Craft

I consider myself an artist. Not good enough to compete for a career, back before I was selected for capsuleer training in the Navy -- Mum tried to get me to go to an art school, and I loved the response my (reluctantly submitted) application received. "Needs traditional background training; too many liberties taken with classical subjects." I never liked art schools; too many people with a narrow-field view of what art is.

I'm much happier painting for myself and my friends, anyway. Little things here and there which make me feel real pride in my poor, self-taught abilities.

I was perusing the Intergalactic Summit maybe a week ago -- I don't frequent such channels very much, they're the sorts of places which on old-style maps would be designated with the legend, "Here Be Dragons", much the way null-sec space used to be. My wandering, half-attentive eye caught the wort "art" and I backtracked to see what it was. Sabbott, a member of the Sani Sabik capsuleer corporation Blood Inquisition, was seeking inspired work with which to decorate his home.

I'm not particularly a fan of the Sani Sabik practises; I consider myself to be a modern woman, and things like that strike me as being just a bit on the barbaric side. But I can understand the spirituality behind it. I do read about things; understanding foreign notions helps you relate better to others, after all.

So I was a bit saddened to see that some pilots had offered up little more than smears of red paint on canvas. I can only assume they thought, "Oh, Sani Sabik! They like blood! I'll paint a blood splatter, it'll look excellent hung above the altar!" It grated a bit.

I had little interest in the contest in which Sabbott framed his request. It was simply the challenge, to create a piece of art that would be tasteful to an Amarrian and a Sani Sabik adherent.

I called Ymnaru. A graceful Ni-Kunni woman a few years older than myself, I met Ymna meditating in the hydroponics garden in the station I based from in Arzi years ago. We've stayed in touch, despite our vast cultural differences and her distaste for my choice in career. I think she still hasn't given up on saving me.

After a few hours of discussion, Ymna helped me figure out an appropriately spiritual image. It took another hour for me to convince her to dress in her finer robes and pose in an attitude of prayer for a reference image; she consented only when I offered to change the features of her face in the final painting. Not that she would have worried over a Sani Sabik seeing her face; Ymna is a graciously humble lady and felt very conscious of having her features accented in such a way.

I hadn't realised how intricate Ni-Kunni formal veils could be. I'm rather glad I decided not to paint a full figure, in the end; her robes were incredibly ornate and my fingers still itch to recreate them on paper. Perhaps I'll ask her to pose again someday.

It took the entire week. As with all things, everyday concerns intruded more frequently than I would have liked, and in the end I missed the deadline for Sabbott's competition by but a handful of hours. It would have been the height of hubris to link to the uploaded final image once the contest was over, so I simply sent it along with a note expressing my regrets at being late.

However, since this is my personal journal, I can put the piece up openly without looking like a total boor. I'm quite proud of it. It was a learning experience, both in the preparation and execution.

I call it "Devotion".

Command and Control

I feel as if I've been here forever, down in the dirt with the rest of the dogs. That's what it feels like; day after day of the same damn shit, the same routine. Maybe it happens in the middle of the night, or maybe it's full daylight. Maybe it's raining, maybe it's been drought conditions for weeks. It doesn't matter. We defend our installation with our lives. That's what we're being paid for.

I've not been home in months. Maybe it's been a year, I don't know. The days blur together. I get shot, sometimes I think I've died, but the latest softscan gear installed in our helmets brings us right back in a new, whole body, the memory of our own blood still fresh on our lips. They spent a lot of money on us. I guess maybe it's because there's a shortage of people crazy enough to fight for a capsuleer.

Things started getting strange a couple months ago. I capture a guy trying to sneak into the radio room, the cheeky bugger probably thinks the stolen uniform would work, but he doesn't have the implant to let him through the door without fussing with the keypad. I strip his helmet off while he's recovering consiousness and stare.

"Didn't I kill you last week?"

The enemy soldier blinks at me groggily. "What?"

"I said--"

"Why are you talking to me?"

I fold my arms across my chest, his helmet dangling by its chinstrap from my hand. "Well, I dunno. Maybe because I recognise your face from what was left of it after that attack last week?"

"No, no, this isn't right."

And then he's gone. Not dead or run away, simply gone and I'm staring at an empty spot on the floor like a complete moron, my hands empty. I rub the back of my neck under the collar of my jacket, wondering what the hell has just happened. Then one of my squadmates yells at me and I'm pulled back to the front lines.

After that, I start looking -- really looking -- at the faces of the men and women we fight, seeking that flash of recognition, a hint of familiarity. Days go by where there aren't any. Then suddenly an entire week where I'm seeing nothing but people I know I've killed before. I know they probably have the same softscan hardware installed in their helmets, plugged into the jacks behind their ears underneath. But it's disturbing.

Any attempts to communicate with them are met with the same surprise and disbelief. It strikes me as odd. One time, I lie bleeding out, gutted and missing my right arm from the shoulder, while the enemy who's so easily sliced me up like a roast is sat nearby, reloading. Beneath his visor, I can swear it's the same guy; the one I'd caught sneaking. I try to read the name stitched to the front of his jacket, but my vision is blurring at the edges.

"Hey. You." I choke on the agony of talking, but it's important -- it feels important. He twitches and looks up at me with a sharp jerk of his head.

"I... I know you... don't I?"

The soldier jumps up and staggers backwards, fumbling for his communicator, and the next thing I know I'm sitting up in the medbay back on the base, feeling beyond weirded-out.

After that, I stop trying to talk to them.

That stomach-clenching sense of deja-vu returns maybe a week later. We're going over our battle-plan and looking at the enemy positions when a chill runs down my spine. It looks just like the time when.... "I want Gamma over here, covering that valley."

The guy standing opposite me scratches his head. "Sarge, why? There's no encampments back there, and they can't get in through the pass."

"You remember two weeks ago, they nearly took out the comms relay because they air-dropped a HALO team in the night before?"

He looks at me funny. "Nothing like that happened two weeks ago. Nothing like that's ever happened."

"I'm telling you, they're going to HALO a team in while we're facing front. Stick Gamma back there to cover our asses."

Our commander drums his fingers on the table. "That's quite a deviation from your original plan Sergeant, but let's do it."

My original...? I lean back from the table feeling feverish, somehow confused. The map had been subarctic tundra yesterday; why in blazes are we in the middle of a tropical cloud forest now? I could have sworn... Squinting, I eye up the guy standing opposite me. What was his name again?

For that matter, what was our commander's name? I peer at the stitching on their jackets, but the light is too low to make it out. Feeling dizzy, I take a step back, debating going outside for some air. A moment later, I feel a light touch on my shoulder; my commander standing there, gesturing for me to follow him out to the rampart. The sweltering jungle heat is like a slap in the face after the climate-controlled command centre.

"Son, there something you wanna tell me?"

I shake my head. "No, sir, I'm fine."

The commander removes his helmet and runs his fingers back through sweat-spiked gray hair as he leans back against the outer wall. "Off the record, I mean. You won't be penalised for anything."

A frown pinches my face in the middle, and I sigh. "I-- Sir, what if I told you I was getting recurring memories. Deja-vu? Or that... I could swear we were somewhere else yesterday. And I recognise some of the guys we're fighting."

"You try to communicate with them?" He's looking at me carefully; not like I'm a freak or anything, more like he understands. With some relief, I nod.

"Yes, sir. There's something strange going on. At first I thought maybe it was glitches from repeated recloning, but now I'm not so sure. Would... they wouldn't dump us in coldsleep and truck us off to another planet without telling us, would they?"

The commander rests his helmet under his arm against his hip, looking out into the trees beyond the wall. "No, Sergeant, they wouldn't. Not normally. But this is a different situation."

"Sir?" There it is again, that feverish dizziness, like memories clawing toward the surface before they can drown.

The commander smiles tiredly, the expression creasing lines in his face. "Do you know the name of the world we're on?"

"Well, yes, sir. It's... oh." I rub my forehead. "I don't know sir."

He nods. "She doesn't have a name. Technically she doesn't exist."

I stare at him. "I-- Sir, I don't understand."

"Soldier, do you remember who I am?"

There's an intensity in the look he gives me, something that sparks in me a desperate need to understand. "I can't... no. Wait." Something finally surfaces; the bubble pops with an audible snap and I reel back against the wall. "I.. no. I know you! You were that doctor, at that hospital. The one that..." Falteringly, I press my hands to my head. "I was captured. Wounded, I think I was dying. You were there, you talked to me, but I can't remember--"

"That's right, Allin." He sighs again. "You were dying. You were the one who cost us billions in assets to deal with that little group of Legion footsoldiers you were commanding. Do you remember?"

I slump back against the wall, then let myself slide down to the rooftop, my fingers raking back through my short-cropped hair. "I... yes. What have you done to me, why am I fighting for you?'

"You're not. Not really. This is a training simulation for our soldiers. You're, uh," he smiles again, apologetically. "You're not really you. Just a memory, a cerebral imprint we built a semi-AI strategic designer around."

My eyes close tightly as I find my hands gripping my head. "Are you shitting me? But... I'm here! I remember things!"

When I look up again, he's nodding his head emphatically. "Yes... it seems we took too thorough a scan, but we wanted the system to be as humanlike as possible. Computers lack originality and intuition. They can't adapt and improvise the way a human does, for all the advances we've made. You were so troublesome an opponent, when your fading body ended up in our possession we realised you'd make a better training strategist than the existing system."

I snort with disgust. "So I'm just a semi-intelligent computer programme, then. One that's edged a little too far out of bounds. The glitches from earlier make sense, now. But if that's the case, why are you bothering talking to me? Now that you know what's wrong, you could just, I dunno, re- reprogram... me." My voice fails as a I realise the extent of everything. Allin Emarchanne, Mordu's Legion ground-control operations commander, is now little more than a string of data in a VR simulation. What's the point of it all?

A shadow falls over me, and I glance up from under my brows to see him standing over me with his hand held out invitingly. "The boys started reporting errors, but because it's you, I thought to handle this differently. Your expertise makes our boys and girls better fighters, you challenge them and as a result they work better once we deploy them. It'd be a crying shame if we had to infect you with forced amnesia after every run. I want to know if you'd continue working like this, despite knowing what you know. I want you to do your damnedest to kill every single one of them every time."

I raise my head and rub the back of my neck, glaring up at the doctor, or whatever he is. "You're shitting me. You want me to continue like this? Making your kids better so they're better at killing my boys?"

His hand still extended to me, he shakes his head. "It's more than just the Legion we're fighting, these days. And we ran tests on copies of your scan; injecting programming only reduced your resiliency."

"Fuck you," I spit. "You might as well fucking erase me, you son of a bitch. I'm not going to be your goddamn puppet--"

Three years

Where does the time go?

20th August 2007, I sat down and created a character named Shae Tiann. It took two tries, because it timed out if you took longer than ten minutes fiddling with your options, and it was a hell of a lot more involved. You chose your race, bloodline and background, and THEN you got to choose a school and a branch. Your choices affected your starting stats and skills, and gave you nearly 900,000 SP. It was a good time to be a noob.

I think I'll celebrate by dropping my sec status a little >=3

[OOC] A Summary of Impressions Regarding Recent Events

Due to excessive travel, I've not been able to properly play Eve for nearly a month. This does not mean that I'm not paying attention or uninvolved (keep an eye out for a new story in a couple weeks, yes I have been working!).

Let's see:

Eva-Gate
I've never been a fan of hers -- honestly, would any self-respecting internet spaceships pirate? -- but I'll support her right to hold utterly batshit notions regarding pvpers. If she got elected and passed initial muster with CCP, more power to her. I will say, for the record, that I feel there are far better carbear/highseccer advocates than Ankhesentapemkah, in particular those candidates/delegates who have tried a little bit of everything Eve has to offer, because they have a beeter idea of how the gears mesh.

Right! On to the juicy bits: I'm loving the conspiracy theories. You all have such beautiful tinfoil hats, and you've clearly worked hard on them. Knowledge of how the game industry and various relevant legal issues work tell me that A) yes, she really did do something wrong and it had fuck all to do with her blog, and B)CCP doesn't HAVE to tell us ANYTHING (that they've stated it as a breach of NDA is more than they needed to say). In fact, we may never BE told anything more about it, unless something explodes (metaphorically).

Hulkageddon III
Not my style of gameplay at all, but I will staunchly defend everyone else's rights to suicide haulers in highsec. Do you wail and call your opponent a psychopathic bully who needs to get out of his mum's basement and get laid when your opponent builds hotels all over Boardwalk? It's a game and you've been given fair warning that HG3 is happening. Either join in the fun or station-spin your Orca til it's over.

CSM notes (I'll condense this down to the issue that was highest on the priority list across the board)
CCP seems to have a little ADHD when it comes to focussing on work. Trust me, I'm exactly the same: I get a new idea, and it supercedes all the other ideas in development until another brainwave occurs. Speaking from experience, this is NOT the way to progress on ANY ONE of the cool things; the only way to make real progress is to sacrifice a little effort on other stuff and focus on only one thing at a time til it's done. Obviously, being a large company which has made very public commitments on several different projects, CCP does not have the ability to sacrifice development time; they're stretching themselves a little thin. Obvious solution: HIRE MORE PEOPLE *waves CV suggestively*

[Rumour] Wormholes closing
Highly unlikely. Have you taken a look at the subscription data around the time Apocrypha was released? It was one of their most successful expansions, if not THE most successful expansion. Why would they shoot themselves in the foot?

[Rumour] CSM is being disbanded
Also highly unlikely. The CSM is one of CCP's biggest publicity draws: no other MMO has anything like it, it's a BIG DEAL both among the gaming community and the business community. It would be PR suicide to disband it after only a couple years. I've seen comments in verioius places about CCP not liking the CSM being stakeholders or something. GUESS WHAT, GUYS! Stakeholder does not equal shareholder. The definition of a stakeholder (in corporate terms) is someone who is affected by and can affect the actions of a business. We, as players, are all stakeholders. The CSM is simply a more direct and condensed route towards having an affect on CCP's actions regarding Eve than posting petitions on the Suggestions forums or babbling on CAOD that they need to fix lag. They do pay attention to those things, you know....

As it is, the CSM exists solely by the grace of CCP. If they want to disband it, they have but to say the word. Sneaking around undermining members one at a time to build an excuse of "it don't work, guv" is not only a costly effort, it could leave them open to severe (and also costly) legal consequences. Corporate suicide can be committed far more neatly than that.

---
Right, I think that about covers it. Comment trolling will see your comment(s) removed because we are not at home to Mr Arsehole; discussion is encouraged, and if you have a solid, well-considered and non-batshit argument to change my feelings on something here, please do share it!

Post-EveMeet

I've returned from a truly epic weekend in Denmark. The 5th BoB BBQ was a total success in that there was meat, booze, lulz, fire, and meat.

I kept forgetting to bring my camera out with me, and just as well, since I don't have a strap for it; I'd likely have left it someplace. There are, however, tons of incriminating photos taken by several members of IT Alliance on Facebook and various other places. Fellow Veto member StrangeR's pics are here.

Cheers to everyone who made the weekend awesome ^_^ Here's looking forward to the next!

Sansha: The Space Toaster Invasion

I did try to keep up with it. Who wouldn't? You get Sansha battleships pouring out of wormholes and abducting millions of people from the planets; who is not going to be chewing their nails wondering if their family is safe?

My family is safe, for now at least. Honestly, I figure that if the Sansha ever attack Luminaire and take my mother, they'll be volunteering for their own destruction. Either that, or the Sansha would be the best-dressed, most up-to-date on gossip toasters to ever invade a civilised world.

Verone sat us all down and told us how it was going to be. As Veto is aligned with the Guristas, we could not be seen to be acting against their interests. The Guristas have a business relationship with the Sansha. Until we received word from Venal, one way or the other, we would have to remain neutral in this fight unless it became an issue of self-defense.

If we wanted to fight, we'd have to leave. If members wanted to actively support the Sansha, they'd have to leave, too. Ethan has as little love for the Sansha as he does for any other form of slavery.

I was content to stay. I could feed information around in the channels while others focussed on organising things. I could help out without compromising our position. Most of the fights were in highsec, anyway.

But after the first week or so, it started becoming difficult to parse truth from lie. Too many pilots whom, in their twisted little minds, thought the whole thing was funny. Funny! Too many pilots ready to go haring off after bait laid by Sansha supporters without weighing reality, getting themselves and those who eagerly followed slaughtered needlessly. It went from desperate defense to a popularity contest, everyone trying their hardest to get attention and perhaps their name in the news.

The defense of New Eden, sabotaged by our own sociopathic egos. I found it sickening, and so I left them to it.

And then Kuvakei made Verone an offer.

I don't know if it really is Sansha Kuvakei or simply a puppet. It goes by the title 'Master Kuvakei' and speaks with enough authority to be a recognisable threat.

We, the members of Veto, stand behind Verone's decision to make this revelation public. And should Kuvakei bring his forces to bear upon us in retribution, we will stand at Verone's side in defense of what we believe to be right.

The conspiracy-mongers have their say, and their points are valid. But is it better to jump at shadow trying to find the truth as the world falls apart around you, or to know that, even if you died in vain, you were true to yourself to the bitter end?

Just a Quick Little Note...

My arm's been twisted enough to convince me to hit up the Eve Barbecue in Copenhagen for at least the weekend (I have other stuff to deal with in the UK, or I'd try for the full week).

The weekend after that, I'll be in Reykjavik for a couple days' layover.

Really looking forward to this summer, should be awesome fun ^_^