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.