A life of service.

The docking platform shuddered slightly as the shuttle completed the docking maneuver and deployed the grapples. Titanium pins dropped and metal pressed against cold steel. The metal door dropped to the deck with a hiss, and two platoons of armed guards deployed in long rows within the giant airlock, stretching out from the hatchway. Already, water vapor from within the space station was coating the exposed shuttle hull in a thin layer of ice. Its mother, a Typhoon class warship was still awash in heat from the maneuvering thrusters, and loomed in the center of the great station bay. Out of the swirl of mist stepped Vince Konruk. With an easy stride he passed between the columns, eyeing their uniforms and weapons with a critical gaze. As the main doors opened ahead, the contingent ran before him, marking time with each stride, all the way to the secure officers' quarters.

Konruk gazed out at his battleship being serviced in the great starbase bay. Thick ripples of blackened metal protruded in places, showing deep scars in the armor that almost penetrated to the very hull. In other places, gaping wounds could be seen, penetrating deep into the ship. The holes were black, except for the occasional spark that illuminated the depths. The wicked Amarr lasers had done that work. A crew of metalworkers were busy starting the repairs already, bringing their plasma torches to bear. One of the great projectile guns below the ship was so badly damaged, it seemed to crudely hang from its fittings. Farther to aft and topside, a missile launcher was venting thin jets of plasma, its access port jammed open with a melted hunk of twisted titanium, likely a piece of debris from an exploding Amarr wreck.

The weary captain almost shuddered, thinking back to the battle. He could still smell the stench of burning flesh in his nostrils. There is nothing as fearsome as lasers in a space fight. When in phase, they will shine right through shields. At the right frequency, they will melt armor like a hot knife through butter. When they touch the hull itself, they will burn right through, cooking and vaporizing the occupants in an instant. It had been a terrible battle. Immediately, as the ship dropped out of warp, multi-colored lasers reigned down fire from all sides. The great autocannons went to their gruesome work immediately, the missiles were given fly, but the Amarr ships were tough. Their disgusting slaver captains were determined. So determined, in fact, that not one of them left the deadspace pocket alive. But it was a costly battle, in lives and property.

Vince Konruk was becoming very well known among the Republic Security Services Corporation. After a long career of service in the Republic Fleet, his reputation was such that he could pick any private mercenary job he wished. When the Security Services recruiters came calling, it was just a matter of finishing the last tour. Vince was ready for a new post. The enemies were the same, but the post was deep in Caldari space. The pay was also much better in a private corporation. And the better his crew performed, the more enemies they destroyed, the more gold flowed into the coffers.

Now Vince muttered angrily as he pulled the steaming coffee from the autochef. No hot SynCof for him, only the pure juice of the Gallente bean, descended from those consumed in ancient France. This snobbery was almost shameful to him, an inexcusable cultivation of taste for a Minmater captain, picked up from friend Captain Platinum. Platinum's extensive trade connections made such luxuries possible, and he was worth keeping around. Vince had just gotten off the Telecom with his RSSC agent. The ugly man excitedly went through the details of the next mission, acting like it was a great new adventure, and a great chance to serve the corporation. This time the Republic was going to pay RSSC some big coin. What a chance! "Well, guess what?" Vince asked himself as he slammed the beaker down on the table. "The same damn mission I've done a hundred times!" This war is stagnating. The missions all seems the same, as if they were taking off of some master roster. The final win never comes. The money is usually a little more than the losses, he mused, but there was that time when an Amarr laser nearly cut the hull in half! Further, the loss of life is unending. It is a constant battle to learn the names of all the new crew that come, eager and willing to take their turn dying on his ship.

A new direction is needed, Vince realized, as he took a long draught on the hot coffee. It may be time to return to the badlands, the wild systems of the Outer Planets. Slowly, he stood up at this thought. Striding to the window, he gazed at the black curtain of stars beyond.

The Night Shift

Steky waved her hand and the lights came on in the corporate offices. As usual, she was the only one in the large brightly lit office. Approaching the monitor, she saw that two blueprint copies she had been working on had been finally printed by the sophisticated equipment out in the lap bays of the corporate station. She would have to fly a shuttle out there and pick them up at the end of her shift.

She opened the secure blueprint vault labeled "Ships and Weapons", knowing that very few people had access to such a huge array of blueprint originals, and that Shocku fought hard for his agents to raise the funds to pay for it. Unfortunately, most of the ship blueprints were for those of other races. Shocku had specifically asked her to find things that they could use themselves as well as sell.

Steky muttered as she flipped past the BPOs for Minmatar frigates. Slamming the vault closed in frustration, she opened the adjacent vault that had a vague name. There was file after file of tech 1 modules. The boys never used tech 1 stuff anymore, and didn't have time to play the markets, so most of it was pretty much useless. That and ships cost almost as much or more to produce as to buy on the market, with the cost of minerals. Perhaps she was in the wrong line of work, and the team's efforts would be better spent elsewhere.

As her slender fingers neared the back of the fileview, it took a moment to register what she was seeing, then her eyes widened. There were dozens of blueprints for rigs. Wiggin's words replayed in her mind, "Nobody uses tech 2 rigs!" That meant there should still be a good market for t1 rigs, and Shocku had just fitted 3 of them on his typhoon at 15 million isk apiece. Her fingers slid over the vault viewer, rapidly sorting the datalist. There they were! "Thermic Armor Pump I", "Kinetic Armor Pump I", "Nanobot Accelerator I", and many more. Tapping on the blue button, she opened the bill of materials for one, "90 charred circuits, 40 contaminated nanite pumps." She whistled through her teeth, so THAT was why they always got a good price on salvage. The market for these things was definitely alive and well.

Steky pulled selected the BPOs, deposited money into the corporate wallet, and initiated several copy jobs. Noticing they required datasheets, she put a buy order on the market and borrowed some from the corp. Double checking everything was in order, she walked over to the launch bay where her shuttle was waiting. It was time to pick up the blueprint copies from out at the corporate station. She lifted her hair and pressed her thumb against a button at the back of her collar. Her jumper immediately fell loosely to her slender ankles. Stepping out of it and into her pod, the pilot waited as the plasma filled the small space before suddenly inhaling and drowning herself. Her hair floating gracefully around her head, she engaged the controls to undock from the station.

Awakening

The humming sound slowly grew louder. It throbbed and pulsated. A dense, dark blanket of cold fog that covered his mind began a steady retreat. A flicker of consciousness sparked in the void. The warmth spread outward, and the icy cold retreated peripherally, dragging along a painful, tingling burn. The cold dissipated at the ends of fingers, ears, and toes, bursting into the air, replaced by the stab of millions of tiny needles. Suddenly, Vince was aware of his own thoughts. Frantically, he struggled to remember where he was. He remembered the depression. He remember the hopelessness, the utter despair, how he wanted it all to end. There were so many legal forms that needed his electronic signature. He remembered pressing the 'confirm' key, not once, but three times. The decision was not hard. Life had become too much. With a great sigh of relief, he had settled back into the warm ooze. The lid hissed and clicked into place. Vince held his breath as the gel quickly filled the small space where he was breathing. It filled his ears, then pushed into his nostrils. There was no pain or alarm as his body was instantly frozen. Now, the surgical neural scanner was making a faint clicking sound as it centered its alignment over his forehead. Alarm! Panic! Why was he here, awake, witnessing this?! He had already made his choice. His life was over, the sale was final. It was supposed to be over! The pain was supposed to be gone! But here he was, lying on a cold, hard table, covered in slime, having been rudely awakened from the cryo vat. He couldn't move a finger. Nothing worked. He couldn't even cry out or blink. Suddenly, he was blinded by white light as the scanner activated. Then, in the middle of the glare, he saw a tiny black speck. The blackness swelled, forming a deep, dark hole, that slowly expanded over him. The darkness was blacker and far colder than the depths of space. The darkness was nothing, complete void, complete loneliness. Suddenly, Vince felt a tearing sensation in his soul. Then, in one awful, painful instant, his consciousness ripped free and fell headlong into the dark hole.

Continuity of Mind

Capt Platinum bemoaned the fact that it was so hard to recruit good pilot clones for the team. The piloting clone contracts market was more like a street bazaar than a formal auction house. It did no good to place formal bids, the only thing that could get you a pilot clone released from his former contract was direct negotiations with the current holder.

"Have patience, Plat, there will always be another even if you aren't able to secure a particularly good clone you have your eyes on." Shocku understood the frustration though... it was hard to focus on continuing development of a pilot that would be imminently replaced by a far more highly trained clone.

Unlike jump clones where your mind shifts to one of your own clones, this non-traditional procedure involved jumping to a clone of a different pilot. While your mind remains more or less intact, you legally become that other person, assuming not only his skills but also standings, name, and relationships to others. While one can gain a lifetime of skills, it can also be very disconcerting.

Shocku scanned his comm for the owner of one of the clones Plat was looking at, and his comm blinked green. "Hey Capt, he is on now!" Plat kept him abreast as negotiations commenced and Shocku provided tips from his own experiences. In moments the negotiation was completed, the money transferred, and Capt Platinum jumped. "Whoa!" exclaimed Vince on his comm.

Shocku smiled, "Welcome to the team, Vince!"

Maneuvers Gone Wrong

The stargate pulsed and shot a sabre of energy across the cosmos as Capt Platinum orbited Thor’s Hammer at high velocity. Shocku selected the planet looming nearby and started the warp drive. A warning flashed up on his overview “Warp cannot be initiated due to interference. You are being warp scrambled.” Shocku suddenly broke into a smile, Capt had successfully scrammed his battleship with his little frigate. That would be very useful in real combat. Capt called over the com, “Can you hit me with your guns?” Shocku target locked the frigate and activated a couple of his 1400mm Artillery cannons. Slugs the diameter of a redwood tree hurled through space at the frigate, missing it like a hand swatting at a fly. Next he activated his mid sized autocannons. These fired projectiles only a fraction of the size, but could track much faster. Shocku glanced up at the overview and saw that Capt was halfway through armor, and quickly deactivated the autocannons. All was quiet for a moment, then suddenly a thunderous boom shook the ship as the artillery fired again. Shock looked in surprise and dismay as Capt’s frigate exploded in space, leaving only his capsule intact. “Capt, are you alright?! What happened, I forgot that artillery was still active, but didn’t think it would hit anyway.” Capt replied, “I activated my Microwarp drive and was moving away from you and went into range of your artillery. I forgot the great distance of those things… I was at 25km. Shocku sighed, “Yeah, my current fit has a range of 86km.” He then headed to station to get his salvager to save what he could of Capt’s wreck.

In their post mordem, the two pilots discussed lessons learned. The tackler will need to stay at range, whether close or far, until the target is destroyed by the unit he is supporting. Shocku suggests a smaller Microwarp or AB to make the capacitor last longer.

Later that night, after Capt has gone to bed, Shocku still feels a bit bad about scuttling his Frig, but has an idea. Could he fit a “Sniper Maelstrom?” Working with the fitting tool, he comes up with a fitting that will allow him to track and hit a target at a distance of 200km with 8 rounds of 1400mm artillery.