August 31, 2010 in Captains Log, In Character, Out Of Character, eve online by errantventure
So my computer broke down a little bit (as in it’s completely borked, FUBAR, went to that great big CCP office in the ski), so I’m stuck with either using a PS3 (with USB keyboard thank God) or my rommates’ computer for all my computery needs. I do get some Eve time (Yayness!), but I tend to suck up all my computer time with EVE.
So that doesn’t allow me a whole lot of freedom in order to write blog entries. That, plus the fact that the PS3 hates wordpress, so I can’t access the dashboard, apparently. So I’ll be writing all of my next entries in the Comments section of the most recent post on the PS3, then posting it on my rommates’ computer when I get a chance.
Also, I ran into one of my readers today! In a corp I had just joined corp, of all places. So hi Solomon Worth!
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Himnos stared, glassy-eyed at the list of items that he had somehow acquired over the time since he had first become an immortal capsuleer. There was just so many different items at so many different stations. It was…almost too much. He grimaced as he scrolled down the list, and names of stations and systems kept appearing. He had already spent days in his Iteron and Orca plying the Gallente spaceways, trying to collect all of the items he’d bought and left behind. And yet….there was still more!
And then there was Caldari Space, Amarrian Space….
With a grunt of bemused agitation, Himnos tossed the datapad onto the table in front of him and rubbed his eyes. “it’s all cheap crap,” he muttered testily. “Why can’t I just leave it alone?”
The silence weighed on him for a long time, and he glared at the datapad accusingly, before sighing and picking it back up. There was the pair of Taranis Interceptors he had bought back when he had thought he was going to be entering them quickly. He had changed his mind and gone to something else.
But they were still out there, in Low Sector space, taunting him by their very presence.
There was the load of dren that he had offloaded his Orca when he had decided to leave the wormhole without putting up a POS, and had stupidly docked in a station before unplugging his implants for that standard day cycle.
He had spent several hours–what amounted to close to 5 hours, watching the outside of the station nervously, picking up safe spots in the system and in the systems on his route to Hi Security Space, waiting for his Alternate Pilot to reach the Low Security system, and then making sure that both of the Prototype Cloaking Devices on both the Covert Operations Helios and the Orca were working perfectly before attempting to undock–and then that stupid Carrier had cynoed in, and had sent the Orca, barely clear of the station’s tractor beams, scurrying back into docking range.
Himnos smiled grimly. He knew other pilots would laugh at him, and call him a “n00b”–what was that, a Matari insult? Amarrian? Jovian?–for being so careful. But the Orca’s hull itself was worth upwards of 300 million ISK, not counting the hundreds of millions of ISK it had held before it docked in the station.
All because he wanted to live in a wormhole. And brought his Orca into the first one he found like a complete idiot, without even performing a directional scan on the entire solar system. What he had thought was a nice, empty Class 3 Wormhole (granted, a Corporation from the next wormhole over was running all the sites), turned out to be a wormhole with a deathstar POS with only a couple LADAR sites. Had there even been a Gravimetric site left? He couldn’t remember.
Himnos shook his head and grinned. What an idiot he had been. Now he was working on bringing all of his miscellaneous crap into one place, and generally cleaning up his Neocomm.
Already he had completely cleared his Bookmarks folder, leaving only a safe spot several thousand kilomoters close to Villore IV, a remnant from his first Faction Warfare Corporation, when the planetary imaging Software for all of the pods had just been updated, and a pair of instawarps from the Low Sec station where he had docked the Orca. He had just finished cleaning out his Agents tab, leaving only Harquier Foutte, the Level I Federal Intelligence Agent for whom he had run hundreds of missions years ago.
Ignoring the Level II missions, he had merely continued to run missions for Harquier, because he was having fun flying around in his pod shooting things. But that was a long time ago. Back before Titans and Motherships became easily available to capsuleers.
Himnos’ eyes focused again on the datapad, and mentally groaned. He didn’t want to go back into the insanely slow Iteron V, or worse–the Wild Karrde. The Wild Karrde WAS a good ship, but it was just far too slow for this kind of wild running around. Warping, Jumping, and running from system to system was for Industrials–not Orcas.
Himnos looked up from the private office that he kept onboard the Wild Karrde, and looked around. The tiny office, out of the way–near the reactors–was his home away from pod. The gentle thrumming of the reactors not fifty feet away was not dissimilar to the vibrations that he felt while he was in his pod, commanding the giant vessel.
The walls had been bare when he had appropriated what had been a janitorial closet, but over time had become decorated with small objects from the crew. an Amarrian crest had been carefully carved into the wall next to an exquisitely crafted Minmatar logo. A Caldari coat rack, stark and utilitarian, stood next to the doorway, but the rich leather of a black, leather trenchcoat, bearing the Gallente Federation’s crest prominently over the left breast hung lazily. On the other side of the rack, a battered fedora hung at a rakish, almost haphazard angle against the wall.
Along the walls were pictures of members of the crew, past and present. It had begun when he had taken a picture of his command crew and the kitchen staff. Then, week by week, more pictures started to appear. Pictures that Himnos hadn’t taken–pictures he hadn’t put up. When he had asked the human Captain about it, the Captain had explained that because the Orca had lasted for several years, and many crewmen hadn’t been off the ship since he had first launched it for more than a week or two, the crew had started putting their pictures up in his private office.
And so it was that pictures of children, of loving wives and husbands–parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles–every kind of relative imaginable, whether foster or biological, blood or by slavery–began appearing in his office, until the walls were full. At that point, pictures had started appearing on the ceiling.
Himnos squinted up at the light panel, and noticed that almost the entire ceiling was full now. What would they do when that finished, he wondered. Probably the front and sides of his desk.
Looking around his office, he began to reflect that the ship had long ago ceased to be a ship, and had instead become his base of operations. And then somewhere along the line, it had become his home.
And in just a few short minutes, if he made a mistake–it could all be wiped away. All the people–the memories–the comaraderie–it could all be gone in a moment.
“C’est la vie,” Himnos said quietly to himself.
A chuckle roused him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Senfora Anophis standing at the slightly open doorway. “Can I come in?” her soft voice asked.
Himnos looked up as the soft whirring of her Seeing Eye Drone slowly came around the doorway. Its lenses flashed around the room, before settling back on Himnos. Himnos smiled and rose to his feet, pushing his rolling chair back, careful not to let it slam into the pictures on the back wall.
“Senfora,” he said, smiling. “I’m glad to see you again!”
Senfora’s face split into a smile. “I’m glad to see the inside of this ship again too. I thought this old beast was going to get popped before we got out of the station.”
Himnos smiled wryly. “Might nice flying, Senfora,” he said quietly. “Thank you for bringing my home back to me.”
“The credit is all yours, Himnos,” Senfora said quietly. “You’re the one who got all the safespots for us.”
Her SED drone whirred, then rose and peered out into the hallway behind her. Senfora remained relaxed, leaning against the doorjamb, her expression calm, her blind eyes open, but turned downwards in the concentrated stare that meant that she was concentrating on the feed from her SED drone.
“I suppose we’re all wondering what we’re doing next,” Senfora said quietly. “We went back into Factional Warfare–” her face became a mask of pain for a split second before she pushed it away and regained control of her emotions. “But now we’re back out.”
Himnos smiled coyly. “I have a few ideas, Senfora,” he said quietly. “But first I want to get my crap together and sell as much of it as I can.” The pod pilot reached down and opeend a drawer, flicking through several datapads before selecting the right one. “I was hoping you’d stop by, Senfora. Because I’m having trouble selling all of this stuff myself as quickly as I’d like.”
He held out the datapad he’d taken out of the drawer. “Would you be willing to help me sell some of these items? For a share of the profits, of course.”
Senfora paused, and the SED drone whirred back around to face Himnos. “While you go out and continue gathering the rest of your….’crap’ I believe is the term that you like to use.”
Himnos grinned. “That’s absolutely the correct term, and exactly what I propose.”
Senfora paused for a few moments. “Very well,” she said quietly. “I’ve followed you into combat. I don’t see what the harm in selling a few of your items could be.” she reached out and took the proffered datapad, and turned it into the SED’s lenses. “Doesn’t look too bad. I’m pretty sure I could pull this off,” she said quietly.
The SED turned its lenses around to face Himnos as Senfora turned to leave, raising one hand in a wave. “As always, Mister Altar,” she murmured. “It’s a pleasure.”
