"Make sure your ship is fully insured and you've got no implants in your head."
"Check." Knee replied. Even when going for broke, it still pays to be frugal.
Knee Anderthal had run in to a couple of old acquaintences from his previous corporation - one of them his former CEO who had passed him the reins in order to come out here to Deklein. Shortly thereafter Knee handed off the responsibility to the next in line to join him in nullsec. Leadership wasn't quite his forte. He found it easier for someone else to call the shots while he worried about focusing the guns.
Tonight was a celebration of sorts. A battlecruiser roam among old friends. An opportunity to pick some fights and make their presence known, even if it meant getting killed.
Knee selected a Myrmidon outfitted for close-quarters combat and set out. Two jumps out from home base they encountered a small group of neutrals causing strife - a Cynabal, Curse, and Hurricane. Knee fired his Microwarp toward the Hurricane and Warp Disrupted him, but found the enemy ship too fast to hold. A Nano-cane. Knee frowned at his ship selection as he knowingly admired the tactic being used against him. The Curse began to open fire and Knee opted for a tactical retreat. There's more than one way to fit a Hurricane.
Knee returned to base and swapped out for a corporate fleet favorite: a Sniper-cane. No need to chase people down when you can hit them from 80km away. Knee returned to the action but found the neutrals had moved out. The gang decided that since the fight did not find them, then they would find a fight.
Jump after jump found empty systems until the jackpot. An enemy system full of reds. With directional scanners gently probing the dark den of the system, the crew moved from belt to belt, planet to planet. Nothing. Even vastly outnumbered, nobody wanted to come out and play.
The group moved on, heading to the border to high-sec. A gate camp of friendlies guarded the entrance to hell. They jumped into Torrinos for some shopping. Skillbooks were rare commodities in nullsec. Afterward the attitude became more desperate. It was too far to fly back. They had to pick a fight somewhere, and it might as well be here, CONCORD be damned.
A couple more jumps and they found a jackpot - a Hulk pilot in the middle of an asteroid belt, seemingly unfazed by the band of Guristas frigates firing on its shields. While it wasn't particularly alarming to see an Exhumer class vessel shielded strongly enough to be able to ignore the meager assault upon it, what was alarming was that it was not mining.
Occasionally a Capsuleer will relinqish the control of the ship to its crew, accepting the inefficiencies that come with it, in order to take care of other matters. One would think, however, that a mining vessel as prestigious as the Hulk would be constantly at work in order to justify its cost. Were they taking a break? Were they asleep? Perhaps the illusion of safety in high-sec caused them to lower their guard to the point of grossly negligent malaise. It was time to wake them up.
The battlecruisers landed out of warp and prepared all weapons systems for overdrive. Drones at the ready, target locked. "Fire in the hole, gentlemen."
In less than a second, the Hulk went from a glistening pinnacle of industry to a blue explosion. Alarm chimes rang, and Knee found his ship suddenly being assaulted by the local police force. His capacitor drained, his engines locked, his hull taking heavy fire. He was the lone captain going down with the ship, having sent out the entire crew of his battlecruiser ahead of time. Though the destruction of the subsystems of his vessel brought sensations that were borderline painful, he felt a glory of losing the battle, yet winning the war.
The ship was torn asunder, leaving him in his pod, naked in space. He docked at the nearest station and brought himself out of unconsciousness with the adrenaline still flowing. "What a rush!" he thought.
Knee watched the CONCORD official report come in. Bureaucracy liberated him of his ship for the crime of liberating someone else from theirs. That made things even in the law's eyes, but monetarily it was very much in Knee's favor. A report of the ship destruction saw a credit to his account for the insured hull. The insurers turn a blind eye to the fact that the loss was due to crime. No-fault insurance was immensely popular among the more unscrupulous capsuleers for this very reason. Knee lost ten million and cost an idiot of a pilot a hundred and forty million. Money well spent.
After the police presence cooled down, Knee quietly purchased a Probe frigate, warped back to the scene of the crime, and looted the Hulk's wreck. The same Guristas frigates were there, and scolded him for his presence with their guns. Knee made haste for his old base in Lonetrek with two of the Hulk's Strip Mining lasers in his cargohold. They would do well to help offset the cost of "business."
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Reinforcements
"If you come back from this alive, I will blow you up myself!" Strong words from a fleet commander to lead you into battle.
The corp was feeling antsy. It was time to go on a roam. The Goons were planning to take over some Ev0ke territory and we were going to help. In frigates. We assembled in throwaway ships with the intent to kill something or die trying.
The cruise to Cloud Ring was uneventful. The SBU still had an hour to go before coming online, so we had time to kill. We went to the Syndicate region to cause some trouble over there. Several points along the way we saw hostiles and neutrals in system, but nobody in plain sight. Finally, we landed upon an unsuspecting Vagabond at the Z-6NQ6 gate. He jumped through, we followed. He made a mad dash for the Orvolle gate but we caught him at a bubble in front of the gate. A neutral Rapier showed up but we ignored it, concentrating fire on the Vagabond. The Rapier ran for it as we destroyed the Vagabond and took out the pod for good measure.
Looking over the CONCORD report, it turns out the Rapier was not the Vagabond's ally. He took a potshot at him as well before retreating.
Satisfied, we returned to see the SBU come online and an ungodly swarm of Goonfleet ships begin assaulting the Ev0ke tower. It was reinforced within minutes.
At this point, the fleet commander began to succumb to the side effects of the boosters running through his body. A rogue Manticore caught him by surprise and bombed him, but luckily his shields held. A stealth bomber preying upon frigates keeping watch at a gate was not a good place to hang around. Knee decided it was time to head home, with the Vagabond's Tech II Autocannons as his trophy. Death would have to wait.
The corp was feeling antsy. It was time to go on a roam. The Goons were planning to take over some Ev0ke territory and we were going to help. In frigates. We assembled in throwaway ships with the intent to kill something or die trying.
The cruise to Cloud Ring was uneventful. The SBU still had an hour to go before coming online, so we had time to kill. We went to the Syndicate region to cause some trouble over there. Several points along the way we saw hostiles and neutrals in system, but nobody in plain sight. Finally, we landed upon an unsuspecting Vagabond at the Z-6NQ6 gate. He jumped through, we followed. He made a mad dash for the Orvolle gate but we caught him at a bubble in front of the gate. A neutral Rapier showed up but we ignored it, concentrating fire on the Vagabond. The Rapier ran for it as we destroyed the Vagabond and took out the pod for good measure.
Looking over the CONCORD report, it turns out the Rapier was not the Vagabond's ally. He took a potshot at him as well before retreating.
Satisfied, we returned to see the SBU come online and an ungodly swarm of Goonfleet ships begin assaulting the Ev0ke tower. It was reinforced within minutes.
At this point, the fleet commander began to succumb to the side effects of the boosters running through his body. A rogue Manticore caught him by surprise and bombed him, but luckily his shields held. A stealth bomber preying upon frigates keeping watch at a gate was not a good place to hang around. Knee decided it was time to head home, with the Vagabond's Tech II Autocannons as his trophy. Death would have to wait.
Friday, September 17, 2010
The CSM and CCP Play Nice Together
Big news on the Dev Blog today. The CSM and CCP announce 19 improvements planned for Incursion that were directly proposed by the CSM. This is a huge win for CCP, the CSM, and us, the players. I patiently witnessed the outrage after June proclaiming that the CSM was the same old story and that nothing would be done. I was personally miffed that CCP would postpone core game development for fringe features that the public didn't really clamor over, and rubbed it in at Alliance Tournament VIII with a guy wearing a "No New Features" shirt as he was talking about the new features!
But we can put all of that angst behind us now. This is proof of progress. It may be slow, but it exists, and that's good enough for me. I'm confident that the momentum will pick up as time goes on. This seems to be a very passionate and strong-willed council, especially with Mynxee at the helm. I wish them continued success.
But we can put all of that angst behind us now. This is proof of progress. It may be slow, but it exists, and that's good enough for me. I'm confident that the momentum will pick up as time goes on. This seems to be a very passionate and strong-willed council, especially with Mynxee at the helm. I wish them continued success.
On Salvaging and the Noctis
New Ship Arriving! If you haven't heard the news, go here now!
Oh, good, you're back. Picked your jaw up off the floor yet? Great! Let's talk salvaging.
If you don't know me, I love me some salvaging. When I was carebearing in Lonetrek I looted and salvaged every mission I did. I salvaged every single one in a Catalyst, which I believe is the most efficient salvaging Destroyer:
[Catalyst, Salvalyst]
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
1MN MicroWarpdrive I
Cap Recharger II
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Small Salvage Tackle I
Small Capacitor Control Circuit I
Small Capacitor Control Circuit I
Oh, good, you're back. Picked your jaw up off the floor yet? Great! Let's talk salvaging.
If you don't know me, I love me some salvaging. When I was carebearing in Lonetrek I looted and salvaged every mission I did. I salvaged every single one in a Catalyst, which I believe is the most efficient salvaging Destroyer:
[Catalyst, Salvalyst]
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
1MN MicroWarpdrive I
Cap Recharger II
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Small Salvage Tackle I
Small Capacitor Control Circuit I
Small Capacitor Control Circuit I
The drawback to this ship is that it only carries 829m³. Level 4's can have upwards of a couple thousand m³ worth of loot, necessitating two trips. This caused me to look at larger ships. When I moved to nullsec I purchased a Hurricane devoted to salvaging:
[Hurricane, Salvacane]
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
10MN MicroWarpdrive I
Large Capacitor Battery II
Cap Recharger II
Cap Recharger II
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Medium Salvage Tackle I
Medium Cargohold Optimization I
Medium Cargohold Optimization I
This loyal soldier has a respectable 2700m³ cargo hold - plenty for what I'm looting nowadays. However I always wondered about how viable a salvaging battleship would be, so I did a spreadsheet comparing them. Only four appear here - I ruled out the others for having inferior stats. I'll spare you the loadouts on them since they follow the same pattern as the Cane, but here are the capacities and speeds when microwarping at all level 5 skills:
Typhoon: 4527m³, 814m/s
Megathron: 4890m³, 677m/s
Armageddon: 5542m³, 652m/s
Apocalypse: 4890m³, 611m/s
So with those stats in mind, let's check out the Noctis.
Cargo
With a base cargo bay of 1460m³, three low slots, and three rig slots, we can do the math of adding in Expanded Cargohold IIs and Medium Cargohold Optimizations and come to a maximum cargo of 4602m³. Swap one rig for a Salvage Tackle and it's 4002m³. Blows the Hurricane out of the water and competes strongly with the capacity of the battleships.
Cost
Thankfully CCP showed us the blueprint and its Bill of Materials. If we do the math and add up the cost of the metal using average mineral indexes, we come to a price of approximately 37 million ISK. Surely it will be cheaper when you consider material research, so let's knock off 10% and call it 33 million. The price of a Hurricane, cheaper than all of the Battleship hulls mentioned above.
Speed
With the inherent bonuses in the new Ore Industrial skill being granted to us, the Noctis will salvage faster than any ship in the game. But how fast can it travel when chasing down faraway wrecks? The multiplier factor for a microwarp at all level 5 skills is roughly 6.33. Multiply that by its 155m/s base speed and you get 981m/sec. Even faster than the Hurricane, which clocks 925m/s at all level 5.
Usually a drawback to a speedy salvager is its tractor speed. Tractors only pull things in at 500m/sec, and your microwarp can easily outrun that amount. The Noctis compensates. With its inherent ship bonuses, at Ore Industrial V it will have a tractor range of 60km and a tractor speed of 1500m/sec. Thus you can microwarp with impunity, never worrying about outrunning your tractored wrecks.
CCP knocked it out of the park with this one. When Incursion arrives I will have a new ship order for my hangar:
[Noctis, Noc Kneed]
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
Expanded Cargohold II
10MN MicroWarpdrive I
Cap Recharger II
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Small Tractor Beam I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Salvager I
Medium Salvage Tackle I
Medium Cargohold Optimization I
Medium Cargohold Optimization I
Thursday, September 16, 2010
First Blood
"Incoming neutrals." the scouts reported.
Knee Anderthal knew this was a chance to taste real combat. Even though the pilots were not at war with the alliance, general policy in nullsec is that that today's neutrals are tomorrow's opponents on a scouting mission. Deny their intelligence and your establishment is safer for it.
The Rifters were already built and fitted. He wanted to be ready at a moment's notice and have spares on hand should he get into a bad situation. He selected one and took off.
His allies were prepared. Disruption bubbles were set up 10km away from the gate leading toward his new paradise. He orbited the bubbles and waited eagerly, configuring his neural display for combat targets. He caught a couple glimpses of a neutral Rapier, but the ship obviously had a cloak, as it didn't hang around his vision for long. Already the capsuleers were showing they were smarter than the Guristas.
Suddenly, he detected three hostiles inside the solar system. The team was ready and waiting. The hostiles warped in. A Stealth Bomber, an Interceptor, and an Interdictor. They flew directly into the web and the spiders descended with aplomb.
Maybe capsuleers weren't so smart after all. It certainly wasn't elegant or even fair, but it was First Blood nonetheless.
Knee Anderthal knew this was a chance to taste real combat. Even though the pilots were not at war with the alliance, general policy in nullsec is that that today's neutrals are tomorrow's opponents on a scouting mission. Deny their intelligence and your establishment is safer for it.
The Rifters were already built and fitted. He wanted to be ready at a moment's notice and have spares on hand should he get into a bad situation. He selected one and took off.
His allies were prepared. Disruption bubbles were set up 10km away from the gate leading toward his new paradise. He orbited the bubbles and waited eagerly, configuring his neural display for combat targets. He caught a couple glimpses of a neutral Rapier, but the ship obviously had a cloak, as it didn't hang around his vision for long. Already the capsuleers were showing they were smarter than the Guristas.
Suddenly, he detected three hostiles inside the solar system. The team was ready and waiting. The hostiles warped in. A Stealth Bomber, an Interceptor, and an Interdictor. They flew directly into the web and the spiders descended with aplomb.
Maybe capsuleers weren't so smart after all. It certainly wasn't elegant or even fair, but it was First Blood nonetheless.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Transportation
As if it were at the flick of a switch, Knee Anderthal was suddenly an employee of a new corporation. He had never been part of a large corp before. Sure, the Pator Tech School housed hundreds of capsuleers, but it was artifically supported by the Republic. This was a living, breathing, self-sustained corporation at the edge of the known universe. It was a scary and exciting change.
The first order of business was physically getting from Lonetrek to Deklein. He considered the capsuleer trick of having his medical clone regenerated in the corporation's main station and simply podding himself over, but that seemed cowardly. Matari aren't keen on suicide.
No, the warrior's path is to charge headlong into the enemy. He would fly there to get the full experience of the journey. But what ship to use? "A true warrior can go into battle empty-handed and come out victorious." His grandfather's wisdom confirmed the decision. Knee headed to Medical.
"I'd like to activate my jump clone in Sobaseki." he proclaimed to the administrator. It was the first time he had used one of these things. Medical clones were one thing - a necessary precaution in case of emergency. This was simply a matter of insurance; he had expensive implants in his head that he didn't want to waste should he fail to complete the trip.
He was a bit nervous as he stepped into the clone vat. The attending nurse was telling him some of the things other capsuleers did to prepare for the consciousness transfer. Some took a deep breath. Others grit their teeth. They always seemed to brace for impact in some way. Knee wondered why.
The operator's panel lit up with a bright green glow. Sobaseki was prepared to receive the transfer. The nurse checked the connections on Knee's skullcap and stepped back with a look of satifaction. "Ready?" she asked. Knee exhaled, closed his eyes, and relaxed. "Go."
Pain!!!
It felt like a lightning bolt struck behind his eyes. Knee reflexively jerked his head back and gasped, only to find himself submerged and breathing pod fluid. He flailed about and found his feet touching the smooth surface of the clone vat. He attempted to stand, but found no friction and flipped backward into the pod goo. He suddenly felt himself grasped by his arms and pulled up to a standing position. He coughed for a minute, expelling the pod fluid he had inhaled, then stood up straight, pulled the front of his skullcap up from his eyes and squinted. An unfamiliar face greeted him warmly. "Welcome to Sobaseki."
Knee could feel himself aching from head to toe as he showered off. He hobbled out of the shower and was greeted by the same fellow, whom he found was the station's clone specialist.
"Why does this hurt so much?" he implored the doctor.
"This what?" he asked.
"Everything!" Knee shouted.
"You realize this is the first time you're using that body." the doctor replied. "It's getting used to being driven rather than sitting idly in a tank."
Knee grunted as he rubbed his eyes. "How soon can I get in my pod?"
"Anytime you like, though we prefer our capsuleers stay overnight for physical and psychiatric evaluations."
"That won't be necessary. If I survive till the end of the day then I'll be all right."
The doctor chuckled, thinking Knee was joking. He wasn't. Not where he was going.
Knee checked out of Medical and headed to his assigned hangar. The attendant opened up a Market feed and asked, "So what's your pleasure? We have a wide assortment of frigates, cruisers, and battleships in every size and flavor, Matari and otherwise."
"I'll take the Reaper."
The attendant grimaced. "I can assure you that we offer competitive prices compared to Jita." Sobaseki's proximity to Jita frequently put them at odds, with only the regional separation preventing full market competition.
"I'm not going to Jita. I'm flying to zero-zero."
"What? In a Reaper? Are you-" the attendant caught himself.
"Insane? Maybe. Call it a trial by fire."
No implants, no assets, and the most meager ship he could find. Just the ISK in his wallet kept him from total poverty. He made the 16 jumps to the border almost absent-mindedly. Then the big jump. There was no low sec. This was jumping from empire space straight into null. He steeled his nerve and activated the gate.
Keeping his senses aware, he continued the journey. Gate after gate yielded no resistance and led him closer to the edge of the universe. In the middle of it, he hit a single warp disruption bubble which flung him into preparedness, but there was nobody around. Just a leftover barricade on the battlefront.
Another warp found him surrounded by a couple of hostiles at the gate, but his mini-frigate was much too quick for them to react. Another advantage of travelling light.
As he got closer, he saw more and more allies light up in the comm channels. He felt at ease. He had made it safely. He made the final jump and docked into his new home.
He lay in a new bed with a Market datapad in his hand. The prices were a bit higher than Empire, but not exorbitant. He bought a Dominix, a Hurricane, and five Rifters, plus fittings. Like Lonetrek, Deklein was Gurista territory. Knee smiled as he knew he could fall back upon battling a familiar rival, but his real focus was on a higher echelon of combat. It was simple for a capsuleer to outmaneuver a regular captain, but other capsuleers was the new challenge he faced. He would start from the ground up, beginning with the Rifters and going from there. His purchases complete, he managed to sleep despite his aching body and the sweet song of Astrometrics filling his head.
The first order of business was physically getting from Lonetrek to Deklein. He considered the capsuleer trick of having his medical clone regenerated in the corporation's main station and simply podding himself over, but that seemed cowardly. Matari aren't keen on suicide.
No, the warrior's path is to charge headlong into the enemy. He would fly there to get the full experience of the journey. But what ship to use? "A true warrior can go into battle empty-handed and come out victorious." His grandfather's wisdom confirmed the decision. Knee headed to Medical.
"I'd like to activate my jump clone in Sobaseki." he proclaimed to the administrator. It was the first time he had used one of these things. Medical clones were one thing - a necessary precaution in case of emergency. This was simply a matter of insurance; he had expensive implants in his head that he didn't want to waste should he fail to complete the trip.
He was a bit nervous as he stepped into the clone vat. The attending nurse was telling him some of the things other capsuleers did to prepare for the consciousness transfer. Some took a deep breath. Others grit their teeth. They always seemed to brace for impact in some way. Knee wondered why.
The operator's panel lit up with a bright green glow. Sobaseki was prepared to receive the transfer. The nurse checked the connections on Knee's skullcap and stepped back with a look of satifaction. "Ready?" she asked. Knee exhaled, closed his eyes, and relaxed. "Go."
Pain!!!
It felt like a lightning bolt struck behind his eyes. Knee reflexively jerked his head back and gasped, only to find himself submerged and breathing pod fluid. He flailed about and found his feet touching the smooth surface of the clone vat. He attempted to stand, but found no friction and flipped backward into the pod goo. He suddenly felt himself grasped by his arms and pulled up to a standing position. He coughed for a minute, expelling the pod fluid he had inhaled, then stood up straight, pulled the front of his skullcap up from his eyes and squinted. An unfamiliar face greeted him warmly. "Welcome to Sobaseki."
Knee could feel himself aching from head to toe as he showered off. He hobbled out of the shower and was greeted by the same fellow, whom he found was the station's clone specialist.
"Why does this hurt so much?" he implored the doctor.
"This what?" he asked.
"Everything!" Knee shouted.
"You realize this is the first time you're using that body." the doctor replied. "It's getting used to being driven rather than sitting idly in a tank."
Knee grunted as he rubbed his eyes. "How soon can I get in my pod?"
"Anytime you like, though we prefer our capsuleers stay overnight for physical and psychiatric evaluations."
"That won't be necessary. If I survive till the end of the day then I'll be all right."
The doctor chuckled, thinking Knee was joking. He wasn't. Not where he was going.
Knee checked out of Medical and headed to his assigned hangar. The attendant opened up a Market feed and asked, "So what's your pleasure? We have a wide assortment of frigates, cruisers, and battleships in every size and flavor, Matari and otherwise."
"I'll take the Reaper."
The attendant grimaced. "I can assure you that we offer competitive prices compared to Jita." Sobaseki's proximity to Jita frequently put them at odds, with only the regional separation preventing full market competition.
"I'm not going to Jita. I'm flying to zero-zero."
"What? In a Reaper? Are you-" the attendant caught himself.
"Insane? Maybe. Call it a trial by fire."
No implants, no assets, and the most meager ship he could find. Just the ISK in his wallet kept him from total poverty. He made the 16 jumps to the border almost absent-mindedly. Then the big jump. There was no low sec. This was jumping from empire space straight into null. He steeled his nerve and activated the gate.
Keeping his senses aware, he continued the journey. Gate after gate yielded no resistance and led him closer to the edge of the universe. In the middle of it, he hit a single warp disruption bubble which flung him into preparedness, but there was nobody around. Just a leftover barricade on the battlefront.
Another warp found him surrounded by a couple of hostiles at the gate, but his mini-frigate was much too quick for them to react. Another advantage of travelling light.
As he got closer, he saw more and more allies light up in the comm channels. He felt at ease. He had made it safely. He made the final jump and docked into his new home.
He lay in a new bed with a Market datapad in his hand. The prices were a bit higher than Empire, but not exorbitant. He bought a Dominix, a Hurricane, and five Rifters, plus fittings. Like Lonetrek, Deklein was Gurista territory. Knee smiled as he knew he could fall back upon battling a familiar rival, but his real focus was on a higher echelon of combat. It was simple for a capsuleer to outmaneuver a regular captain, but other capsuleers was the new challenge he faced. He would start from the ground up, beginning with the Rifters and going from there. His purchases complete, he managed to sleep despite his aching body and the sweet song of Astrometrics filling his head.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Resignation
The jump clone was prepared, the arrangements were made. All that was left was to pull the trigger. Knee Anderthal knew this day was approaching, but was still a bit apprehensive over it, despite the overwhelming wealth of freedom it promised. Old habits are hard to break.
He tapped a button on the comm panel in front of him. A video link sprang to life, putting him face to face with a diminutive, brown haired Ni-Kunni. "Hey there, whipping boy, what's up?" she said cheerfully.
"Hey, slave driver." he replied, with a grin on his face. "I've decided it's time to go crazy. I'm heading to zero-zero."
"Whaaaaat? Not you too." She looked glum. Their previous CEO had done this just a few months ago -- decided that high-sec was too boring and wanted to head off to null in search of adventure and fortune. Knee thought he was crazy, but the promotion to CEO was welcomed nonetheless.
"So what's going to happen to the corp?" she asked.
"Why do you think I'm calling?" Knee grinned wider.
After a second, the frown turned to a look of surprise. "You're kidding!"
"Congratulations, gearhead. You wanted your own production outfit, now you've got it!"
"Oh, wow! I'm - I'm honored." she stammered. "I don't know what to say."
"You could say 'Thank you.'"
She regained her composure, raised an eyebrow, and smiled. "Knee?"
"Yeah?"
"You're fired. Pack up your stuff and go to nullsec immediately."
"You're welcome, dear." He smiled.
"If I see you in high-sec again, I'm declaring war against your sorry ass."
"I'd like to see you try. You're going to throw ore at me with your Hulk?"
"You forget that I'm well-trained in Caldari warships."
"With no missile skills, I might add."
"We'll see about that. Dismissed." She tried to look authoritarian but the excitement kept her smiling.
"At your service, milady." Knee exaggerated a bow and switched off the comm.
Chuckling to himself, he pressed a button which sent out corporate correspondence notifying resignation due to pursuing new interests, blah blah blah, extolling the virtues of the new appointee to CEO, etcetera etcetera, all the glurge and annoying paperwork to make it official. He was glad to pay for that service.
Satisfied, he began tapping in another contact. It was time to meet his new employers.
He tapped a button on the comm panel in front of him. A video link sprang to life, putting him face to face with a diminutive, brown haired Ni-Kunni. "Hey there, whipping boy, what's up?" she said cheerfully.
"Hey, slave driver." he replied, with a grin on his face. "I've decided it's time to go crazy. I'm heading to zero-zero."
"Whaaaaat? Not you too." She looked glum. Their previous CEO had done this just a few months ago -- decided that high-sec was too boring and wanted to head off to null in search of adventure and fortune. Knee thought he was crazy, but the promotion to CEO was welcomed nonetheless.
"So what's going to happen to the corp?" she asked.
"Why do you think I'm calling?" Knee grinned wider.
After a second, the frown turned to a look of surprise. "You're kidding!"
"Congratulations, gearhead. You wanted your own production outfit, now you've got it!"
"Oh, wow! I'm - I'm honored." she stammered. "I don't know what to say."
"You could say 'Thank you.'"
She regained her composure, raised an eyebrow, and smiled. "Knee?"
"Yeah?"
"You're fired. Pack up your stuff and go to nullsec immediately."
"You're welcome, dear." He smiled.
"If I see you in high-sec again, I'm declaring war against your sorry ass."
"I'd like to see you try. You're going to throw ore at me with your Hulk?"
"You forget that I'm well-trained in Caldari warships."
"With no missile skills, I might add."
"We'll see about that. Dismissed." She tried to look authoritarian but the excitement kept her smiling.
"At your service, milady." Knee exaggerated a bow and switched off the comm.
Chuckling to himself, he pressed a button which sent out corporate correspondence notifying resignation due to pursuing new interests, blah blah blah, extolling the virtues of the new appointee to CEO, etcetera etcetera, all the glurge and annoying paperwork to make it official. He was glad to pay for that service.
Satisfied, he began tapping in another contact. It was time to meet his new employers.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Liquidation
"Get me the Hoarder!" Knee Anderthal proclaimed as he climbed into his pod.
"Not the Dominix this morning, eh?" his hangar attendant chimed back.
"Nope. Got some hauling to do."
"Yeah? Got a courier contract or somethin'?"
"You could say that." Knee grinned as he stretched the pod interface skullcap over his eyes and began connecting its sockets to his implants. "I've decided it's time to clean up shop." With his free hand he pointed at the rows of packaged equipment neatly organized at the far end of his hangar. The spoils of war, nearly every piece scavenged and salvaged from his previous conquests.
"Someone's bought all that stuff from ya?" his attendant looked puzzled.
"Not yet." Knee replied. "But they will." He closed the pod and settled in.
It took three trips to move his 50,000 or so cubic meters of wealth into the beehive of Jita 4-4. He was a bit nervous at first as he began calculating the net worth of the goods he was moving in each trip, but with the sight of freighters lazily drifting into and out of the station in abundance, he felt more at ease that his cargo was just a drop in the ocean.
After the equipment came the ships. Two Wreathes, with each one carrying a Thrasher, then one final trip in the Hoarder to pick up the frigates. He only left behind a few ships, his favorites. They might still see some use, he thought. For now he just wanted to get away, but it didn't make sense to leave all this gear he had amassed, especially the laser turrets he couldn't even use. Accursed Amarr technology.
The move was fairly easy. The selling would prove to be much more time-consuming. Playing the part of salesman was never one of his strong points. He queued up some trade skills and actually found the content relaxing as he drifted off to sleep. By day he was astounded at the accommodations provided to the capsuleer tradesmen in this station. Jita 4-4 offered personal neural market links station-wide, so anyone could monitor their bids at all times and make adjustments on the fly. Normally capsuleers took advantage of their pod's computer or station terminals to process such information. Jita's technology left them free to move about the station and take advantage of everything else it offered. It was sickeningly extravagant, and yet terribly convenient. They knew how to get people to spend, and the lavishness of the station's amenities showed just how much the Caldari Navy's cut of the action added up.
In just a few short days he had cleaned out his inventory. He priced aggressively to sell things quickly, and surely disturbed the margins of the mainstream traders who constantly squabbled over hundredths of ISK.
Satisfied, Knee brought his Hoarder back to base, his wallet about 300 million richer. That would buy a lot of Rifters, he thought. There was more to be done, but having a lot of cash on hand would certainly help. He queued up the third lesson on Cynosaural Field Theory as he settled down into bed. Boring material, but he would need it where he was going.
"Not the Dominix this morning, eh?" his hangar attendant chimed back.
"Nope. Got some hauling to do."
"Yeah? Got a courier contract or somethin'?"
"You could say that." Knee grinned as he stretched the pod interface skullcap over his eyes and began connecting its sockets to his implants. "I've decided it's time to clean up shop." With his free hand he pointed at the rows of packaged equipment neatly organized at the far end of his hangar. The spoils of war, nearly every piece scavenged and salvaged from his previous conquests.
"Someone's bought all that stuff from ya?" his attendant looked puzzled.
"Not yet." Knee replied. "But they will." He closed the pod and settled in.
It took three trips to move his 50,000 or so cubic meters of wealth into the beehive of Jita 4-4. He was a bit nervous at first as he began calculating the net worth of the goods he was moving in each trip, but with the sight of freighters lazily drifting into and out of the station in abundance, he felt more at ease that his cargo was just a drop in the ocean.
After the equipment came the ships. Two Wreathes, with each one carrying a Thrasher, then one final trip in the Hoarder to pick up the frigates. He only left behind a few ships, his favorites. They might still see some use, he thought. For now he just wanted to get away, but it didn't make sense to leave all this gear he had amassed, especially the laser turrets he couldn't even use. Accursed Amarr technology.
The move was fairly easy. The selling would prove to be much more time-consuming. Playing the part of salesman was never one of his strong points. He queued up some trade skills and actually found the content relaxing as he drifted off to sleep. By day he was astounded at the accommodations provided to the capsuleer tradesmen in this station. Jita 4-4 offered personal neural market links station-wide, so anyone could monitor their bids at all times and make adjustments on the fly. Normally capsuleers took advantage of their pod's computer or station terminals to process such information. Jita's technology left them free to move about the station and take advantage of everything else it offered. It was sickeningly extravagant, and yet terribly convenient. They knew how to get people to spend, and the lavishness of the station's amenities showed just how much the Caldari Navy's cut of the action added up.
In just a few short days he had cleaned out his inventory. He priced aggressively to sell things quickly, and surely disturbed the margins of the mainstream traders who constantly squabbled over hundredths of ISK.
Satisfied, Knee brought his Hoarder back to base, his wallet about 300 million richer. That would buy a lot of Rifters, he thought. There was more to be done, but having a lot of cash on hand would certainly help. He queued up the third lesson on Cynosaural Field Theory as he settled down into bed. Boring material, but he would need it where he was going.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Introduction
“How the hell did I end up here?”
The question caused the bartender to turn towards the large Matari who asked it. “Don'cha got your fancy pod computer to tell you that, pal?”
The snide retort broke his chain of thought. He didn't realize he uttered the question. He was too exhausted to take offense, and merely sighed in reply. He already knew the answer to his rhetorical question. He didn't like the answer. He stared at his glass of spirits hoping it would provide some justification that he could find acceptable. It wasn't working.
He stood up, pressed his thumbprint on the pad next to his drink to pay his tab, and wandered towards his suite. All he wanted at the moment was some sleep. He'd only been a full-fledged capsuleer for half a standard year, but it already felt like an eternity due to a side effect they didn't talk about in the academy: insomnia.
Skill training had always been a somewhat unnerving process for him. The learning centers throughout New Eden claimed to have perfected the technique of subliminal education, feeding a reel of diagrams and lecture directly into the hippocampus. He swore he could hear the voices at night. The foreign thoughts and concepts gently flooded the back of his mind, keeping him awake as his brain tried to process and store it all. He always felt strange when he woke up able to use a new piece of equipment in his ship without even seeing it before. There were no quizzes, no essays, no drills, no need to prove he knew the material like in the academy. He just knew it. The only exams were administered by CONCORD for their certification program. He chuckled as he recalled the fitting on the test ship provided for the Elite Hull Tanking certification, which he claimed on a lark. Obviously built by a government committee who had never seen the wild realities of lawless space.
Inside the pod, sleep didn't matter. Time stopped for his body while in stasis. He didn't need to eat or drink or even breathe; the life support system maintained it all. He could will himself in and out of consciousness, but it did nothing to satiate his need for sleep. He tried asking for solutions the last time he was in Kappas shopping for skillbooks. The Deteis sales representative on the other end of the channel expressed what seemed to be a mixture of contempt and sales gloss as she proclaimed, “Sleep? But you're a capsuleer! You've transcended the limits of human mortality! Why, you have the ability to-”
“Goddammit, do you have anything or not?” his mind blared in an exasperated tone.
The reply sweetly came back, “You sound like you need our improved Social skills program. Perhaps a Charisma implant?” He returned a Matari expletive and shut off the comm.
All capsuleers had to deal with sleep at some point. Despite the body being preserved indefinitely in the pod through stasis, the mind becomes fatigued when subjected to the artificial stimuli of driving a ship for prolonged periods, and requires downtime in order to keep its owner sane. Most pilots retreated to the creature comforts of stations like the one he was in now. Those without such luxury available in low-sec, nullsec, or even wormholes resorted to warping to an empty area in space, shutting down the reactor, bringing themselves out of stasis, and sleeping in crew's quarters or even the pod itself. It left the ship completely vulnerable to any outside forces, but the energy signatures emitted by running only the life support systems were so small that the ship was indistinguishable from background noise, effectively unprobable.
Inside his quarters, he laid down in bed and tried to calm his thoughts, but he couldn't get the nagging problem out of his head. “Jita.” The answer to his rhetorical question in the bar mocked him. How did he end up two jumps away from the biggest capitalistic mecca in the known universe? The convenience, of course. Where else can you find twelve Gistii B-Type Small Shield Boosters at a moment's notice? It wasn't the commerce he hated, it was the people behind it. The Caldari. The economic muscle behind the Amarr and their atrocities. Why did he work for the Caldari? Because they paid well. He felt dirty facing the answer. He was just another whelp suckling from the corporate teat, doing their bidding, being molded into a weapon of the Navy. He shuddered at the thought of how many Matari and Gallente he had killed when thrust into a tenuous political uprising to upset their diplomacy at the behest of his naval superiors. He stopped flying the Hurricane that did the deed, ashamed of the blood it spilled. Nowadays he only took missions that rivaled the Guristas. They seemed like the most deserving target within the Caldari scope of ire. He could have done courier or industrial missions instead and spared all lives involved, but that kind of work didn't suit his tastes. He was raised learning to fight. It was the best thing he knew. But how could he fight his way out of this rut?
The memory of his grandfather spoke up, “Don't forget, boy. The best way to hit someone is to divert their attention, get 'em where they're not looking and when they least expect it.” Good old Grandpa. His words were a constant source of wisdom and guidance. In addition to the massive brawn commanded by a Brutor, they have an unmatched perception – the ability to detect an enemy's weakness in the heat of battle and capitalize upon it. ”Ever since you came up to my knee, you've been learning what it means to be an Anderthal.” Grandpa's favorite phrase. So much so that it became his nickname. Nobody called him by his birth name any more. Everyone simply knew him as Knee Anderthal.
His mind at ease from his grandfather's advice, he faced his fear. He knew he had to break away from the Caldari. He was apprehensive about taking the offer he received from an interested party a few weeks ago, but it was a guaranteed ticket out of this drudgery. He mulled it over in his head and decided he'd been in the warm bosom of high-sec long enough. It was time to show them what it meant to be an Anderthal.
They called themselves Dreddit. They sought to establish their own presence while encouraging their people to develop their best talents and put them to use in benefiting the group as best they could. It sounded very tribal, very close to home. He opened a secure link and sent a communication accepting the proposal and requesting a formal application. Satisfied, he settled down and fell fast asleep in the heart of his soon-to-be-former corporation.
The question caused the bartender to turn towards the large Matari who asked it. “Don'cha got your fancy pod computer to tell you that, pal?”
The snide retort broke his chain of thought. He didn't realize he uttered the question. He was too exhausted to take offense, and merely sighed in reply. He already knew the answer to his rhetorical question. He didn't like the answer. He stared at his glass of spirits hoping it would provide some justification that he could find acceptable. It wasn't working.
He stood up, pressed his thumbprint on the pad next to his drink to pay his tab, and wandered towards his suite. All he wanted at the moment was some sleep. He'd only been a full-fledged capsuleer for half a standard year, but it already felt like an eternity due to a side effect they didn't talk about in the academy: insomnia.
Skill training had always been a somewhat unnerving process for him. The learning centers throughout New Eden claimed to have perfected the technique of subliminal education, feeding a reel of diagrams and lecture directly into the hippocampus. He swore he could hear the voices at night. The foreign thoughts and concepts gently flooded the back of his mind, keeping him awake as his brain tried to process and store it all. He always felt strange when he woke up able to use a new piece of equipment in his ship without even seeing it before. There were no quizzes, no essays, no drills, no need to prove he knew the material like in the academy. He just knew it. The only exams were administered by CONCORD for their certification program. He chuckled as he recalled the fitting on the test ship provided for the Elite Hull Tanking certification, which he claimed on a lark. Obviously built by a government committee who had never seen the wild realities of lawless space.
Inside the pod, sleep didn't matter. Time stopped for his body while in stasis. He didn't need to eat or drink or even breathe; the life support system maintained it all. He could will himself in and out of consciousness, but it did nothing to satiate his need for sleep. He tried asking for solutions the last time he was in Kappas shopping for skillbooks. The Deteis sales representative on the other end of the channel expressed what seemed to be a mixture of contempt and sales gloss as she proclaimed, “Sleep? But you're a capsuleer! You've transcended the limits of human mortality! Why, you have the ability to-”
“Goddammit, do you have anything or not?” his mind blared in an exasperated tone.
The reply sweetly came back, “You sound like you need our improved Social skills program. Perhaps a Charisma implant?” He returned a Matari expletive and shut off the comm.
All capsuleers had to deal with sleep at some point. Despite the body being preserved indefinitely in the pod through stasis, the mind becomes fatigued when subjected to the artificial stimuli of driving a ship for prolonged periods, and requires downtime in order to keep its owner sane. Most pilots retreated to the creature comforts of stations like the one he was in now. Those without such luxury available in low-sec, nullsec, or even wormholes resorted to warping to an empty area in space, shutting down the reactor, bringing themselves out of stasis, and sleeping in crew's quarters or even the pod itself. It left the ship completely vulnerable to any outside forces, but the energy signatures emitted by running only the life support systems were so small that the ship was indistinguishable from background noise, effectively unprobable.
Inside his quarters, he laid down in bed and tried to calm his thoughts, but he couldn't get the nagging problem out of his head. “Jita.” The answer to his rhetorical question in the bar mocked him. How did he end up two jumps away from the biggest capitalistic mecca in the known universe? The convenience, of course. Where else can you find twelve Gistii B-Type Small Shield Boosters at a moment's notice? It wasn't the commerce he hated, it was the people behind it. The Caldari. The economic muscle behind the Amarr and their atrocities. Why did he work for the Caldari? Because they paid well. He felt dirty facing the answer. He was just another whelp suckling from the corporate teat, doing their bidding, being molded into a weapon of the Navy. He shuddered at the thought of how many Matari and Gallente he had killed when thrust into a tenuous political uprising to upset their diplomacy at the behest of his naval superiors. He stopped flying the Hurricane that did the deed, ashamed of the blood it spilled. Nowadays he only took missions that rivaled the Guristas. They seemed like the most deserving target within the Caldari scope of ire. He could have done courier or industrial missions instead and spared all lives involved, but that kind of work didn't suit his tastes. He was raised learning to fight. It was the best thing he knew. But how could he fight his way out of this rut?
The memory of his grandfather spoke up, “Don't forget, boy. The best way to hit someone is to divert their attention, get 'em where they're not looking and when they least expect it.” Good old Grandpa. His words were a constant source of wisdom and guidance. In addition to the massive brawn commanded by a Brutor, they have an unmatched perception – the ability to detect an enemy's weakness in the heat of battle and capitalize upon it. ”Ever since you came up to my knee, you've been learning what it means to be an Anderthal.” Grandpa's favorite phrase. So much so that it became his nickname. Nobody called him by his birth name any more. Everyone simply knew him as Knee Anderthal.
His mind at ease from his grandfather's advice, he faced his fear. He knew he had to break away from the Caldari. He was apprehensive about taking the offer he received from an interested party a few weeks ago, but it was a guaranteed ticket out of this drudgery. He mulled it over in his head and decided he'd been in the warm bosom of high-sec long enough. It was time to show them what it meant to be an Anderthal.
They called themselves Dreddit. They sought to establish their own presence while encouraging their people to develop their best talents and put them to use in benefiting the group as best they could. It sounded very tribal, very close to home. He opened a secure link and sent a communication accepting the proposal and requesting a formal application. Satisfied, he settled down and fell fast asleep in the heart of his soon-to-be-former corporation.
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