mikeazariah

Dierdre smiled as she walked up to the table where Mike had three comms open and was cursing softly. “You do not look like you are having fun.”

Mike gave an exasperated grin and swept two comms to the side, making room for her and the coffee that the waitress brought over. “I am sorting. Worse, I am trying to decide where I should be sorted.”

“Sorted?”

“The CSM finally announced the election and I made it onto the candidates list. It is a big list and I need to see where others stand and where I stand among them. I have spoken quietly to a few folks here and there but I am already seeing interviews and plans for audio broadcasts and all sorts of campaigny things.” he sighed. “I am serious about this but I need to know if others are going to take me seriously. There are enough people out there who ran for a joke that it is easy to be missed, or worse, misunderstood.”

“You don’t want to be thought of as one of the joke people?” She looked at the closest comm and turned it around so she could read it. “‘Yiff yiff?’ That is the sum of this persons platform?”

Mike grimaced. “Puts him two words ahead of some of the others. There are a lot of blank slates out there, by my count. Or they provide interstellar links to locked databases. The goon is a good example of that.”

“So you think this group,” she tapped the comm lightly “are no threat?”

“Sadly, no. There are loyalties of corp and alliance. I expect that at least two of those ‘no platform’ candidates have enough internal support to make them a force to be considered. Goons are notorious for mass efforts to advance their causes and Pandemic Legion is coming off of the high of the Alliance tournament.”

“But you still have them in this ‘pile’.”

“I narrowed the piles down into three categories. Those who are trying that I disagree with,” he tapped the comm on his left, “those who I would vote for myself” he tapped the one on his right. “And those who have not given me enough information to be sorted.” he gestured to the comm she was holding.

“I would have thought you would sort the Goon right off the bat.” She pointed to the disagree pile.

“No, I may not like some of the wars they do, but every time I do research into goon training I wish I could put some of them into capsuleer basic requirements. There are some very well thought out tactics and lessons to be gleaned from them. If I thought a Goon was going to be pushing for better education among the young up and coming poddies I would consider him or her a very valued addition to the CSM. That is one of the things I think needs some attention from the CSM is basic training. Some corps only recruit people who already ‘know the ropes’. Others have made an effort to train and teach. I think groups that favor this philosophy are closer to how I think and act.” Mike sat back. “I do some light training with new folks in my corp. Monitor the Help comm channel every now and again. Help if they need it . . . give some basic instructions on things that are not well covered in their initial education.”

“So you are in favor of improving the initial experience levels of people new to space.” She pulled out a small personal comm and entered something onto it.

“Yes, but that is a ‘mom and apple pie’ type platform issue. You are unlikely to find someone saying they want to make the start in space harder so fewer and fewer poddies survive. Even pirates want targets, if for no other reason. For all they joke about ‘carebears’ they all have associates who mine, or build, who pilot freighters and act as supports.”

“So what about this guy? He looks very pro-support.” Dierdre tapped a name on the comm before her.

“Troll, liar, call him what you like. I looked up his Concord record and he is on their ’shoot him now’ list. He is just seeing how muddy he can make the water.”

She hummed and looked at the picture attached. “He IS dead sexy.”

Mike snorted and tapped one of th comms in front of him. “Does that mean yer gonna vote for him?”

She smiled and looked Mike in the eye. “I am still down as undecided. So who is on your list of folks YOU would vote for?”

*******

Lesson.

49 people can not be evaluated, dismissed or considered in a single post or a single evening.

I doubt most people are gonna make the effort.

I also doubt everyone will agree with my opinion. But that is what opinions are all about. How I think and feel about something.

mike

Mike sighed as the autopilot brought him into the next system. As long as he stayed clear of *Attention, you have been declared an enemy of . . . *

“Dammit!” He disabled the autopilot and brought the ship under manual control. Several Amarr guard ships were beginning to target him and he was fairly sure it was not for a customs inspection. A practiced glance at the nav overview brought the next gate up and he targeted and initiated the jump. Watching the guard ships dwindle in the distance he chuckled then blinked and swore softly. “What the hell was that?” He brought up the black box log and reran the last minute . . . .There! . . .

It took six more jumps back and forth between the two gates with the guard trying to get a faster fix on the ship they so wanted in pieces. Finally he managed to stop, using a bookmark, right next to the anomaly and scoop them into the hold, a quick scan around showed that there was nothing else to see so he warped once more to the gate and moved on back into Khanid territory. When he reached dock he went into the hold to see his find first hand.

Two bodies . . . entwined in a way that made you think more of a bedroom and less of the cold space far from any planet. He looked Amarr but her tribal tattoos could only mean she was full blooded Minnie. “Curiouser and curiouser.” Mike whispered to himself. There were few clothes and no ID but he scanned the faces and hands and went into the station to see if he could solve this little mystery.

****

Five jumps away she woke in the station once again. She gasped for air, which she had been screaming for in triumph when she had last died.

“Get him?”

“Got him, and he was so nice to show a young thing like myself where ‘clones are made’.” Her laugh held no humor that is found this side of a morgue.

“And his clone?”

“Sadly I believe there may be some problems with it. Some sort of bacteria got into the vats . . . again. It is a wonder they don’t keep their facilities cleaner.”

The other voice tsked and reached in to help her off of the table. A robe was handed to her and she tied it absently as she looked about the room, finally focusing on the man beside her. “Next?”

“So soon? I thought you might want a break . . . ”

“Next?” Her voice was flatter and completely empty of any emotion.

He sighed and handed her a file. “This one likes strippers . . . and he likes to ’slum it’ looking for a little dark meat.”

******

Mikes inquiry went through the usual channels and raised many flags in various systems. Counter inquiries were started, mainly focusing on who Mike Azariah was and why he was asking questions. Not knowing the wasps nest he had kicked he continued . . . curiosity taking him deeper. A credit check showed the victim had last spent coin only two systems over. Mike double checked the map and nodded . . . “Good, not in Amarr, just close.” He paused for a moment and then loaded the destination into his comm and set off back to the ship. “A small side trip won’t hurt.”

*******

She had a bit of work done, body mods were expected among strippers. It took a few days for the process to complete and then she checked the local clubs calender.

“Gonna get a job this time?”

“No.” She said, not looking up. “His file says he is not prone to professionals. I am going to go to amateur night.”

The man snorted but didn’t ask any other questions.

“Three days . . . your end better be ready.” She continued.

He managed to bite back his first thought which was ‘I might say the same to you’ This restraint was the main reason why he was still alive, unlike her last 4 handlers. Instead he just nodded and went back to the database to see what other information he could find. “Uh oh.”

“I do not like Uh oh, what is the problem.?”

“Someone a few systems over is making inquiries about the last target.”

“So?”

“Private inquiries . . . and he was correlating your biosignature with the victims.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how he connected you two but the request is already raising some attention. It may be time to terminate the . . . ” He saw the look on her face and trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

“He has nothing so far but his questions could be troublesome. Put a watch on this . . .Azariah. Talk to our contacts. I want to know who he is, what he is, and why he is digging in our business. Evaluate him as a target. Please tell me he is . . . ”

“Pure blood Gallente.” He tapped the comm and frowned. “Banned in Amarr space. Has a reputation for running specific missions against slaving operations. Brought in quite a few folks out of camps in the past year. Currently working in Khanid territory, not far from here. Damn, if you decide he is a target he keeps two clones in very separate regions. Seems to use it to commute from here to his corps industrial center. I’ll have more in a few hours.”

“Everything you can find.”

**********

Mike found his way to the main concourse of the station and looked out over the bustling market. Minmatar stations always had a distinctive feel to them. Ad hoc growth combined with distinctive tribal colors and customs made it feel more eclectic than the stodgy Amarr or the corporate Caldari. Of course nothing could compare to a stroll down a Gallente boulevard, stopping for a cafe au lait . . . . “wow” Mikes eyes were drawn to her almost involuntarily. And he was not the only one. Hips swayed making the tribal sarong swish side to side always promising to show more leg but never quite delivering. The sarong deserved a medal for managing to keep the woman contained and decent given her obvious assets. The concourse almost went silent as every male and more than a few females watched this lioness stalk her own private jungle. It was almost and afterthought that Mike looked at her face and blanched, he swept up his comm and triggered the camera just as she was almost out of sight. Going back to his ship he compared the image to the body in stasis in his hold. The body was a bit different . . . but the face was the same. It was her.

Now what?

**********

“Snark.”

“Excuse me?”

‘It is what Azariah calls his ship. It is in dock right now, here.”

“Here as in this station here?”

“Yes”

“I want a full briefing on this man in one hour. I want all the options considered for what we can do about him.”

“All options?”

“One hour.”

*********

Mike scrolled thorugh the old news files of the station trying to see if he could find a clue as to the other victim and his connection with Her. Even in his mind he capitalized references to Her. While Dierdre was larger than life through force of her interpersonal skills Mike got the impression that this lady would be one to command a crowd, not a single listener. He scrolled backwards through the days till a side article caught his eye, the image was of the male victim from a time when he was more healthy.

“Local Med Bank Infection.- the local clone vats report a virulaent bacteria somehow infected several clones, rendering them irretrievable. One life has been permanently lost as the vat held the clone of a man who died before the infection was discovered.”

“Man, sucks to be him.” Mike read on . . .

“The victim was reported to have been a high ranking Amarr stockholder of the Manpower corporation. Manpower has often been accused of being the corporate front for a slavery ring that spans several regions but the accusations have never been substantiated . . . “

“Huh. I’d swear I have popped a few of their transports, sometime in the past.” Mike toggled off the reader and sat back. “So what in hells name was he doing with her in the middle of nowhere? A business deal gone very bad? No, that wouldn’t explain what they were (and weren’t) wearing. They look like they were spaced, not podded. But why would they be . . . ahem. . . so involved?” He tapped his comm on his knee and looked up at the ceiling of the Snark cockpit. “Nope, no answers written here . . . time to go see if there are any more on the concourse.”

**********

“So to summarize. Our target is in the station, amateur night is tonight, and he has a business meeting for the day after tomorrow back in Amarr space. So we take the shot tonight or let this target pass.”

“Right.”

“Azariah is also in station and your evaluation is he cannot be bought on our budget. His spread of clones makes a targeted strike impossible. He is running for the CSM but nobody has ever heard of him. He hasn’t the specialty that most poddies have and seems to just do a bit of everything up to and including investigating us. Have I got that right?”

“Right.”

“Well dammit I do NOT plan on letting the target pass but what the hell am I going to do about Azariah?”

“The best bet is to take the target as planned, it is a big station. I mean what are the odds he will wind up in the bar where you are ‘working’ tonight?”

Her cold eyes looked off into the distance. “I won’t let the target pass. This evening I want you on close support. We will chance your ‘odds’ but I want you there, just in case.”

“But but I am not a field . . . .”

“You will be there or they will find fewer pieces of you than they did the last handler who interfered with my orders.”

He shuddered thinking of the image he had seen of the three very small bags.

********

Walking the concourse had proved fruitless and all Mike could think of now was a cool drink and then some quality time relaxing and taking in some local sights that did not involve all this hoofing about. Hoots and howls came out of a doorway up ahead and the sign indicated it was ‘happy hour’. “Hope their clock is slow.” Mike grinned and swung into the bar. He siganlled the waiter for a PGB and looked around the bar. “Ah, happy for more than one reason.” The pole in the center of the room could either be for a fire suppression crew to enter the room or . . .

“Yes men it is that time again! Sit back and enjoy the next five acts of Amateur Night! Put your hands together for a little hangerbay worker who knows how to make your loading crane go up . . .Chelsie!” Music filled the room as the first girl stepped out onto the stage and started to bump and grind to the music.

*******

“Chains! What are the odds, indeed. Look at him, perfectly placed to cover both exits and have a clear view of the target.” She glared out from the backstage at Mike sitting sipping his drink. “He doesn’t fool me . . . but what are we going to do? Killing him here would ruin everything.”

“There is one option that wasn’t mentioned.” Her handler said, feeling cold just standing next to her.

“I said all options were to be presented then. What did YOU leave out?”

“Recruitment.”

“I thought you said he couldn’t be bought off with our budget.”

“He makes more in a mission than our monthly budget. But I didn’t mean buy him off, I meant ask him to join us, or at least turn a blind eye.”

“Honesty? Your final option is to tell the truth?”

“It is all I have . . . it is all we have.”

“And the truth shall . . . ” She straightened her shoulders in a most wonderful way and stepped out of the shadows to go talk to the pilot. Sadly, Cherie on stage lost most of the attention of the room as the fully clothed woman crossed it exuding 10x more sex appeal than the near naked neophyte.

*******

Mikes eyes widened for several reasons. Her presence, the coincidence of her being in this bar, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” he said just loud enough for her to hear.

“I was thinking the same thing. May I sit?”

Mike smiled and gestured to the empty seat. “It would be rude of me to say no to such a lovely lady. I believe my next move is to offer to buy you a drink?”

“No, I will be dancing in a few minutes, I like to keep my balance. What I am here to speak with you about is what happens after that dance.” She leaned closer. “Before you arrived here the plan was I would get friendly with the gentleman sitting behind me, go away with him and he would suffer a very permanent accident.”

Mike sipped his drink. “And something untoward would happen to his clone . . . coincidences are such a pain to plan.”

“Very much so. Now I am faced with your being here and I am asking . . . can you . . . no, will you . . . stay out of it?”

Mike looked over her shoulder and then back into her eyes. He compared her beauty to the personal presence of Dierdre. Dierdre won, hands down. “I assume he is connected with active slavery?”

If anything, more ice formed in his drink from just being within range of her eyes. “That chainer specializes in mind control drugs.”

“I’ve seen that sort of thing before. They went after some people in a station near my base. But things are easier for me. I don’t have to pretend there are coincidences.”

Her eyes widened. “You will not interfere?”

His went hard for a moment. “One thing . . . how did your bodies wind up like that way out in open space with no ship about. That has been driving me crazy.”

“I tell them I like an element of danger and take them into the airlock of a shuttle. Once we are there . . . and he is ‘occupied’ I hit the emergency decompression.” She sighed. “I come back, he doesn’t.”

Mike leaned back and laughed. “Leave me a name and if you dance well I will contract you a fresh made shuttle for free.”

“For free dom”

******

Contract between Mike Azariah and Free Dom
10 Minmatar shuttles. Delivery to local hanger
Cost:0 + services rendered

*******

“Honesty. Never thought that would work.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

No lessons, this was meant as an entry into the Eve fan Fiction

A great idea that has got a fair bit of support already.

mike

Welcome to the thirteenth installment of the EVE Blog Banter, the monthly EVE Online blogging extravaganza created by CrazyKinux. The EVE Blog Banter involves an enthusiastic group of gaming bloggers, a common topic within the realm of EVE Online, and a week to post articles pertaining to the said topic. The resulting articles can either be short or quite extensive, either funny or dead serious, but are always a great fun to read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed here. Check out other EVE Blog Banter articles at the bottom of this post!

The first banter of this 2nd year of EVE Blog Banters comes to us from Zargyl from A Sebiestor Scholar, who asked the following: On the EVE Fanfest 2009 page are pictures of prizes for the Silent Auction that was held during the event. One of these photos was entitled “Design your own EVE mission”. My question now would be what kind of mission would you write if you got that prize? What would the mission be about? Would it be one using the new system of epic mission arks? What would be the story told by it? Feel free to expand upon his questions and put together your very own mission!

****

Sometime in the future

“Ah, Mike, glad you could make it. We have a little something we think you might be ready for. According to our scouts a large force of Gurristas are gathering for a storm run through our region. I understand your kind refer to this as a ‘Blob’? Well we have a lot of innocent folks out in harms way and we cannot get word to all the corners of the region so we want to nip this in the bud.”

He steepled his fingers. “According to our records, you are skilled in a stealth bomber, am I right?”

Mike smiled and nodded. “Haven’t had a lot of call for that skill, but yes I can sneak a peek and boom a room.”

“Quaint. Well we have two locations where they will be gathering. Staging and alternate staging points. You are to hit the first, give them time to relocate and then finish them off. We have a dedicated gateway that will only have the oomph to send one small ship through each gate so it is all up to you. I cannot afford to send backup nor can you call on your allies to help you in this one. One shot many kills, twice. If you fail . . . a lot of innocent folks will die.”

“So . . . no pressure?”

“No Jokes, Mr Azariah. You are all that stands between this region and a lot of death and destruction.”

“Load em up. I won’t fail.”

*********

Ships specific missions . . .wouldn’t that be nice? Not just size but ones that are VERY specific skill set. ECM Mission to keep a refugee ship alive . . . a scan of your skills and the mission is triggered.

Oh, and mechanics that insure that you can FAIL. You get one chance to do it right . . . just one.

No Lessons

Other participants:

* Aether – Teach a man to fish…
* The Captain’s Log – More Missions Please
* Nukes Thoughts – Untitled
* Roc’s Ramblings – The Cave of Time
* The Wandering Druid of Tranquility – It’s another episode of Design Star: EVE Style
* A merry life and a short one – Fatal Rabbit
* The Elitist – Guristas Invasion
* Inner Sanctum of the Ninveah – Mission: Tangled Webs
* Eve Trader – Missions with Player Adversaries

The comm chimed as the main course was being brought. It was the second date with Dierdre and Mike cursed softly under his breath for not setting the ‘emergency filters’ on it. He glanced at the message and then toggled the comm completed off. “Sorry about that. Forgot to turn it off and junk messages pop in occasionally.”

“Junk messages? I thought most of those were taken care of, long ago. What sort of message are you getting?”

“Educational notice. The School over in Bille is having a grad ceremony and they want me to attend. I get these every few months.”

“The University of Caille? What courses were you taking?” She leaned in and he was distracted for a moment before he realized she was waiting for an answer.

“Oh the usual mix. Most pilots consider anytime they are NOT training to be time wasted.” He looked down at the comm beside his plate. “You really want me to look up what they want me for this time?” He toggled on the comm and reread the message. “Ah, seems I have bachelors in Business and in Minmatar Military coming to me this time. The second is through a distance Education course in conjunction with . . . ”

“Business AND Military?” Her eyebrows raised.

He shrugged, embarrassed. “I like shiny things. So I browse the course catalogs and take anything that grabs my attention.”

“Well then how many degrees do you have?”

“Huh, I dunno. Let me look.” He tapped the comm a few times and brought up his educational record. “Undergrad stuff . . . . not worth counting. Bachelors . . . . 4 Military so they don’t count . . . Gallente, Caldari, and Min. Seven. Seven Bachelors and by the looks of it I could probably get a Masters if I worked at it.”

“Why don’t the Military ones count?”

“They aren’t academic but practical, more along the line of being qualified to operate their equipment.”

“Seven. And you haven’t gone to accept a single one of them?.”

“Never seen the need to. They and I both keep records so we know what I have worked on.”

Dierdre sat back and looked at him for a moment. “You should go.” She said abruptly.

“What? Where? nah . . . Why?” Mike had not expected this.

“Do you have any idea how many degrees your average groundling has?” She asked with just the hint of anger.

“No, a dozen?” Mike guessed wildly.

“Between none and two, seldom more than that. Graduation, the ceremony that recognizes academic achievement is a major step in a person life. Now you may not think that it is all that great a thing but you should go and see what it means to others. If you are going to be a representative of the CSM you must be able to see things from other points of view.”

“This is about the election?” Mike blinked at this sudden turn in the conversation.

“No, it is about making you able to appreciate what you have.”

“I have to go?” suddenly Mike felt cornered.

She wouldn’t take no for an answer . . . Mike wrote of it in his Logs.

In the end, she was right. I didn’t dare refuse in the restaurant because if she raised her voice once more I was fairly sure the chef would have started throwing sharp things at me. D. is VERY well known in the station and it seems that everyone is watching to make sure I do not ‘hurt her’. So given no choice in the matter I sent the acceptance to the invitation right there at the table.

I have orbited Bille a hundred of times. I have defended artifacts of several races (and blown a few up, over the years as well.) But I have never taken part in a cultural ceremony like Graduation. The regalia was stylized over centuries but the flowing robes and the slashes of color across the arms indicating your completed schools of study. The professors all had ones that stood off the arms as holographs, with the distance indicating the advancement of the degree. The Dean of the University was almost obscured by the four bands of color orbiting him like rings of a planet.

Most of my fellow graduates were wearing robes with no color slashes whatsoever. Surrounded by families marvelling at the robes and wearing ribbons of the color that the grads would soon receive. I felt like a peacock in a crow convention. The people running the ceremony seemed to feel that my time in special forces merited an advanced degree so I trailed a small streamer of green light as I made my way to sit in the sea of night that was the graduates.

The speeches were, as tradition demands, boring and ignored.

The graduates slowly mounted the dias and received their colors from the deans of their faculties and returned, faces glowing brighter than a nova. Mike had gone to this almost resigned to enduring it but the spirit in the assembly hall filled him with . . . something. A feeling that large changes were coming and these people around him would be a part of that. But not him.

No family, he took in the atmosphere but there were no friends here to share it with. No classmates to cheer and drink a toast to. The ceremony had become a part of him, but not he of it. As the crowd began to spread to various parties, dinners, family gatherings he cued his comm to wake up the Snark, it was time to go.

But on the bridge, a small rainbow of colors hung, a reminder of this time and place.

**********

Caveat: I treat the basic certificates as undergrad work, community college tech degrees. Standards are a BSc. Improved: Masters, and Elite is, of course, a PhD

I think the price some capsuleers pay for their isolation from the rest of humanity is a steeper one than they think.

At the risk of too much philosophy . . . it is similar to the one gamers pay playing in their little pods as opposed to getting out and doing things. To that regard things like fanfest are the counterbalance.

Lessons: Your skill queue is your friend. Monitor skills and always have a few more bits and pieces ready to go, a long one on hand for the backstop of your training so you can have a computer crash and not be weeping about lost training time.

The hum of the strip miners burning away at the rock were a quiet lullaby. Mike dozed, a copy of Dominix Blueprints sliding to the floor from his open hand. He had decided that the next Battleship he would make himself. He might not mine all the minerals but there was also salvage. A chime reminded him that the hold was approaching its capacity. A tap of the controls sent the ship warping back to his local base. The nav comp named it ‘Home’ but there were homes in several systems.

“And bodies” He said out loud.

“Docking request . . . excuse me?”

“Sorry docking control, just thinking aloud. Kindly tell the hanger bay crew that I will be unloading and then launching again?”

“Fourth lap, Captain. I think they know that by now.”

Mike grinned. “Roger.”

“No, Dierdre.”

” . . . uh, what?”

“My name is not Roger . . . it is Dierdre.”

Mike laughed and keyed the com again. “Very well, milady Dierdre. I hope you will not think me less of a gentleman for leaving so soon after arriving.”

The sniff of hauteur was audible and sent Mike rolling back in his chair. “Try not to let it happen again, sirrah.”

He was lucky the tractor beams guided the vessel to the docking point because he was far to busy laughing to be able to do any fine work himself. It was three more trips before he called it a day. He missed Kry and Sab who would have made the mining a fun time to chat, not to mention the benefit of having an Orca on site as well as Sab identifying and advising, to the benefit of anyone in the same belt. But they had gone to a planet for some ‘time out of space’.

“Last run Dierdre. Comin home.”

“Welcome back, Captain. Just in time, as I am going off shift.”

Mike checked the ship time, 22:37. “Riiight. Well I don’t suppose I can buy you a meal in thanks for your kindness in waiting up for this little lost lamb?”

“Fair warning, I skipped supper.”

Mike grinned. “Tell me where and when.”

“Well, a lady has to make herself presentable. One hour at Arestis?”

“Roger, Dierdre . . . I mean . . . well . . .see you there?”

The docking procedure was a blur as he brought up the station schematics and tried to find Arestis. It wasn’t far but he knew finding his way across the station was sometimes harder than it looked. “I can find my way halfway across the galaxy but moving about across a station?” A small map in hand he tapped the controls and the hatch hissed open. He stepped back facing three of the hanger deck crew who were there waiting.

“Evening, Captain. No need to be reaching for that scattergun.”

Mike grimaced and lowered his hand that had been drifting to the right. “That predictable, am I?”

“This is a social call.”

“Can we make it quick, gentlemen? I have to . . . ”

“We know.” The gravelly voice of the largest of them ground the words out like he was pressing weights in a gym. “Just a word or two before you go. Dee be one of us. She don’t fly ships, she be guiding them. She don’t have clones scattered about, she only got one belly button. And iffen you think about hurtin her, we gonna be coming back and you will be needin tha gun. You savvy?”

“Damn, boys. I ain’t even met the lady. I have nothing planned ‘cept dinner.”

“Dressed like tha?” The third spoke up in disbelief.

“What? This is what I always wear.”

“Exactly. Now I know pilots tend to not pay attention to this sort of thing, but Dee will, so you are getting dressed for this here occasion. Come on, bucky, we convinced a shop ta stay open.”

When he arrived at the restaurant he was still keeping in mind the shop keeper who had been nursing a black eye and limping. For all their helpfulness there was no doubt that the three would be just as convincing with him. He didn’t know what to say at the entrance to the Maitre D’ but it turned out he didn’t have to say anything, he was ushered straight to a table where Dierdre waited. Later he tried to describe her in his journal.

–Brunette, mid height but she always seemed taller, bigger. When she spoke it was like dipping your ears in honey. If she looked at you . . . you felt like you were in a spotlight. It is not the physical, it is her spirit. She is there more than the rest of us. Maybe it is we spend so much time out there that half of us think we are our ships and that the bodies are just an inconvenient interface. Now I know why I had that visit from the boys. If I thought someone else was going to hurt her I’d be standing there right with along with them as part of the ‘welcoming committee’. The most important thing was she listened to you. Not the polite half listen some people do. She heard and thought about what you said. I have never been so scared in my life.–

He never noticed what dinner was, nor did he even blink at the bill. They spoke of everything and nothing.

“Family?” She answered. “Sometimes I think the whole station is family.”

“Me?” Mike squirmed a bit. “Well I started out in the Gallente military flying short range patrols. Managed to scrape up enough and take out some loans and get out and started working for myself. Things just took off from there.”

Then she asked about the CSM. It did not seem idle chatter so he answered her questions as best he could.

“No, I think that taxes are a needed thing. How can you expect to get decent service if you are unwilling to pay for it?”

“Hmm? I doubt any ship is perfect, so all of them could use a tweak here and there. The question is always one of ‘do we make the good better, or the bad good?’ ”

“Oh, I prefer to make the low end ships better, find out why some hulls just don’t get flown except by oddballs like me. Fix whats broke before you polish the chrome on the others.”

“I know how that sounds but I still think a lot of folks are forgetting what a representative is supposed to do. Not convince folks what they should be thinking, what they should be believing. A rep is supposed to take those thoughts that they DO have further up the ladder. I will tell folks what I would like to see changed but if I am to do the job right I should also be willing to listen to their points of view as well. Anything less and I am not a proper representative. ”

She smiled as the last question was asked. “Yes, I had a lovely time. But fair warning, I may not be so forgiving if you make me wait so late for dinner again.”

Mike took a moment to understand all that the answer implied.

He was all the way back to his ship before he started questioning whether he should have asked more direct questions . . . or made some suggestions. Then he remembered the guardian angels who had given him a casual wave when he had crossed the hanger bay and opened the hatch. He leaned back against the hatch, once it was closed and asked himself. “Now what the hell was that all about?”

*******
Lessons: A lot of folks forget what representation means, I blame modern election media.
If you are going afk ‘for just a minute’ dock. My ‘just a minute’ was almost 2 hours and when I returned my ship was a lot smaller and rounder.
There are people you can describe physically. I prefer the ones whose first impression is something more than looks.
There are some great Eve information hubs to check. But you should always start with http://www.crazykinux.com/
and his twitter

mike

He sipped his coffee and looked out onto the ship hanger complex. Small vessels scooted through the larger docked ships, carrying cargo and resupply. Bright flashes showed where work crews were busy doing repairs of battle scarred ships and dark shadows hinted at motion where less than savory trades and exchanges took place. Light and dark, action and stillness. It was liking some nest of small mechanical insects, each bustling to do their own little task.

“Quiet day.” The Scotty nodded as the waitress brought him a cup and a pastry and sat down next to Mike, also looking out.

“This is quiet?”

“Yeah, action slows down this time of day. Even some of you poddies sleep . . . or so I been told.”

“Pfft, don’t believe everything you hear.”

“So why did you call me up here?”

Mike grimaced. “Don’t make it sound like some sort of summons. I haven’t the clout to back a simple request.”

The Scotty shrugged. “The local agents like you well enough. You treat folks right and thank the bay crews when they make deliveries. Compared to a lot of folks . . . you have clout in a more personal way.”

“Manners. Ma always said they’d pay off in the long run.”

“But others think they make you look weak in the short run.”

A wolfish smile flitted across Mikes face. “I always like to be thought of as weak. But I had a few questions for you, simple ones but I cannot seem to find answers for them on the net.”

“Fire away”

“I have a button to summon my drones back to the bay, a button to send them at things that need some attention. Why don’t I have a button to send them out of the bay?”

“Tradition, mainly. Arming weapons and taking offensive action used to have a lot of interlocks so someone did not accidentaly start a shooting war. That and the fact that one button would not let the bay know which of your dozen drones you wanted launched.” Scotty held up a hand. “I know, a preset line of buttons customized to be launched in or out of sequence is not that huge of a technological shift. I am just telling you the answers I get in the trade journals.”

Mike sipped his coffee and nodded slowly. “If I were king, that is one of the things I would make a decree about.”

“And what else, yer highness?” The hanger supervisor grinned and bowed slightly.

Mike stared off into space. “I have a cousin who is a groundling. Works in the local police force . . . kind of a ground based Concord. He tells me that a persons vehicular insurance is voided if the loss is shown to occur while the person is committing a crime. If we moved that idea up into space it might make a few hulk miners sleep a little better in the belts.”

“You out to stop the suicide gankers?”

“Now that is the thing. Yes and no. There have been times when I could tell that there was not a podpilot on board, just some mechanical program running the vessel on automatic. Big corps keep trying to replace the pilots. THEM I would love to see hunted into extinction. But if an average joe is out mining in a hulk, half asleep, to a ganker looks just about the same. He IS working and he does have a right to be there. If there was a way to tell the difference, a test that could be performed, then a ‘hunter’ could apply for a license and their kill would be considered law enforcement, not a crime.”

“The term you are looking for is ‘privateer’.”

“If I use that term I would expand a lot more on their scope of operations. They could hunt anybody who was in a system and considered ’shoot on sight’ by the locals. I have to make fast and quiet transitions through Amarr space right now. Bad enough the local constabulary try to lock me up. I shudder to think what would happen if the militia of the area or just people who don’t mind working for slavers also were allowed to shoot.”

“Might mean you’d have to avoid that area a lot more.”

Mike glanced sideways at the Scotty but his eyes were calmly surveying the hangers. “It does make sense, even if it would make life tougher for me.”

“What it would do is make life more interesting for a lot of folks. When Concord starts getting help with . . . well see that ship down there? The one being loaded up. All the damage we repaired on it were from sentry guns. He tanked his way in here even though he ain’t welcome and once his is docked we are supposed to treat him just the same as you.”

“That is insane.”

“Ain’t it?”

“Speaking of insane, I scouted a few wormholes and sites in a local system for some corpmates. Drove me crazy that I had to dock or drop a can for them to see what is pure information. If I can talk to them and even send ship fittings on the comm channels why can’t I send a simple location?”

“Now ya got me stumped on that one, boss.”

Mike grinned. “Problem is, who do you ask that can actually do something about it?”

“Why not you?”

“What?”

“Step up. I know you don’t think you represent anybody and in a way that is what makes you right for the job. The axes that some of the big corps and alliances have to grind make their viewpoints skewed. They want changes that make life better for them. You want changes that make some things better for you and some that make things worse for you. Why?”

“Just because it makes something worse for me does not mean it is not the right thing to do.”

The Scotty smiled widely. “That right there. That is why you should step up.”

“Step up to what?”

“The CSM. The Council of Stellar Management. They are the movers and the shakers that change tech manuals. They determine how research funding will be directed in major centers across the galaxy.”

“I thought they were just the galactic equivalent of a High School Student Council, with all the petty bickering and popularity contests that go with it.”

The Engineer laughed. “That, too. But they are the only way for a pilot to even try to make a change. So you can wait for someone else to be the agent of the change or you can try to be that agent. Step Up, Mike. Step the hell up.”

*****

Lessons: It is easy to complain about something, to be willing to work towards addressing the complaint is something else.
It is scary not knowing if the application for CSM candidacy actually made it in.
IF it did, and IF you have something you would like to see ‘made right’ send me a note.
Even if I don’t manage to qualify as a candidate, post a comment here.
I am trying to represent the average players (whoever they are) and the new ones. Not the mega corps and alliances.
Make little changes in simple mechanics of the game, not radically changes as to who owns what space.
I love this game and want to make it better, not different.
If you agree with that and you think of it, toss me a vote when the time comes, please?

mike

His footsteps echoed in the huge hanger, silent and empty save for the two people in it.

“Try accessing them again.” Kry said, frowning down at her own compad.

“KK” He brought up his own communications pad and tapped in the commands, downloaded the blueprint and set a typical research parameter set. He was tired of seeing such wastage every time he made ammo. A loud buzz filled the room as machinery started then locked up. “Nope” He squinted at the pad. “Says I do not have the permissions, something about being a factory mangler.”

“Factory Manager, goof.” She shifted a few icons on her own pad and nodded. “Ok, one more time, and I have given you back the blueprints you mislaid.”

He repeated the commands on his own pad and this time the factory hummed quietly as the tasks began. “Got it Kry, you the man.”

She raised her eyebrows at him and he grinned. Giving a sniff she turned for the docking bay to go back to the current hulk she was flying.

“No, really Kry. Thanks, not just for this but for the rest of it. You are handling all the little tasks, not the heroic ones . . . the ones that keep a corp running. No killboard, no big explosions in space . . . but critical to us being a cohesive group.” He smiled as he tucked away his pad and walked next to her to get back in his Helios.

“Just helping out . . . ” She said.

“Yeah? Of the last ten recruits, how many were brought in by someone else? Who has been keeping the POS fueled and running? Kry, I may tease and call ya a man whose shape matches that of his pod but ya know I think yer the person keeping the corp together right now. Never forget that. I do appreciate everything you do, and if the rest of the corp has an ounce of sense, so do they.” he stepped onto the gantry of his own ship. “But we fly spaceships and shoot at folks, an ounce of sense is not really a requirement for what we do, is it?” Laughing he boarded his ship and went off in search of a wormole while Kry gave another member of the corp a tour of the POS.

******

Lesson:
Remember to thank the folks who do the day to day work that keeps your corp running.
A well researched BPO pays for itself much faster
Remember to thank the folks who do the day to day work that keeps your corp running. *(I know I already said this but it seems important enough point to repeat)

and most importantly

Thanks Kry

mike