. Somehow, someway we have to adapt, or we die

* * *

Sister Alitura intently studied the reports as she poured over the latest statistics on ship loses in high sec. The chart ebbed and flowed with periodic spikes and falls, but the trend was slowly becoming clear. Alitura mumbled under her breath “I’m doing CONCORD’s work now, pfft!” Her fingers raced across the touch screen’s translucent display dragging charts from one area and throwing them to another, rotating star maps, extrapolating ship and pod kill data from various regions. Finally, the trend was undeniable, conflict in high sec was increasing. The next question she naturally wondered was could this be sustainable?

She knew the increased violence had a direct correlation to the actions taken by CCP when they lowered the admission requirements for capsuleer recruitment. Off worlder requests have steadily grew from the colony planets throughout New Eden and recruits began pouring in eager to try their hand as a capsuleer, with promises of riches and adventure awaiting them. Once committed they would then take their first step towards immortality by shedding the coil of their planetary body and inhabit their first space faring self. But capsuleer life they soon learned, was difficult. Many times, new capsuleers were rudely awaken to the fact that they were simply prey to the predators finding themselves instantly transported to their new cloned body at their home station. Confused and disoriented, they would review the ship’s data log to learn it took but mere seconds for someone to target lock and blow them out of the stars. Their confusion further compounded by the false notion that high sec space was safe, when in fact nowhere in New Eden is safe. CONCORD would then dispense an offer for a ‘kill right’ to the unfortunate capsuleer. Still in a state of shock, the capsuleer dumbly nodded to the notice, and if they wanted to they could place a bounty on the head of the offender. All-in-all it was poor consolation to soothe the shattered psyche subjected to clone-jump trauma. Many would adapt to realize immortality made these daily escapades a game. For others, they were mortified and offended by what they had signed up for, while all around them the other pilots would cynically tell them “welcome to the game, but that is how life is now, capsuleer!” Fly and die, and fly again over and over. Alitura shuttered to think if she would ever become a capsuleer, I think if I should die it will be only once.

Alitura turned her attention back to the report. She was almost finished with her work that Santimona had asked for, but she had some lingering questions about the subject. “Aura, what do we have on predator-prey and population studies?”

Aura replied, “There are over 3 million eight hundred thousand studies to include ancient Earth records.”

“Hmmm. What about Utopia population studies?” she asked.

“There are over five hundred eighty thousand references available.” Aura responded.

“Any that you would recommend, any thing renowned?”

Aura answered, “I believe you might find of interest a late ancient Earth study that was performed in a controlled environment on a common rodent indigenous to its planet.”

“Explain.” Aura gave a summary that piqued Alitura’s interest. “Aura, please prepare this Calhoun study for my neural transmission. I want to know more.”

Alitura picked up a thin, silvered metal band called a neural inductor and placed it on the temples of her head. She tapped it on the side and in a few seconds knew of the late 20th century Mouse Utopia study and its grim predictions. She took the band off and placed it on it’s stand, and New Eden is hardly a utopia, she thought. Then she smiled a wry smile as she connected the irony to CCP, Crowd Control Productions.