Demigodess with a Conscience

Buried under a mountain of administrative datapads, messages and general bills, I was all but happy at the moment. In the past few months, there had been a growing feeling of stagnation within the corporation. In fact, ever since we all left Amarr Sisterhood of Galactic Sirens [ASGS] (which, by the way, is the most awesome corporation name ever, thank you) and merged with Solaris Operations [SOLAR], we’d been in a steady decline regarding member numbers and activity.

We’ve been through several CEOs, models of production and whatnot, but none have really managed to get a hold of the corp and bring it together. I’ll get to the reasons later. I’m not the one to blame any one person for things, unless it’s blatant misconduct, so I won’t be pointing fingers. Especially since this whole thing isn’t one individual’s fault. It’s a compound of things and a certain lack of doing something about it.

When we all joined Solaris Operations and left ASGS, we had a tight nit community of primarily industry based pilots. Most of us were hardened miners or producers and a few dabbled in invention. With Solaris being a combat based corporation, with only Soren Oboro himself doing some major industry, we got into some useless arguments with the combat pilots. We were the newcomers, but since we were, like Soren, industrials, our voices were heard more than the combat pilots. This resulted in a cleft between us and the combattants, and caused several of them to leave to form an own corporation, with which we’ve had a kind of “cold war” ever since then.

Here’s were the trouble began. With our most hardened industrials staying in ASGS and our combat pilots leaving us “carebears” behind, we were left with low numbers and low activity. Things were slowly going down the drain and we had more and more members being bored and finally leaving to find greener grass. Mind you, I’m not blaming them, for times were grim back then.

In an effort to spice things up, Bluedagger shouldered the CEO role and we moved out into Minmatar low security space. Mostly because we lost another 5-6 members to an empty promise of 0.0 space that were never fulfilled because our then diplomat majorly screwed up diplomatic relations. Well out in Weld, Molden Heath, we did quite a job in getting together and made decent ISK both mining and primarily running wormhole-ops. Our tech 3 production was on an upswing and things were looking good. We still lacked numbers and recruitment was non-existant, but at least we were producing.

Cue Rote Kapelle, a pirate alliance of mischievous pilots. For no apparent reason, [STUGH] (I have no idea how “Rote Kapelle” becomes “STUGH” but whatever) decided to move into Weld. They erected a large deathstar POS in system, jumped in several capitals and kept a minimum pilot amount of 10-15 in system every hour of the day. Our wormhole ops were busted, mining was a no go, they did frequent roams which led to several lost ships for us. The killing blow was when they managed to catch our two carriers and a jumpfreighter at our POS, outside the shield, and killed all three of them. With only 5-6 active pilots, it was clear we weren’t going to be able to put up much of a fight.

With this devastating blow to our economy and the grim reality staring us dead in the face, many more members either became inactive or simply chose to leave the corporation. A desicion was made to move back to our roots. A place where we were at least functioning properly and were growing.  In order to get rid of the stain of “outsiders” left on us by joining Solaris, we created a new corporation and incorporated both Solaris and The Confederate Navy (as the new corp was called) into an alliance of pilots, called Forever Unbound.

With King Klown taking the reins as CEO of [C.N.F] we moved back to Domain low security space, to once again live under the watchful eye of Curatores Veritatis Alliance [CVA]. In Domain, we started licking our wounds and looking to find a purpose. Our original purpose industry and mining long left behind us, with new goals popping up all the time, we needed a new one. This purpose became primarily combat, with industrials left in Solaris to fend for themselves. But with no pilots mining, our mineral flow was close to zero, and industrials had nothing to build with except for what they bought with their own ISK.

Our wormhole ops steadily declined as well and many of our pilots chose to stay in high security for research and/or mission running. Scattered, divided and wounded we soon realized that this was going nowhere. After months of low activity and people dropping out  we faced facts that we needed to do something serious to survive.

Our corp needed a premier purpose. Something to work together for. It was suggested that I’d takeover as CEO, seeing as I was one of the most experienced pilots we had but I said I had no wish to lead. Instantly getting faceslapped with “the best leaders are the ones not seeking power, but they who have it thrust upon them”, I reluctantly agreed and starting thinking through what really went wrong.

I came to the conclusion that the original fault was joining with Solaris. It started a separation and division amongst our pilots that have been going on ever since then. This is no fault of Solaris per se, mind you. It was simply a fact of people wanting to do different things, and joining Solaris didn’t really cater to that.

I realized that in order to get through this and survive we needed to get back together. A corporation cannot survive when 90% of its members spend all time in high security space while a few fanatics stick around our home station. So, as I was officially appointed CEO just this morning, I now have a lot of work ahead of me.

“This damn hangar is going to be the death of me!”, I blurted loudly when I, for the fifth time, collided with some toolbox, strewn over half the hangar floor. I glared at my XO, who was zipping around the hangar floor, trying to form some kind of order in the veritable chaos that was the Asmodai. It appeared the modifications I requested really wasn’t of the easiest kind. They’ve had to disassemble the whole capactitor array in order to remove the circuits, and the shield generators to install the makeshift resistance boosters.

“Can’t you clean it up already?”, I blurted as he ran past me.

“Doing the best we can, miss. She won’t be done yet in a couple of hours, an’ this place ain’t gonna look pretty while we work on this stuff, y’know?”

I was in a terrible mood this evening. My ship was in shambles, I had no good backups in this station, and I had loads of work to do. My agent was crawling all over me lately. Apparently the Guristas was on the move in this constellation, and she tried to enlist every capsuleer in sight. Unfortunately, I’d proven my worth more than once, and everytime there was something that needed doing, she came yelling for me. Sure, I could just say no, but it would kinda hurt my relations with the Theology Council. After all, they were the ones paying my bills.

On top of all that crap, I hadn’t heard anything from Catrina in weeks. Ever since she left the corporation to go out on her own, she’d been completely silent. Not even an EVEmail to let me know she was alright, and I was getting worried. The last I heard from her was some combat report from way down in Providence where she killed some poor rookie who didn’t warp out fast enough. I know Cat can be rather bloodthirsty from time to time, but this was going in the excess, even for her. Even back in her pure pirating days, she was honorable and didn’t pod people just for the fun of it. I needed to get in contact with her soon.

I hadn’t more than finished that train of thought before my toe exploded in a sensation of ouch.

“GODDAMNIT!” I yelled, and started looking for a nearby person to strangle. Techs fled left and right with little yelps as I marched towards the access hatch to the station. I needed a bath. A really long, warm bath and a couple of nerve sticks…

I was there again. Sitting in that strict and orthodox station in central Domain. The Amarrians were, in my Caldarian eyes, a strange people. They would rather adhere to a centuries old religion than evolving for the betterment of their society, and when problems arose, they humbly turn to their god for guidance. Their god, an abstract construct of a subconcious will to be part of something greater, to have a greater purpose in existance, rather than be a freak of probability.

Part of me understood them really well. The simple thought of being nothing but a set of molecules and the result of some statistical accident isn’t really reassuring. Having a god to turn to, a greater conscience and having a set of morals to adhere to could be calming and assuring. Knowing that there were an ultimate truth out there.

Another part of me just thought they were a bunch of mad old crackpots. How could they believe in a god that is supposedly good and all-knowing, in an age like this? One would not need to look further than their own empire to find blaring contradictions with corrupted Holders, slavery running rampant and what other monstrosities being commited in their “glorius empire”. Add their smug superiority complex on top of that, and I can’t really see a trace of any good god.

Well, enough rambling I guess. As a result of the latest calm in southern Domain, I had travelled back up to the central parts to work a bit for my agent. It wasn’t that ISK was scarce, I had a good billion sitting in my wallet, but ever since I struck gold a year back, anything less than five billion have felt like I was a downtrodden poor woman. Besides, I needed something to shoot, and soon too. Sanshas and Angels were no good substitute for a good pod on pod, but they could at least fill the need for pretty explosions, and my agent usually sent me out to blow shit up.

I was sitting in my office in the Theology Council station, far more posh and fitting to my stature than the shack I call “home” in the low sec regions in southern Domain. I was a proud owner of a freak monstrosity, the Nightmare. The ship design could only have been born in the mind of a really sick individual, but what performance! It’s four laser banks could produce more power than the full eight banks on an Apocalypse and with a really strong shield tank to boot. It was a joy to fly the ship, in spite of it’s AI. The AI was stale and strict, prone to bouts of strange trains of thought. Once you got control over it, it was rather easy to point it to where you wanted it, but before that…boy, what a wierd ride!

I was almost like the ship was designed to be sentient, but that the primary functions were ripped out when the ship was built for Empire service. I wouldn’t surprise me if it was…Sansha was one sick man. But he knew how to build ships, I’ll give him that.

Lately, I had been feeling rather displeased with it’s performance, and knowing it’s capabilities, I figured it was more down to my fitting of the thing than it’s actual construction. I grounded the Asmodai, as I’d named it after a mythological demon in some obscure off shoot of the Amarrian religion, and sat down with tech spreadsheets, module infos and whatnot, and tried to work out a way to push more juice out of the ship.

I realized that far too much of it’s potential was being eaten by the shields. A full six mid slots were used for the shields alone, and that felt superflous. I wanted to add in some Tracking Computers, to push the lasers further off with good accuracy. The multifrequency crystals were fantastic for projecting raw energy across the void, but their destabilizing effect on the beam meant you were limited in range due to issues with accuracy. With a proper tracking computer, I could probably compensate for the destabilization and get more accuracy and range out of the guns, without having to resort to more stable, but less efficient crystal types.

I also invested some ISK into a proper shield booster. The old Caldari Navy one had been along for quite a while. It had seen service on my old Raven, the Navy Issue Raven and recently on the Asmodai. I got my hands on a Guristas modified shield booster, nicknamed the “Pith B-Type” by other pilots. It wasn’t cheap, but at the same time not hideously expensive, but offered increased performance over the navy one. This allowed me to lighten up the shield tank somewhat, and free up a mid slot section for the tracking computer.

Satisfied with my fiddling, I also took the time to rip out some aftermarket modifications I once thought was a good idea. I’d added some control circuits to the capacitor to boosts it’s recharge rate, but since I now ran with a Cap Booster for those “oh shit” moments, I figured they weren’t really necessary. Instead, I went with another coordinator to stabilize the lasers, and two resistance boosters for the shields, allowing me more leniance in the tank.

With this done, I felt rather pleased with myself, and figured I’d take her out for a spin. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel thirsty for a good battle up against proper ships. Vanilla spaceships with crews just couldn’t match up to pod pilot vessels enough to entice me.

Time to make that call to my XO and have him get the crews working.

Sonic showers, now that’s something. I stood in front of the mirror, refreshed and clean for the first time in what felt like an eternity, and observed my new self. I wasn’t so sure about this whole “blonde bombshell” kinda thing, but it certainly was different.

This whole thought of changing my appearance had been growing on me for quite a while. Much more so since my sister started flaunting herself as “The Universe’s Gift to Men”, and my corpmates were quick to oblige to her flauntings. Now, it wasn’t really that I was jealous, because I knew Cat. She’s was as loose as a Minmatar armor plate and I certainly did not envy her lifestyle. It was her choice, and her’s alone.

Her flauntings did put something into stark perspective, however. I’d really not cared much for my appearance, and her current appearance made that painfully obvious. She was sexier, and she knew it. What’s worse, she made sure that I knew it too.

So I set out on this whole Gallentean “Reinvent yourself” campaign, and you have no idea what I came across. These Gallenteans truly were a brainless people. The sheer amount of “Bodily enhancements” available made me want to throw up. I’m not even going to go into detail here, because they were just…no. I spent a good time browsing the stores, becoming increasingly horrified at the mutiliations offered.

My new looks.

I finally settled for something subtle by Gallentean standards; a hair pigment change and a new tatoo. It helped a lot, actually. But I was still not used to my new self. It’s a lot more to take in than simply waking up in a new body, and getting used to it again. Feeling not quite “like yourself”. No, this was more…strange. In a new clone I could at least look in the mirror and reassure myself that I was still me. This wasn’t quite the same.

The woman that looked back at me from the mirror wasn’t me. Sure, she had my features, and my cybernetic implant but there’s where the similarities ended. I didn’t even feel like myself anymore, but I guessed I’d get used to it. Eventually.

In spite of all these wierd feelings of being someone else, I was still excited to hear what my corpmates would think of it. I had still not been on comms or shown up in the station bar for them to see, but I would be. Soon enough.

I could imagine it would cause quite a ruckus. Oh, and I wondered what Cat would say? Knowing her, she’d probably come up with some acid comment as usual, no matter what she thought. I guess I could tell by the amount of acidity in her comment. If it was downright horrible, she liked it, and if she did: mission accomplished.