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".

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?

Gurista

It took me a while to come to this decision. Stars know I didn't make it lightly.

I ran my fingers over the new patch which I'd just finished attaching to the sleeve of my battered old leather jacket, the one with the Hellcats' feline skull and crossed, flaming swords logo stitched to the back. A grinning skull with rabbit ears, comical and sinister, now rested below the faded Federal shield on the left sleeve; the black and red triple-scythe of my first corporation, Under the Wings of Fury, had taken the space on the right sleeve nearly three years earlier, back when I was young and stupid and thought I was rebelling.

What was I rebelling against, anyway?

Creaky old ideals and stubbern warhorses too long out to pasture to see that the problem was no longer external. The Federation was crumbling apart, hedonistically eating itself alive. Not that the other Empires were any better; I simply saw no reson to fly in defense and support of people who didn't give a shit about your work for their benefit.

Perhaps I was being harsh. I could have joined the FDU when the shit really hit the fan, when people were begging for help. But they only seem to appreciate you when they see the need. My brother, who'd graduated six months after I had, said he'd felt more like part of a pretty display on a pedestal for politicians to roll out of storage when they wanted to look impressive.

One entire wall, running the length of my new apartment, was solid glass overlooking my personal hangar; a small lift in the corner allowed me private access to the ships on display. Veto had money, and the corporation had used it to house their members in style. The process of applying, joining and settling in had been far more personable and rapid than with any other corporation I'd joined in the past -- and this time my cold-storage can full of combat trophies hadn't been disposed of as unnecessary.

I still bore a grudge against the long-dead Tygris Alliance for that particular insult.

The difference between pirates and the larger alliances is that pirates have to trust one another. They need to trust one another; if you treat your flight buddies as simply numbers on a tally-board, eventually you'll 'accidentally' end up on the opposite side of that equation.

What the hell took me so long?

Part of it was a willful denial of the obvious choice. It would be far too predictable of me to join a corporation I'd already worked with and begun to associate with on a regular basis.

'Ha!' Sitting there at the table, I doubled over, cracking up laughing at myself. Yeah, that was so fucking stupid of me, wasn't it?

It wasn't til I'd returned that it was made clear to me what I ought to have been doing all along. When both your partner and one of your closest friends say almost the exact same thing, six hours apart from each other, you might as well get the Clue-Bat out and start waving it around threateningly.

I owe Caellach and Raxip for that.

Cael, I know, was rather hoping I'd follow him into Electus Matari. Reawakened Technologies certainly did their best to get my attention. They liked that I would of course know pirates' MOs and how they operate; I can hardly begrudge them wanting that little edge. But it's that whole trust issue, again. I've worked in Molden Heath. I know pirates who still operate out there, and working against them would have simply felt wrong. It's not loyalty so much as it is respect.

Plus, I'd have had to bring my security status up. Aligning with Empire factions... no. Not really going to happen, is it. A pirate's life for me.

Which was why, when the subject of joining Veto was finally levered over my head like a cartoon safe on a fraying rope, I gave it some serious thought.

Pirates? Check.

Political affiliation neutral? Check.

People I respected? Apart from shooting one of them a year earlier near Evati, I had no bad impressions of them. The reputation for blobbing that most people attributed to the corp seemed entirely unfounded; and in the current combat climate of lowsec, outgunning one's opponents was the only way anyone dared to fight. From the time I'd spent socialising with them, they were a solid unit of men and women who supported each other and cared for their own.

Sounded good to me.

It was difficult to believe it had already been over a month. I shrugged the jacket on, settling the heavy, worn leather on my shoulders, and headed out into the hall toward the meeting-room. It was time to make my place here.

Bar Counsel

The bar was quiet, only a few scattered die-hards enjoying their hair of the dog or a morning hangover remedy. I marvelled a bit at this -- I'd never been in here at this hour before, and the difference from the businesslike hum of daytime and the pounding rush of the nightlife was striking. Covering a yawn, I picked my way around staff wiping down tables and mopping spilt alcohol from the floor, heading for a seat at the bar.

The big Civire bartender cracked a grin. 'Didn't I just see you in here, Shae?'

I shook my head. 'Aah, couldn't sleep. Can I have a cup of spiced tea, please, Karlos?'

'No coffee?' He tsked and disappeared into the back, emerging a minute later with a full tea service on a tray. I laughed and accused him of overkill; he shook his head. 'You drink this stuff like water.'

The bastard leaned on the bar and waited til I'd prepared a cup of sweetened tea and was taking the first sip before asking, 'So what's keeping the Gallente Outlaw Supervixen awake?'

Scowling, I wiped a drop of tea from the tip of my nose. 'Not you, too. I'mma kill Cael for that one.'

'The reported nosebleeds did skyrocket after your application went up on the Veto forums. How're you settling in?' He cupped his chin in one hand as his green eyes examined me from beneath lowered lids. I smiled.

'Good, actually. Much better than I thought, given recent experiences.'

'Uh huh? So what's keeping you up when you have a boyfriend to go curl up with?'

I arched an eyebrow at him teasingly. 'Not jealous are you?' He gave a mysterious smile in response and I shook my head. 'A lot of things on my mind, I guess.'

'Like?'

He wasn't going to let it lie. Bartenders.... I shot him a narrow look, then sighed and cupped my tea between my hands. 'I guess maybe I just doubt myself too much, these days. Been in a bad place mentally, and I've rarely got out. Now I guess I'm worried I'll have forgot how to do it.'

The massive Caldari snorted, like a volcano giving a warning rumble. Pulling a face I grumbled, 'You keep your dirty thoughts to yourself. I look at the ships I have in my hangar and I wonder if I'll be able to use them as well as I did before, or if it'll be academy days and massive losses all over again. I'm wary of flying anything more expensive than a cruiser because I just KNOW it won't be returning at the end of the night.'

'If you don't undock expecting to lose those hulls, girl, you're doing it wrong.'

I nodded reluctantly. 'I know, I know. If it's not on fire, I'm not flying it right.'

He reached over and tapped my forehead lightly with the tip of one finger. 'You know how to use them. Just go do it. The scariest thing you have to fear out there is yourself... not the other guy. The other guy's a pussy little thing in comparison.'

Blinking, I stared up at him. He frowned a little. 'What?'

I shook my head. 'You know... I knew that. But thanks for reminding me. Did Sonja manage to get your shirt off last night?'

Karlos laughed heartily. 'No, but they got Ethan topless. I'm surprised you missed that part.'

Giggling, I sipped my tea. 'Cael and I were talking over at the table,' I explained, jerking my head towards the massive host's table. 'I hope someone got a video. That's more than enough hot Gallente to go around.'

He shrugged and reached behind the bar to obtain a drink for a bedraggled-looking patron who appeared a couple seats down from me. 'Topless Verone is a common sight, I'm surprised you've not seen him pull that more often.'

'But Topless Karlos is an endangered species, huh?'

He smirked at me. 'so are you going to go back to bed once you're done with that?'

'Hm?' I blinked at him over the rim of the glass teacup. 'Nah, still too much on my mind. Gonna hit up the simulator and see about finishing the refit on my Lachesis.'

The bartender shook his head at me. 'Suit yourself, honey. Just don't start making mistakes because you're too tired to focus.'

I waved him off to take care of the other guests. It was nice to know others cared, and he'd given me some more to think about.

On The Edge

It was a long way down. A very long way down.

The small Gallente leans forward, elbows propped on her knees, the yawning gulf open beneath her boots not phasing her in the slightest as she looks up instead at the frigate drifting in dock above her.

'One wrong twitch and you're gonna be needing a parachute, girl.'

The redhead chuckles without looking up. 'Good thing I'm not twitchy.'

'You were when you got back up here. Even two weeks in nullsec really fucked you up.' The willowy Thukker woman leans forward on the railing, gazing up at the ship. 'She's looking good.'

'Yeah...' The smaller woman leans back on her elbows on the deck, swinging her feet carelessly over empty space. 'First time in ages I've fit up a Rifter. Hot little thing.'

'Hot like a bounty-huntress tricking you into an alley. Lemme see her fit.'

The Gallente tugs a datapad from one of the myriad pockets of her grease-streaked black combats and passes it up, then lays back on the deck and tucks her hands under her head. 'Bear in mind, it's all bits I had lying around. There's a couple things I need to buy.'

'Not too bad, though. You gonna rig her?'

'I was thinking I could ask you to retrieve a few things from highsec for me so I can do that.'

The Thukker hands the datapad back and lights the cigarette dangling from her generous lips. 'For a price, as usual.' She drops down gracefully into a meditation pose, her back braced against one of the railing's upright. 'Shae, you know you're welcome to stick around in H4VN' --she pronounces it 'Haven'-- 'as long as you need to, but I gotta say, we worry about you. A lot of people are worried, actually. You've not been yourself for months.'

The Gallente languidly extends a tattooed arm, plucking the cigarette from her friend's lips and drawing just enough to blow a perfect smoke-ring before handing it back. 'I need time to think. And space.'

'You wanna tell me what's been bothering you? It's not the pirating, I know you too well to think that.'

Blue eyes meet green before the green turn away to stare into the haze shrouding the hangar ceiling far above. 'I don't... I've been trying to figure things out. I feel badly for leaving after only two weeks... they deserved better of me than that.'

'You were going very quietly insane down there, and the only one who didn't see it was you.'

'I... yeah. Okay. They're good guys, they have a good cause. I'm just not accustomed to having to trust people I don't know.'

The Thukker shrugs. 'Pacts are forged for different reasons down there than they are up here.'

'And the last time I joined a nullsec alliance, the leadership flipped standings without warning the soon-to-be-red blues. That was fun.'

'That was Syndicate. It's different.'

'Doesn't mean I trust pacts like that to last.' She sighs and tugs one leg up, hooking her heel on the platform's edge. 'I like things simple. I like reds and neutrals: you don't have to keep one eye awake at night worrying about being stabbed in the back.'

Sighing, the taller woman flips the stub of her cigarette into the void. 'Face it, girl, nullsec is too complicated for you.'

'Fuck yeah, it is. I don't see why anyone would want to deal with stuff like that. Gimme a gun and a sea of neutrals and I'm happy.'

'Simple Shae,' the Minmatar chuckles. 'What do you want to do?'

'Dunno. Could do with a drink, though, sit and mull things over.'

The Matari woman flows to her feet, then reaches down to help the Gallente up. 'I've gotta bounce off Goinard, if you want a lift to the Last Gate.' When the smaller woman looks down at her grime-streaked combats and sleeveless red shirt, blazoned proudly with the Hellcats' crossed flaming swords and cat-skull logo, she laughs. 'Who gives a fuck what you're wearing? I hear grease-monkey girls are the hot thing this year.'

'You been bootlegging porn again?'

'Of course I have. C'mon, I'll drop you off at 4-5. You just have yourself a think about things, sugar.' The two turn their backs on the Rifter, bantering amiably as they exit the Vitrauze hangars.

Not So Easy

'Shae, honey, I know it's a new lifestyle, but... you'e gotta be kidding me.'

'Hang on a sec...' I flipped 'Lara's comm over to room audio. 'Okay, go ahead, what's the problem?'

'I'm looking at this shopping list you sent me. It's ridiculous! Who the hell uses railguns in combat?' Her voice followed me around the tiny apartment as I got dressed. With so many people based here, space was at a premium.

Crowded systems make me paranoid. Even when they're all blues.

'Yeah, it's weird, I know. It's what they use.'

'I dunno girl, I think you're gonna go fucking insane down there.'

I ran my hand over my face and sighed. 'I'm starting to think you're right about that. I said I'd give it two months.'

She tsked. 'You'll be back in one, Shae. I know you too well, you'll have a hard time adapting to that ranged combat bollocks.'

'Just... get the gear, Lara. And no placing bets, 'kay?'

'Awwww....'

Send-Off

The place... echoed.

I passed through empty warehouses and hangars doing one last check for anything that might have been forgotten. For once, the job had been done thoroughly. Rather than being shipped -- and causing the contracted haulers to be lazy about things -- it was all being sold, with the exception of a few of the more expensive pieces and hulls. Those were in capable hands and on their way to a staging area on the other side of the cluster.

My fingers, trailing idly across a wall, tripped over the spot where we'd accidentally splashed paint one night when we'd got the idea that putting corp logo on our ships would be an awesome idea. We kind of forgot that hull paint is specially designed to withstand combat conditions, and had uttery ruined the coveralls we'd borrowed. The lumpy splatter on the wall would never come off.

'You're sure we can't have your stuff?'

I laughed and turned. Mynxee, Venom, Lakasha... all the Hellcats, and several members from the rest of the alliance, stood in the entrance. Heading over, I made certain I gave everyone a hug. 'I'm gonna fucking miss you guys.'

Eviwyn pouted. 'We'll miss you, too. I never even had the chance to fly with you.'

Fort ruffled my dreadlocks playfully. 'I'll keep your seat in the hot tub warm for you.' His craggy Amarrian features creased in a devious grin, and I giggled and kissed his cheek.

The gathering turned into a small party as we headed for one of the station's bars for drinks. Memories were shared of the last year and a half, three-fifths of my piloting career since I left the academy, summarised over beer and whisky and several hilarious games of pool. Towards the end of the night, Mynx wrapped her arm around my shoulders and took me aside.

'Look, I want you to know that you've got our support in this, and you'll be welcome back anytime.' She grinned. 'I've sometimes considered going on to other things, myself, but I kinda made my bed here, ya know?'

I smiled and hugged her. 'That means a lot, you know. And yeah... I kind of feel bad for leaving you guys like this... timing and everything.'

She shook her head. 'You've been such a big part of Hellcats for so long, and corp chat won't be the same without you, but I think this will be good for you. You've been down, lately.'

'Yeah. I have a good feeling abut this. And I will be back, eventually.'

'Ha! You can't leave this behind forever.'

Mynx laughed, her braids flying as she tossed her head back. I laughed with her, happy that this period of my life was closing on a good note. The last seventeen months had brought me some of the closest friends I'd ever had, and some of the best memories.

It had also given me the best relationship I'd had yet. Determined not to let it slide, I was leaving a jump-clone behind in order to visit Caellach whenever I had the chance. We'd managed a visit to his parents a couple weekends earlier, and it had been a surprisingly pleasant introduction to the Marellus clan. His mother had insisted on making up for the shortcomings of my own, despite my insisting that she didn't have to.

Someone smacked me on the arse and I looked over my shoulder to see Fort holding out a cue stick. 'Your turn, short-stuff.'

Chuckling, I took the stick and went back over to the table, determined to beat Val this time.

I'd be leaving for Ushra'Khan in the morning.

Aspirant

The heavy features of the Civire on the other end of the connection frown a little in puzzlement at the sight of the auburn-haired woman.

'I've seen your introductory message, and the recording of your first interview. Consider this your second interview.

Can you tell me why you wish to leave your current corporation?'

The woman sighs and looks down for a moment as she collects her thoughts. 'It's not... because of any in-corp problems. Or even any inter-alliance problems, for that matter. Yes, there are things I see as being issues, but they have nothing to do with my decision. To put it simply: I'm not feeling the yarr anymore; I'm not feeling the urge to go out and ransom people and blow their stuff up.'

The Caldari man smiles a little at that, and she chuckles. 'I know, it sounds absurd. But I've just felt I had little reason to fight anymore. When I left the academy, I wanted to prove to myself that I could be as good as the guys who allowed me into their corp as a raw rookie. Then I felt I had to prove I could prosper as a pirate with honour. I've done both of those, and now I feel I have nothing left to prove to myself.'

She shrugs and settles back in her chair, looking vaguely uneasy. 'Recently, all the demands that I prove myself for whatever reason have come from outside, from other people. I don't give a shit what people think of me; I don't care about what others think I should do. The pestering and badgering has been growing annoying, and I realised a month or so ago that I was wondering why I didn't just retire as a pilot to get away from all of it.'

The recruiter's eyebrows shoot upwards at that admission. The Gallente woman nods. 'Exactly.

'I love flying, void forbid I give it up just because people keep asking me to meet their own expectations. So... you know why I want to join you. The reason I'm willing to leave my corp is simply that... I need to prove to myself that I can do something else, that I'm not just a washed-up pirate.'

She offers a wry, twisted smile. 'It know, it's kind of selfish, expecting anyone to take me on with that kind of attitude. I'm not known for altruism, but I know that I fly best when I have only my own expectations to meet.'

The man on the other end nods. 'No, that seems reasonable enough. What do you think you can offer us?'

The pirate laughs. 'In all honesty, no more than anyone else could. I'm experienced, I have a code of honour I live by which includes loyalty to my corporation, and I'm willing to follow even the strangest of orders in fleet. Is there anything more that a corp would ask of their pilots?'

Nodding, the recruiter makes a note out of range of the camera. 'Well, I assume you read our ROE, I was told the list had been sent to you. Do you have any questions or problems with it?'

'Let me see...' She calls the information up on a different screen and skims the glowing green words briefly. 'No, it all seems very reasonable to me.'

'Alright, then. Thanks for your time, and if you'll hang about in the public channel again, we'll get back to you with our decision within the week.' He smiles, and she returns the grin, running long fingers back through her dreadlocks.

'Thank you, for taking the time to consider me.'

The Grind, part 3

Ambry walked into the hangar early that morning, finishing the process of tying her shoulder-length dark hair out of the way. She didn't expect the captain to be there at this time of the day -- the captain, in fact, hadn't gone near the ship in four days. Four? She counted; yes, four days. But that didn't mean Ambry, or the rest of the crew, should relax in their work. There was always something to be done, and should the captain suddenly require the vessel, they would all need to be ready.

The crew chief worried, quietly, about their captain. A reasonable and bright young thing, and remarkably personable for a podder. But she didn't seem to be dealing well with things. She'd spent more time staring moodily at the Vexor or jumping clones to lowsec than she had in space. The crew didn't care -- they got paid no matter the situation -- but Ambry worried.

And clone-jumping... She shuddered. Why anyone would put their body into cold-storage and then entrust the very core of who they were to FTL transmission relays, waking up in a new body elsewhere.... What if the packet was corrupted along the way? Would they forget things? Gain or lose bits of their personality? It was all too unpredictable for her; but then, she supposed that was why it took just a bit of insanity aongside the long years of intensive training to become a capsule pilot.

There was a message waiting for her when she reached her office near the heart of the ship, the blue alert light blinking cheerfully as the room lights came up. She settled into her chair before reading, then sat back with a thoughtful frown. This wasn't entirely unexpected.

Tapping a command into the console, she brought up the audio system and leaned forward to speak into the receiver.

'Attention all personnel, this is Crew Chief Koll. Prepare the ship for long storage and report to InterBus port 113 by 2200 for transit back to Empire space.'

********************************

'Hello, Captain Tiann. Back again, are we? Vat A-32 is available. Which link shall I establish today, Barleguet or Vitrauze?'

'Vitrauze, Mr Nirraen. Send me home.'

The Grind, part 2

It sat there gleaming greenish chrome, bobbing gently in the antigrav field, looking for all the world like an oversized hand-held hair-dryer. In the gloom of the hangar, it might have been sitting deep underwater, and not for the first time I cursed the Federation's decorative aesthetics. Gallente-designed stations never flatter the ships on display.

I tugged the silken sheet closer around my shoulders. I'd only felt like curling up and waiting for the world to go away, but my brain wouldn't let me sleep. In the end, I'd opted for taking the sheet with me to sit on the floor of my suite's living-room in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the hangar.

The view wasn't particularly thrilling. Normally, I could look out there and see the Switchblade or the Geiger adrift at dock and smile at the memories and the possibilities. But the Handbasket was the most uninspiring view I'd ever seen. It even beat the Dominix I'd owned for a few short days; and I'd thought that had been ugly.

Maybe it was because of what she stood for: hours spent bouncing from belt to belt in search of a Serpentis battleship to pop. The most mind-numbing, soul-destroying experience short of being almost entirely trapped in that one system full of reds when my last corp fell apart.

Maybe I ought to rename the ship, but being in hell with the Handbasket tweaked the poetic side of my brain.

After all the suggestions people had made as to how to improve my nullsec experience, I'd sent an order for new modules and ammo to a friend. I told myself I was waiting for the new gear, but I knew I was simply making excuses to not get back in the pod and lose more of my sanity in the emptiness of Syndicate space.

What made me truly reluctant was the knowledge that, once I raised my sec up, I would indeed have to do this regularly if I wanted to continue to roam lowsec in between alliance highsec operations. Was it worth it?

I let myself flop back onto the carpet, folding one arm under my head, and stared at the arched ceiling. Was it, indeed?

The Grind

'I want to make this clear: I'm only accepting volunteers for this. If you don't want to go, don't sign up for it. It'll be long dull hours, and there may be times where we don't dock up for a day or two. If you're not opposed to that... great to have you.'

I watched as the assembled crews filtered out of the room, muttering amongst themselves. The operation I'd just revealed to them was almost as far from the usual as it could be without me fitting mining lasers on a ship.

Hell, I don't even own any mining lasers.

Someone cleared their throat politely at my shoulder, and I turned to give a nod to Ambry Koll, the woman I'd hired as crew chief for the Vexor I'd playfully nicknamed Handbasket. She had better experience dealing with the challenges where we were headed than most of my regulars, and had jumped right into helping me prep the ship for action.

'It's pretty obvious to the crew that you're not thrilled about this. Care to talk?' She looked at me with serious blue eyes, and I sighed.

'Sure. C'mon into my office.'

I held the door open for her and gestured towards the couch as I went to the back to obtain cups of coffee.

'To answer your unspoken question: No, I'm not eager to do this, but it's for a good reason.' I set the cups down on the low table and dropped onto the couch beside her. 'I'm not comfortable in nullsec. I've lost too many ships and crews there to really want to go back, even for such a brief period this will be.'

Ambry simply nodded and blew lightly over the top of her drink before sipping. I inhaled sharply through my nose, then leaned forward, scrubbing a hand over my face. 'I've been an outlaw for nearly two years. This should tell you that what we'll be doing down there is not what I normally do. Shooting Serpentis to improve my ratings with CONCORD? I barely know where to begin. I'm too used to the challenge of engaging other capsuleers.'

'Well...' She paused, looking thoughtful. 'I can tell you that hunting nullsec pirates has its own challenges.'

'You mean avoiding being caught.'

'No, I mean getting into engagements where you're outnumbered and outgunned and bouncing off the rocks they've manoeuvred into. They do that, if they've their wits about them. Many a pilot has lost their ship because they got stuck and scrammed and couldn't rep fast enough. It's a different world, but don't go thinking of it as easy.'

I cupped my mug in my hands, enjoying the warmth against my palms. The taller woman was regarding me seriously, and I believed her. 'I always figured the hardest part about this would be getting in and out.'

Snorting, she shook her head. 'Difficult in different ways. Serpentis are wary of you podders, but don't get me wrong: they're not cowards. And they want you alive. You have tech and knowledge they could use, and they will try to take it. These boys won't be out for easy kills the way their underlings in highsec are. You're asking your crews to go into a situation where they are more likely to be captured, tortured, maybe conscripted, perhaps killed, if you lose your ship. The Syndicate is slow to send out rescue teams.'

Thoughtfully, I stared through the steam rising from the surface of my drink. 'What do you advise, then?'

'I advise you to stay focussed out there. But I'm telling you to show more confidence to your crew about this. They need to know you won't let them die.'

I shook my head. 'I have no intention of letting that happen.'

'You better not.' She was smiling, despite the threat implied in her words. I smiled back and took a swallow of coffee.

'I have no reason to believe that you'd put any of us into unnecessary danger, Captain. So let's go make CONCORD believe you've cleaned up your act, huh?'

------------------------

Drifting somewhere between planets, watching the armour-repper tick over, I realised how right Ambry had been. Twenty-three percent armour left, one Rear Admiral down, and his support flotilla extremely pissed off that I'd popped their scrambler ship and escaped. Fun for the whole family. The crews were at work patching the nicks two of my Hammerheads had received when the smaller support had unexpectedly swapped targets, and I mused that while I probably had a better chance surviving out here, it was a rougher life than I was accustomed to.

-9.36. Such a long way to go, still.

Skyhook audio record 38.21.23.12.111

'What're you having?'

'Oooh, accepting a drink from a pirate? Does that compromise my duties?'

'Oh, cut the crap. I swear, every damn time we meet...'

'Aw, I'm just poking fun at you. They don't care who we drink with, as long as we don't cut you any slack when we're on-duty.'

'I'd be offended if you did.'

'I know you would. I'll just have my usual.'

'Not feeling adventurous?'

'If you had any idea what I put up with every day at work...'

'I have a vague notion that you CONCORD buggers sit around and find inventive new ways to make my life harder.'

'Oh, if only it was that easy. Table over there's free.'

'I see it.'

'So what's up with you? The computer system's registered some recent changes. Raised an eyebrow or two, that did.'

'We're, ah... trying something new.'

'Well, you've certainly found a colourful group of associates. Good luck breaking them in; you know what the average pilot thinks of lowsec.'

'They'll just have to harden the fuck up. But there's more to it than that.'

'I figured. You gonna share, or do I have to go sifting through several terabytes of comms logs?'

'You? Abusing the privilege of your position? I'm shocked.'

'In a nuns' priory, in the middle of the night? Ding-dong. So?'

'I'll be taking a few trips out to null.'

'And there it is. Not going straight, are you?'

'You're joking, right?'

'There's the last piece. That'll be interesting to watch. Don't forget when you're in highsec that popping innocents will actually cost ya.'

'I've not been gone that long.'

'Two years is long enough. Well, I wish you girls luck. Have you said anything to your dad?'

'He knows. It amuses him, I think.'

'It would. So... have you seen the latest Evirn Halmaya holo?'

'Ugh, you watch that stuff?'

Beyond

I remember when I was a little girl -- back before Mum left, and before my little brother got big enough to fight back -- Dad took us on a trip to Gallente Prime.

This was a big deal back then: he had just retired from his Navy service and had stumbled into politics rather by accident than by intent. He'd simply been a victim of saying, 'Somebody ought to...' one too many times, and one of his old drinking buddies finally responding, 'So why don't you?' Mum had been enamoured of Dad's position in the Navy when they'd met, hooked up and married, but wasn't too keen on the shift; she said a regional planetary governor's position was hardly noteworthy after Dad's service record.

But Dad had ideas. He'd spent thirty years of his life in service to the Federation, and felt he could better help his people from the ground they walked than from a station looking down on them. Mom was not one to suffer in silence, and things were just beginning to break down between them.

From his modest governor's salary, Dad scraped together enough to charter a private Exequror-class cruiser from Athinard to Luminaire. He booked tours of historic monuments and museums all over the system, got a hotel room not too far from the Crystal Boulevard so he could take Mum shopping. For what we had at the time, he really went all-out.

The flight there took a while, since they didn't want us to get sick during warp. I was supposed to be paying attention to my tutor, but what I really wanted was to be stood with my nose pressed to the forward viewscreen, watching nebula-dust flash past. Too bad the VI noticed and gave me a mild static shock through my tablet stylus to get my attention.

I tended to get zapped a lot in class. 'Head always in the stratosphere, need to bring you back down to earth,' the Virtual Instructor had said when I complained, once.

My brother Val had been all excited about going to the places we'd only heard about through class and docudramas. Me? We were in space. SPACE! It was my first dream come true, and I had to attend classes as usual even though we were on holiday. How unfair was that?!

But lessons were over soon enough, a jump or two before our destination, and I could not get away fast enough. At some point, Dad joined me in the forward lounge on the level below the bridge, where I stood with my hands and face pressed against the transparent material, oblivious to everything but the stars.

He ruffled my shoulder-length mass of red curls. 'Pretty, isn't it?'

I nodded without taking my eyes from the view, utterly entranced.

I heard him take a seat in one of the chairs behind me. 'I used to stare through my skylight at night when I was your age, and wish I could be out here. Six years later, they let me into the Navy, and I never regretted making that wish come true.'

'Is piloting even better than this, Daddy?'

He chuckled. 'As different as this is from riding in a hovercar. Down here, we're just along for the ride. But up there on the bridge, the captain and crew are all a part of the ship. They have holo-projectors so that they see things the way the ship does.'

For the first time, I turned away from the view, just as we coasted past the sun. The shifting light made the shadows in the dimly-lit lounge slide across the walls. 'Do capsule pilots have the same thing?'

'No, they have something different.' He patted the seat beside him, and I went over to hop up and snuggle against Dad's side. He put his arm around my shoulders. 'They have a full neural interface with their ship, and their crew are just support. The capsule allows them to actually become their ships.'

'Oh.' We watched in silence as the ship slowly sailed up to the gate, and there was the soft ping alerting the passengers to strap in for the jump. My stomach twisted and I felt dizzy for a moment; then the world returned and the view out the window had changed.

Dad's hand squeezed my shoulder. 'Does that sound like something you'll want to do in a few years?'

I nodded just as Mum's voice came from the door behind us, 'Do you really want to be giving her that idea, dear?'

Dad half-turned to look over his shoulder. 'I don't see why not. If it's something she wants to do with her life, she should be allowed to try.'

'But there's so much more for her...'

'You mean less dangerous.' Dad gave that low laugh again. 'Also more mundane and more boring.'

'Dear...'

'Aevy, I'm not going to discourage our children from finding happiness their own way, and this isn't the time to have the same old argument.'

Mum sighed. 'I was just wondering if you'd like a drink. The captain says they have a bottle of Heurot '87 set aside. Complimentary.'

It had always been a sticking point between them whether to ecourage me and Valar to make our lives planetside or let us reach further. Mum had always had the daft notion that I'd be a stunning fashion-designer or some such, possibly because I spent so much time drawing. When I finished my formal education, I'd gone along to the art institutes to humour her, but the attitudes there had disgusted and -- at one place -- outright offended me. When I entered the Naval prep academy at 16, she stopped sending me messages; after the hounding she'd given me about it, I was relieved. Val never got the same treatment, prehaps because she felt a Navy career was better-suited to boys. I don't know; I don't care, anymore.

To this day, I feel annoyed that my decision to pursue somewhat less-than-legal activities has pleased her, since piracy is SO much more glamourous than being a boring old naval officer, don't you think, darling? The holos never do show the harder side of it, after all. But Dad... Dad had to publicly disown me, in order to not lose political face. Despite that, he reached out to me through Valar, and we send messages regularly via a reroute set up by an acquaintance of mine.

I learned more from Dad than I maybe thought, at first. We both break the rules in our own ways, and are utterly unashamed about it.

Ill-Prepared in Essence

I was overseeing the refitting of practically my entire fleet -- and cursing myself inwardly for not remembering to pick up new rigs -- when trouble walked into my hangar. I knew she was trouble because she was a Naraka pilot I'd spoken with a few times.

'Hey, Heyna.'

'You need to come out with us, Shae.'

'Why's that?'

'We just popped a Drake out there. C'mon, it'll be fun! My first time FCing.'

I scrubbed my hands over my face. 'What kind of ships?'

She shrugged. 'Something that'll tank sentries.'

Tanky. My Hyperion was still back in Evati; that left the Brutix or the Myrmidon. And the Myrm was...

'I'll have to go to the other station for a ship.'

'No big rush, we're all waiting out the clock.' Heyna headed back out, leaving me looking at three half-fitted ships, four fully-fitted ships that lacked rigs, and a bunch of bewildered hangar techs.

'Yeah, drop it, guys. We'll finish up in the morning.'

As soon as I got to the Tekeli-Li, I realised there was a problem: she was still wearing an older fit from a year ago which wasn't quite up to withstanding sentry-fire. I'd have to engage carefully.

I joined the gang on the gate to Onne, and as we were waiting for everyone else's timers to finish, a Nighthawk warped in and started shooting Morwen. I considered getting involved, but a fragile battlecruiser tank vs sentries plus a command ship didn't seem like good odds; I was left sitting on the gate watching and fretting over what I could do.

Morwen escaped, then the Nighthawk turned on Myrhial and pursued her fully a hundred klicks off the gate til she finally got out of his scram range and warped off with her Drake's hull smoking and riddled with holes. The command ship warped off to the planet and Myrh went to the station for extensive repairs.

We sat there for a bit while the scouts checked Onne and the next system, and Heyna made the call to wait in safes in Vitrauze til Myrhial was repped up and ready to go. I was just about in warp when the Nighthawk came back to the gate, slapped a scrambler on my warp drive, and started shooting.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, considered the situation, then politely asked the gate crews if they'd let me jump.

Of course they would.

I considered my options in Onne. The Nighthawk would have to wait for a minute before being permitted to jump, the rest of the fleet was on their way to the gate. Best part was that the moron had aggressed me, and I could fire on him with impunity for the next fifteen minutes. With that in mind, I engaged warp to a safe-spot in system to wait for the call to engage.

Remember, kiddies: Label your safe-spots accordingly. I cursed as the bookmark I chose turned out to NOT be the one near the gate, but the one furthest away. Note to self...

Despite a couple of the Naraka pilots jumping into Onne to wait, the Nighthawk pilot entered the system and got snared by the tacklers. The rest of the fleet pounced, and I finally coaxed my Myrm back into warp, landing 10 km away as the Nighthawk's shields passed peak recharge. For some reason, the silly fool decided to launch his drones at me, for reasons I can't begin to fathom. A set of five Warrior IIs are not going to make much of a dent in a battlecruiser, but better me than one of our smaller ships. With his shields broken and unable to recharge due to the heavy cap neutralisers Inara was wielding, the Nighthawk's structure failed in short order.

Looking the fight report over, Jude chuckled. 'Hey... I think that was the same pilot as the Drake we blew up earlier!'

Then someone noticed the specially modified items in the command ship's fit, and comms flooded with an excited babble of voices. The sale of the items would be profitable, indeed. We stashed the loot and continued on the roam in high spirits.

A few jumps along, the scouts reported Old Man Star filled with capitals and a massive heavy fleet on scan. We decided to power through and hopefully go unnoticed. Unfortunately, as we hit the exit gate, the whole of Advocated Destruction's fleet warped in on top of us.

What followed was a merry chase through several systems with a cloud of battleships, battlecruisers, strat cruisers and logistics ships just seconds behind. A Harbinger nearly had me in Murethand, and in the next system they managed to catch Amaterasu's Hurricane. Ama got her pod out, and we managed to lose the pursuers at the next gate as they went the other way towards Placid.

We did some idle hunting on the loop back, but the pipe was empty save for a Scorpion in a safe-spot in Onne, and a non-outlaw Vagabond that decided he didn't want to engage us as we sat on the gate waiting for the scouts' report.

It was a fun roam, if a little chaotic; you don't think about it at the time, particularly not when being pursued, but after the fact, we all laughed and agreed we should do that again sometime. Heyna did a good job for her first time as FC, and the sale of the Nighthawk loot fully covered Ama's loss with a bit left over to split amongst the rest of the gang.

And for myself... I docked up in Vitrauze and saw about upgrading the Tekeli-Li's armour. Next time, I'll be better-prepared.

Scar

Day... how long? I've forgot how long I've been sitting in this forsaken w-space system. Let me check my mail. Day five, I think.

Damn is this place dull.

It's pretty, mind, in a 'someone dropped a handful of oil pastels in the sink' sort of pretty. Rather bland, too, the number of cosmic anomalies is fairly low.

Pretty but unremarkable.

I made a safespot in warping-distance to the corp tower once I realised how awful being inside the shields is. I didn't really believe Cerys when she'd said the shields gave her a headache, but... it's true. After a bit spent sitting there, the horizontal banding and the way it wavered started to make my temples pound.

This may be the longest I've ever spent continuously in a ship. I can't particularly recommend it -- a stealth bomber is not the best of places to be stuck with four crewmembers who also only want to get home. Privacy is minimal, and thank fuck the air scrubbers were just serviced; as it is, we're begining to get a bit snappy. It's crazy that, while craving each other's company, we drive each other mad just by all being stressed and lonely.

To distract myself, I chat to people in various channels and scan around looking for... well, anything. After three days of that, I was clawing at the walls of this spacious prison I've come to think of as Scar (for the red-edged black gap in the otherwise fairytale nebula). It was so quiet, so... empty.

Scar's scar.

I spent most of today probing around. We've had a few visitors from other wormholes that have opened into Scar -- a Vagabond and Navy Caracal the other night, a couple different people in cov-ops ships today. Nobody sticks around long. Every wormhole I find, I bookmark, hop through for a peek to see where it leads, bookmark and scan, then go back through. The bookmarks are all placed in a can so that others in the alliance can grab copies.

Today was the best I've seen since joining Mynx in here. Wormhole number one led to Caldari lowsec. Number two led to a class-2 wormhole system which was dark, unimpressive and had signs of occupation. Number three... oh, number three. The entrance to the second w-space system was opened sometime during the day by one of its occupants. I think I fell in love with the system the moment I saw it.

Blue-green nebula. Red giant star. Yeah, red giant. I've never seen a red giant system before, probably because the physics which makes stargates function makes those systems impossible to link to the network. I couldn't get enough of looking at the place, flitting from planet to moon to planet, discovering the quite well-fitted tower the occupants had put up.

Wow.

I scanned around a bit, hoping to find any more wormholes which led to k-space, but they mostly only had asteroid belts. I hung around a bit longer, taking picures and marvelling at the site before reluctantly deciding it was time to go back.

Do I really have to go back?

The only reason I didn't decide to ride the spatial disturbance current was that my other ships were still in the corp hangar back at the tower in Scar. I'm hoping to find an exit close to Evati so I can move all my gear back out in one go. For all the wonders out here in unknown space... there's not enough to entice me to make a permanent move.

Whoever you guys are in J110043, you are so damn lucky to have a view like that.

HearSay

..tirrrp..

..tirrrp..

..tirrrp..

'Mmh... what?'

..tirrrp..

'Oh... f'ksake...'

..tirrrp..

..tirr-*click* 'Hello?'

'...Shae?'

'Whooizzit?'

'Shae, why isn't there visual? It's Aevylen.'

'...Mom..? It's the middle of the bloody night, here.'

'Well, how should I know that? I just had...'

'Mom...'

'...a fantastic lunch with the director of-'

'MOM... what do you want?'

'I'm not allowed to call my own daughter?'

'After sixteen years and not bothering to check receiver time, you need a damn good reason, or I'm closing comms and going back to bed.'

'Well, I was out having lunch with the director of finance from AuralImage Ltd... you know, Egonics' audio-production company? We went to this great little place down the Crystal Boulevard, it's at the top of the deRohe tower, and the view from there is absolutely fantastic by the way, you'd love it...'

'*sigh*'

'...And I was on my way back to the office and I was checking out the latest Sunrise Daily on my new optical implant -- they're all the rage down here, by the way, if you pay for the upper-end ones they overlay on your irises, too, to create colour effects -- and there was a picture of you on the third page! So I thought it would be great to catch up with you, and maybe-'

'Waitwaitwait... what?! What was the article about?'

'Oh it was some minor politician they spotted at an orgy in a pirates' den a couple weeks ago. The picture was of him with his "mysterious mistress" *giggle*'

'Hahahaha mistress. In his sordid dreams. I love that spin, "orgy". Hahaha fucking genius.'

'Watch your language, dear-!'

'Fucking make me, Aevylen. It was a party. I bet you've seen wilder ones with your friends from whatever fad company it is you work for now. At least we didn't need to pay people to take their clothes off.'

'They said two men were-'

'They'll say anything to get people to pay for subscriptions. That shit's not worth the code it's embedded in, honestly.'

'It's important information for anyone who cares about the political climate in the Federation, Shae-'

'You're disgusting. You leave Dad because you can't deal with his political career, and you still have the nerve to say that? You only called me because this gives you something to brag about with your little friends. Do you know what impression your precious editorials give about the Federation?'

'Shae-'

'Lazy. Decadent.'

'Shae-'

'Self-absorbed, uncaring about anything more than where the next nightclub hotspot is and who's supplying the newest legal narcotics.'

'Shae-'

'If that's the way things are in the Federation, it's not surprising the Caldari were able to roll right over all those systems in lowsec and auction people's lives off to the highest bidder!'

'Young lady!'

'Oh screw you, you woke me up in the middle of the night because of some overblown gossip. Yes, I was there. No, I wasn't there with Inhonores. He's bottom-feeding scum and was trying to leech on me the entire night. Other than that, it was a fun party, any orgies occurred afterwards and in private, and no I didn't go to them, I spent the night with my boyfriend. And no, I'm not telling you who he is because you forfeited your right to mother me when you left us to follow your precious career categorising fashion trends. Is it fulfilling? Do you feel good knowing you've improved some faceless woman's social life?'

'You're one to talk! I'm improving people's standard of living, and you're out destroying their livelihoods. Don't you feel proud, killing some child's parents for a little ISK! Inhonores is trying to atone for his past, at least. You could at least give a shit about the shame you've heaped upon us!'

'Oh, pardon me for destroying your social cred. I didn't realise you would know what a broken family feels like. You think I don't know what I do? Fuck off, Aevylen, don't come back until you can tell one evil from another.'

'Don't you dare-*click*

'*sigh* Bitch...'

..tirrrp..

..tirrrp..

'System, block all calls from last ident and any that are associated with it.'

..tirr-

'*sigh* ...I need a drink.'

A Sorta Fairytale

I never intended for this week to happen the way it did. If I'd known what would happen, would I have done anything to change it?

Probably not.

Zean, an acquaintance I met through Smak, dragged me into a bar one night. It seemed an alright sort of place, mostly frequented by capsuleers aligned with the Angel Cartel, so I went back a few nights later just to relax. I got talking with a Jolly-Rodger type named Hilion, and a raw rookie fresh from the University of Caille's capsule-piloting course. A couple nights later, I had some spare time, and the rookie was there again. His name was Caellach and he wanted to change the world for the better. I nearly laughed at that -- the idealism schools instill in their students is both amusing and sad at the same time -- but I managed to hide it because he really seemed to believe what he said.

About that time, the shit hit the fan; someone went nuts and knifed the bartender, and the bar's internal security turrets took the attacker out, along with most of the drinks on the bar. Some random Jin-Mei wannabe-politician started getting snarky about the situation and got a few teeth knocked out for his troubles. Caellach would have gone to the man's aid, but I held him back; fellow or not, when someone brings trouble upon himself, you don't want a share in it.

Cael had his own issues to work around. Uni cultivates idealism, it seems. Between myself, Kimochi Rendar and... someone else, I can't remember her name, we got the poor boy thinking about what he did. Really thinking, and he did not enjoy having his illusions shattered. The idea that the people he attacked might see him as little better than people like me had clearly never occurred to him. Governments are corrupt; their agents' only interest is in self-promotion, and the only way Cael was going to be a guilt-free defender of the people would be to go independent. Of course, being a rookie, going independent would be suicidal, so we started considering alternate routes for him.

It started to get late, and Cael had got incredibly drunk, and he apparently hadn't made accommodation arrangements with the station. He didn't even have a ship, having arrived pre-pickled via InterBus. I offered to let him kip on a spare bunk in the crew quarters on my Taranis, and he agreed. If he hadn't expressed any interest in me, that might have been the end of it; but he did and it wasn't, and he woke up the next day in my bed with a hangover and a massive grin.

I ought to have seen that possibility a mile off, but in all honesty the thought hadn't crossed my mind til he was standing there stumbling over an apology for kissing me. We ended up spending the successive three days together.

In the meantime, we managed to get Cael pointed towards a faction-neutral humanitarian corp. Well alright, Preli Light Industries are aligned with the Angel Cartel, but unless an idealist wants to go into politics, there's no way for them to actually be effective witout pissing governments off somehow. And idealists don't survive very long in politics.

I attended a party that Saturday night at the Three Sisters, a bar in Jel which had a pool in the lower level. I wish I'd known about the pool beforehand, but they had spare swimsuits available, so it wasn't so bad. Cael couldn't make it, which meant I had to suffer an otherwise stellar night with the wannabe Gallente politician attempting to weasel his way into my bed. He really was a slimy character, and it took bloody ages to get rid of him. Aside from that one downer, the night was fantastic, and I've not had so much fun in ages. A lot of people made impressive spectacles of themselves, some people won ships as a result of their antics. At the end of the party, I wandered drunkenly back to the room we'd arranged for the night, downed the requisite pint of water, and curled up next to Cael.

The boy was starting to become a habit, and I wasn't certain how I felt about that. He was a sweet kid, still very much innocent in his way of looking at the world, and I found that endearing. Would being around me be too much for him to retain that innocence? Jorge had a history before we met; I'd never needed to worry about him. But Caellach?

I would have to keep an eye on my Prince Charming, I decided, and say something if I saw him slipping too far.

Pool's Now Open

Hellcats has reopened recruitment.

People make a big deal of the Hellcats being a women-only corp. It's what attracts many of our applicants, and you know what? Everyone's got their focus wrong. We're pirates. We may be all female, but we are pirates first. We've had to put strict regulations on our application procedure because too many women simply wanted to be in a corp with only other women. This is the wrong reason for wanting to join us, and so many of the recent applicants just do not seem to understand that.

In the early days, Hellcats got our applicants from women who heard about us and had already been in the action for a while. The corp was an unknown and didn't have a reputation beyond Mynxee's public journal; women applied because they wanted in on the action, not a place to knit and gossip. Mynx and I had both been yarring it up for ages before Hellcats was even on the radar. It's only been in recent months that we've had women asking to join because their husbands/brothers/male friends have said, 'It's an all-female corp! you'll fit right in!'

Words cannot express the frustration.

It is from this 'recommendees pool' that we get the sorts of applicants we really don't want in the corporation. YES, I said there are people we don't want. What do we look like, Mrs Biddle's Happy Tea Society?

We get the sorts of women who are accustomed to leaning on others and letting them do all the work; the types who make their way through life by wrapping others around their delicate little fingers and whining for 'help'; the ones who'd rather sit around gossiping and painting their nails whilst riding on the credit of the group. These women are useless, or worse than. We may take raw rookies from time to time, but only if they show initiative and are willing to follow instructions; we are not a training corporation. We do not teach women to fly their ships; they should already know this. We do not accept women who can't bear the risks involved in an outlaw lifestyle or who simply want to wear the corp logo on their flight jackets.

We've even had a few applicants who detest the idea of working with men, which is so wrong I don't really know how to express it. Hellcats is not anti-male. We've been proud members of The Bastards. alliance and Doom Armada, and our more experienced members have previously served cheerfully in corps in which they were the only woman. We have husbands and boyfriends and generally get along better with guys. When an applicant says she doesn't want to fly with men... we really don't know what to say, because we can't understand why someone would not want to work with them.

An applicant walking into my office and being pushy, self-centred, passive-aggressive and trying to jump our now standard recruitment steps is not going to get into Hellcats. Someone who asks to join, then ignores all the relevant Read This First! information I give them whilst acting like they're already in and talking about how awesome they are is NOT going to impress upon us that they will be a benefit to the corporation. I'm a diplomat, and what that means is that while I'm smiling, nodding and being helpful, I'm making a note on our management boards that that woman is never to be accepted to the corp.

Yes, NEVER. She has wrecked her chances forever based on the first impression she has presented.

How many times do we have to say this?

So you want to go kill stuff? Go! Fit up a ship and run rampant through lowsec, you don't need a corp to do that. In the meantime, you'll have to go through the process like everyone else. If a girl simply cannot wait, then she lacks the most vital attribute in a pirate's arsenal: patience. Without that, a pilot is useless and a liability.

Hellcats recruitment is open. Please see the information here if you have any questions. If you wish to be considered as an applicant, by all means, join us in the Hellcats Pub comms channel, express your intentions and we'll see about getting you started!

Where Everyone Knows Your Name

Golden sunlight spilled across the station's hull, tiny pinpricks of shadow that were spaceships nearly invisible in the glare. I sat curled up in the deep window-bay in my quarters in our Kaalakiota base in Evati, looking out across the slope of the station's side. If I squinted just right, I could almost fool myself into seeing sunset on water.

It's been a long time since I've been planetside.

Absently scratching my cat's head, I wondered why I'd been out of sorts. Well, no. I knew why. But the reasoning behind it and the timing baffled me.

I missed people. More to the point, I was missing friends. Jedziah, Kulmid, Sard, Rax, Hallan... Jorge. They'd all dropped off the map, hardly saying anything if they entered mutual comms channels and disappearing again.

I knew, as well as anyone, that friendships form and drift apart quickly. In a world where you can climb into a capsule and get lost for months among the starlanes, keeping in touch with anyone can become difficult. I felt lucky I'd been able to remain in contact with the old Atrocitas crew. Losing track of the old Bastards and Gunpoint Diplomacy felt like losing brothers and sisters.

We'd been lying together, my head resting on his shoulder, when Jorge said quietly, 'I'm leaving.' I could do no more than tighten my arm around him and ask when, and where to. Tomorrow, he said; I don't know, nullsec or w-space, maybe. He regretted it, but it was something he needed to do, for himself. And he was gone the next day, leaving me wondering if I'd grown too comfortable and settled into my place in things.

One month, two months... it's a long time, in New Eden. Planetside, where people live in the same place for years, even lifetimes, where you can walk into a bar and the bartenders really do know your name even though you've never told them... life moves at a completely different pace. If you've been somewhere long enough for people to know what your usual order is and what jacket you typically wear... planetside, that's no big deal, but in space....

Maybe I've been here too long.

Ghost Town Showdown

So we went on a cruiser roam Sunday night.

Well, I say 'we'. I was actually in an Ares since we'd been trying to pin down something in a mission which disappeared before we could lock on it. So I was hanging out in Todifrauan keeping an eye on the gates as the others shipped up. Some Gypsy Corsairs guys had been appearing to bait for a while, with a Myrmidon belt-hopping and a Sacrilege in a safe ready to help. We settled into a stalking pattern.

It took a bit to catch the Myrm; by the time I reached the belt, he'd moved to the next. Coochie scored the lock, and while we were taking the battlecruiser apart, the Sac warped in. We locked the HAC up as we finished off the Myrm, then gave it some cruiser lovin'. A ransom was offered but not received kindly, so we sent the pilot back to his clone-bay.

While we waited out our GCCs, a Cyclone showed up in a belt. Everyone's 'Bait!' alarms went off, but we jumped it anyway. In my little interceptor, I've become more leery of smartbomb-loaded targets; orbiting at 15 km cycling warp jammers and half-expecting to see a pack of Warrior 2's heading my way, I kept one eye on the scanner. The suspected backup never appeared, the battlecruiser popped, and the pod got away.

And another fifteen minutes spent waiting out criminal timers.

We debated hitting another potential target as we dropped loot off at a station, and I noticed someone from Razor Alliance enter the system. A minute later, Local spiked dramatically as a large fleet of Razor battleships went through the system. We watched them pass, bemused, then decided that if we wanted to get anywhere we should be moving on. Zachariuz and I in our interceptors played forward scouts.

For a Sunday night, Molden Heath was... quiet. Where the hell was everyone, on what typically is the busiest day in New Eden? The place felt like a ghost town, deserted, the few remaining residents peering cautiously through the station windows as we went through.

We finally found a target in Bosena, and after deciding it was worth the risk, dropped in on top of Zion Zan'threxian's Dominix in an asteroid belt. Perhaps our recent experience with bait-traps has made us paranoid and a bit hasty in deciding ship ransom vs pod ransom. He might have paid had we left his ship intact, but after that loss he decided his implants and clone weren't worth what we were asking.

And all was quiet. Another tasty target was in a deadspace mission, but our prober had decided to call it a night and docked up a few systems before. Then, as we were scouting in Aeditide, I spotted a familiar name pass through local: Nemesor from Rote Kapelle.

I'm friendly with a few of their pilots -- most notably Sard, Raxip and Biz. Nemmy is an old acquaintance, and I felt a big, devil-may-care grin start to spread across my face. Zeas reported another STUGH pilot in a Taranis on the Weld gate, and both Flashfresh and I declared it a trap. Zach jumped through into Weld and confirmed a tech-two wolf-pack on the other side.

By that point, we were all itching for a good, proper slugfest, so Raelyf warped his Rupture to the planet near the gate to see if they would bite. The STUGH gang must have been about in the same state, because they descended fast and hard even as the rest of us warped in on Raelyf's position. What followed was a heady dogfight which saw my Ares down in the first minute and a half, and was over in under ten minutes.

The Bastards' battle report (Ellistara's, my and Rhi's losses aren't shown, so here's STUGH's board for cross-ref)

That was a fucking awesome fight, and cheerful 'GF's were exchanged in Local. Zach made it out in his Stiletto, as did Raelyf, his bait-Rupture amazingly still intact at the end of the scrap. Rhiw'aow proved herself a capable ECM pilot -- check out that jamming action! -- and Bastards recruit Ellistara made a good showing on her first trial flight with the alliance despite the pounding she took at the end.

We regrouped back in Evati and most of us decided to call it a night. Surveying my hangar, I realised that I'd just put to bed the only Ares I'd ever owned; the ship had been bought over a year ago, seen nineteen kills and had now gone out in exactly the style I would want for any of my fighting ships. Respect to Rote Kapelle; we simply must dance again sometime!