After taking a grueling amount of time training up Tech II Projectiles, Knee took a small trip back to Empire space via Jump Clone Express. His old home base doubled as a great place to make a skillbook run. Able to put Tech II guns on Maelstroms and everything smaller, Knee decided his Minmatar training was adequate at the moment and he needed to embrace his humble side.
Despite TEST employing Shield fleets in their Maelstrom-fielded strategic ops, there were also other fleets regularly formed that called for Armor. Since Gallente ship performance has lately been considered lackluster, and Minmatar choices are limited to the Hurricane and the Loki, the best option is to fly Amarr.
Like most slave children who are lucky enough to be rescued by their Matari brethren and sent to be raised in the Heimatar region, Knee grew up with strong prejudice against everything dealing with the Amarr. Still, the older he has become and the more exposure he has had with the people themselves, he had to admit two things. First, that Amarr people aren't all bad guys out to enslave him. Second, they can build an array of truly impressive ships.
One such ship is the Zealot. A Heavy Assault Cruiser that is difficult to supersede. It's fast, it has a small signature making it hard to hit, and "Short Range" Pulse Lasers can do amazing damage at 35km when using Scorch crystals.
Knee liked the concept of infinite laser ammo. He never liked having to estimate how much projectile ammo to haul around, though being able to choose your damage type is handy. Lasers simplify the process to selecting the optimal crystal for your engagement range, with no reload delay.
Within a few days, Knee had learned the basics of Amarr ships and Laser turrets, all the way to Battleship level. Taking that knowledge to Tech II would take a lot more time, but since Beam Lasers seem to go unused, that simplifies the training a bit. Still, the plan contains three big time consuming skills that cannot be ignored for this type of ship:
Medium Energy Turret V (10d)
Amarr Cruiser V (16d)
Advanced Weapon Upgrades V (20d)
Everything else in the plan is another 22 days - Assault Ships to Heavy Assault Ships and Pulse Laser Specialization. It will be worth it, though, for it will enable Knee to be able to fly Armor or Shield at any time.
Showing posts with label roleplay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roleplay. Show all posts
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Neural Remap
Everything was prepared ahead of time. It was just a matter of throwing the switch.
For the past seven months, Knee's learning plan had been focused entirely in support and infrastructure. All the non-combat tools that he would need to be a better combat pilot. Sounds contradictory, but take into consideration that a fighter pilot needs more than guns. He needs engines, shields, armor, and even a few tricks up his sleeve. Some of those tricks include overheating modules, jury rigging, electronic warfare, and astrometrics. Knee knew them all. He was ready.
He sat calmly in Medical while the doctor's aides busied themselves around him. Some were taking scans, others were hooking up equipment, and still others were running calculations. Neural remaps were not everyday procedures. Official regulations limited their use to once a standard year, though occasional grants by special request were possible. Knee was well-trained in Science but still did not understand the technology behind changing the brain to influence a person's mental capacity. Something about optimizing neural pathways. The scientists explained it best as "flashing" the brain the same way a data storage chip is written. Both are electrical systems, after all. When you abstract it to that level, it simply becomes a matter of circuit design. Knee was comfortable enough with the concept of implants supporting the brain's functions, but rewiring the brain itself was beyond his comprehension. He trusted the people around him.
When the aides confirmed everything was ready, the attention turned to Knee. He was focused, almost trancelike, on completing the final skill in his set, drawing in data from the invisible voice in his head. Finally he opened his eyes and Aura, connected to his implants, proudly announced "Skill training completed." He looked at the head doctor and nodded. One of the nurses applied a quick sedative and the experts went to work.
Within moments, it was finished. They removed the sedation and Knee regained consciousness. As he regained his bearings he could feel the eerie effects of the procedure. His willpower was higher than ever before - he knew no fear. His perception was nearly off the charts. He was able to predict the aides' actions and movements almost to the point of seeing into the future. He reveled in the feeling. He felt superhuman. He felt like a Capsuleer.
For the past seven months, Knee's learning plan had been focused entirely in support and infrastructure. All the non-combat tools that he would need to be a better combat pilot. Sounds contradictory, but take into consideration that a fighter pilot needs more than guns. He needs engines, shields, armor, and even a few tricks up his sleeve. Some of those tricks include overheating modules, jury rigging, electronic warfare, and astrometrics. Knee knew them all. He was ready.
He sat calmly in Medical while the doctor's aides busied themselves around him. Some were taking scans, others were hooking up equipment, and still others were running calculations. Neural remaps were not everyday procedures. Official regulations limited their use to once a standard year, though occasional grants by special request were possible. Knee was well-trained in Science but still did not understand the technology behind changing the brain to influence a person's mental capacity. Something about optimizing neural pathways. The scientists explained it best as "flashing" the brain the same way a data storage chip is written. Both are electrical systems, after all. When you abstract it to that level, it simply becomes a matter of circuit design. Knee was comfortable enough with the concept of implants supporting the brain's functions, but rewiring the brain itself was beyond his comprehension. He trusted the people around him.
When the aides confirmed everything was ready, the attention turned to Knee. He was focused, almost trancelike, on completing the final skill in his set, drawing in data from the invisible voice in his head. Finally he opened his eyes and Aura, connected to his implants, proudly announced "Skill training completed." He looked at the head doctor and nodded. One of the nurses applied a quick sedative and the experts went to work.
Within moments, it was finished. They removed the sedation and Knee regained consciousness. As he regained his bearings he could feel the eerie effects of the procedure. His willpower was higher than ever before - he knew no fear. His perception was nearly off the charts. He was able to predict the aides' actions and movements almost to the point of seeing into the future. He reveled in the feeling. He felt superhuman. He felt like a Capsuleer.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Life in Fountain, Day One
Rigging training is complete. Onward to the final set of Electronics skills - 11½ days. Removed a couple of unnecessary skills from the plan, saving three days. It's now a total of 18½ days until the remap.
My courier contract is already completed. All of my equipment is now here. Awesome service!
Researched the market for buying a Maelstrom in the future. The station is well-stocked with the hulls, guns, and faction ammo necessary for the job. Very impressive.
My courier contract is already completed. All of my equipment is now here. Awesome service!
Researched the market for buying a Maelstrom in the future. The station is well-stocked with the hulls, guns, and faction ammo necessary for the job. Very impressive.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Moving South
Knee noticed the level of activity around the station was higher than normal. Things were usually quiet around Deklein these days, as the military operations were focused in the South. Knee took it as an opportunity to continue his recovery and soak up some training on the fine arts of Jury Rigging.
Today, however, was impossible to ignore. Nearly every capsuleer was either on the hangar floor or in motion to and from it. Knee asked a hangar attendant what the story was.
"We're moving."
"What? Where to?" Knee inquired.
"Fountain."
"Everybody?"
"Everybody. TEST is packing up and giving Deklein back to the Goons."
Emotional reaction would normally be the first thought to such sudden and life-changing news. Instead, Knee's mind was already worrying about logistics. He had a lot of ships and cargo stashed here. He was already familiar with liquidating assets from leaving Lonetrek to come here. He just wasn't used to having to plan things so quickly.
First to go were the ships. He went through his ship inventory and stripped the lot, repackaged all but one, and priced them aggressively: 30% below market. Only fools would pass up such prices. He was not among fools; the ships sold within a matter of hours.
Next was his stash of ammo. Ammo was disposable, fungible, cheap, and took up too much volume in his bay. It had to go. 30% off.
Then there was the mass of equipment. A load of modules he couldn't possibly go though in a short timeframe to sell individually. Luckily the alliance was hosting a courier service for just a couple of days to deliver things like this to Fountain via Jump Freighter. Only problem was the launching point for the freighter was several jumps away. He quickly bought a Wreathe and loaded it with the whole lot. Nearly 4600 m³ of goods. Before leaving, he bought one final piece of equipment - a cloaking device. That one piece was the straw that broke the camel's back. It was simply too large to fit in cargo, but it was necessary for the final step. Knee grumbled and pondered.
"Wait. This ship's got a high slot, doesn't it?" He quickly consulted the fitting. It had one. Perfect. "Plug it in!"
The lowly industrial creaked its way out of the docking bay. Knee swore at its sluggish operation due to the heavy load it was barely carrying, and at his own ability barely being adequate to fly the thing. An industrialist he was not.
At the rendezvous point, Knee set up the courier contract, stripped the Wreathe and put it up for sale, and headed back for the last piece of equipment - his most precious one: The Darkblade.
The last time Knee made a suicidal solo run through nullsec was in a Reaper with nothing to lose. This time he had something to lose. His implants. Clone jumping would not transport them, it would simply transport his consciousness into another body. The only way to move the implants was the old fashioned way. In person.
The ship of choice for the mission was his beloved Dramiel, named after Kirith Darkblade, a Matari pirate famous for using frigates as his ships of choice. It amused Knee that the smallest ships had potential to be the most devastating when used correctly. He purchased the Dramiel after learning that Kirith's had achieved over 70 kills before finally meeting its demise.
Knee fit for absolute worst case scenario. Inertia and Warp Core stabilization, Microwarp, Medium Shield Extender, and the Improved Cloaking Device he hauled in the high slot of the Wreathe. He couldn't force anything else into the hull without starving its CPU. The ship would only do so much and Knee would have to do the rest.
Satisfied that the rest of his logistics were taken care of, he set out for the 30 jump journey. The jumps out of Deklein were quick and uneventful. It wasn't until he entered Pure Blind that he encountered a threat. Three hostiles in Local among the friendlies. No vision on any of them. He quickly warped to a planet near the gate, cloaked up, and waited. No change in activity. They were either hiding or waiting. Knee consulted the solar system map and looked for a route to lead him to the next gate. A series of planets was in between the gate and his current position. He warped there and cloaked again. He was now about 16AU from the gate. He activated the directional scanner. Drake, Daredevil, Guardian. No way to tell if they were friend or foe, better to assume the worst. The cruisers posed no threat, but the Daredevil made him uneasy - another pirate frigate potentially deadlier than his own when up close with blasters. Knee couldn't fit dual-prop to escape such a situation - there simply wasn't enough CPU. One warp scramble and he was dead.
Wait. 16AU from the gate. That's too far for Directional to reach. He narrowed his angle of scanning and pointed at the gate. The ships disappeared. They were behind him, but were there more at the gate? Knee warped to 100km from the gate and triggered the scanner for all it was worth. Still no ships. He was safe. He burned for the gate like a madman, screaming into the jump at 5000 m/s.
Cloud Ring was empty save for his allies from Wildly Inappropriate. Fountain was equally quiet, despite gatecamps reported on intel. He had made it. He docked into station, chatted with his corpmates for a while and made arrangements with Medical to transfer his emergency clone to this new station. He found the market to be sparse, but that would improve once the logistics team finishes their fine work.
He sat back in his new suite and wondered how difficult it would be to procure a Daredevil for his hangar. He would have to restock his ship collection, after all. Might as well make it interesting...
Today, however, was impossible to ignore. Nearly every capsuleer was either on the hangar floor or in motion to and from it. Knee asked a hangar attendant what the story was.
"We're moving."
"What? Where to?" Knee inquired.
"Fountain."
"Everybody?"
"Everybody. TEST is packing up and giving Deklein back to the Goons."
Emotional reaction would normally be the first thought to such sudden and life-changing news. Instead, Knee's mind was already worrying about logistics. He had a lot of ships and cargo stashed here. He was already familiar with liquidating assets from leaving Lonetrek to come here. He just wasn't used to having to plan things so quickly.
First to go were the ships. He went through his ship inventory and stripped the lot, repackaged all but one, and priced them aggressively: 30% below market. Only fools would pass up such prices. He was not among fools; the ships sold within a matter of hours.
Next was his stash of ammo. Ammo was disposable, fungible, cheap, and took up too much volume in his bay. It had to go. 30% off.
Then there was the mass of equipment. A load of modules he couldn't possibly go though in a short timeframe to sell individually. Luckily the alliance was hosting a courier service for just a couple of days to deliver things like this to Fountain via Jump Freighter. Only problem was the launching point for the freighter was several jumps away. He quickly bought a Wreathe and loaded it with the whole lot. Nearly 4600 m³ of goods. Before leaving, he bought one final piece of equipment - a cloaking device. That one piece was the straw that broke the camel's back. It was simply too large to fit in cargo, but it was necessary for the final step. Knee grumbled and pondered.
"Wait. This ship's got a high slot, doesn't it?" He quickly consulted the fitting. It had one. Perfect. "Plug it in!"
The lowly industrial creaked its way out of the docking bay. Knee swore at its sluggish operation due to the heavy load it was barely carrying, and at his own ability barely being adequate to fly the thing. An industrialist he was not.
At the rendezvous point, Knee set up the courier contract, stripped the Wreathe and put it up for sale, and headed back for the last piece of equipment - his most precious one: The Darkblade.
The last time Knee made a suicidal solo run through nullsec was in a Reaper with nothing to lose. This time he had something to lose. His implants. Clone jumping would not transport them, it would simply transport his consciousness into another body. The only way to move the implants was the old fashioned way. In person.
The ship of choice for the mission was his beloved Dramiel, named after Kirith Darkblade, a Matari pirate famous for using frigates as his ships of choice. It amused Knee that the smallest ships had potential to be the most devastating when used correctly. He purchased the Dramiel after learning that Kirith's had achieved over 70 kills before finally meeting its demise.
Knee fit for absolute worst case scenario. Inertia and Warp Core stabilization, Microwarp, Medium Shield Extender, and the Improved Cloaking Device he hauled in the high slot of the Wreathe. He couldn't force anything else into the hull without starving its CPU. The ship would only do so much and Knee would have to do the rest.
Satisfied that the rest of his logistics were taken care of, he set out for the 30 jump journey. The jumps out of Deklein were quick and uneventful. It wasn't until he entered Pure Blind that he encountered a threat. Three hostiles in Local among the friendlies. No vision on any of them. He quickly warped to a planet near the gate, cloaked up, and waited. No change in activity. They were either hiding or waiting. Knee consulted the solar system map and looked for a route to lead him to the next gate. A series of planets was in between the gate and his current position. He warped there and cloaked again. He was now about 16AU from the gate. He activated the directional scanner. Drake, Daredevil, Guardian. No way to tell if they were friend or foe, better to assume the worst. The cruisers posed no threat, but the Daredevil made him uneasy - another pirate frigate potentially deadlier than his own when up close with blasters. Knee couldn't fit dual-prop to escape such a situation - there simply wasn't enough CPU. One warp scramble and he was dead.
Wait. 16AU from the gate. That's too far for Directional to reach. He narrowed his angle of scanning and pointed at the gate. The ships disappeared. They were behind him, but were there more at the gate? Knee warped to 100km from the gate and triggered the scanner for all it was worth. Still no ships. He was safe. He burned for the gate like a madman, screaming into the jump at 5000 m/s.
Cloud Ring was empty save for his allies from Wildly Inappropriate. Fountain was equally quiet, despite gatecamps reported on intel. He had made it. He docked into station, chatted with his corpmates for a while and made arrangements with Medical to transfer his emergency clone to this new station. He found the market to be sparse, but that would improve once the logistics team finishes their fine work.
He sat back in his new suite and wondered how difficult it would be to procure a Daredevil for his hangar. He would have to restock his ship collection, after all. Might as well make it interesting...
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
A New Face
After driving himself to the point of sickness over a month ago, Knee had to take time out to recuperate. While the infection was cleverly dispatched via a clone jump, he still remembered his doctor's orders. Being in a pod for weeks at a time was taking a toll on his body. No amount of clone jumping could solve that problem because it would be the same body, with minor variations, as the one he transferred from. The only solution was good old-fashioned diet and exercise.
After the diagnosis, he was placed on doctor-enforced medical leave until he could show signs of improvement. That meant no piloting of any kind. It was a cruel sentence, considering the recent news of the Alliance making headway in the Fountain region against IT. He wanted to join them. He turned his fervor towards helping the war effort locally - moving equipment in station, preparing ships for docking and undocking, and assisting capsuleers on the hangar floor. The physical labor was helping his body to recover, and the cerebral downtime helped him relax and concentrate on the long term plan - becoming mentally equipped for the future through skill training.
Today was his checkup. The nurses took his vitals and sent the data off to be processed. A few minutes later the doctor entered, busily scrutinizing a pad in his hand filled with the diagnostic results. He seemed satisfied. He turned to address his patient and paused with surprise. "You look different somehow, Knee."
"I tied my hair down. It keeps it out of the way when I'm moving stuff."
"No, aside from that. You look healthy. You look like you're ready to fight a war."
Knee smirked. "That's why we're all here, isn't it?"
"Indeed. You've improved dramatically. I'm ready to sign your release. Let's take a baseline so we can update your clones."
After what seemed like an eternity of scans, the clone update was complete. Along with a clean bill of health, the doctor handed Knee a small envelope.
"What's this?"
"Photographs. I thought you'd like to see how much you've improved."
Knee studied the photos for a moment, shrugged, and made his way to the hangar to board his pod.
After the diagnosis, he was placed on doctor-enforced medical leave until he could show signs of improvement. That meant no piloting of any kind. It was a cruel sentence, considering the recent news of the Alliance making headway in the Fountain region against IT. He wanted to join them. He turned his fervor towards helping the war effort locally - moving equipment in station, preparing ships for docking and undocking, and assisting capsuleers on the hangar floor. The physical labor was helping his body to recover, and the cerebral downtime helped him relax and concentrate on the long term plan - becoming mentally equipped for the future through skill training.
Today was his checkup. The nurses took his vitals and sent the data off to be processed. A few minutes later the doctor entered, busily scrutinizing a pad in his hand filled with the diagnostic results. He seemed satisfied. He turned to address his patient and paused with surprise. "You look different somehow, Knee."
"I tied my hair down. It keeps it out of the way when I'm moving stuff."
"No, aside from that. You look healthy. You look like you're ready to fight a war."
Knee smirked. "That's why we're all here, isn't it?"
"Indeed. You've improved dramatically. I'm ready to sign your release. Let's take a baseline so we can update your clones."
After what seemed like an eternity of scans, the clone update was complete. Along with a clean bill of health, the doctor handed Knee a small envelope.
"What's this?"
"Photographs. I thought you'd like to see how much you've improved."
Knee studied the photos for a moment, shrugged, and made his way to the hangar to board his pod.
Before:
After:
Friday, December 3, 2010
Massive Fever
Knee was finding it hard to concentrate. He had been working long hours clearing the asteroid belts of Gurista presence so the mining fleet could have a safe operation. Everything on the ship's instruments indicated things were working perfectly, but the mental effort to drive the ship and its subsystems seemed a bit more taxing than usual. The pod diagnostics were showing a biometric anomaly, but heartbeat and respiration were normal. Still, Knee took it as a sign to check in to headquarters. After delivering a mortal shot to the last Gurista battleship in the belt, he recalled his drones and headed for the station.
The docking procedure was normal. As soon as Knee pulled himself out of stasis and back into consciousness, it hit him. A migraine headache. Nausea. Fatigue. Disoriented, coughing, and in a slight panic, Knee stumbled his way to Medical.
"Is this your natural body?" The doctor asked.
"Unfortunately not. I lost that one a long time ago." Knee grimaced as he recalled the thundering force of projectile ammo rendering his first pod asunder. The sound alone would have deafened him if he had survived the incident.
"Have you consumed any performance-enhancing drugs lately?"
"No, never have." Knee was trained in Biology and knew about the so-called combat booster drugs that improved capsuleers' performance with the possibility of crippling side effects. He had not yet faced a situation that would require the risk.
"Well, here's what I see. You have a massive fever, you're congested, you're malnourished, and your muscles have begun to atrophy from non-use."
"Meaning what?"
"Well, aside from being in that pod for too damn long, you've gotten yourself sick as well."
"Sick? How?"
"All the standard ways diseases are transmitted. Aspiration, ingestion, physical contact, etcetera. The problem is that when you're in pod stasis there's no way to control the germ. The system is shut down almost to the point of death, with just heartbeat and respiration keeping the brain alive. With the immune system suppressed to the point of non-existence, a contracted infection has essentially free reign in the body and you wouldn't even know it."
Knee gripped his aching head. "Lovely. What can you do?"
"The only option is to get some rest. Some real food and some light exercise would do you some good as well. I don't like the things I'm seeing from you staying in that pod so long. It's destroying your body."
Knee chuckled to himself. He laughed louder as he looked up and met the doctor's questioning gaze. The doctor shook his head. "I don't --"
"Destroying the body!" Knee exclaimed between fits of laughter. He calmed down and looked at the doctor with a giddy grin on his face. "Doc, if I biomass this clone, I take out the infection with it, correct?"
The doctor nodded. "Correct."
"I'd rather not resort to that since I have some pricey implants in here." Knee tapped his cranium. "Now, what happens if I clone jump instead?"
The doctor recited, "Well, your consciousness transfers to the clone in reserve at a remote station and the remaining body ... " His voice trailed off as he realized what Knee was thinking. "The remaining body will be kept here where the infection can be eradicated at our leisure."
Knee smiled. "Hook me up, Doc. I have a sudden need to travel."
Clone jump transfers were initially traumatic when jumping into a new clone that had never been used before, but jumping into an old body was much less so. Knee found it useful to exhale at the point of transfer so the impulse would cause the recipient clone to do the same action and prevent inhaling the fluid it was submerged in. He found himself lying down. He calmly sat up, wiped the fluid from his face, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. A doctor and a small group of nursing attendants were peering at him. "Evening, gentlemen." Knee bellowed.
"How are you feeling?" The doctor asked.
"Much better, thanks." He waited to be unhooked from the vat and made his way to the shower.
Being in a fresh body was invigorating. After cleaning up he chose a light jumpsuit for his attire and took a jog around the station, followed by a hearty, satisfying meal at the commissary. It was expensive to transport the animals from the local planets to the station, but the taste of real meat does wonders for a man's constitution. He would not let his body fail him again.
The docking procedure was normal. As soon as Knee pulled himself out of stasis and back into consciousness, it hit him. A migraine headache. Nausea. Fatigue. Disoriented, coughing, and in a slight panic, Knee stumbled his way to Medical.
"Is this your natural body?" The doctor asked.
"Unfortunately not. I lost that one a long time ago." Knee grimaced as he recalled the thundering force of projectile ammo rendering his first pod asunder. The sound alone would have deafened him if he had survived the incident.
"Have you consumed any performance-enhancing drugs lately?"
"No, never have." Knee was trained in Biology and knew about the so-called combat booster drugs that improved capsuleers' performance with the possibility of crippling side effects. He had not yet faced a situation that would require the risk.
"Well, here's what I see. You have a massive fever, you're congested, you're malnourished, and your muscles have begun to atrophy from non-use."
"Meaning what?"
"Well, aside from being in that pod for too damn long, you've gotten yourself sick as well."
"Sick? How?"
"All the standard ways diseases are transmitted. Aspiration, ingestion, physical contact, etcetera. The problem is that when you're in pod stasis there's no way to control the germ. The system is shut down almost to the point of death, with just heartbeat and respiration keeping the brain alive. With the immune system suppressed to the point of non-existence, a contracted infection has essentially free reign in the body and you wouldn't even know it."
Knee gripped his aching head. "Lovely. What can you do?"
"The only option is to get some rest. Some real food and some light exercise would do you some good as well. I don't like the things I'm seeing from you staying in that pod so long. It's destroying your body."
Knee chuckled to himself. He laughed louder as he looked up and met the doctor's questioning gaze. The doctor shook his head. "I don't --"
"Destroying the body!" Knee exclaimed between fits of laughter. He calmed down and looked at the doctor with a giddy grin on his face. "Doc, if I biomass this clone, I take out the infection with it, correct?"
The doctor nodded. "Correct."
"I'd rather not resort to that since I have some pricey implants in here." Knee tapped his cranium. "Now, what happens if I clone jump instead?"
The doctor recited, "Well, your consciousness transfers to the clone in reserve at a remote station and the remaining body ... " His voice trailed off as he realized what Knee was thinking. "The remaining body will be kept here where the infection can be eradicated at our leisure."
Knee smiled. "Hook me up, Doc. I have a sudden need to travel."
Clone jump transfers were initially traumatic when jumping into a new clone that had never been used before, but jumping into an old body was much less so. Knee found it useful to exhale at the point of transfer so the impulse would cause the recipient clone to do the same action and prevent inhaling the fluid it was submerged in. He found himself lying down. He calmly sat up, wiped the fluid from his face, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. A doctor and a small group of nursing attendants were peering at him. "Evening, gentlemen." Knee bellowed.
"How are you feeling?" The doctor asked.
"Much better, thanks." He waited to be unhooked from the vat and made his way to the shower.
Being in a fresh body was invigorating. After cleaning up he chose a light jumpsuit for his attire and took a jog around the station, followed by a hearty, satisfying meal at the commissary. It was expensive to transport the animals from the local planets to the station, but the taste of real meat does wonders for a man's constitution. He would not let his body fail him again.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
War Sacrifices
"Amarr? Are you kidding me?!"
The outburst caused some heads to turn. At the same time, the group sitting with Knee Anderthal promptly shushed him down.
"Seriously," he said more quietly, "Why Amarr?"
"Because it's the best ship for the job."
The attention turned back to the instructing Fleet Commander. The lecture resumed. After it was finished and the students began to depart, the FC motioned Knee over to talk.
"Is there a problem, son?"
"I don't see why Amarr ships could possibly have a tactical advantage."
"Armor tanking! What else do you expect to fly in an Armor HAC fleet? An Ishtar?"
Knee frowned. "Okay, but why armor at all? Why not shield?"
"You're a solution looking for a problem. Look..." The old FC's patience did not falter. He touched the panel in front of him and the presentation display on the wall sprang to life. "Build the fleet. Spec out your assault ship." The screen showed an empty fitting diagram. The FC handed over the input panel.
Knee pursed his lips and set to work. He summoned a Vagabond into the interface and began dragging imaginary modules into the fitting. A set of guns here, some shield extenders there, and a set of gyrostabilizers. Satisfied, he looked up at his instructor.
"Not bad, but you're forgetting something."
"Hmm?"
"You built this out to be a dogfighter - close combat. But you only have enough mids for Microwarp, point, and tank. What happens when someone scrambles you?"
"Dual prop?"
"I would agree, except now your EHP drops down to 22,000. And it was only 31,000 to begin with."
"Well, what else am I supposed to-"
"Like I said, a solution looking for a problem. Armor fit it now. See what you get."
Knee was stubborn, convinced he was right. Still, he wiped out the fitting and started over. He grimaced at replacing his damage-enhancing gyros with armor hardeners, but he was able to improve the mid slot usage. He completed the fit and looked up.
The FC pointed at the diagram. "Now, you see? You've doubled your EHP to 50,000 and you can fit dual prop on there for when you need it."
"Yeah, but my DPS got cut in half as a result."
"Unfortunate, but a ship does more damage than a shipwreck."
The sheer logic gave Knee pause. "Okay, but still, you're trading gank for tank. I don't see how it improves things. You'd need twice as many ships."
"Not necessarily. Look at this." The old man called up the Zealot fit he designed. "The problem with your Vagabond is that it didn't have enough lows. This HAC has two extra low slots where we can fit in Heat Sinks, and suddenly we have a ship with the damage of your shield fit, but the EHP of an armor tank."
"What the hell?!" Knee exclaimed incredulously.
"Best ship for the job." the FC reinforced.
"I will not be caught dead in one of those abominations!"
"First of all, you're correct; you won't. Not on my watch. Second of all, what do you have against Amarr ships?"
Knee gave him a look which transcended speech. It was a look of pure emotion. Fear, anger, loathing. The old man read it and understood. "You need to shake off your preconceptions of the Amarr, son. You may have had a brush against their ugly side, but everyone has an ugly side. That doesn't mean that's all they are. We have plenty of Amarr folks here in corp. Have you ever talked to any of them?"
"I've ... kept to myself." Knee admitted.
"Another mistake. We're all here to work together. We are at war, and it's not against the Amarr. You should talk to them. They have the same agenda that you do - the success of this corporation. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir." Knee's stomach was twisted in a knot but he knew that some of them were different. He just found it easier to keep his guard up.
"We all have to make sacrifices. I suggest you make your pride the next one. Now go out there and show me you've learned something, and maybe you can actually fly in my fleet instead of sitting in my classroom."
An hour later, the skillbook quartermaster looked up at the hulking Brutor in front of him. "Yes sir, what'll it be?"
Knee swallowed and spoke with restrained emotion. "Amarr Frigate and Small Energy Turret, please."
The outburst caused some heads to turn. At the same time, the group sitting with Knee Anderthal promptly shushed him down.
"Seriously," he said more quietly, "Why Amarr?"
"Because it's the best ship for the job."
The attention turned back to the instructing Fleet Commander. The lecture resumed. After it was finished and the students began to depart, the FC motioned Knee over to talk.
"Is there a problem, son?"
"I don't see why Amarr ships could possibly have a tactical advantage."
"Armor tanking! What else do you expect to fly in an Armor HAC fleet? An Ishtar?"
Knee frowned. "Okay, but why armor at all? Why not shield?"
"You're a solution looking for a problem. Look..." The old FC's patience did not falter. He touched the panel in front of him and the presentation display on the wall sprang to life. "Build the fleet. Spec out your assault ship." The screen showed an empty fitting diagram. The FC handed over the input panel.
Knee pursed his lips and set to work. He summoned a Vagabond into the interface and began dragging imaginary modules into the fitting. A set of guns here, some shield extenders there, and a set of gyrostabilizers. Satisfied, he looked up at his instructor.
"Not bad, but you're forgetting something."
"Hmm?"
"You built this out to be a dogfighter - close combat. But you only have enough mids for Microwarp, point, and tank. What happens when someone scrambles you?"
"Dual prop?"
"I would agree, except now your EHP drops down to 22,000. And it was only 31,000 to begin with."
"Well, what else am I supposed to-"
"Like I said, a solution looking for a problem. Armor fit it now. See what you get."
Knee was stubborn, convinced he was right. Still, he wiped out the fitting and started over. He grimaced at replacing his damage-enhancing gyros with armor hardeners, but he was able to improve the mid slot usage. He completed the fit and looked up.
The FC pointed at the diagram. "Now, you see? You've doubled your EHP to 50,000 and you can fit dual prop on there for when you need it."
"Yeah, but my DPS got cut in half as a result."
"Unfortunate, but a ship does more damage than a shipwreck."
The sheer logic gave Knee pause. "Okay, but still, you're trading gank for tank. I don't see how it improves things. You'd need twice as many ships."
"Not necessarily. Look at this." The old man called up the Zealot fit he designed. "The problem with your Vagabond is that it didn't have enough lows. This HAC has two extra low slots where we can fit in Heat Sinks, and suddenly we have a ship with the damage of your shield fit, but the EHP of an armor tank."
"What the hell?!" Knee exclaimed incredulously.
"Best ship for the job." the FC reinforced.
"I will not be caught dead in one of those abominations!"
"First of all, you're correct; you won't. Not on my watch. Second of all, what do you have against Amarr ships?"
Knee gave him a look which transcended speech. It was a look of pure emotion. Fear, anger, loathing. The old man read it and understood. "You need to shake off your preconceptions of the Amarr, son. You may have had a brush against their ugly side, but everyone has an ugly side. That doesn't mean that's all they are. We have plenty of Amarr folks here in corp. Have you ever talked to any of them?"
"I've ... kept to myself." Knee admitted.
"Another mistake. We're all here to work together. We are at war, and it's not against the Amarr. You should talk to them. They have the same agenda that you do - the success of this corporation. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir." Knee's stomach was twisted in a knot but he knew that some of them were different. He just found it easier to keep his guard up.
"We all have to make sacrifices. I suggest you make your pride the next one. Now go out there and show me you've learned something, and maybe you can actually fly in my fleet instead of sitting in my classroom."
An hour later, the skillbook quartermaster looked up at the hulking Brutor in front of him. "Yes sir, what'll it be?"
Knee swallowed and spoke with restrained emotion. "Amarr Frigate and Small Energy Turret, please."
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Darkblade
He had heard its name frequently among the whispers of other pilots. He had even seen a few of them on holoreels, especially those from the annual Alliance Tournament. But he had never seen one in person until it was staring at him in his hangar.
Knee Anderthal gazed in awe at the ship which most pilots considered to be the deadliest frigate in existence: The Dramiel. And now it was his. A pirate ship of Angel persuasion, it bore ill repute among the people he knew in high-sec from working for the Caldari. They associated it with crime and violence. Knee agreed that they got the violence part right.
Having Minmatar and Gallente training, he had already known he would be capable of flying it, but its austere appearance made him feel intimidated. As he approached the vessel he ran a hand down one of its pointed tusk-like wings. "This thing looks like a giant claw!" Knee remarked to his hangar attendant. "Yep, she's a beaut." he replied. "Care to take her out for a spin?" Knee gave him a look which said it all. "Unload my Reaper. I brought her a gift basket."
A cargo hold full of modules was quickly unloaded, unpackaged, and mounted on the hull. He brought exactly what he would need. Once it was complete, he climbed into its pod and eagerly awaited its undocking procedure.
A matter of seconds later, he was in space. They say among capsuleers that the agility of a ship from the inside fits like a glove. The nimble frigates are like surgical gloves, cruisers like winter mittens, while the battleships are more like a gauntlet - strongly armored yet cumbersome. This ship did not fit like a glove. It fit like a third hand. Knee switched on the microwarp drive he installed and screamed away from the station at 5000 meters per second. No other ship he flew before had that much speed packed into it.
He transmitted his approval to the attendant back at the station.
The reply came back, "Going to fly her for a fleet operation?"
"No, not yet at least. This girl's going to be for a special occasion."
"A keeper, eh? Got a special name in mind?"
"I'm calling her 'The Darkblade' - after a particular pilot I know."
"A friend of yours?"
"Hardly. One of the most dangerous pirates I've heard of. It's perfect for a ship like this."
"Heh. What would you say to him if you ran into him while flying that thing?"
"Fifty Million or your pod gets blown to pieces."
The responding laughter echoed in Knee's mind as he engaged warp and brought his new toy home to his toybox.
Knee Anderthal gazed in awe at the ship which most pilots considered to be the deadliest frigate in existence: The Dramiel. And now it was his. A pirate ship of Angel persuasion, it bore ill repute among the people he knew in high-sec from working for the Caldari. They associated it with crime and violence. Knee agreed that they got the violence part right.
Having Minmatar and Gallente training, he had already known he would be capable of flying it, but its austere appearance made him feel intimidated. As he approached the vessel he ran a hand down one of its pointed tusk-like wings. "This thing looks like a giant claw!" Knee remarked to his hangar attendant. "Yep, she's a beaut." he replied. "Care to take her out for a spin?" Knee gave him a look which said it all. "Unload my Reaper. I brought her a gift basket."
A cargo hold full of modules was quickly unloaded, unpackaged, and mounted on the hull. He brought exactly what he would need. Once it was complete, he climbed into its pod and eagerly awaited its undocking procedure.
A matter of seconds later, he was in space. They say among capsuleers that the agility of a ship from the inside fits like a glove. The nimble frigates are like surgical gloves, cruisers like winter mittens, while the battleships are more like a gauntlet - strongly armored yet cumbersome. This ship did not fit like a glove. It fit like a third hand. Knee switched on the microwarp drive he installed and screamed away from the station at 5000 meters per second. No other ship he flew before had that much speed packed into it.
He transmitted his approval to the attendant back at the station.
The reply came back, "Going to fly her for a fleet operation?"
"No, not yet at least. This girl's going to be for a special occasion."
"A keeper, eh? Got a special name in mind?"
"I'm calling her 'The Darkblade' - after a particular pilot I know."
"A friend of yours?"
"Hardly. One of the most dangerous pirates I've heard of. It's perfect for a ship like this."
"Heh. What would you say to him if you ran into him while flying that thing?"
"Fifty Million or your pod gets blown to pieces."
The responding laughter echoed in Knee's mind as he engaged warp and brought his new toy home to his toybox.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Hands-on Training
Despite the lawlessness of 0.0 space, CONCORD was still out there. Not in any official policing capacity, mind you, but their scouts were out there. Capsuleers fighting over solar systems were of no interest to them. It was the pirate factions they were keeping tabs on. These same pirate factions were constantly pushing their way into Empire space, and it was CONCORD's job to monitor their activity at their nerve centers here in nullsec, and reward the capsuleers who took it upon themselves to act as local police.
It was in this capacity that Knee Anderthal was flying his Dominix with a group of seasoned pilots and new recruits. The purpose was threefold - to give the new pilots some combat experience, to try and discover hidden complexes that would yield lucrative custom equipment reserved for the Dread Guristas, and to collect the bountiful compensation doled out by CONCORD for their efforts.
It was during the clearing of one of the Guristas sanctums that a simple training exercise became a bit more real. A rogue Crusader Interceptor warped in to the sanctum 100km away from the fleet. One of the new pilots set after him, but the fleet called him back. Not only would a simple frigate be unable to catch an Interceptor, it would be outgunned as well. So the Interceptor was ignored for the moment as the fleet continued assaulting the Guristas.
Suddenly the Interceptor decided that if the fleet was not going to fight it, it was going to fight the fleet. It warped on top of the fleet and pounced upon a defenseless salvaging destroyer just 15km away from Knee's Dominix. The fleet immediately rallied for tackle and Knee sent out his Hornet drones normally reserved for Guristas frigates. What was a battleship pilot to do?
Normal fleets would not have warp disruption handy, but extra precautions are taken in zero. Although the Interceptor was able to take out the salvaging destroyer, it was overwhelmed and exploded marvelously before it could escape. A three-million loss for a twenty-million gain.
The training for the morning was complete.
It was in this capacity that Knee Anderthal was flying his Dominix with a group of seasoned pilots and new recruits. The purpose was threefold - to give the new pilots some combat experience, to try and discover hidden complexes that would yield lucrative custom equipment reserved for the Dread Guristas, and to collect the bountiful compensation doled out by CONCORD for their efforts.
It was during the clearing of one of the Guristas sanctums that a simple training exercise became a bit more real. A rogue Crusader Interceptor warped in to the sanctum 100km away from the fleet. One of the new pilots set after him, but the fleet called him back. Not only would a simple frigate be unable to catch an Interceptor, it would be outgunned as well. So the Interceptor was ignored for the moment as the fleet continued assaulting the Guristas.
Suddenly the Interceptor decided that if the fleet was not going to fight it, it was going to fight the fleet. It warped on top of the fleet and pounced upon a defenseless salvaging destroyer just 15km away from Knee's Dominix. The fleet immediately rallied for tackle and Knee sent out his Hornet drones normally reserved for Guristas frigates. What was a battleship pilot to do?
Normal fleets would not have warp disruption handy, but extra precautions are taken in zero. Although the Interceptor was able to take out the salvaging destroyer, it was overwhelmed and exploded marvelously before it could escape. A three-million loss for a twenty-million gain.
The training for the morning was complete.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Old Troublemakers
"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."
"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."
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.
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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