mikeazariah

Mike shoved the coffee to the side and spread the two comms before him, on one he scrolled the text while on the other he made notations. Dee watched him focus on the information in a way she sometimes he would focus on . . . other matters. He stayed that way for the next hour, pausing and thinking before making notes or muttering to hiomself over some point that was in the transcripts.

Finally she took a piece of pie from a waitress and brought it over to the table along with a fresh cup of coffee. “Good book?”

Mike grimaced and looked up from the comm. “Oh heyas, Dee, did you just get here?”

She bit back her immediate reply as she saw the bloodshot eyes. “When did you last sleep?”

“Um, yesterday? what time is it, no, the day before . . . . ” Mike shrugged and looked back at the comms. “I promised myself I would get through this and dammit, I will. Kry has given me some new responsibilities in the corp and I am still not sure what they are, just . . . ” His sentences trailed off like he lost the trains of thought in mid-word

She looked down at the pilot and smiled. He could be so friustrating and she knew she could try to force him to stop and finish when he was more alert but it was easier to help him finish the job then know that he would rest properly. “Fine, so tell me about the summit.”

“Well, from what I can see, it went better than it might have. Even the Goons worked.”

“They had to, seeing as they are seeing their world crumble around them.”

“Nah, ‘Goonwaffles with syrup’ will pick right up where the Goonswarm left off. There are few constants in this universe but idiocy and griefers are two very solid ones. But that is beside the point. They did get things done and that is what is important. My only regret in regards to the goons is that Helen did not manage to go.”

“So what did they decidee on, at this summit.”

Mike started to tick things off on his fingers as he listed the accomplishments of the CSM summit. “Now remember, not all of this is going to go through, but these are the things that were breought before the higher powers, the movers and shakers of New Eden. The first thing is that they may make the CSM term a full year with TWO trips to the summit. I think this would be good for continuity but bad in another way. It waoud better if they alternated the elections so there was an election every six months with a 1 year term. That way experience could be teamed with youthfull enthusiasm. There would be fresh blood at each meeting and some ‘old hands’. They also discussed the abolishment of term limits which might be a good or bad thing. I could see dynasties forming but then again, the continuity of a good team would be a very sad thing to see eliminated on the basis of ‘your time is up’”

“So you are for it or against it?”

“If they did the alternation, I think I would fall on the ‘for’ side, and I agree that term limits are an artificial construct that the political nature of the universe would self correct. The next thing they discussed was security, basically it came down to design better locks on the one side compared to teach people to remember to USE said locks in a proper manner on the other. There is not a perfect lock that a thief can’t get past if the owner is careless. Then they discussed the way problems at the stellar level are addressed and asked that fewer canned replies are used and research is done before a proble is treated as trivial. A higher profile of the people in power was requested on the comms and in mail contacts. THAT I am not so sure about because I have seen many a logical discussion degenerate into name calling and chanting. Mob mentality on the comms is common.”

“A mob has the IQ of the average of the members divided by the number of people in the mob.” Dee said.

“Heh, you are meaner than I am, I was just going to say they sink to the lowest common denominator. But it all comes down to expectations. If something is even mentioned then there are those who take it as a died in the wool promise and start howling if it is not delivered the next day. They discussed the shockwave events that have been causing massive fleet losses as ships fail to recalibrate coming outr of warp, but no answer was found at this meeting. Then they spent some time discussing the new plans for the tourneys to be held . . . ”

“Ever thought of going into one?” Dee asked curiously.

“The same way every young lad dreams of being a sports hero. Yeah. But I think it very very unlikely a corp or alliance such as ours would ever manage to field a team. It was interesting to hear the concepts batted about, though. How points will be tallied, teams chose, that sort of thing. Then came some issues on the background of the economic system which was mercifully brief and even then, over my head. Once they got to the next part . . . ” Mike whistled. “They want to make corp and alliance memberships open information.”

“Open? How is that a bad thing?”

“It means that all of the members of a corp will be trackable during a war and easier to hunt. Currently some effort or espionage is needed to get the complete membership list, this will make things far far easier for extortion attempts to be made in hisec. There is freedom of information to consider but I agree with the CSM that this might be going too far. The sad thing is that if they even try it all of the cats will be out of the bag and very hard to stuff back in again. The they discussed nullsec and asked that more mapping expedition s be sent out to try to find new routes into that territory.”

“Why?

“Right now the known paths are ‘chokepoints’ and often ‘camped’. It is too easy for a group to hold a vast amount of nullsec at the cost of effort in only a few systems. More maps and connections might ease that. As to why we want to go into nullsec there is talk of more research division moving their offices down there or maybe the planets in that regiuon (with the relaxed labour laws) will be more productive than their hisec cousins. Then they got onto warfare that is common to the low and nullsec space and discussed things like redesign of stations to keep people from docking as soon as a battle was going against them or allowing a captain to see the surrounding space before undocking. Discussion of current weapon designs, such as the silliness of having the close range weapons mounted on slower vessels. Things for the engineers to look to.”

“You honestly find this interesting, don’t you.” She asked, playing with a strand of her hair.

“It all IS interesting Dee. This is how the world works and we are getting a ‘peek behind the curtains’. This is the sort of thing MORE people should be interested in, but they aren’t. They just complain how they wish things were better, fail to vote during elections . . . passive whiners.” Mike shrugged. “Someone has to care, not just during the election, but the rest of the time as well.”

“Someone like you.”

“And you, it is not just the pilots that are effected. Charity events, how time is allocated in the big research projects . . .decisions that were made there have bearing on how all the lives in New Eden progress. Just because you try to ignore it does not mean that the world will ‘go away’”

“I never said that.”

Mike sighed. “I know, you do care enough to put up with me rambling on about this and that, one of the reasons I love you I suppose. But the meetings then went on to discuss the ideas that the CSM itself was bringing to the table. Thinsg like Black ops ships and battle recorders . . . um, is something wrong?”

She was staring at him intently as he yawned and blinked at her. “No, no, continue. The sooner you finish the sooner you can c . . . go to bed.”

Mike nodded sleepily. Well from there the ideas were layed out on the” another yawn, “table and discussed. Bookmark improvements, insurance frauds, suicides . . . all were presented for consideration. In the end I think the most imp[ortant thing done was the growth.” He rubbed his eyes and blinked at Dee. “The CSM is coming into its own, they are starting to be treated like stakeholders in all of this, not just representatives of the whiny masses. For all our bickering, squabbling . . . ” another yawn, ” . . tching about this and that we are beginning to be heard. I got word they even broughtin the media in to witness this.”

“That is important?”

“Things done in the light last longer . . . are truer. That is why we talk of a black market, shady deals . . . when they shine a light on what is done . . . um, what?”

She was tugging on his arm, almost lifting him from the table. “You do not know when to shut up . . . come on, time for bed.”

“bed sounds nice, I could do with forty winks”

She lead him from the diner and down the walkway. The rest of the patrons watched grinning.

“Hey, isn’t the docking bay to the right?” The customer was idly cuffed on the back of the head by the waitress.

“Matter of fact, it is.”

*******************************************************

The writeup by the devs is up and available, I just went for a short summary.

with some opinion, of course.

from what I hear, PC GAMER was invited to send a reporter. That is an issue I am looking forward to.

m

He fixed the collar of his jacket and looked down to make sure everything was aligned. “How do I look?”

“Your fly is open.” Came her laconic reply.

His hands swiftly flew to find that he was being lied to, again. “Why do you always do that?”

“Why do you always fall for it? You are fine. Now remember, slow down the speech, let them absorb what you are saying. We KNOW half of them are bought and paid for by the godlings but you still have a chance to sway the AGM. If they understand what you are saying. So. Slow. Down.”

“I don’t pay you enough, do I?” He smiled and ran his hand through thinning hair.

“No, but I will give myself a raise later.” His secretary brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of his shoulders and looked down at him. He was a stumpy little man, almost as wide as he was tall. He had been raised on a heavy world and it showed. His reflexes were always quick but each action he made was done made with exaggerated care and delicacy. What he lacked in height he more than made up for in personal presence. His smile and the booming voice were well know to the planetary media and to the larger audience of the Union as a whole.

He nodded to the escort and they headed out of his offices into the tunnel leading to the senate chambers. Two guards ahead, two behind, footsteps echoed off of rough hewn rock. “Did I ever tell you . . . ”

“That you were part of the crew that dug this section of tunnel? Every damn time we walk here.” She smiled tolerantly. “But go ahead, don’t let me force you to break tradition.”

“I was thinking about the work crews back then. Small planetary level Union, I was fresh out of the trainees pool and anxious to show my stuff. Came bloody close to carving my own foot off with the lase. ”

“Couldn’t have that happen, I’m not sure we’d find you if you were any shorter.” One of the guards following quipped.

The short man pointed a finger back at the comedian. “Keep it up and I will go back to making public appearances on big open stages.”

The guard laughed. “Only you would threaten to die to ‘teach someone a lesson’ Ok, ok, no more short jokes, not even the one with the bartender and you playing a tiny piano.” The laughter filled the tunnel as they proceeded the short distance to the assembly hall.

The assembly hall of the Great Union of Miners and Engineers was a pastiche of old and new. Each seat was either filled by a person or a hologramic image of the representative. Since this was the AGM (annual general meeting) very few seats were not occupied, in one way or another. Glowing images accounted for about 2/3’s of the seating but many took long trips to be here face to face for the various political dealings that are best not trusted to communication nets. Here, strikes were decided. Here, the artificial limits on rarer ores were set. Here much of the background dealings that affected all of New Edens industrial base were made.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and of course, MINERS!” The chairman of the AGM brought the house to its feet as cheers filled the hall. “I could spend some time telling you President Roanokes history . . . but he has told it all to us a hundred times over.” Laughter as the delegates returned to their seats. “I could tell you how he has fought for safety for our people, better wages and brought us from the brink of dissolution to the present state of power . . . but you know all that as well. So I will tell you what you want to hear. I give you the one, the only, Roanoke!”

The President stepped up and with an abashed grin shortened the microphone down to his own level. “Damn it. Now I cannot tell any stories about myself without you lot shouting me down. Who let that guy become the chairman anyhow?”

“You did” The chairman shouted, laughing from the wings.

“Hrrmf, musta been drinking.” He grumbled into the mic. “A lot going on right now, and a lot more in the wings, folks, I ain’t one to sugarcoat and I am not going to spend time talking about the past . . . or the present . . . but about our future. Right now decisions are being made at the high levels of the Securities and Trade Commisions of all the races. If they have their way we will be looking back at NOW as a golden age. Right now things could be better, but I doubt that they will be if we sit back and let the future run right over our rights, our homes, and our childrens heritage. RIGHT NOW . . .” His arms flew up as he started to stomp across the stage. “Right now we are looking at a massive change in the way mines can be bought and sold and it will change our homes and lifestyles forever. RIGHT NOW those decisions are being made without us having any say what so ever in them.” he paused and his voice dropped to a stage whisper “right now they are trading and negotiating away our futures . . . and our childrens futures. The road they are starting down? There will be no turning back.”

The hall was unusually quiet. He had them, now it was time to turn them into something more than a passive audience. “We are miners. Whether we ride the plasma scoops, float in the clouds of a gas giant, or burrow ‘neath the rock, we all are miners. Up until now we have had to deal with corporations that followed the laws set by the S&T’s and we were able to deal fairly with them. Oh, I will admit there have been strikes and walkouts, but they were solid folk, like ourselves. But that is coming to an end. In a few months, unless we do something about it, ownership of planetary mining will shift over to ‘Capsuleers’ Those petty godlings . . . these so-called immortals who do not deign to walk the planets anymore, who hold life in such low regard that they will throw away the lives of a thousand crew members over the possession of a moon. Over the right to claim sovereignity over a system. Now we are about to see them allowed to claim planets for their own.”

Murmurs filled the room as this news (though it was not news to all involved) filtered in. Roanoke waited for the room to quiet before continuing, hearing his secretary in his earbud urging him to ‘keep it slow’. He took a deep breath and looked out at some of the faces he knew, both friends and enemies. Then he started again, softly but building power, trying to convince his people of the danger approaching. “Isk. That is what motivates these homeless nomads. They have no roots, no homes save whatever ship they happen to be in, at the time. They buy and sell their loyalties working for ‘agents’ who may send them to do any number of acts that would have a person outlawed in a blind instant if they were caught doing them on a planet. Piracy, violence, getting the job done at ANY cost. at. any. cost.” He looked out, meeting eyes. “Soon we will be that cost. They will see us as tools and a means to their goals. We are not people to that sort . . . just entries on a spread sheet.”

“Fear-mongering” Shouted a voice from the hall. “You just want us all afraid so we will stay your little sheep and re-elect you.”

A wolfish smile grew on Roanokes face “Oh I want you afraid. All of you should be very afraid.” The hall lit with a data sheet projected on the main screen. “Afraid that the wheels are already in motion. That delegates such as yourself are now accepting payments from the lobbyists of the godlings. Five million isk? Was that the price of your soul, Hannity? I remember respecting you once. Even when we disagreed I knew you had your peoples best interests in mind. But now . . . this. Simmons, you settled for 3 million? Should have spoken to Hannity. Do you want me to go on? My people have been researching and watching for months. Do you all REALLY want to know how deep the rot is?”

The spreadsheets flipped faster and faster then blinked out, in the sudden darkness Roanoake was lit by a single spot. The rising roars of outrage died out as he held up his hands. “I have done the math. IF all of the buyouts I have tracked and accounted for keep true to their new masters, this battle is over before it has begun. I am sorry . . . we may have already lost. If nothing else, the godlings can do the math. They understand that to hobble us now will save them so much more in the future.” His hands dropped to his side. “I am making a motion to the floor that we hold a ballot right now. It is a confidence ballot. If I lose, I will no longer be your president . . . and know that it is the will of the Union not to fight the future that looms before us. But if I win . . . I know some of you still retain enough of your souls to be able to fight back . . . and I will lead you in that fight to the end of my days, for I know that it is unlikely I will live through the chaos that is to come.”

His hands became fists as he looked up to the roof of the hall. “I will fight the tyrants who would rape our worlds, make us pawns in their great games between the stars. Let them do their conflicts up there, where there are no children on the battlefield. Let them make war in the quiet of space. But for the sake of us all, for the sake of generations yet to come . . . please, do not bring them down here, into the dust and toil of our lives. You know it is true, if we try to stand against them, or if they disagree on ownership we will see their wars come to our homes. Mercenaries on our streets enforcing the wills of whatever Lord and Master has laid claim to what was once ours. Vote. Vote from the respect you hold for the people you represent. Vote for the future of those people, for your very planets. . . or vote from your bank balances. Sell your people for the thirty pieces of silver. Vote . . . now”

Backstage his guard whispered to the secretary. “Now is when our real work is going to start.”

********************

This is an entry into Silver nights fiction contest

http://www.eveonline.com/ingameboard.asp?a=topic&threadID=1277113

m

. . . and so we won’t be making drinks out of THAT anymore.

As I was saying earlier, Captain Jiorj is an OK guy but you can see the changes already. He just got augmented to be an egger and already he is acting all funny. He raced through training courses that would have taken a normal pilot far far longer to learn. Would you believe he has already finished all of the Career choices the the Republic Military offers? But he came down to tell the crew that we were shifting systems he looked more frazzled than celebrating.

We loaded up a destroyer and filled the cargo bay with fittings and such before heading out into space. He left behind a hanger with at least half a dozen ships in it. I asked him before we left what he planned on doing with them and he looked off into the distance and told me we would come back for them someday or he would donate them to the tribe so the next young pilot would have materials to work with. I got a glance at the accounts and he is sending home 10% of his earnings in tithe. Can you believe that? Now he is talking about sending ships home as well.

But like I was saying, he is getting different. It is almost like he is uncomfortable outside of that goo he flies in. It started when he took one of those training missons that involved him flying a ship full of explosives into a pirate base. He left all of us behind in the bay and flew it solo. When he came back in the small life pod he just looked at us, lined up in the hanger and shook his head before goin to report a successful mission. We had to add some crew to man the destroyer. If we move up to the battlecruisers we will have to bring some more kids up from the surface or else hire here in the station.

I dreamed of becoming a capsuleer like him, but now that I see the changes I wonder if the price is worth it. What is he losing, to gain those stars?

I will write again after we settle in a new system and I know what is going on.

Your Son

Nikolai

Mike tossed his pad on the table top and turned it o silent as Dierdre joined him. “Ah, you are just what I need, some tranquility and common sense.”

She looked down at the notes he had been making. “Another CSM meeting?”

He nodded. “Each one adds something, both to the universe and to my impressions of the people who were elected . . . and not elected.”

“Not elected? How would the meetings alter . . . oh, the alternative representatives. But they only come into play when someone fails to make a meeting, or must leave early.”

“Yup yup, and so far Helen Highwater has had a chance to speak and vote at every meeting, and has not missed that duty nor, may I add, done a bad job of it. On the other hand, the Elected Representative Trzzblat has failed to show up for another meeting. Those people who voted for that one would have been better served voting for Helen. But in the end it turns out to be the same thing. In spite of that, this meeting went better, and differently.”

“I thought the meetings were set in format, how can one go differently?” She nodded her thanks to the waitress who delivered their drinks. Neither had bothered ordering as they came to this cafe so often it was a given what they would have and the staff did not bother even asking, anymore.

“Well, it seemed smoother and also longer. Smoother because Zastrow also was absent for more than half the meeting. With two goons gone the discussion seemed more . . .efficient.”

“Isn’t Helen a Goon?”

He nodded. “Helen is, but if the fleet starts noticing how reasonable and well thought things have been going they may ban and kick, out of general principles.” He grinned. “Or maybe there is more than one type of Goon and Goon agenda.”

“So what did they talk about?” She asked, smiling at Mike in a way that made him flush slightly.

“um . . .let me see.” He fumbled his notes and flushed deeper as she dimpled at his obvious discomfort. “They have asked that more confirmation steps be implemented in the creation of Alliances. That there be color coding set into mining laser crystals. That a calender system be set up for corporations to schedule more efficiently. They also discussed the concept of censorship in the matter of public discussions. This one was a bit closer to my heart as I have been vaguely threatened while writing for the tribune.”

“Threats are trying to control the news from below. Censorship usually implies it comes from above.” She corrected him.

“Yeah, well trying to skew information from either end is not quite right. Although I suppose what I choose to say and write about is also biased in its own way . . . aaargh . . .anyhow they are taking that up with the major networks to at least slow down the cutting of open discussions.” He looked down at his notes. They also decided the EOS needs some fine tuning and that battle recorders could and should be mountable for large fleet engagements. They decided that Fighters should be tracked in killmails and that destroyers are in dire need of re-tasking and re-assessment. Nobody is quite sure WHAT they are to be used for right now.”

She nodded. “Most of the ones I see come and go are either fitted for small salvage operations . . . or gink?”

“Gank. Out to kiill and be killed in highsec. That got brought up as well but it was one of the issues that proved that the council is growing and adapting. Instead of just voting yes/no now they are thinking deeper and further ahead. They will send smaller groups off to rework proposals and bring them back at future meetings. Suicide ganks, the ability to import export standings, and price ceilings were set as too vague but not bad ideas and so they were not dismissed out of hand but tabled for more work before the vote would be made. They agreed on the general concept of capsulleer security needs to be tightened but did not try to get too deep into the specifics of how.”

“Know what is good, what is bad, and what is not ready to be judged. Book of Issha”

Mike blinked. “Pardon me?”

She looked at him straight on and said. “Finish what you are saying . . . we have time for this later.”

Mike paused for a moment before nodding. “Like I said . . . they took four hours to do this but very little of it was waste time. The alternates T’Amber and Helen did excellent work. It was a near run thing to even make quorum but with alternates like that it is working out fine for the council as a whole. Personalities and motivations are beginning to show through. Krovin is most likely to vote against changes but I think he mainly is worried about the changes being unbalancing to the stabilities that currently exist. Song Li is a very reasonable person who is always trying to make the little things better. He has they eye for the details of things. Teadaze brings a lot of experience to the table and still manages not to be distracted from whatever question is at hand. Elvenlord is excellent at keeping things flowing and on track with very little lost time. Zod isn’t noisy but his comments are usually straight to the point and he stepped forward to help rework some ideas showing he does not have to be loud to be proud.”

“What about Sokratesz?”

Mike scratched his head. I don’t know. Haven’t got a handle on that one, yet. Zastrow showed up in time for 5 issues and I think he was too tired or hung over to be much of a nuisance. Trzz-whatever is a no show. Alekseyev is impressing me the more I learn about him and his organization, NOIR.”

“How so?”

“Just little things are beginning to add up to a better image of him than I had, initially. Turns out sometimes you do have to toss the first impression and be willing to look deeper . . . who knew?”

She reached out and laid her hand on his. “Sometime, though. The first impression is just fine.”

Mike was rescued by the arrival of their food as he had no idea what to say to that.

***********************************

Lessons

The old communication protocols that the CSM has had in place work just fine when a good hand is at the helm.

These folks are working hard (some of them) Drop them a line in game to say thanks, they deserve it. After all, some few of you elected them.
They are coming up on the deadline for what they will take to Iceland. If you have some axe you want them to grind, get to it, Assembly hall forums.

She had just finished a small shopping trip to the surface of the planet and was returning to the station when she remembered that he comm was turned off because of transport regulations. Tapping it to the active mode brought a steady stream of messages and new items.

A new target

He was some famous person she had never heard of.

They had successfully recovered a small station (her heart sang at the news of a cleaner system)

War war war war war.

It seemed the famous person had friends. Like denizens of the deep of some ancient sea leviathans of mercenary and pirate organizations surfaced to strike at CPR. The battle for the other stations had turned ugly, fast. A news article called the defenders of the station brave and altruistic heroes. A second tap called up some news footage of the battle. How is one brave in a fleet of more than 50 against 6 specialized “station removal vessels”.

“The same type who think orbital bombardment to destroy a forest could be called ‘hunting wild game’.” She ran through the messages and was glad to see that all of the clones of her fellow corporation mates had been successfully used.

Returning to the news she saw a list of corporation messages that showed that there had been a spy within their midst. “To be expected, in this day and age, I suppose.” Interviews with some of the participants made her laugh delightedly.

“Usually it is the eco-conscious who are type cast as the wild eyed radicals.” She murmured to herself. “Why Ms. Wolf is the epitome of calm and rational next to those Neanderthals proclaiming this to be a great victory. And look, awww, they even made medals for themselves. I bet they were quite proud of gold stars on their spelling tests when they were young as well.”

She keyed entry into the Sigil and transferred the news broadcasts to the big screen so she could make out more of the details. She watched the ‘battle’ twice and took notes the second time. Then she went to her personal mails and tsked at the large number from people she had never heard of.

They had joined an alliance? Wars and combat standings flooded across her screen as combat status had changed a dozen times in the few days that she had been gone. “One small trip and it all comes apart.”

Then the more important mails came to the front. Most had the code tag “situation”. She created a new folder and slotted all of them to one side and then read them chronologically. “Oh! Yes that makes sense. Hmmm.”

Again, she was impressed in the maturity of her corporations well measured responses and the joining of the alliance had not been a full time plan but just a method to bleed the ‘brave defenders’ where it hurt, in their wallets. None of them had continued the war declarations past the minimum time. “Give till it is about to hurt, eh heroes?”

She quickly sent a message to the CEO and smiled as she reset her plans to open and dust all the ventilation ducts of her ships in the station. Then there was that lovely afghan blanket she had been planning to start soon. “The nice thing about children is that they have such very short attention spans.”

The situation was in disarray but she agreed with the CEO’s evaluation of the long term effects. He recruiter had warned her that there would be dangers involved as people realized what CPR was doing and now that the prediction had come true she was not about to run away. It had gotten messy . . . but with time, and a little help things would slowly become tidier than before.

She smiled and triple checks the power feeds to her ship and then proceeded to make some orders for yarn. Things would be quiet until the next shiny thing distracted the children and then they could return to creating order in systems of New Eden.

As she smiled a Hulk slowly floated past her docking bay and into space, the industrial lighting glinting off of its massive sides and gleaming as the Strip Miners caught the light.

Yes, something would distract the children soon enough.

Kaye saluted after handing back the comm pad, having signed for the shipment. The warrant officer blinked at her stupidly for a moment, as though unsure what to do in response before returning the salute. “Riiight. so you takes the delivery to the station on the manifest . . . no opening it up mind you. They like to be sure their ‘vegetables’ stay fresh.” He seemed to find this very funny and sniggered to himself for a moment.

She squinted at the pad and said. “This is not one of our usual stops.”

“Not your job to be asking questions, Missy. You just makes the deliveries like a good little cadet.” He sniggered again and turned with a wave that distantly resembled another salute.

Kaye, after a moments hesitation returned it with one so crisp it almost made her cuffs snap in response to the movement. She returned to the ship and was en-route within five minutes. The Sigil glided through warp space as she ran standard system checks and recorded each detail in the log fastidiously. It irked her to not double check the cargo as per standing orders but the specific ones to this mission forbade that.

Clearing the last gate into the destination system was a new experience for her as this was the first time she had been outside of Amarr space. It didn’t look different but the local communications network was lit up with at least three different fleet callsigns. She double checked her logs but there were no combined maneuvers expected for this region.

The comm crackled once more. [I say again. Give her to me and nobody needs to get hurt.] The comm listed the speaker as Mike Azariah, she triggered an info check on him as the visual snapped on and the reply came across in both audio and visual. {You are outmatched this time and as you can see, she is here and staying with me.}

The screen showed a morbidly obese man holding a slavers leash which terminated around the neck of a woman whose eyes were glazed over. She wore loose silks of a classic slaver image. The man tugged on the leash and triggered the electronics within it, the woman writhed in pain for a moment but the eyes stayed glassy and the face did not change. {Tell Mr. Azariah you are staying with me.}

{I am staying with my master.} She said in a wooden voice. {Please. Go.} The last held a hint of emotion which ended with another tug of the leash and her dropping to the floor in pain whispering to herself.

Kaye’s face twisted with disgust as she realized the source of the visual was from her destination station. She called up an image in the database and saw that this spineless thing with the leash in his hands was her local contact. She triggered the audio to be relayed throughout the ship and left the autopilot in charge as she raced back to the hold.

[You are a dead man.] Azariahs voice was the calm that held his rage in check. [I don't care how much of a fleet you place between us, I am coming for her, and for you. As for the rest of you. Ladies, gentlemen. Your Empress has forbidden the practices this man flaunts before you. Has he so bought your souls that you will stand in my way?]

#We have our orders. You are an outlaw in Amarr space# Kayes head spun as she recognized the voice of her commanding officer. She swiftly cracked open the case of ‘vegetables’ and stared down at the vials of drugs in cold packs. Boosters, mind wipers, it was a cornucopia of every pharmaceutical she knew of and many she had no idea what they were.

[We are not in Amarr space. I am begging you, stand down and leave this between me and him.]

{Enough chit chat. You have your orders, people. Miss Dom and I shall watch as you kill this outlaw and you will continue to be paid and supplied.} A slight pause was followed by a very cold command. {Fire}

The autopilot chimed as they left warp and Kaye ran back to see that she was now a fat target in a very heated battle. Blues all around her were pouring laser fire at a single cruiser that raced to close the distance then danced back as its shields flared. One red target, then six. He had popped drones that began to fire without moving. The cruiser looped about as two frigates from the Amarr fleet melted under the fire. Then the drones were scooped up again and Azariah was on the move.

In spite of herself Kaye watched the battle and found that she was cheering on both sides. The Amarr fleet moved with the precision that made her heart sing yet the Ishtar kept just out of reach and slammed one ship after another if they came too close. Space was littered with wrecks in the space of half an hour and she began to mount rescue operations, snagging pod after pod as her ship slid between ravening beams and drones that passed her yet never targeted her.

Never did Azariah fire on a pod nor would he give chase when ships pulled away from the combat. It took the better part of an hour until there were only two ships left still moving in the area. His and hers. Five Ogres orbited his ship like hounds tugging at their leads. [Do you need assistance?]

She jumped as she realized he was speaking to her. “Shouldn’t you be shooting me, or something?”

A snort was her answer then the Ogres spun away from the pair of them and headed for the station. [If you will excuse me, I have one last piece of business to attend to.]

“Wait!” She spoke without thinking, hoping what she was doing would be the right thing to say. “I need your guns for a moment.” Her hold manifest appeared in her minds eye and she initiated an jettison. The ‘vegetables’ left the hold with a whooosh. “If you could make sure this is not salvageable?”

There was a pause as his ship closed the distance swifter than she would have thought possible. A beam swept the jetcan and then Azariah answered. [They won't thank you for this, ma'am.]

“no, I expect this will go poorly for my career.” She was almost speaking to herself. “is it hard, going solo?’

[Yes and no. But if you ever find yourself too alone send word. I would recommend you find yourself a corp that thinks like you do. That always makes the rest easier."] His guns spoke briefly and the drugs were vapor spreading in space.

She sighed and set her course back for Amarr space, not staying to see how this ended. She was fairly sure the damsel would be rescued. “After all, I suppose he rescued me . . . ”

The charges against her were numerous and she was drummed out of the service in a very quiet trial. On her first day, weeks later, as a civilian she was notified that her ship was ready for her in docking bay. Curious as to what ship was being referred to she went down to the bays and saw a Sigil floating there. Just inside the entryway was the slavers leash, It was tightly coiled and had blood upon it. Beside the leash was a small hand written note. “Thank you”

She hung the leash beside the door and touched it with a gentle hand before entering her ship and setting a course for her new life.

*************************

Lessons

The three character slots are so you can try different tacks with your play style. I have but one account but now there will be two storylines playing out, here.

Drone control is essential. Make sure YOU are the one calling the targets, not the Drones

But leave them aggressive so if you get jammed bad things will still happen to the bad guys.

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

Mike signed off on the comm and handed it back to the foreman. He then looked over at the new shipment of ammunition, pallet after pallet.

“Sure is a lot of rounds there.” The foreman said, following his gaze.

“Have it shipped to my hanger. I’ll be firing it off soon enough.”

“Most folks tend to just buy their ammunition. It ain’t like the local shops don’t have any for sale.”

“True enough. But I plan on doing some traveling and I prefer to be able to roll my own when they shop shelves get a bit bare. Hate being at the mercy of some local who triples the price when things get rare.”

“Yeah, but ya gonna be minin for the minerals for the ammo? Never thought you were much for the pew pew pew of rocks”

Mike chuckled. “Except when I am out with a group, no I don’t do rocks, but I do ‘recycle’ and I absolutely salvage. So I get materials enough, and more, to make my ammo. And blueprints pack lighter than all this.” He gestured at the pallets.

“True, that. Right, they be in your hanger shortly, sir.”

Mike nodded and headed back to the ship, making up his travel list.

Lesson:
1) If you can build it and you have all this junk laying about, why wouldn’t you?
2) Being prepared for market shifts and shorts is always a good idea

mike

He still wasn’t comfortable in it. The pod fit well enough but the bloody thing handled poorly and moved so slow he felt like he ought to be mining on the way through systems. Mike kicked at the shiny new dash and triple checked the drone bay. Drone warehouse was more like it. Almost 30 beauties shone in the service lights bright glare. Not a one dented or burnt, yet.

He was new to the system and the agent for the corp he favored gave him a bloody easy hauling contract to start out with. That had taken too much time and payed poorly, Mike complained. The next one up had some meat to it and he wound up facing off against a few other battleships. It went poorly, for them. He brought home the intercepted viral package and probably saved some planets population that he would never meet and they would never know how close they came to disaster. Another day at the office.

The next mission “Should be easy” said the agent and damn if Mike didn’t fall for it. A simple escort, they said. Just go out and meet the convoy and bring it home, they said. Easy million ISK . . .

“When am I gonna learn?”

That was then this was now with alarms ringing and him grabbing onto the hand-holds as his . . . but that is getting ahead of the story.

The trip to the next system, uneventful. He triggered up the active defenses and set an intercept course for the friendly convoy. Coming out of warp brought that sinking feeling he knew too well. The convoy was NOT there . . . the wreckage of it was. He double scanned the area but nothing showed. He kicked the slug into ahead full and watched the scanner. Sometimes the attackers hope for an extra kill and hang about waiting for the rescue ships arrive.

He was already locking on before the automated systems started reacting to the sudden appearance of the drones. “Rogues, damn, I hate these things.” He glanced lovingly back at the monitor showing his own drone bay and whispered, “Not you babies, you I love, you won’t go rogue on me will ya?” A tap of a key cycled up the ogres and he sent them out after the closest rogue. A second glance made him curse and bring them back in. Damn that hurt . . . “Missile rogues? Where in Hels name are they getting missiles?”

OK, only four of them, four he could handle. He gritted his teeth and watched the shields buckle as he ground one after another into so much space junk. The third popped and he growled . . “Just one more and then it is . . what the . . . oh no.”

Bait, and he fell for it. All the rest now lit up and he was surrounded by rogues. In this boat there was no running for the outside and he hovered his finger over the warp button before switching and relaunching smaller faster drones of his own. They started chewing through the enemy as he did his best to keep the ship together and keep the attention of other drones. Boom, booom, boooom. His small dornes were making short work of the rogues, but there were so damn many. He watched his own armor vanishing even with the best efforts of repair units crawling all over it. If he could get to that tipping point where the repairs outpaced the damage . . .

The hull shook and inner structure seemed to scream. “That’s it . . . come home babies.” He tapped the return call for his drones as the damage started to sheer through hull. As soon as the last one was inside he stroked the warp key and grinned, a grin which faded as the warp did not kick in. “What the?” The second layer to the trap became very clear. In the huge mix of rogues out there was a warp scrambler, maybe more than one. I didn’t matter. he was well and truly . . . “Dammit Domi” he grabbed the hand-holds and the pod shot free as the last of the hull buckled and he floated free of the ship. Sadly he looked back at the wreckage of a battleship that had been his, once and all the rogues moving in to ‘feed’ and set the course back to a home system.

As the stars seemed to stretch out he looked back one last time and whispered. “damnit domi . . . ”

*******

Lesson. Missions, don’t get cocky, don’t get trapped.

Assume, when you hit L4’s that there will be webbing and scrambling and all sorts of bad things happen to you. Even carebears who mission need to know a bit about ewar and all the implications. Don’t get to focussed on the one ship you are fighting so much that you are not aware of what the rest are doing.

Oh and never, ever, fly something you cannot afford to lose. That one hurt, not for the cost of the ship but for the fittings and all my lovely babies.

A memorial service will be held, all donations to the Lost Drones Home may be made to Mike Azariah, ingame

There times when it is nice to lean back, let the lesson implant do its thing, and groove to some chill tunes in your headset as your miner makes a 17 jump journey from one portion of space to another. Mike had yet to find that time as ‘nice’. Rocking to a guitar solo that sounded more like someone being flayed alive than an actual musical instrument he kicked rhythmically at the locked controls muttering “faster, faster”

The incoming comm chimed a few times before Mike noticed it over the volume 11 shr3dding. Turning it down to a sedate 8 he toggled the keys and shouted. “Yeah?”

“Just working out in Amarr space, you want in on a chance to beg for their forgiveness before they start shooting you on sight?” It was Marnora. Possibly one of the most focused people Mike had ever met. Given steel wool he could knit you a frigate, he knew THAT much about the bloody things. Most folks saw Frigates as stepping stones to real ships. Mar had started in them and never left. What he could do with one defied Mikes imagination.

“Bringing a miner into home turf again, the war ended.”

“What was the final score?”

“No score, no encounters, no isk payed or won. They wasted a couple of mill for no apparent reason.” Mike checked the local maps. “Damn, I can switch to a small ship and we can tag-team whatever you got going. Be a bit of time, but not too long, I’ll fall asleep in this flying shovel another time.” He kicked the console once more for good measure.

“Works for me.” Mike nodded and started humming to himself as he switched course to where the ship Mar had talked him into buying sat waiting.

It was not long before he was waving goodbye to the miner and hello to his Ishkur. Running a double check on the systems and making sure it was loaded up for a fight he slid into the seat and looked out over the forespike. “Why didn’t they name this thing the Unicorn?” He asked the air as he powered up and shot out of the station. With the engines roaring beneath and behind him he revelled in the sheer speed of his boat. No autopilot for this one . . . he took over and flashed, stargate after stargate, distance rolling past along with the startled look of customs officers who never even had time for a scan.

Soon enough he had joined up with Marnora and off they went to put paid to a few pirates who had crossed the local representatives of the Emperor. Now Mike knew the Ish was a fast ship, but Mar flew a Enyo that was so much a speed ship that it was just one roll of duck tape from being a Minnie build. Faster at everything, they warped through an acceleration platform and by the time Mike had arrived Mar was already in amongst the enemies, and wrecks were a trail showing where he had been.

“Dammit, leave some for me!” Mike toggled the comm as he scanned for good targets.

“Webber!” Mar replied as a specific target lit on the screen as a priority target.

“On it” Mike calmly started a target lock as his other hand launched the drones. “Drones away.” He dialed in the other targets as the drones screamed out of their launch bays and into space. He set them on the webber and then revved up the Ish to dive into battle with the nearest target of his own. Moments later he raised his voice to report “Webber down” as his own blasters growled as they ate through the armor of another ship. He let the drones pick their own targets as he worked his patch of space and soon the area was filled with wrecks and empty of pirates. The drones returned to their launch points and he smiled as they began to slowly pick through the wreckage for things of value.

“Beautiful” Mike grinned as the salvage ground through the wreckage.

******

There is an awesome beauty in a pair of assault craft going to work. The communication is faster, the game is more intense. You do NOT drift off while switching targets and monitoring all the other details of combat. If you have not teamed up with a partner for a quick mission or hunt, you are missing a very special part of Eve.