EVE Fiction

Prologue

It is the year 23,347 AD by the ancient Terran calendar, but it is perhaps better known as YC 111, or the seventh year of the Empyrean Age. The Four Empires of New Eden are enmeshed in sporadic but violent conflict, while the Jovians remain silent. Out on the frontier, capsuleers fight their own private wars for resources, territory, and honor. For the first time since the collapse of the EVE Gate, wormholes have appeared throughout the cluster, providing access to vast new regions of space. Yet, despite the turmoil, the demand for starships and equipment has remained an ever-present force. Ambitious industrial corporations strive to meet this demand, fighting their own battles on the cut-throat field of the Interstellar Market. The pod pilots who enlist in these corps are known by names both cruel and kind: builders, makers, carebears, cowards, powerbrokers, the true rulers of New Eden. Whatever the title, they are the deepest foundations of the new order, the gears within every war machine, and their collective destinies will forever more be intertwined with that of New Eden itself….


Chapter I: An Interview

The smooth, bluish-green hull of the Atron-class frigate emanated a soft and eerie glow as it reflected the light from the star system’s local sun, a fiercely-burning red giant. As the starship sailed silent and steady through the cold vacuum of space, it displayed a distinct lack of occupancy. Through the large forward windows carved into the fuselage, no crew was visible. Instead of the usual 5 or so seats on the bridge, there were large computer banks hooked into the control stations. These, in turn, had thick bundles of cable running back into the depths of the vessel. All these lines had a common terminus within the heart of the craft; an egg-shaped compartment with a design that looked out-of-place compared to the surrounding Gallentean forms. It was a piece of Jovian technology, and one that inspired both awe and fear from humans throughout New Eden. This was the ship’s living essence, all of its functions modified from the original design to be controlled from this central point. This was no ordinary ship. It was a capsuleer ship.

Within the golden neural-silicate fluid that filled the control capsule, the near-naked body of Justian Halmore gently floated, his form linked to the capsule walls via several cables emerging from his head and back. His face was calm as if he was merely sleeping. The only movement to be seen was that of his eyes darting back and forth beneath his closed eyelids. Normally, one might associate this behavior with dreaming, but what Justian was experiencing was much more than that. With blinding speed, information from the ship was assaulting his mind, with thousands upon thousands of status updates and instrument readings all begging for his attention. A normal human mind would’ve been driven insane from the onslaught. However, thanks to the Jovian brain implants and the capsuleer’s extensive mental training, his unconscious mind was able to sort and ingest most of the data, allowing his conscious mind to focus only on the most important ship decisions. With a thought, these instructions would then be relayed to the rest of the vessel. This new symbiotic relationship had quickly turned the empyreans into New Eden’s most elite starship pilots, capable of literally feeling a ship’s condition and manipulating it with the same familiarity as with their own bodies. These abilities had brought many capsuleers fame, wealth, and power, and Justian had come to claim his fair share.

Willing the ship’s cameras to swivel forward, the capsuleer’s virtual gaze fell upon his destination, a space station hovering serenely just above the rings of the gas giant it orbited. The planet’s closest moon loomed nearby, bathing the station in a dull, silvery hue. Overall, the station looked cold and uninviting to Justian’s eyes, a product of Caldari aesthetics, very angular and asymmetric.

Efficient and functional but utterly soulless, he thought to himself.

This journey had been his first into State territory, and he had felt uneasy since he had crossed the Border Zone, the space there crawling with Scorpion-class battleships. Still, he was determined to make his interview on-time. As with all interviews, the first impression was everything, and he needed it to be a good one. It had been just under a month since he had graduated from the University of Caille, and he was swimming in debt as well as pod fluid. Capsuleer training didn’t come cheap, and if a graduate could not find sufficient employment in the private sector to repay the University, he would have to pay his debt within the Federation government. Not wanting to subjugate himself to the unruly beast that was the Federal bureaucracy, he had acted on a tip from a former classmate, applying to some small-scale industrial corp that was based deep within the Caldari State. And now here he was, hoping that his career as an empyrean pilot would begin on a productive note.

Nearing the massive body of the station, Justian signaled the control tower for clearance. The controller on duty responded with a mechanical and disinterested voice, queuing his ship along with dozens of others into the docking pattern for entry into the upper levels of the station that were reserved for capsuleers. One tractor beam ride later saw his frigate parked neatly into a docking bay, the ship now surrounded by the modular interior of the station. Justian then shut down the Atron’s systems and his virtual world faded away.

The sudden change of scenery was enough to almost make Justian stagger as he entered the CEO’s office. The furniture and free-standing sculptures were all obviously of Gallente origin, with flowing, organic forms. It brought a smile to the capsuleer’s face to see this small reminder of home. To the right, a large viewing window was set into the wall, offering a gorgeous view of the ringed planet drifting below them. Opposite from the window was a very large desk topped with piles of forms, various unidentifiable pieces of equipment grouped into messy clumps, and a set of three large monitors. Behind the screens sat a man dressed in a simple brown tunic and pants. He had a scraggly, unkempt appearance, with a five o’clock shadow on his face and a head of thin, brown hair that hung loose down to his shoulders. Over him hovered a woman dressed in a dark red dress. She was much shorter than Justian or the man at the desk, and had a bunch of tightly wound auburn braids that cascaded down over her head. Both the man and the woman had the tell-tale ports of capsuleers on their skin. They were speaking softly and pointing to various things on the three screens.

Justian decided to simply stand and wait. As he listened, he caught phrases such as “profit margin” and “over-supply”, and deduced that the discussion was economic in nature. After a few minutes, the man nodded decisively and handed a data crystal to the woman. With a smile and a wave she straightened and made for the door. As she passed Justian, she gave the pilot a once-over with her eyes and then offered him a mischievous wink before exiting. Justian was so distracted by this that he almost jumped when he was finally addressed.

“Mr. Halmore! Come, please, take a seat,” said the man with a friendly tone. Justian made his way to one of two chairs that were set before the desk. As the pilot sat, the man offered a hand, which Justian shook gratefully.

“Paconis Lidranne,” the man introduced himself, “CEO of Galactic Extensive Enterprises. Just call me ‘Packlid’.” Justian nodded with a smile. Most capsuleers were given callsigns after graduation by their first corporation, and one day soon Justian hoped to claim one for himself.

Packlid gazed at Justian for a moment, seeming to size him up.

“A green capsuleer fresh from Caille,” he said, almost as if to himself. “New capsuleers take a while to train up.” Then a broad grin came to his face. “But then again, you won’t have to unlearn any bad habits like the frontier vets I get sometimes.” Opening a drawer on his desk, he rummaged around, searching for something.

“Ah ha! Here we go!” he cried as he withdrew a small badge. “I knew there were a few still left in here. I really need to ask Jazz to make some more of these.” Holding the badge in his open hand, he suddenly closed it and gave Justian a serious look.

“What do you want, pilot?”

“I’m sorry, sir?” Justian asked, taken aback by the sudden change of mood.

“What do you want?” Packlid repeated. “All pilots have goals: money, power, adventure, glory, or just plain fun and excitement. What’s your desire?” Justian was silent for a moment. He thought he had prepared himself thoroughly, ready to answer questions about his training at Caille or list references to his character and good standing in the Federation. He had even memorized the little information he could gather about the corp itself. Yet, here was a question that was both simple and completely unexpected.

“I… I don’t know yet… sir,” Justian answered at last, deciding to respond with a truth as straight-forward as the question. Again there was a pause, then Packlid’s former, pleasant mood returned.

“Good answer,” he said. “Too many hot-shot capsuleers think they know exactly what they want when they enter a corp. Then, of course, they run head-long into the tritanium wall of reality and get knocked for a loop. If you’re willing to try new things, to welcome any and all possibilities, then you should do well with us.” Packlid then handed the badge to Justian, a palm-sized version of the corp’s insignia.

“Wear it proudly,” Packlid said with a grin, “And welcome aboard.”

“That’s it?” Justian asked with a startled look. “I’m in?”

“There are many 'extensive' things in our corp,” Packlid said as he rose from his desk, “But our interviews are not one of them. I trust my gut, and my gut says you’re an honest pilot. Honesty is the most valuable commodity out here, and it’s more than enough to get you in.” Justian stood, still disbelieving, and Packlid came around the desk, friendly slapping his newest recruit on the back.

“Besides,” Packlid added. “I already did a full background check on you, and if you had been a spy or infiltrator, you would’ve never made it here alive.” Justian swallowed at that.

Chapter II: Rogue Drones

As the two frigates exited the disintegrating warp tunnel, the huge visage of an Amarrian space station came swiftly to loom over them. The surrounding, pulsating hyperspace gave way to the greenish glow of the nearby nebula, and the local sun cast a warm glow upon the ship hulls. Packlid and Justian had been in transit for almost a full day, taking the longer but safer route across the official Caldari/Amarr border rather than risk a direct route through lawless space. Justian had worried about the customs ships at the border jumpgate. While the Amarr Empire and the Caldari State had fallen into a de-facto alliance, and Packlid’s vessel was one of many State ships entering Imperial space on a daily basis, a Gallente frigate was a somewhat rarer sight. Indeed, the Caldari border guards had stopped them for a brief time, and Packlid had spoken to them over a secured channel. Whatever he said must have satisfied them, for they let Justian’s ship pass through the gate without further hindrance.

Throughout the remainder of the journey, Packlid had done his best to bring Justian up-to-speed on the corp’s rules and policies. Most of it was common sense, but some of the details about operation reporting and fleet protocols were very specific, and Justian recorded those portions into his ship’s log to review later. Aside from procedures, the two also spoke on economic topics. Trade traffic to the Amarr System was up, Packlid claimed, and the demand for salvage and archeology equipment was at an all-time high. Justian knew well the reason for such a surge. Empyreans were pouring into wormhole space, seeking adventure and profit at the expense of the mysterious Sleepers. Justian himself had yet to explore these enigmatic systems, but he knew that capsuleers were already designing new ships based on the ancient yet advanced technology they had found there.

Upon contacting the Amarrian station’s docking control, he received a much warmer reception than he had back at the Caldari station, where EEG’s official headquarters had been. He mentioned this to Packlid over the comm.

“Our HQ in Vuorrassi is just a place-holder,” the CEO assured him. “We keep it there for… beneficial tax purposes. Misha here is our current base of operations. This is where the magic happens.”

Given priority clearance, the ships were promptly towed into a specific hangar bay located around the far side of the station which faced the nearby moon spinning slowly below them. Justian saw the corp’s insignia printed above the bay, the ringed, golden gear shining brightly as it reflected the station lighting. As his Atron entered the main section of the hangar, Justian’s virtual eyes could see a flurry of activity all around him. Personnel adorned in blue and gold uniforms darted about the various deck levels moving containers or operating control panels. Just above him, a large Bestower-class hauler was drifting slowly out of the hangar, its massive bulk surrounded on two sides by a group of escorting frigates. Out of curiosity, Justian switched his commlink to the hanger general channel and listened in on the voices calling back and forth.

“Container AAZ2017 transit to sub-bay 19, heavy 27k-m-3.”

“Crane 04, grab AAZ2017 heavy to 19.”

“Copy, tractor on AAZ2017 heavy to 19, Crane 04”

“I need a repair team to bay 31 for drone repair. Moderate EM damage.”

“Roger. Repair Two, queue up EM in 31.”

“Acknowledged DM, heading to 31 in 10, Repair Two.”

Justian was relieved to hear the voices sounding calm and professional. In his previous experiences at the university, the tone of the general channel was a helpful gauge of a group’s overall cohesion.

With a gentle thud, Justian’s Atron came to rest in one of the ship berths. By the time he had shut down his ship, washed up, and put on a clean uniform, Packlid was waiting for him outside on the deck. The CEO was again wearing a simple ensemble of loose-fitting clothes that, at the same time, did not detract from the commanding presence he seemed to hold on the deck. Standing nearby were three corp officers dressed in the blue uniforms with gold trim that Justian assumed must be the representative colors of EEG.

“Welcome to your new home,” Packlid said, gesturing to the cavernous interior of the corporate hangar and then to the three men standing at attention. “These deck officers here will take care of your vessel and see your belongings are sent to your quarters here on the station.” When Justian responded with a hesitant expression, Packlid smiled.

“Don’t worry, pilot, these gentlemen may not be caspuleers, but they know their way around ships. We need to transfer over your command codes and alter your FoF transponder signal. I assure you, they can be trusted.” Still reluctant, Justian conceded with a nod. Withdrawing the ship access key from his pocket, he handed it to the closest officer, who gave him a respectful nod. Then, as the three men entered the Atron, Packlid led Justian over to the main area of the hangar. It was a large, flat expanse that was easily tens of thousands of square meters in size. Most of it was covered with stacks of merchandise and equipment, but pathways were kept clear for both foot-traffic and anti-grav carts to get around. As Packlid reached the edge of the main hangar deck, one of the officers passing by spotted him.

“CEO on deck!” he cried, the sound thundering even over the busy background din. Almost in unison, everyone on the deck stopped and snapped to attention. Justian was almost sure he saw a flash of embarrassment upon Packlid’s face before his voice sounded in reply.

“Hey, Jazz,” Packlid said as the woman placed her drink down on the table and rose to give him a warm embrace. Justian began to fidget uncomfortably and let his gaze wander.

“You’re very late,” Jazz said, her voice sounding much more gentle than Justian had expected from a Caldari female. “Ronin thought maybe customs was holding you up.”

“They did a little, but no major complications. The delay was mostly caused by the damn State Navy trying to nullify our last two fair-bid contracts with Ishukone. Our pricing in Jita is making them sweat over their latest bulk cruiser purchases, and now they think we’re illegally undercutting the State manufacturers. Paranoid idiots.”

“Well,” Jazz offered with a grin, “You said you wanted to make waves in the markets. Not all of them will be pleasant ones.”

Packlid shook his head. “Next time I offer to deal directly with the megacorps, please vote me out.” Jazz replied with a silvery laugh. Packlid then seemed to suddenly remember that Justian was standing next to him.

“Oh! Jazz! This is Justian Halmore, our newest member. Justian, our Director of Mining Operations, Amileon Karaine.”

“Just ‘Jazz’, please,” she said as she took Justian’s hand. “Only my mother called me ’Amileon’ as a kid, and it was almost always followed by: ‘You’re in big trouble, young lady!’” She smiled then, and Justian laughed despite his nervousness.

“I need to see Almayah right away about these Abaddon numbers,” Packlid said to Jazz, holding up the datapad. “And Justian here needs a tour of the premises. You free?”

“For a while, yes,” Jazz replied. “Go ahead, and let me know how many runs you two decided to do so I can check our mineral reserves.”

“Will do,” Packlid said as he turned and went back to the lift.

“Well, let’s get started,” Jazz said as she turned to face Justian. “Is there any place you’d like to see first?”

“Uhh…” Justian replied, trying to think of something intelligent to ask about.

“I know, let’s head to drone maintenance first,” Jazz suggested with a wink.”You’re Gallentean, right?”

“Not all of us are married to our drones,” Justian replied with an annoyed tone.

“Aww, c’mon,” Jazz said, taking his arm. “I can show you some of the new mining designs we’re working on.” With that, the two pilots left through a side door of the lounge that led out into a set of long corridors. Jazz took the lead, and Justian noted the other doors they passed, glancing over the labels beside each one: a number of personal crew quarters, various equipment lockers, and the corp’s medical ward. Jazz finally stopped at one of the larger doors and pulled out a keycard from a pocket on her flight-suit. Sliding it across the reader, the door moved aside and Jazz motioned Justian to follow her inside.

The drone maintenance area was cleaner than Justian was anticipating. Full-size drone hulls were lying in neat ranks along one wall. Opposite to them were workbenches surrounded by dangerous-looking tools and the still limbs of robotic construction arrays. The room appeared to be unoccupied at the moment save for Jazz and himself, so when Justian heard a gruff, annoyed voice pipe up from beside him, he yelped and nearly jumped out of his boots.

“Who’s the new meat-bag?!”

“Stinger,” Jazz warned. “Behave yourself.” From behind the nearest workbench, what looked like a miniature version of a Hornet-class combat drone zoomed into view, its anti-grav system quietly humming and its tiny maneuvering thrusters making periodic hissing sounds.

“I thought I told you to stay in the hangar,” Jazz scolded the small drone.

“Ronin was prepping to head out and search for Pack if he didn’t return soon,” Stinger barked. “So I was talking to my posse to see who was eager for some possible pew-pew!”

“They’re standard-issue combat drones,” Jazz insisted wearily. “They can’t be eager about anything.”

“Says you!” Stinger cried. “I know my boys! Units 12, 34, and 58 are itching for some hull-poking action!”

“Living vicariously through witless, shooting devices,” another voice sounded from the back of the room, this one with a distinct feminine flavor. “I for one would rather see you engage a ship directly. For example, we could discover how much damage your welding laser will do against the armor of a Tempest.” Another miniature drone was approaching, this one looking like an ORE-issue mining drone. Its front was adorned with four long tentacles tipped with dexterous-looking talons.

“Greetings, new recruit,” the second drone said, one tentacle making a salute-like gesture that led Justian to smile slightly in spite of his confusion. “Please excuse my brother. His circuits are awash in whatever serves as the digital equivalent of testosterone.”

“This is Casalia,” Jazz said. “She’s one of the helper drones we have around here. Cas, this is Justian.” Justian regarded the drone with fascination.

“Its behavioral and vocal responses… they seem so….”

“Realistic?” Jazz offered, and Jusitan nodded. “Yeah, I still haven’t been able to reconstruct what I did, but I messed up the procedure during a core A.I. re-coding. I was also re-coding Stinger here at the time. They’ve both been acting very differently ever since the accident.”

“I got smarter,” Stinger cut in. “Now all the combat drones here answer to me!”

“That would be tactically unsound,” Casalia said dismissively, then turned to face Jazz.

“I have organized the drone weapon stockpiles here, as well as in cargo bays 3 and 7. They are now indexed by mineral grade as well as size.”

“Thanks, Casalia,” Jazz replied. “I don’t have any new work for you right now, so you can have some time to yourself if you want.”

Chapter III: Regarding Shadows

The remainder of Justian’s tour was not nearly as eventful as in the drone maintenance area. Jazz showed him the corp lockers where standard-issue ship equipment was available for general use, she took him past the galley that served regular meals to corp personnel, and finally she led him to the local cybernetic archive. It was then, as Justian was scanning over the various learning files that could be downloaded into his brain via his capsuleer implants, that the weight of a day’s space travel, combined with the rush of new information and acquaintances, took its toll at last. The new recruit had not slept for almost 48 hours, and now he could not keep himself from the embarrassment of yawning as Jazz explained the filing system for EEG’s private skill repository. After Justian tried in vain to stifle his sixth expression of fatigue, Jazz finally stopped her lecture and smiled understandingly.

“I think the rest of the tour can wait. You look like a solid eight hours of rest would do you a lot of good.”

“I’m sorry,” Justian said sheepishly. “This isn’t a critique of your abilities as a tour guide.” His apology won him another round of silvery laughter from the Detein woman that he had quickly come to enjoy.

“Let’s go,” she said as she spun him around towards the door. “It's time for all good empyreans to go to bed and dream of commanding titans.”

A quick check of EEG’s personnel records allowed Jazz to locate Justian’s newly-assigned quarters. They were not far from the pilots’ common area; just one deck down and a few doors over. After leading him there and giving a quick “Good night!” Jazz had left him in the modest but fairly spacious apartment. The Amarrian influence was inescapable, clearly seen in the arching walls and the gold-tinted lighting. A quick look-around established the amenities: living room, bed room, and bath. He also found that his set of quick-packs, luggage containing all of his essentials, had already been transferred here from his ship.

Quick service, he thought with an amused smile. Idly shedding his clothes down to his undershorts, he activated the main monitor in the living room on a whim, wondering what kind of video entertainment was available at an Amarrian station. However, instead of a welcome screen or a menu, a message flashed across the screen:

To Justian:
Hope the accommodations are acceptable. In the drawer next to your bed you will find two gifts; one from EEG, and the other from our gracious hosts. I’m sure the last day has been a bit overwhelming, so feel free to use tomorrow to organize your belongings and your wits. The following morning will be our regular briefing for pilots, so then would be a good time to get you “into the game”, so to speak. Also, make sure to speak with Ronin at the security office. He will provide you with the clearances you will need to operate as an EEG pilot. Feel free to contact myself or Jazz with any questions you may have.
Sleep well,
Packlid

Turning the monitor back off, Justian smiled. While some of the corp members seemed a bit odd, he sensed that they were good people at heart, a rather rare quality in the harsh and unforgiving place that was New Eden. Practically collapsing onto the cot in his new bedroom, he reached over to the small side-table and opened up the drawer beneath it. Sure enough, two items where to be found within: a copy of the Amarrian Scriptures translated into Gallentean and a neatly folded blue and gold uniform. Holding up the uniform, he felt the thrill of new adventures lying before him.

Good people, he thought to himself again, then placed the uniform back into the drawer. Reaching into a pocket on his shorts, he withdrew a small chip. Attaching it to the main input socket at the back of his head, he settled down for sleep. Soon, his body relaxed and became still, but his mind remained active; not filled with dreams, anxieties, or nightmares, but control schematics, flight maneuvers, and power balance statistics. For he was an empyrean, and sleep was the time to efficiently learn new piloting skills. In the morning he would be refreshed, alert, and one night closer to effectively commanding Gallentean cruisers.



The next morning was a time for organization. Arrayed in his crisp new EEG uniform, Justian transferred the rest of his stowed belongings from his ship to his station quarters and then checked up on his Atron. Packlid had not been exaggerating about his people knowing their way around ships. The frigate’s main computer now possessed a new set of heavily-encrypted access codes and a corp-issue FoF transponder. Primary comm channels had been neatly re-arranged to suit EEG’s standards, and even the interface menus now had the corp’s insignia as the wallpaper. A quick check of the ship’s exterior also revealed subtle nanite repairs across the hull and a fresh coat of polish. But the one detail that really made Justian beam with pride was when he saw the new lettering on the forward sections of the vessel. The first line was a new registry number, and below that, the name he had given his ship back in his first year at the University:

G.E.S. Milite

Galactic Enterprise Ship Milite, he thought. It has a nice ring to it.

“Are you Justian Halmore?!” boomed a deep voice behind him. Whirling around, Justian found himself face to face with a bear of a man whose shoulders came up to the top of the young pilot’s head. He wore loose combat fatigues that nonetheless hinted at the huge muscles lying underneath. Over this clothing was a vest of old, worn leather, lined with holsters. Justian noticed that each holster contained a different form of personal hand gun. The man’s head was shaved clean, but below two piercing brown eyes, set alongside Caldari features, were the shadows of a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. His expression was grave.

Still unfamiliar with the maze of corridors that made up EEG’s station presence in Misha, he had to double back twice before he found the lift he was looking for. After entering the small elevator, he pressed the key for what he thought was the floor with the pilot’s common area. However, as the deck number display swiftly counted past his intended destination, he looked again and saw he had hit the next button to the right by accident. With a sigh, he pressed the correct key and reigned himself to simply waiting for the lift to turn around and descend once again. His foot tapping the ground with impatience, he realized that the lift was ascending much higher than he would expect it to and still remain within the EEG area of the station. Finally the elevator came to a stop and the display flashed overhead:

OBSERVATION DECK (EEG-RESERVED)

His curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped out of the lift and let the doors close behind him. He found himself standing in a dimly lit, open area with no furnishings whatsoever. There seemed to be no doors other than those of the lift he had just entered from. The sweeping curves of a large Amarrian holy symbol were set into the floor in shades of red and gold. The entire far side of the area was covered with large viewing windows, beyond which the vast field of stars beckoned to him. The room had a quiet and somewhat eerie sense of reverence to it, and without thinking he made sure his footfalls were silent as he walked towards the windows. Reaching the transparent plates, he could see most of the starboard side of the station stretching out beneath him. He now saw that the lift had brought him all the way to the crown of the station structure. Far below, the running lights and engine flashes of ships scurried about the docking bay entrances. As if on cue, the local sun peeked out from the limb of the nearby moon. The light refracted through the moon’s thin atmosphere, sending beams of orange light dancing across the station’s hull. In return, the elaborate projections and decorative arches of the station exterior cast a kaleidoscope of shadows that marched lazily across the smooth metal. Some of these shadows fell upon the observation deck, and Justian watched them, almost hypnotized by the drifting, morphing shapes.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a low female voice suddenly sounded, making Justian start. A short, petite woman was leaning against one of the far windows. Justian figured she must have been there the whole time, concealed in the dark until the rising sun had begun its light-show.

“I’m sorry?” Justian replied, confused.

“The shadows,” she said, “How they dance and change shape…. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Justian answered, not knowing what else to say. The woman straightened and approached, her body language seemingly casual, but with some small hint of danger that made Justian uneasy. She had bright blonde hair that was neatly gathered into two tight buns at the top of her head. She was adorned in a tight-fitting gray flight-suit with black tendrils that emanated from the neckline like spider legs. She appeared to have more neural implants than a common capsuleer. Pieces of cybernetic equipment covered parts of her forehead and her right cheek. The skin of her face was quite pale, and she wore similar Detein eye tattoos as those Justian had seen on Jazz. But most of all, it was the woman’s dull green eyes that seized his attention. They were at once both empty and alert, distant but searching, and as she came closer, Justian couldn’t help but think that something behind those dim green discs was throbbing, thrashing… trying to escape.

“I read Packlid’s daily report,” she said softly. “You are Justian, right?”

“Yes,” he said, offering his hand with some hesitation. “And you are?”

“Shinoshi Shisuke,” she replied, taking his hand in her own. Justian tried to keep his expression neutral. Her hand was almost as cold as ice. “I’m on the EEG Board of Directors.” Justian then saluted.

“It’s an honor, ma’am.”

“Is it?” she asked simply, leaving Justian in an awkward silence once again. She looked him over slowly, as if sizing him up against some unknown criteria.

“Ambitious, I think,” she said at last. “Some potential, hopefully, but clouded by untested assumptions and brittle certainties. Be careful, pilot. Space is cold. Even the fires of youth are quickly snuffed out by it.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Justian replied, clearly suspicious about Shinoshi’s words and strange behavior.

“Just trying to offer some… friendly advice,” she said in a tone that was anything but friendly. She then gestured towards the rising sun. “It’s getting a bit late for me, and I’ve seen this photonic display before. Stay here at least a little while longer, pilot, and watch the shadows. They’ll tell you much more than the light or the darkness ever will.” With that, she gave Justian a thin smile that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Then she turned and left for the lift. After the doors closed behind her, Justian let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Good people here yes, but also an overcompensating A.I. tool, a smoking giant, and at least one down-right creepy director, he thought to himself. I wonder how much more eclectic this corp will prove to be.

His gaze wandered back to the shadows sliding across the floor, and soon fatigue began to seep into his muscles. After a few moments he took one last look at the celestial panorama, then made his own exit off the observation deck. He needed to sleep and clear his head. Tomorrow he would show his worth to EEG.

“We have a sizable operation ahead of us,” Packlid began, “So let’s get this briefing finished and get out into the vacuum. This will be a standard ‘grab-and-go’ mining op based on a target-or-opportunity that was brought to our attention just a few days ago. For further details I will turn the floor over to our scouting commander.” With that, Justian heard a noise above him and looked to see a holo-projector descending from the ceiling to loom over the empty area that lay between the rows of seated pilots and the corp directors. Within moments a holo-image took shape. The face and shoulders of a woman appeared, dressed in a standard EEG uniform. She was clearly Caldari, with black hair and brown eyes, but she had some of the same, unfamiliar facial features as Sern, and Justian again wondered what area of the State they both hailed from.

“EEG, do you read me?” the woman’s alto voice sounded, clearly being transmitted over the FTL communication network.

“We read you, Distance,” Packlid answered.

“Are you lost?!” called out a male pilot seated near Ronin who was dressed in grey military fatigues, prompting a round of laughter from the assembled pilots. The holo-image looked annoyed.

“No, I happen to be where the rest of you should be by now.”

“Go ahead, Doctor,” Packlid prompted to the woman.

“Well,” Distance said, “As I reported earlier, I have been tracking the orbits of two sizable asteroids within the Misha system for several months now. Three weeks ago, I had collected enough astrometric data to accurately predict that Asteroids 7-1-09887 and 7-1-07624 would collide at 03:47 EVE standard time today. The collision occurred on schedule and I have been monitoring the debris tracks.”

The holo-image suddenly shifted, and instead of Distance, it showed a three-dimensional coordinate grid. A seemingly-chaotic array of lines began to emerge from the center, each one attached to what looked like a modeled piece of asteroid debris.

“My survey scan has revealed significant deposits of hedbergite and gneiss that have been made newly-accessible by the impact. If we don’t sweep up these rocks soon, some other corp will.”

Once again Distance’s visage appeared above the pilots.

“Briana and I will maintain our position for now, but our mining and defense capabilities are limited. We require a full corporate presence to maximize the protection and exploitation of this extremely rare opportunity.”

“Well said,” Packlid announced. “And we’ll be on our way shortly. Thanks, Distance.” With a nod, the woman’s image vanished.

“So that’s the situation, pilots,” Packlid said. “We will commence with the op in twenty minutes. Defense forces will move into the area first, followed by the mining and logistics wings. News about this asteroid collision will almost surely get out fast, so we will have to be on the look-out for competitors swooping in and causing trouble.”

“And of course,” Packlid added with a more serious tone, “We must remain vigilant for Blood Raider attacks. All pilots are to report immediately to their commanders for fitting information and squadron assignments. Any questions?” The room remained silent, and Justian looked about to see confident expressions that eased his growing nervousness about his first corporate operation.

“Very well,” Packlid concluded, “Let’s carve up some rocks. Dismissed.” As the crowd of pilots began to move, Justian and Khythera rose from their seats. The Intaki woman took his arm in one hand as she stroked it lovingly with the other.

“Woe is me, to spend hours upon hours within a clunky, dirty mining barge. I need something to look forward to so that my pain is eased with expectant thoughts. Will you meet me in the common area after the op?”

“I… well, I…” Justian hesitated. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t disappoint me, my beautiful Gallentean,” Khythera said with a wink, then she moved away, following the other mining pilots. Justian breathed a sigh of relief and made his way towards Ronin, who was already leading the combat pilots out of the briefing room.

“All trigger-happy folks this way!” the large man bellowed as he went. Making it to his side, Ronin saw the young pilot and grinned.

“I’ll need a tackle set-up from you, good buddy. It’s the best use of that speedy little Atron of yours. I downloaded the specs to your ship’s computer. Double-check the fit and then meet me outside the station. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Justian replied.

Hoping to beat the undocking rush. Justian jogged ahead and made it to the lift just before the doors closed. Within minutes he was back in the cavernous space of the hangar deck. As he made his way to his ship he saw organized ranks of people amassing near the larger corp vessels. They were all arrayed in EEG uniforms, which told Justian that they must be the ship crews awaiting their respective pilot-captains to arrive on the deck. While small ships such as Justian’s frigate were perfectly flyable by a single pod pilot, the larger vessels still required crew complements to handle the lower ship functions and assist in damage control when necessary.

While the uniforms were all similar, he noted the many differences in the overall appearance of the crew members, and remembered Packlid’s statement about all races being welcomed within the corp. Simple, cloth hoods covered the heads of the Amarrians, a symbol of piety and humility before their God. The Matari crew had elaborate body piercings that gave them a wild, untamed look. The Gallenteans and Caldarians were distinguishable less by their looks as by the way they carried themselves, with the former more relaxed and fluid and the latter more rigid and exacting.

Chapter V: Blood Stones

ROCK!

As the warp bubble collapsed about him, Justian suddenly willed his ship to cut starboard. A huge chunk of asteroid was racing forward to meet him. The Atron veered away just in time, and the floating bolder scrapped across the frigate’s shields, making them sputter and flash. The recruit was awash in a sea of spinning rocky debris. Dead ahead was the center of the massive collision, where the largest fragments glowed with eerie oranges and reds, still shedding the heat generated by the impact. Quick behind Justian came the other members of the combat wing, dropping out of warp at a much safer distance. Ronin’s voice came over the commlink; half-concerned, half-amused.

“I said ten clicks there, buddy. Not ten-point-seven, not nine-point-three, ten. You warp too far into a debris field, you might just drop out right into a rock face and become part of the scenery. You okay?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Justian answered quickly, embarrassed at miscalculating his warp vector. Fortunately, Ronin didn’t seem interested in dwelling on the matter, and went back at once to commanding his forces.

“All tacklers, give me a recon of the grid. Swing out nice and wide. Support, launch drones and assign full to the tacklers. Heavies, I want a standard triad defense perimeter around the mining sight.”

With his words the wing began to disperse. Frigates and interceptors shot out and away, patrolling the surrounding space. Cruisers launched their drones, which darted out to follow the smaller ships, providing them with wider cross-sections that could better de-cloak any spying vessels. Slowly, the battleships eased into a protective formation around the debris field.

“Oi! Distance!” Ronin called out. “You here?”

“Yes we are,” came the reply as Justian noticed a Buzzard suddenly appear on the grid. “No unusual activity yet, but the local hyperspace has begun to fluctuate across multiple vectors besides the one you came in on. Ships near this grid are probably on the move.”

“Roger that. You got that, people? Stay on your toes. Packlid, the area is secure. Come on in!”

“WDA,” Packlid answered in turn. “ETA thirty seconds.”

As Justian flew high above the debris field, he looked back to see the rest of the EEG fleet soar into the area. As the Laurium came to a graceful halt, the mining barges slowly crept forward. One by one, they stopped by patches of precious ore and activated their mining lasers. Golden beams were soon racking over the jagged surfaces of the debris. The lasers were designed to be circuited, literally coupling the miner to the rock via strong electromagnetic fields. As the exterior beams cut into the rock and magnetized the fragments, they were then pulled into the miner’s cargo hold along the beam’s interior. Such mining was quick and efficient, and was well-suited to mobile forces such as the EEG fleet. Yet, this method was only effective across the upper fifty meters or so of an asteroid’s surface. Deeper mining was still reserved for long-term asteroid colonies with specialized equipment and much larger groups of personnel. Thus, Justian could easily see why the collision was viewed with such excitement, as the inner cores of the asteroids had now been laid bare for any empyreans to sweep up.

For the first few hours, all was quiet. The grid was clear, save for friendlies and rocks, and soon a chain of transports were shuttling the gathered ore back to the Misha station. Eventually the pair of small Amarrian drones that had been tailing Jusitan’s frigate was recalled along with the others, as it seemed that there were no cloaked ships to be found in the area. As the fleet settled into a routine, the comm rules were slackened, and soon the member pilots were chatting casually across the local channels. Ronin had Justian and some of the other, less-experienced pilots participate in a few rounds of “tackle tag”. A series of waypoints were set-up about the grid, well clear of the debris field. One after another, each pilot was designated the “mark” and had to escape being warp-scrambled and webbed by the others. Justian was at a distinct disadvantage when pitted against the interceptor pilots, as their ships had greater agility and superior scrams. Still, Justian was well-aware of the subtle calm spots within the hyperspace distortion waves created by the warp disruptors, and more times than not he managed to kick in his warp drive at just the right instant, darting off to the next way-point despite a tackler seeming to have him locked down.

“Soft touch you got there, buddy,” Ronin praised him as Justian slipped out of the grasp of an interceptor for the fourth time. “With a ship that slippery, you should’ve become a smuggler.”

“It helps to be small,” Justian replied. “I’m not sure I could do that trick in a cruiser.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard a pilot brag about being small,” came another voice over the commlink. Justian recognized it as belonging to the man in the grey military fatigues that was heckling Distance during the briefing. Even as the voice spoke, a Manticore-Class stealth bomber de-cloaked and swooped by Justian’s ship.

“Well, Satyr,” Ronin shot back, “You’re not exactly flying a super-carrier yourself now, are you?”

“My ship may be tiny, but it’s got huge launchers,” Satyr announced proudly. Many of the other combat pilots then answered with friendly jeers and further innuendos. Justian was about to add in his own snide comment, when a warning tone sounded over the channel, announcing battle comms once again.

“Distance to fleet,” the pilot called in a calm but serious voice. “I have incoming warp signatures bearing 34 by 145.

“Miners align for warp-out,” Packlid ordered. In a flash, the mining barges all began to swing towards a common vector, ready to warp back to the station en-masse if threatened.

“Go my brothers!” Stinger’s voice suddenly cut into the transmission. “Show the Raiders that drones can’t bleed!” Justian never thought he would be so relieved to hear the drone’s buzzing voice. Caught off-guard, the Raider ships veered wildly away at the onslaught of the robotic attack. One ship plowed straight into a nearby asteroid and shattered like glass on stone. The other managed to fire at the drones, but had great difficulty tracking the fast-moving bots that poured down a rain of kinetic blaster bolts. Justian added his own firepower into the assault, and soon the interceptor became a drifting, flame-studded wreck. As if sharing a single mind, the combat drones immediately regrouped and darted off. Knowing they would likely return to their home ship, Justian gunned his engines and followed them. Emerging from the field, Justian looked over his scanners and beheld a scene of chaos. In its hurry to seize the precious ore before their competitors could get it, the Malkaven fleet had been much more spread out than the EEG ships when the Raiders had attacked. Now it was clear that the decision had proved disastrous for them. It was now impossible for the fleet to coordinate with the Raiders jamming the medium- and long-range commlinks. Raiders were picking off and disabling Malkaven ships caught between the asteroids, and the combat ships were responding in a disorganized, piecemeal defense. Some Malkaven ships were warping away along completely different vectors, most likely fleeing without orders.

In contrast, the EEG ships were beginning to gather about the Laurium in a protective stance. A few Raider ships were occasionally harassing them, but for the most part they seemed content for now at collecting Malkaven pilot pods that they were either cutting out of the disabled ships or locking down as they tried to flee. The Raider force was massive, and Justian knew they had no hope at overcoming them in a direct assault. Their best hope was a careful withdrawal from the grid.

“Fleet ships align along my vector!” came Packlid’s voice, much clearer now that Justian was swiftly closing the distance between himself and the rest of the EEG forces. A quick look at the other vessels revealed to the recruit that it had been an intense fight for them to escape the debris field. Flickering shields and scarred armor were obvious on many of the support cruisers. Some of the mining ships and transports had gaping holes in their hulls. Ronin’s battleship was one of the few that looked largely undamaged, but the burn marks around its many railgun turrets suggested it was not from lack of fighting. Justian figured the cloud of drones surrounding the ship had something to do with its more pristine condition.

In little time, Justian had pulled his ship along side the Laurium and aligned for warp out, at last willing to think that they were about to successfully escape. Then came a transmission, slowly becoming audible from the jamming noise, and the sound of it chilled his blood.

“Mayday! Mayday! This is EEG Miner Two-Seven on grid section five-eight-thirteen! We have multiple hull breaches and our engines are destroyed! We’re dead in space! Can anyone hear me?! Mayday!” The voice was quickly stifled once again by static. Justian’s heart sank. It was Jazz’s voice.

For a brief moment, no one in the rest of the fleet spoke. Then Packlid began to bark orders furiously.

“I want a SAR team assembled, now! Sern, I need the whole area around Jazz’s ship silenced. All tacklers on point! None of those Blood Bastards gets near her!”

As the larger ships slowed to a halt, the EEG frigates and cruisers came about and shot back towards the melee of gunfire and shifting rocks.

Time to really fly, Justian thought as he activated his custom afterburners. Even in the cushioned pod fluid, he felt his body surge backward as the ship picked up speed. Soon he was outpacing even EEG’s interceptors. It would be suicide to have such speed whilst in the debris field, but this way he could reach the field’s edge as quickly as possible. Cutting off the overheating engine intakes at the last moment, he maneuvered the Milite expertly into the field and soon located Jazz’s ship, a Hulk-Class mining vessel called the "Malachite", drifting listlessly in the void. Most of the ship was on fire, and Justian saw with horror that the pod escape hatch was twisted and burned by laser fire. Jazz was trapped in the ship. A small Raider frigate appeared on the scene as Justian closed in, looking like a carrion bird giving its prey a casual look-over. Altering course, Justian opened up on the ship with his blasters. The ship melted under the pounding heat of antimatter rounds and quickly broke apart. However, its companions soon began to arrive. On his overview, Justian could see that most of the Malkaven ships had now either fled or been destroyed, and the Raiders were beginning to look for new victims.

As Justian aligned his ship to make an attack on the new foes coming into range, a Falcon-Class cruiser soared overhead and towards the Raiders. A recording of a perky, friendly voice that was definitely not Sern's then sounded over the radio.

“I’m sorry, but you are targeting an EEG ship without due cause. Your targeting privileges are hereby revoked. Have a nice day!” As the recording ended, Justian saw a transmission dish on the cruiser swivel around to face the incoming Raider ships. The ships swooped by in formation, but did not fire. Their weapon systems had been jammed.

“Packlid,” came a more familiar, unemotional voice. “This is Sern. The area has been silenced.” The remaining handful of small ships that made up the SAR team had now arrived and set up a defensive perimeter around Jazz’s disabled ship.

“Sir,” Justian spoke up, “Jazz’s escape hatch is damaged. We’ll have to cut her out!”

“From you,” Justian said with a matching grin, “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.” With that the three of them chuckled together and continued with lighter conversation for some time. Justian felt his previous senses of fear and inadequacy melt away. He may have been forced through an unexpected crucible, but according to his corpmates he had been found worthy in the end, and the thought lifted his spirit. Then with a start, he remembered Jazz’s pod surging out from the burning Malachite, and he grew concerned again. But when he inquired to Ronin about her, the large man put a calming hand on the recruit’s shoulder.

“No worries, friend, she’s alive and well, if a bit bruised and shaken up. Distance made a rare station docking just so she could see to her recovery. Actually,” and here he lowered his voice slightly, “I’m a bit more worried about Packlid.” This took Justian by surprise. In all his dealings with the CEO, he had seemed to the young Gallentean as strong and confident. Even his orders in the thick of battle had been given in a steady, unwavering voice. Ronin saw his confusion and continued.

“Packlid takes a lot of things to heart that happen in and to his corp, both good and bad. Sometimes it makes sense, but other times there are things beyond his control that he feels responsible for nonetheless. Being a CEO is tough sometimes, and I think Packlid makes it even tougher for himself when the mood takes him.” Ronin did not seem eager to add anything further, so Justian let the matter drop. After a few more minutes, Justian excused himself and left the hangar deck, leaving Ronin and Satyr to their smoking.

When he arrived at the pilot lounge, he felt a bit conflicted. The lounge itself possessed a calming air of restfulness, and the pilots assembled there were chatting quietly and doing their best to unwind. Still, he suddenly remembered his potential appointment with Khythera, and wondered nervously if she would appear and insist on her requested “date” despite the day’s events.

Eventually, Justian found an open seat near the far side of the room and ordered a simple bourbon from one of the servers who were criss-crossing the area with trays of glasses balanced on their hands. For a while he leaned back and craned his head upward, gazing through one of the windows in the ceiling that look out at the stars. With a tired grin, he reflected how odd it should be that after almost perishing out in that speckled darkness, that he should find the sight of the stars still relaxing to his mind. After a while, he was beginning to wonder if the star of his home system could be seen from this distance when he was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat. Swinging his head back down, he saw with a start that Sern was standing before him, looking tall and stiff when surrounded by the social ambiance of the now-crowded lounge.

“May I join you?” he asked curtly.

Justian nodded. “Of course.” The pilot took a seat, appearing no more comfortable than when he was standing.

“Packlid is currently… indisposed at the moment,” he began, seeming to choose his words carefully. “But he has asked me to convey his personal gratitude to you as a member of the SAR team today. Jazz is a valued and respected member of our organization, and her loss would have been quite detrimental.” Justian marveled at the pilot’s level tone, wondering if he truly possessed any real emotions at all. He might have been convinced he didn’t, if he had not seen him holding hands with the strange Amarrian woman in the briefing room that morning.

“Well, thank-you,” Justian replied, “But I was simply doing my job. Jazz was one of the first people I met here. I’m just glad she’s alright.” Sern gave a slight bow, and stood up again, clearly eager to leave the area to find a more secluded space. It was then that Justian’s curiosity got the better of him and he spoke his long-burning question.

“Sir, if I may ask, what planet do you come from? I have seen a decent amount of Caldari living in Federation space, but I have never seen someone that looks like you… or like Distance, for that matter.”

“We are Achur,” Sern answered. “Our people live on more worlds nowadays, but until very recently we dwelt only in Saisio, deep within the Forge.”

“I’ve never heard of your people,” Justian admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed, as he often prided himself on knowing at least some amount of trivial knowledge concerning most of the various bloodlines of New Eden.

“It is not surprising,” Sern replied simply.

“If I may say, you don’t act much like typical Caldari either…. No offence,” Justian added carefully.

“We joined the State out of… necessity rather than out of ideological similarity,” Sern said, once again seeming to give great thought to his speech.

“Could you tell me about your people sometime?” Justian asked, now even more curious than before. Despite his neutral countenance, Justian seemed to catch a brief hint of surprise on Sern’s face. After a few moments of thought, he spoke again.

“Perhaps it is more efficient to show you rather than tell you. If you wish, you may come up to the observation deck at 14:30 tomorrow. Our local Guide will be holding counsel then, and outsiders are welcomed to attend the Lower Rites.”

Justian felt more questions coming to his mind, but thought it better to simply see what these “lower rites” were with his own eyes first. With a smile he accepted Sern’s invitation with thanks. Once again Sern turned to leave, but the Gallentean couldn’t help asking just one more question.

“Before you go, sir. Whose voice was it that called over the comm when you began jamming those Raiders? It sounded like a pre-recorded message.”