Intergalactic Summit

Too often, I think we, as capsuleers, forget we have more in common than we are different. Something I have learned from my travels is that capsuleers always have great stories about cheating death. I thought we could share some!

My closest call came before I was a capsuleer, and indeed had I died that day I would have never known any of you. I was a bishop in my parish on Amarr, but I did have foreign duties. I was on my way in a family cruiser to meet a delegation to the Theology Council to attend a meeting on an addendum to the Book of Missions. The purpose of my journey is hardly important. What is important is that I was to transfer to a battleship convoy deep in Hedion to complete my journey.

Things started off well. We met the convoy, a battleship and a pair of destroyers, right on schedule and at the correct location. They sent us the proper codes and the DNA check revealed the pilots to be who they said they were. The battleship's captain followed all the correct protocols. Right when I had collected my luggage, though, he sent words that, to this day, chill me to the spine.

"Please tell Father Baracca to wait in the shuttle bay for us."

I stopped. No one calls me Father Baracca. My family is almost entirely made up of clergymen. 'Father Baracca' could refer to well over a hundred individuals. This is rather common in Amarrian society, where sons follow fathers into their professions. Any Amarrian would know to call me Father Constantin. Instantly, I knew we were outgunned and in the sights of hostile intruders.

I informed the crew, which spread general panic. A cruiser against a pair of destroyers and a battleship was hardly better than suicide, even that deep in our space. I offered to go regardless, to save the other men on the ship so that they could hopefully transmit for help when they had taken me. The ship's captain, to his credit, absolutely refused. We had mere minutes before my failure to transfer ships would become suspicious.

I asked the captain to rig up a DNA transponder with my blood. In the same way the would-be kidnappers had used the pilots they had killed to assume their identities, I decided to use the same technique. We needed to disable the battleship somewhat urgently. We loaded all of the extra fuel onto the shuttle, rigged its engines to overcapacitate on command, and sent it over. I informed them, through a linked channel, that I was late because I was having navigational difficulties. I would need to be towed into the battleship.

Things went according to our rather hasty plan for a time. They read my transponder, received my transmission, and began to tow me in. However, just as the shuttle was being towed into the bay, the battleship hailed me. It said it didn't detect me aboard. I must have fast-talked better than I ever had before, clearly impressing that I was aboard the ship, and that if they were having difficulty, perhaps we should call for another escort and shuttle.

They relented and drew the shuttle into their bay. Once aboard, we detonated the shuttle remotely. Being inside the hull, the shuttle did heavy damage to the battleship's structure. We took advantage of the surprise to press the attack, but the shock of war soon vanished. We were on our own and we were set upon by the enemy.

The fight took almost twenty minutes, our cruiser suffering heavy damage in the process. Luckily, the transgressors turned out to be Matari terrorists rather than the local terrorists I had become accustomed to. They had learned to fly our ships and spent a great deal of time stealing our codes and protocols, but did not have the finesse of a native laser user. To their credit, even when the battleship was destroyed (soon after the shuttle had crippled it), the destroyers fought on. They nearly had us, and seven of our crew died when the hull took heavy damage. I sustained a burn myself when a relay blew while I was attempting to take over for a dead targetting crewman.

We survived, though. We limped to the nearest station and reported the events. An investigation ensued and I missed the conference. To be honest, I was only thankful to be alive. It reinvigorated my faith, knowing that men like that cruiser crew were ready to die rather than allow me to sacrifice myself first at their expense.

I've had many closer calls as a capsuleer, but none more dangerous than the one which could have ended my journey permanently.

I'm sure you've all been near death or had to overcome overwhelming circumstances and we all love a good story.

I'll pour us all a round of cognac for story time.

I was wounded in action twice during my Watch SWAT career. The first occasion involved a locus grenade that had been concealed inside a beam at head height and rigged to a pressure plate under the floor. My helmet held but the event resulted in the facial reconstruction scars and the metal plate in my cheek which were a prominent feature of my original piloting license portrait.

The other ended my career. I won't go into details, but there was an antivehicle pulse laser involved, one pulse from which hit me in the right leg, just below the knee. I woke up three weeks later when they decanted me from the tissue reconstruction tank with a new leg. I retired from front-line duty following that injury, retrained in trauma surgery and ATLS, went into the medical support corps, and it was there, after a few years, that my capsule compatibility was discovered and I was given leave to attend the School of Applied Knowledge

Between those two and the assorted exertion injuries, a minor stress fracture in my lumbar vertebrae and a rotator cuff tear, my first clone death relieved me of several sources of chronic pain.

Since becoming a capsuleer, I've put so many contingencies in place that even the two brushes with out-of-pod death wouldn't have had a much worse effect on me than being podded, had they succeeded.

Perhaps the closest call I've lived through was the day I became a unofficial capsuleer. I was a slave recently sold to deep space Amarrian drug lord after my estate's Bishop considered me cursed after an event where his hounds should have killed me. After being abused relentlessly over the course of several months, feeling the strain of fewer vitoc injections as their wrath ensued, I finally snapped.

I took a small razor to the drug lord and three of his staff after locking them in the drug lord's office in the middle of the habitat. I can't remember how many blows I took, I couldn't see anything out of my left eye, I knew over six of my ribs were broken by the end of it. I remember crawling into a corner, throwing up strands of blood and bits of my own teeth, clutching a dented bloody chalice, trembling and my vision swimming. I was dying but the other four bodies in the room were already dead. I had won.

The next part's a blur. I remember the banging on the doors. I remember the lord's guard trying to cut into the room. I remember them snarling through the door, yelling what they planned to do to frail lil' ol' me. All I could do was smile, I knew I was already done for. I was in the middle of my victory lap, galloping around the bloodied face of the drug lord, and anyone else who wronged me in the past. Sure they all still lived and I was going to die still, painfully, but I had my moment; I had proven them all wrong.

I can't remember how long I sat there, warm blood soaking what little I was wearing, leaving me more and more cold. I just remember the sounds of gunfire and then they breached the door. Yet it wasn't the guards. They came in guns-first and stopped just inside the door, in awe. They looked like mercenaries. I remember the closest one calling his boss, telling him that the drug lord was dead and something about ending an operation. I remember him coming toward me, mentioning "we have ourselves a live one," and grabbing my hair as I was slumped over in the corner.

I tried to shove the dented edge of the chalice in the neck of the soldier. I managed to get him to let go and scream something over the radio. Someone struck me with a rifle butt. I remember laying on the floor for what seemed like ever before suddenly four of them dragged me out of the room.

I tried to fight them. My struggle was pointless with the blood loss. I was passing in and out of consciousness when I was brought aboard their ship. I remember the gruff face of a man with a scar over his right eye who gripped my jaw with searing pain and blew into my face, "I like you," a sneer with yellow teeth, "In time, you'll like me as well."

I didn't at first. I died after that. I was in surgery aboard his vessel when my vitals finally started giving out and so they rushed the last few steps and did a full brain spike with newly installed implants.

Twenty hours later I awoke for the first time in a new body. I didn't look anything like myself, I didn't feel like myself in the slightest, and I needed vitoc, badly. That's the funny thing about that drug, it doesn't stop just because you have a new body. Heck, your body might be free from the addiction, your mind isn't. That's how you know it's still you. That weak, frail, give-anything-for-another drop fool still craves what it can never have enough of.

For a month, I wanted nothing but that black ichor flowing through my veins again.

Then the gruff man with the scar came to visit me again, his teeth still yellow and a sneer that went from ear to ear. He told me I was his princess and had a lot of scores left to settle. He sat with me for days, prodding my past, learning of the hell I'd lived through to survive. He learned of the hounds, the Bishop, the family murdered at the hands of fellow Matari, he learned of my sister and her sacrifice, my long-gone friends and fellow slaves who did everything and still failed to protect me.

He did all of this while whispering a sweet substance blacker than finest vitoc injection: Revenge.

He told me I could dance again, he told me I now hold the keys to the stars and that my vengeance would tear the sky asunder. He whispered prospering in light of all that had come to me and the responsibility I had to those who were also sharing my shoes.

All I had to do was carry his banner and remember the gift he gave me on this day. I still remember. So many lives later, the thirst is anything but quenched and for each life taken, ten more stand to fill the void. There is no end to my bloodshed. But that is a story for another day.

You asked us for stories of close calls. That tale is my truest one. Escaping vitoc by becoming a capsuleer while on the verge of death is not something you can easily shrug. There are other tales too that only seem to pile on the responsibility of who I am, the burden I carry as an immortal.

There is the tale of the hounds which was mentioned above, but that's no tale for underaged young present here.

Another time (a true testament to fates worse than death as an immortal) and somewhat related to all this: I was caught inside a station by forces who were supposed to be my friends. Several vessels' crew and station staff managed to overcome me under the flying colors of meeting two of the ships' captains. This was the day that made me stop working for the yellow-toothed madman and mortals in general. What should have been a meeting, turned into a kidnapping, an act that should have ended with me never seeing the light of day for the rest of my days, subject to untold horrors that could be done to my clone.

Another time was my own crew after I dared to open my doors to them. I didn't notice them until it was too late and they were tearing me out of my own capsule while deep in a deadspace pocket. For close to three months, I was the vent of their hate for capsuleers while they tried to salvage or use my ship.

And people wonder why I'm not a happy person.

With that the young office stood aside and allowed us passage.. not that he had much of a choice on the matter, and we proceeded into the side corridors into the recreation area.


The air in the side corridors was stale and damp, i could almost taste the chemical residue of the air purifiers on my tongue..


" Rebreather masks up gentlemen, keep all eyes peeled "

The Team was business as usuall, in the close confines of the side corridors we had the impression we were walking trough the slums of some industrial world, the people that usually passed by were dishevelled figures, some even wearing rags for clothing, one such bumped into one of our team.


" Hey watch were ur goin' you.. "


Suddenly he looked up to only to stare at the pilot flame of a flamer gun


" Uh.. you aint from aroun' here "


" Move along citizen. "


With that the man went scurrying away, 15 minutes later and a couple hundred meters march we hit the "Recreational Area", a drunkard pit.. indeed a strange place to find a higher ranking officer passing his time.


I went in the 2 soldiers, the rest of the team took positions outside securing our way out, as we came in the room went suddenly silent.


" I am looking for Coordinator Haritamotto" - i say behind my mask


All eyes went to a separate table, a group of 4 men had been drinking and enjoying the company of 2 strippers... one of them seemed awfully out of place in that slump rat of a bar.


This could only be our station officer..


" Wadda ya want here? **** off" - says one of the men, a bull of a guy with gang tatoos , his hand strayed to his gun holster.


One of my men levelled the shotgun at his face, - " no so fast friend, hands were i can see them, now! " , - he says levely.


" Station Coordinator we need to chat.. in private ", - i say.


The man regained somewhat of his composture and after a quick chat he tells me that the container shipment had been re-routed to a settlement in system, he seemed to actually be relieved to be away from the other 3 men so i asked him if i should escort him back to his station or to his quarters, in the end we took him with us much to the disgruntled protests from his "companious", not that that mattered, having a flamer and a shotgun pointed at you point blank will dismiss any further escalation of the situation.


As we stood by the access hatch to our ship the Coordinator said wearily.


" You people seem to be able to handle yourselfs but watch out, these guys, they aint from around here, i think their criminals, from other regions i meen.. you know.. "


I turned and changed glances with my Sergeant, his stern expression conveined the same questions i had in mind, wo where these people.. certainly not caldari, their were Amarr from origin that was for sure, smugglers or worst.


I found myself wondering just what type of cargo i would be having transfered into my ship, and what kind of Corporation had dealings with such people.


Our small fleet undocked and we proceeded to the meeting point, some deadspace location in system, away from all stations or planets, before rendez vous i had my Cruisers at standby ready to warp in place, in case this was a setup, just in case things went sour.


Our industrial vessel warped in and was greeted by two destroyer class vessels of caldari build, then suddenly my cruiser was hailed.


" Mortis Probati and Gundog, identify yourselves, purpose and destination "


Now how the hell did this settlement had the meens to scan us...


We responded and stated our purpose, in returned we were invited to dock with a small ship array, i transfered my clone again and suited up to meet the person hailing us on comms.


" Well met Citizen, we are a friendly settlement, i trust you are here to pick up these containers yes? "


3 Large Sealed and Secured containers, each with atmospheric control units buit in I noticed.


" Whats in there? "


" Only livestock, genetically enhanced livestock, or geneticists are working on a new breed of cattle that produces triple the ammount of protein in about half the time without losing quality".


Now that was something, livestock that can produce protein at 3 times the rate of regular cattle... thats something most Corps would be willing to get their hands on.. the only tought that lingered in the back of my mind was.. why didn't they send their own ships here?


Suddenly a maid appeard with tray and some beverages.

( Continued on the next post )

Well well.. i couldn't say i was surprised, the only part i didn't like in the least bit was the fact that ties to the Blood Raiders were mentioned.. and that at the exact same point of transmition all our 3 ships warp cores were interrupted by external forces.


Sudenly 2 small ships warpin followed by another with bigger, way bigger dimensions...


< You son of a bi.. >

" You son of a bi... " ,- in my surprise i gave voice to my toughts trough the ships speakers


" Destroyer class ships aproaching ", cried one crew member.


" Battleship inbound, Apocalypse Class ", said another.


" Its the .. wait, this can't be right, Blood Raider signature and markings, we're being hailed!"


Great.. just great, somehow i didn't thing this little interruption happened by mere luck.


<< Greetingsss, little morselsss, surrender yourselves / Comms interrupted >>


" The Destroyers are going for the Void Runner! Battleship powering up main guns, we've been targeted "


< Activate shield hardeners, aquiring targets >

" Activate shield hardeners, aquiring targets "


At this point feedback from my mind was being relayed to the ships voice comms.


< Transmit to Gundog, turn about and engage destroyers, Void Runner evasive maneuvers, security teams to defensive positions. >

" Transmit to Gundog, turn about and engage destroyers, Void Runner evasive maneuvers, security teams to defensive positions. "


In that moment my vision went completely white, if i wasn't seeing the whole battle trough my neural links i'm sure i'd be visiting the next doctor for occular implants...


" The Raider Battleship is firing, brace for impact! "


< Warning shields overloaded >

The crumpled sounds of an explosion could be heard as direct hit from the Raider's guns overloaded our shields with such force that one should pierced the shields and scored a glancing shot in one of our nacelles..



< Hull breach detected >

< Closing blast shields / All Personell evacuate sector decks 12 to 14 >


< Everyone don rebreathers, maintenance teams to affected sectors >

" Everyone don rebreathers, maintenance teams to affected sectors"


< Drone launch interrupted.. launch bays blocked >


< Gundog we need your drones to assist, send ECM drones out, hurry up with those Destroyers >


As i relayed the order i could see the acknowledgement blick on my minds eye, the Gunddog, a Deimos Assault ship accelerated even further to atack position and i could see its turrets spooling up and preparing to shoot the first destroyer. Meanwhile my own ship, a Heavy Assault Cerberus class Cruiser was sporting some serious damage, our first salvo was twarped by counter rockets sent from the Blood Raider Battleship and our drone bays were blocked.


The next second another explosion took place, the Destroyer was hit amidships by all of the Gundog's blasters, internal explosions could be seen and the ship broke in two, venting its atmosphere and crewmen into the void of space.



The second destroyer had suceeded in launching shuttles and was coming about when a direct hit from one of the Gundog's Neutron Cannons hit it directly in the bridge area.. suddenly the ship was moving directionless until the ship started breaking apart from within.. internal explosions visible in the distance.


Meanwhile the ECM Drones had starting to do their work, my only worry now that order to my ship had been estabelished was to get into an advange position above the rearwards section of the Blood Raider Apocalypse , the Gundog was already burning at speed to assault from bellow.


< Missile Launchers reloaded, firing solutions locked, firing... >


The Raiders trusted in gigantic armour repairers to keep them going, having bypassed their shields it was now a matter of bringing enough force to bear in order to disable the gigantic ship.

< Blood Raider vessel jammed >


At that moment 2 lances of bright light glanced our shields without doing any particular damage, the Gundog had shut down their Microwarp Drive and was relying on its momentum to evade the remaining Blood Raider guns, suddenly one of our salvos had disabled the Battleship, the whole payload detonating in its rearward Reactor Exausts and sending a plume of atomic fire out, the lack of oxygen extinguishing the fire almost at once, lingering flames attached to the ship futtered from venting oxygen coming out of multiple hull breaches.


< Blood Raider vessel targeting us >

< Damn it, we need one more cycle > , - i tought.


" Brace for impact, incoming fire ", - screamed a bridge officer, his face half burned from the explosion of a secondary screen.


The impact sent most of the crew reeling, i myself felt it as if someone hat hit me with a bat as the shielding took on the full of force of the Beam guns. The same moment the Gundog managed to score multiple hits on the battleship's underbelly, secondary explosions from its dronebay visible and some other array.



Sudenly we started picking up incoming signals,

( Continued on the next post )

Two shotguns roar, the soldiers turn around, most of the impact dissipated by the body armour.

A scream of rage , almost animalistic ensues coming from one of the Raider soldiers.

Both forget Ixum and launch themselves in a frenzy against the two Security team helping Ixum.

The head of the first explodes in mess of gore , blood and brain matter splattering the facemask of the my security soldier.

The second one is fighting a one on one , the Raider trying to prey the eyes of the soldier, ignoring completely the fact that he's using a facemask.

A knife is drawn.. the soldier looses a garbled scream, blood bubbling up his throat, the knife piercing between plates and puncturing a lung.

The first soldier turns to help and he suddenly attacked by a third unseen assailant, a Slaver Hound jumps on his neck, an arm is raised in defence.

" Bastard! Argh.. ! "

Ixum almost slips on the brain matter scattered around the floor in his hurry to help the soldier, his fusion cutter falls.

" Hurry up man! "

In between both soldier and Ixum stands the second Raider , Ixum looks at the cutter, the Raider kicks it away and starts walking slowly ...

Ixum closes his eyes..

The Hound looses a gasp, a roar intermingled with a wince of pain coming out of lungs that are cut trough while the rest of the blade that pierces it severs its spinal column.

The Raider looks behind only to look at the tip of a blade before it punctures its forehead in between the eyes... its eyes roll on its sockets as the blade pierces cleanly trough its brain.


" Th.. th.. thank you. " , - Ixum looses a relieved sigh.

Both men shiver, along the section the bark of more Hounds and the woosh of flamers can be heard.

Men scream, shotguns roar, lifes are ended in the space of seconds.



Meanwhile the other team enters the cargo bay. All containers are arranged side by side, the emergency lighting here is failing, one access hatch to the first container is open.

Suddenly an unearthly scream pierces the silence of the hold.

" Sgt. Maximus here, spread out, back each other up, by twos, one covers the other advances"

Suddenly more Hounds race trough the space in between the Security team and the opening hatch, some trampling over the other in the opening.

" Prepare for close quarters, blades out, flamers at the ready "

As i continue to watch, this time from above i see the position that my men took allows the flamer carrier soldiers to overlap fields of fire, the woosh of the guns covers the forward area in a 180° arc.

" Area clear " , - says Maximu's second.

" Forward, cover the entrance, prepare to enter, use maximum caution ".


As the team enters the container an eerie scene confronts Maximus and the team, crio caskets are opened, in the side cells the muffled cries of captive men, women and children are heard.

One of the soldiers looks trough the viewport from one of the cells..

" What in the seven hells.. Sarge! "

The scene that follows could perfectly match another horror story.. inside the cell some people are lying on the ground with tubes and seringes laying around and over their bodies.

Some appear to be drugged, others dead, aparently exsanguinated, the tubes following to wicked looking machines.


The whole containers looked like some high tech lab from within, furnished with what appeared to be high tech medical instruments, in the middle a subzero freezing compartment, the whole of the containers climatized and hermetically sealed.


The team moves trough the first two containers without much resistance, the second set of cryo caskets are still closed, in some evil looking men with tatoos and fangs, implanted teeth to give the individual a bestial appearance, lie dormant, in others Slaver Hounds.. strangely these hounds appear diferent from the first, smaller, yet implant scars are displayed all over their bodies...

The team prepares to move as the thrum of the internal container generators and the ships engines in general is pierced by a scream of utter abject horror, a scream coming from the deep of the soul chilling my men's souls to the core.

So infused with suffering, that Sgt. Maximus's shiver involuntarily, Maximus itself looks in the direction of the third connection airlock, the 3 Containers linked trough overtures on their sides to allow techs, or med personell to pass in between sections withouht having to go outside... whatever the original destination of these containers might have been.

Eyes narrowed Maximus gestures for his team to follow, once they enter the third compartment the team are greeted by 3 figures, the central one holding a woman by the throat, his blade piercing her straight trough the stomach.. the woman gurgles, her eyes turn in the direction of the soldiers.. her pleading eyes look straight in the direction of Maximus.. tears flowing trough them.

The other two men aren't wearing any tatoos, unarmoured but sporting high powered assault rifles, further back a huge Slaver Hound feeds on the entrails of a man while another drags a screaming child by the ankle, its vicious theet almost separating the foot from the rest of the leg.. the foot itself hanging by a tinny lingering portion of flesh and skin.


The man holding the woman dropped her allowing the body of the now lifeless corpse to slide down the blade, opening the wound spliting the flesh and bone between the chest cavity until it reached the tip and crumpled to the ground with a wet thud.

3 things happened in a fraction of seconds afterwards.

( Continued on the next post )

Did you really have to write a novel here?

Tough scrape? There was a pinch my wingman and I got into a few years back. Mind you, we both fly Federation tech to whole new level. I personally like(d) to field a Megathron and my buddy flew a Myrmidon built for tanking like a boss. We're cruising through the Tama pipe (in the much older days of Sniggwaffe's rule, pre-Tuskers, post-GURIS) and wingman starts flying through the belts.

I parked on a gate to some lowsec, I forget which now. Which each belt, I'd start my aligning ahead of time toward his cluster. Being a double-plated Megathron, my align time is slow and needs a good forewarning.

Sure enough, wingman doesn't get halfway through the belts before a Vagabond lands on him at range and points him down.

I curse, neither of us have the speed to catch a Vagabond.

He starts microwarpdriving toward my gate, telling me he's ****** if we can't push this heavy assault cruiser off him. I warp to him at 70km. Since I'm already in system, there's no local spike.

Three additional tech-1 cruisers cruisers land on him, equaling for a Vaga + 2x Rupture + Omen vs. Myrmidon + Megathron.

Goodbye any chance of pushing off the Vagabond, it's pretty certain that we're both fixing to die. Wingman lights up the closer Rupture not stopping his burn toward my eventual warp-in point, but unfortunately he gets scrammed and webbed before he gets anywhere close.

I land. I'm 57km away from Wingman, the trio of cruisers, and this orbitting Vagabond (who I'm sure is about to bee-line it straight for a 20km orbit and point me).

The smartest move is to try and get out, let them get the battlecruiser instead of the battleship.

I don't. Something about wanting to not leave the Wingman to die alone. At least I had insurance, I thought ...and perhaps another gamble.

See, this also comes from a time when Gallente were the kings of droneboats, my prized Megathron boasted a 125m3 drone bay. Normally people fill this bay with Ogres, Sentries, or possibly stuff it with several drone sets. Me? I'm a Gallente pilot, I know my guns kill anything when they make their range. Sporting Void L and backed by double Magstabs in the lows, god help any poor bastard I could hit. Yet I needed to be able to hit them.

I was packed full with 5x Berserker Stasis Web Drones.

See, this Vagabond is burning for a jam as I'm locking and Overloading my micro, web, and scrambler for the guy. He's burning through 40km and his computer's telling him nothing but sweet nothings that he's going to keep range with me. He's headed straight for a 15-20km orbit judging by the steepness of his approach.

The drones come out as my lock is landing with guns primed to get a single shot off, then I cancel them. I'm out of range, the shot misses but the drones are already burning toward the gun. He points me, panics, makes his orbit fine except the drones start catching him.

Then my web lands, followed my now-in-range scrambler.

Drones return to bay, I keep my micro active to keep my range with him. At 5-7km, the guns have no issue hitting him. I overload them for good measure, 800 dps of good kinetic tears through this f*cker's shield like a hot knife through butter.

Boom goes the vaga. Drones are already headed for the Omen. I keep burning toward Wingman. He's at 25% armor, they start putting distance. I help finish off the first Rupture, I land points on the second. Wingman's into hull. Omen's kiting me now.

His mistake, Wingman's moving out in anticipation.

Omen swings around into Wingman's now-free and microwarpdriving range.

Points on Omen. Boom goes Rupture. Wingman's at 13% Structure.

Local spike. Screw the loot.

Talk about close calls.

My heart was jumping out of my chest now, though that might have been the jury rigged suit. Could feel it in my ears. This stuff was all theory and whatnot, so I hoped the math was good. It was all spit and wire holding this little bomb together.

Hands were shaking as I scraped the bare ends of the wires together to light the first stage rocket.

Instantly, we got hit with enough gees that I had to start hand-pumping air into our masks and chests. I could feel everything kind of smush back. We had to shut everything off except life support to run priming power off the auxiliaries. I could feel every single molecule scrunching back as we lifted off. I used the thrusters only when I had to to keep us on course when we rolled over. We didn't have anything else left.

I knew we were hosed when we rolled over. We were too low, and we were going to skip out of the atmosphere. I had to correct, but didn't have enough thruster engine. I gritted my teeth, gave my air a long pump, held my breath, and ignited bottom stage two early. Fired the retros and prayed I had enough fuel left to keep us from pushing the blood out of the backs of our heads. I remember blinking colors and just barely seeing the two glass plates I used to show us level. I thought I was going to die. All I could do was hold on until I couldn't anymore, activate the rest of stage two, eject the first cargo hold, and tried to take one more breath of air.

The world went black.

When I woke up, my arms and legs were asleep. I couldn't hear anything except a dull ringing. Life support had held, and I could breath. I hit the harness release and looked out through the port.

We'd made it. Spinning through space aimlessly, but the thing had held together. I hit the beacon and checked on the girl. I probably looked like her, blood streaming from her ears and nose. She hadn't woken up yet. I couldn't even get out of the seat. I just cut the tape on the flight suits with my knife and laid back. The world went black again.

Our buddies finally came looking for us and found us via the beacon. Luckily, we'd gotten out of the planet's weird gravity thing. It isn't even there anymore. I don't know what happened to it, and I really don't care. I never want to see it again.

We pulled off our job without any more hitches, and the girl's kept my name on the keyring. Turned out to be a solid time investment. Biggest payoff though? How many of you kids ever got to blast off a planet in an old-fashioned liquid-fuel rocket? It **** near killed me, but there's nothing like that feeling you get when you take a big risk and it pays off bigtime. Princess is a big name these days, and she keeps the isk flowing. Figures I'm some kind of hero for saving her.

But it really ain't about saving her. It's about the universe slapping everything it can on your back to tell you what to do, and one of the few times you give it the finger back, drop the pack, and tell it where it can shove its fear.

I ain't scared of **** anymore.

I consider it something of a respite from the rather combative forums elsewhere. I don't honestly mind long reads, especially when the tales are so interesting. I would encourage long monologues here rather than shorter conversation pieces common in other threads.

I do have some more stories to tell. I suppose I could tell one tomorrow perhaps? Regardless, no one be offended at being told the stories are lengthy. Please do tell them in all their glory. We have enough places already for staccato debate. This thread should not be one of them.

Ahhh, the character of good cognac though. I think another tale is in order.

One of my Matari brethren found himself in dire need of extraction. Apparently, his faith had become known in his native land and he needed to move to a more tolerant part of the Republic. I understand that he did not want to return to the Empire, though he considered it. He thought it would be cowardly both to leave his tribal people and abandon his opportunity to follow the Word in Minmatar lands. Truly, a man in need of help.

I had no idea how much help he needed at the time.

I was flying a frigate, my favorite interceptor, the Shannon's Song. As I emerged at his rendezvous point, I found myself face to face, so to speak, with a Republic battleship. One of the more interesting parts of my career. I was informed of the situation.

The Minmatar Republic may not exactly have good relations with my people or any of their ideas, but they do, to their credit, value their people's freedom enough that they did not think this Matari preacher should be killed over his belief in God. The Republic's gunship had arrived at the scene of a disturbance and found that my brother, as well as ten more brethren he had brought into the faith, were now being held in a derelict isogen station. Apparently, it was meant to be the scene of their execution, but the arrival of the gunship had stopped them. Rather than come out or release the prisoners, the Matari had found themselves in a strange hostage situation.

I think my arrival was somehow the unpredicted factor.

I took some time to explain my situation, as they were understandably skeptical as to why I had come. However, I do not think the captain and crew of that battleship really wanted to fire on those aboard the station, especially considering their hostages were likewise still their people.

I proposed a solution, which the captain offered the men aboard the station as a compromise. Trade the Matari hostages for a real Amarrian priest. The battleship could then see to the health and safety of my brethren, and the men on the station could have a member of my faith they could truly hate.

Luckily, they agreed. I had almost feared they would see me as a step down that the Minmatar Navy would hardly care about vaporizing. I must have been a tempting target indeed, for they agreed to a trade.

I flew over in my pod and exited. Finding me unarmed, my new captors followed their end of the bargain, releasing my friend and his small congregation. The look he gave me said everything I needed to know about my new situation. He was grateful and saddened, horrified even. He did not think I would leave that station.

As they collected their people, the battleship left. Obviously, they did not care what happened to some fool Amarr at the hands of an unruly mob. Especially one that was never heard from again.

I would say I have had more hospitable stays. I was struck several times with rifle butts and dragged to a piece of central scaffold. I was bound there with electrical cable and was able to finally take stock of my captors. There appeared to be ten of them (I later learned most of the rest had fled before the battleship had arrived). They began interrogating me, asking me questions about who I was and where I had come from in the Empire. They asked why I was there, if I had any plans for escape. I think it quite shocked them to learn I had come to transport the small flock out of harm's way and had no plans for escaping.

Not immediate plans, at any rate.

The men began speaking among themselves, trying to decide what best to do with me. It had become quite a lively debate about whether to ransom me back to the Empire or to just kill me on the spot. Some of the schemes they concocted there were fairly chilling, even to a man who has seen as much death as I have. I particularly remember the plan to skin me alive and mail it back to my home address.

Regardless of their plans, I had no intention of being a willing participant. I may not be much in the way of a warrior, but I do not think they realized what sort of training I had received in an Imperial Academy. I tested my bonds quietly, and found the wire to be quite impregnable. I suppose I could have cut my hands off at the wrist, but otherwise my arms were bound. My legs, however, were not.

Careful not to make too much noise, I slipped off my boots. With a bit of toe dexterity, I began shimmying my way up the X shaped scaffold. The debate down below grew more heated, and began to attract all of their attention. Sliding up the scaffold brought my hands closer and closer together, to where the beams crossed. With my hands together, I began to unbind myself.

I was finally beginning to release myself when one of my captors finally bothered to look at where I was. He looked up, saw me, and immediately laughed. He nudged his fellows, all of whom looked up at me with some amusement. I suppose they thought my actions were futile, and did not realize I had just freed myself. From ten feet on high, I launched myself towards the nearest of them.

I do not recall expecting to live or worrying about death. I only recall thinking as logically as I could. The man I landed on was certainly stunned, and I was able to wrest his rifle from him. Turning it on the rest, I fired a stream of projectiles in their direction. Three were killed where they were, and however many else were hit, I never learned. I immediately moved behind the scaffold for cover. When I spun around, I caught one unawares and was able to kill him. Rounds ricocheted off my cover and I knew I could not win outright.

Instead, I unleashed the rest of my fire towards them and ran for my pod. Upon realizing what I was doing, bullets followed me. I felt a pinch in my shoulder, then in my back. I knew I was going to die, but managed to dive into my pod and activate my sequencer.