& null & void

I drop out of warp just outside the docking perimeter. Moments later my docking request is accepted and a tractor tows my ship into the station. As my drive systems disengage I relax and wait for a link-in to Station Services. There’s a delay, the system appears sluggish today. The standard checks and verifications are made, station-services link-in and my consciousness switches context. I picked up some structural damage on my last run – a few hostiles got a little too close. Nothing major, the bounties and the salvage in my hold should more than cover the repairs. Once ammo is replenished, I place ship systems to housekeeping. There is nothing much for me to do for the next few days so I elect for some personal downtime. I withdraw my outer senses from ship systems and jump into a different skin. Pausing only to stuff a term into a bag along with a variety of oddments left in the there from my last walkabout, I head off in search of some planet time.

You manage to dock. But you’re still in a red system. There’s no defined purpose for you to be out this far; you should return. But you made it. You’re alive. A positive sign, perhaps. And it’s a base with strategic opportunities. A good place to stash a good ship.

** CAUTION:: this ship can seriously effect your day **

I’m back. It’s been several days. Longer than I had intended. Just in time too. The CEO has an rush mission. A secure container needs shipping to null-sec asap. I’m the best combat courier she’s got, apparently. I’ve got the best ship for the job too. No argument there. Of all the ships I fly. This is the one that with a special place in my heart. Named, I’ve been told, after the god of thunder from old Earth mythology. Deadly, fast, and manoeuvrable. Designed as an interceptor but capable of so much more. I’ve got access to faster ships. Ships with more devastating weaponry. But each of those ships involves a compromise. This ship knows no compromise. I owe this ship my life. Truly.

You jump into a system you never seriously expected to see. There’s a station. Only in null-sec station operators can be a bit fussy. You warp over to the docking perimeter. You may at least try. This ship deserves to live. Regardless of how you’re feeling.

Forty-two jumps later and I’m home. I withdraw my outer senses from ship systems and turn my mind around, pull in from thinking like a ship, push out to thinking like an infomorph. An assault frigate may be a sleek and swift, but jump lag bends the corners of reality somewhat. A long haul courier mission can leave me feeling a bit dazed. Seeping out via a known path is never a bad way to re-orientate. Minds are easy to move, it’s mass which takes time. I elect to clone-jump. I have a nice little number going with Federal Intelligence a few systems over but a few days R&R null-sec would really sooth my soul. I can jump back to high-sec in a day or two when I’m cool. Fourteen seconds later I’m recovering from a different sort of reality bending lag.

Your ship pulls you through. You survive. She’s fast. Very fast. And that’s how you manage to run the camp. Your heart racing, the auto pilot jumps. There are some hostiles on the other side. But you’re gone before they can lock.

Back in Empire and some comedian in a dead-space complex decides to get clever with the loot. I’m not too concerned and finish mopping up the rats. But when I’m done they’re still there. Lit-up red and just begging to be vaped. It would be rude not to. I’m not rigged with a scrambler. Not that I personally favour their use. It kills all the fun to be had by two pilots dog-fighting because they want to. Is no fun when you have no choice. Seems like this joker is of the same opinion. But I can see it’s no contest. I’ve got the superior ship. Their hull may be similar. But a frigate versus an interceptor, do the math. I decide to even the odds. I get a lock, set my guns to single shot, then kill the HUD. Fly the intercept on manual. After my first shot and I can see this would have been all over by now if I had’t started playing my games. Manual piloting takes skill, especially in a ship this fast, and I’m a bit rusty. I miss a few shots and take a few; into my armour. But I put up a decent enough show and in the end I’m victorious. A good fight.

You drop out of warp twenty-two klicks from the gate. There’s another camp. And you’ve just hit a bubble. But you can’t even be bothered to fight. So you hit the afterburners and ride out the wait. The end must be. Inevitable.

** something wicked this way comes **

Today it was my turn to loose a ship. Dancing with a rat in low-sec. I wasn’t concentrating. The assault ship which took me had me scrambled and my shields down before I could even bring up he HUD. I was toast in seconds. Back in station a few seconds after that. At least there was no attempt at extortion. Other than the rare occasions when it’s done in good humour such behaviour invariably lowers the tone. It’s an expensive habit flying this flavour of ship. Insurance is a no-no for me so I have to be careful. I don’t usually fly in low-sec other than by request of my CEO. This time, thankfully it happened whilst I was slacking off during a corp mission. So a new ship is guaranteed. Still, a stupid mistake. I should really stop kicking myself and begin to learn the lessons.

You don’t even bother taking sensible precautions. Simply pick convenient system deep in null-sec. Then engage the auto pilot. You’ll probably get ganked. But then that’ll suit your dark mood nicely.

It’s an issue with my targeting sensors. It is taking far too long to get a lock and in my game the speed I can lock-on is crucial; safeties off, get in fast, lock, and let the automatics handle the rest. Manual navigation is sluggish too, at first I suspect it’s as a result of swapping out a supplementary damper with an overdrive-injector, but a quick dance in an asteroid belt shows me it’s something else. The lag I can live with, for the moment. The problem with my sensors concerns me enough to seek assistance. Turns out to be an electronics issue, easy, but time consuming, to rectify. Nothing that requires me to be docked, so I warp out to a previously scouted moon, somewhere quiet to relax while sub-systems work on optimizing my lock. I need to test the recent engine upgrade, so I align on a distant star and ramp the sub-lights up to max. Then I pull up a star-map and start planning an entertaining route.

Days later it hits you again. That burst of bleak darkness that leaves you reeling. The legacy of my kind. It’s been known to kill. Especially serious in a world where effective immortality is the norm. So you decide to so something stupid.

There is perhaps something truly bizarre about finding yourself with the urge to rat every belt in fifteen systems. A circular route, six waypoints, fifteen systems, one-hundred and twenty-one belts. Mad. But I decide to do it anyway. Then realize I’m planning to go non-stop. I dive into a station and fit a mission specific loadout. Fill-up with an reasonable over estimation of the amount of ammo I’ll be needing. Check the clock. And begin. Three hours later I’m done. Fifty-nine rats. I was awful. Got some good kills. But mostly I was an poorly coordinated inelegant mess. But at least it’s given me a benchmark. Saved the route so I’ll be doing it again once I’ve blown away the cobwebs. I’ll probably reverse the route; add a bit of variety. Could be fun to get other ships involved, a more honest comparison than a table full of numbers. Came across a natural rock formation that was oddly reminiscent of a fulgurite. Rather apt considering the ship I’m in.

.. feeling very small ...

You’re safe in Empire. Your family are there. But it’s the pressure of the other minds around you. Even here you can touch it, feel it, taste it. The malign hypocrisy permeating the tangible fabric of existence. It’s all you can do to avoid the beserker rage that would lead you to throw everything you own at the sky. A pointlessly stupid reaction.

Not like this. You think in the final seconds. Not like this. A ship like that deserves better. To go out in a blaze of glory. Not packaged up in a cargo hold. Moments later I’m floating in space. There’s a final pitiful attempt to extort a ransom. But I’ve already initiated self-destruct. Stupidity and a miscalculation. I’d already scouted ahead. Checked the route. Then I got delayed. And didn’t think to check again. And I should have realized too when I saw that scout on the other side. But I jumped through without thinking. I’d have survived in my inty. But not in a slow lumbering industrial. Probably lost about a fifth of my assets. Yet somehow the only thing I’m upset about is that wildly inappropriate interceptor.

It’s too much. The pressure. It’s too much. Does it trigger the depression, or does the depression trigger it. Whatever, it’s deep, and it’s serious. But there’s more. Subtle shifts in perception. The doorway to the dark buried deep inside. The downside of being enlightened. Sure, my kind may have superior tech. But all knowledge has consequence as a price.

I suppose it’s hard for others. Trying to understand what it’s like. Why I mostly elect to fly solo. The lone wolf with a Gallente interceptor. I could show you. Only you don’t want to know. So consider this. I’m not Gallente. I’m not Ammarr. I’m not Minmatar. I’m not Caldari. I’m something else entirely. Actually, I’m not even human.

(1709)

This is my entry to the Inspired By Images Of Eve Competition 2. More
details and links to all entrants can be found at Starfleet Comms

In game contact, Ozzie Grey;  not just an other cat.