EVE Fiction

A brief account of Rainfleet's origins can be found here

-Discipline-

The mixed fleet at undock was quite a sight. Cruisers, T3- and Battlecruisers so close they rumbled each other's hulls. Ship captains performed system checks diligently while awaiting the fleet commander's initial orders.

RA-1N 6637 was less attentive than most. Her orders would be simpler than the rest of the fleet. She volunteered to light a cyno, the brightest of beacons. Moments before undocking, the Tech II shield extenders were ordered to be replaced with Republic Fleets, and the rigs upgraded to T2.

Spies and deserters alike had no notice to arrange an intel drop or jump ship despite seeing obvious suicide modules being brought on board.

There were no negative reports from the crew. RA-1N 6637 wondered how long before there would be questions. So far it was possible to find comfort in the size of the fleet. She was sure, though, eventually there would be whinging.

The fleet commander's first orders. "Set destination. Gates are green. Jump and align."

A pleasant forecast.

RA-1N 6637 pulled the workhorse of a Drake into a hard bank. The superstructure creaks and navigation displays spin and turn, too fast for comfort. The Drake's nose levels out in perfect alignment with the gate, and the rotating chaos comes to an abrupt halt. Microwarp drive cycled, and warp drive engaged with a punch. She knows the hull well and flies it rough, yet accurate. The Drake was one of her first ships as a budding captain.

The crew are along for the ride and might as well be riding a bucking bronco while getting their hair pulled. They haven't even left system.

Aligns and Jumps. Fleet warps. A constellation later and still no hostile contact.

A private channel opens with the fleet commander. New destination.

The fleet is mid-warp, and before landing, RA-1N 6637 removes the Drake's navigation systems from the fleet commander's control. The fleet jumps and the Drake holds its cloak while the fleet commander's orders flow through the fleet command channel.

"Align."

The Drake is defiant and silent.

"Take warp."

The fleet accelerates into trails of light, and disappears into warp. The projected route blinks and contorts itself from one scribble across the stars into another, from starboard to port. The opposite direction.

The Drake's survival rate goes from decent to bad. RA-1N 6637 pulls the Drake into another hard precision turn. Microwarp cycled, perfect align, microwarp off, punch. Crew's hair pulled.

Still nothing from the crew. The warp tunnel whispers now, with no rumble of a fleet. RA-1N 6637 leaves comms open just so the crew have something to keep their mind off their odds of survival.

The math is simple. Multiply the number of Jumps along the Drake's route by two, and that's the distance from the fleet. Bait range comes and goes in two jumps.

Instead of a cloak, she has an entosis module aboard. But one jump more and the gap between Drake and fleet is more than a constellation. Now it's suicide range, with entosis to really seal the deal. The cyno will alert anyone in a system, and the entosis link will alert everyone in an alliance.

This could be the crew's final mission and yet, not a single peep. RA-1N 6637 yanks the Drake into turns as hard as it can go. She's not just tapping on the fish tank, she's slapping it.

"What is with this suicidal crew?"

One final gate and the Drake has arrived at destination system, the location of its death. Four neutrals in local, two reds, an entosis module and a bright-ass cyno.

RA-1N 6637 pulls the Drake nose-up and punches the Drake into an impossibly long warp to a saved location in space. It's a beautiful spot, and it's about to get burned.

One minute, five minutes, ten minutes. The Drake sits silently while fleet comms are open for all on board to hear.

The fleet is dying.

"Logi is down, logi is down."
"Minus one Ishtar. Minus Two."
"I'm tackled."

Other transmissions are cut off with static while their captains struggle to maintain remote reps or DPS as they explode.

The Drake is too far away even to be a cyno for backup. It wasn't just the Drake on a suicide mission. The whole fleet could very well have been a suicide diversion.

Reports come in from scouts of a larger, additional hostile force engaging everyone on grid. The fleet commander gives the order to turn back toward origin. It would seem the fleet's goal was initiating a fight between second and third parties.

Expendable and spent in pursuit of objectives that are convoluted by politics, backroom dealings, hidden diplomatic channels. The usual.

And still the Drake sits in space, vulnerable to probes, ready with a cyno. With the engagement done, the easiest solution for RA-1N 6637 is to self-destruct the ship and be ready for the needs of the next fleet.

RA-1N 6637 wonders what is going on in the minds of the crew. How little can they have to lose to be so steadfast in the face of their deaths?

The call comes in from the fleet commander. "Light it."

Before the fleet commander's transmission ends, the cyno crackles to life. It sounds like the star is burning its way through the Drake's hull.

[Intelligence Redacted]

The cyno ends and the Drake has survived. RA-1N 6637 has fulfilled her duty to the fleet. No standing orders from the fleet commander, no fleet to rendezvous with.

No suggestions or questions from the crew. Nothing.

RA-1N 6637 sends a mindlink burst to 6638, standing at the market interface terminal in station in Thera. Rainfleet's unofficial base of operations.

So cute.